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Harry has a ring in his pocket.
It’s big and bronze and thick and heavy, with a design on the flat end that looks like waves. It’s been a weight in Harry’s pocket since he was in the chicken coop this morning, fighting the broodier ones for their eggs. The ring was on the dirty floor of the coop, glinting and out of place. There was no reason for it to be there. Harry had picked it up and then looked around as if someone would be watching him, ready to call him a thief. But he was alone except for the chickens, so he pocketed it and finished his morning chores with the knowledge there was something special only he knew about now.
But with a nosy sister and parents who insist on farmwork to be done, he hasn’t had a moment to himself all day. There was the egg delivery and the milk delivery and mucking out the goat pen and rotating the sheep pasture and a few hours of his studies on top of it all in that hot little stone house in the middle of the village with Ms. Mayweld and her awful eldest daughter, who seems so keen on convincing Harry that they’re meant to be together (they’re not ), and he finds himself with not a moment of peace until after tea, when he can finally slip away and examine his new treasure in detail.
Outside is black as pitch with all the stars hidden behind bouts of clouds, but the two candles on his bureau give him enough light to see by. He fishes the ring out of his pocket and drops it onto the wooden top of his bureau, satisfied by the tinkling sound it makes when it lands.
Harry’s always been a bit of a magpie when it comes to shiny things. As a child he had to do more than his fair share of apologies as his mum dragged him around the village to return the things he’d picked up and carried off without a thought.
He slips the ring onto his pointer finger. It’s a little snug but such a reassuring weight. It feels good, and the bronze is dark against his pale skin. How did it end up in the chicken coop? Was it dropped in by a bird flying overhead? Thrown from afar? Or was it just a bit of magic at the right time?
He wonders if his parents will notice enough to question where he got it. Maybe not, after all the girls of the village will give him presents from time to time. Like when Maisie made him that entire honey cake (it was… dry), or when Katie made him that necklace (he told her it broke but he actually tossed it in the mud, it was rather hideous).
Slipping into his sleep clothes, he keeps the ring on his finger. Maybe it will bring him good luck, bring him something different than this ordinary expanse of life.
—
The traveling apothecary has come to town, Harry’s mum informs them as she doles out eggs for breakfast. They have much better wares than the local one, and she’s going to go stock up on teas and creams before the winter months shut down the roads.
“I’ll come,” says Harry immediately. Anything traveling sounds fun.
“You’ve got chores,” his mum reminds him. “And Gemma needs some beauty creams for her upcoming wedding.”
“That makes sense,” Harry says, shoveling eggs into his mouth to hide his disappointment. “After all, she’s going to have to look beautiful to trick Robert into marrying her.”
Gemma uses her foot to shove Harry off his chair. He spills all his eggs on the way down.
—
There’s nothing wrong with Harry’s life, exactly. He enjoys the chickens. And the goats. He doesn’t particularly care for the cows, but the barn cat more than makes up for them.
He’s in no danger of starvation and the village has never had to worry about flooding or other natural disasters. Everything is pretty much as okay as it can be, and so Harry thinks he can’t really complain.
But he does, just a little. In his heart. It would be nice to be somewhere else sometimes. He’d like to know what other places are like. Once in a while, at least.
As he’s delivering milk and collecting the old glass bottles from the houses near the center of the village, he spots the traveling apothecary. It’s not hard to miss — a large, dark wooden caravan with a tarp laid out in front of it so that wares could be properly displayed. There’s a decent crowd around, but after a good look Harry decides that his mum and Gemma are not among them.
… No harm in taking a look for himself, right?
Leaving the wagon with its milk bottles, Harry scuttles over to join the crowd. There’s a woman at the rear of the caravan who seems to be in charge, exchanging notes and instructions about administering products. She has dark eyes and a kind smile and moves with an air of confidence.
Harry’s about to come closer, to see what they’re offering that his mum was so interested in procuring, when he’s grabbed by the shoulder and pulled backward, behind to the far side of the caravan, shaded and dark, and into the small woods behind it.
“You!” accuses a boy Harry’s never seen before. “You took my ring!”
Harry blinks at him. He looks to be a little older than Harry, with a feathery fringe hidden by a large pointed hat and striking blue eyes that stand out against his coveralls.
“I didn’t take anything,” Harry says, immediately defensive. “And I’ve never seen you before!”
The boy pulls a face. “It’s on your finger,” he says, grabbing Harry’s wrist and holding his hand up between them.
“I didn’t take it, though,” Harry argues. “It was on the ground! I just picked it up!”
The boy levels him with a look, cocking his head. He’s lovely, is the thing. Much more so than anyone in the village. His hat slides sideways with his pose and Harry glimpses something… off.
His eyes widen and the boy realises his mistake, dropping Harry’s hand to jam the hat back on his head. “Give it back,” he says with conviction, holding the hat in place.
“You’re not human,” Harry says.
The boy looks murderous. “It’s mine,” he growls.
Harry sticks his hand behind his back. “I want to know what you are,” he says.
“That’s none of your business, and if you tell anyone I’ll make sure you— you suffer,” the boy sounds unsure. Like he doesn’t actually have threats lined up.
“I’m not gonna tell someone,” Harry says, aghast. Secrets are important, after all.
“Of course you are,” says the boy. “Everybody does. It’s why we keep moving.”
“Are you that bad at hiding?”
“I— no! That’s why I have the ring, now give it back.”
“I’ll give it back,” Harry says. “If you tell me your name.”
The boy narrows his eyes. “That’s dangerous,” he says. “Why?”
“Because I want to know more about you,” Harry says with feigned nonchalance. “You’re the most interesting thing in this village and I like interesting things.”
“You want to collect me,” accuses the boy.
“I want to be your friend,” counters Harry.
The boy takes a step back and crosses his arms. “Swear to me you’ve not got ill will.”
“I swear it.”
“No, really swear it.” He holds out one hand, pinky up.
Harry holds up his hand — the one without the ring — and links pinkies with the stranger. It feels ridiculous and serious. “I swear I’ve got no ill will,” he says.
A spark shoots up between their fingers and both of them jump back.
“That’s never happened when I swore before,” Harry says.
“Me neither,” says the boy. “That’s probably not good.”
“Or it’s very good.”
The boy looks at him. His hat has fallen crooked again, revealing one pointed ear. “I’m Louis,” he says.
“Were you born in France?”
Louis shakes his head. “Mum says I was born in a field of french lavender, but Lavender is a girl’s name.” He cocks his hip. “Can I have my ring back?”
Harry pouts. “Fine,” he says, sliding it off his finger. There’s a green line where it’s been sitting all day.
He drops it into Louis’ open palm, and watches Louis immediately fit it onto his ring finger.
Suddenly, there’s nothing odd about his ears at all, and his eyes are a little less piercing.
“Well, I have to go,” Louis says, backing up.
“Wait,” Harry argues. “You can’t just go!”
“I have to help my mum.” The look on Louis’ face is apologetic. “Our first day is our busiest day, and I can’t just leave her with all the work.”
He gives a little half-wave and then leaves Harry standing there, watching him step with feet just a little too light around the corner of the caravan.
Harry stays a moment later and then frowns and goes back to his milk bottles across the other side of the road. He tries to catch a glimpse of Louis again as he passes by the caravan but to no avail, he just sees the woman who must be his mum.
—
The caravan leaves two days later.
Harry actually goes and gets a look at everything once before it does, but he never sees Louis again. There’s a closed off section where he thinks he must be, but Harry’s too much of a coward to ask the woman if he can visit.
So the caravan leaves, and Harry’s life resumes as normal.
Except there’s still a green line around his finger, where the ring sat for less than a day.
The late summer sunshine turns to autumn breezes and then winter knocks, cold and snowy, at their door.
There’s still a green line around Harry’s finger.
His mum tells him that the green left by copper should’ve faded immediately. She takes him to the local apothecary but the salve he gives is no help, and just leaves his hand feeling fishy.
Winter is long and dark and dreary before it finally relents into spring, and by the time spring is warm enough to be considering summer, Harry is convinced that he’s going to have a green finger forever. It’s what he gets for trying on strange rings belonging to stranger boys that he picked up in a chicken coop.
By the time the traveling apothecary comes around again, Gemma is off and married and has left Harry as the lone child left in the house. He’s okay with it, although truth be told he does miss her sometimes.
The traveling apothecary opens for business on the first truly warm day of spring, and Harry considers not going. He considers just doing his chores and getting on with his life and avoiding Maisie, who seems desperate to get him to propose now.
He considers all that, but the green ring on his finger tugs at his mind, and eventually he gives in.
The woman isn’t in charge this time, when he walks up. She’s there, beautiful as last year, sitting on a low bench with a cup of tea steaming in her hands. In the middle of the action is Louis himself, hat askew and with human ears, haggling with three people at once.
Harry stands and watches but there never seems to be a free moment. He walks closer but never close enough to catch Louis’ eye. He doesn’t realise how close he’s gotten until the woman puts down her cup of tea and motions him over.
“Hello,” Harry says. “Sorry, did you need something?”
“Let me see your hands,” she says to him, soft but commanding.
Harry obediently holds out his hands.
She lifts his right hand, the one with the green shadow on the pointer finger. “So you’re the one,” she says.
“Uh,” says Harry.
“You found his ring, did you?”
Harry glances over and sees Louis watching them now. He swallows. “Maybe,” he says. “But I gave it back!”
“As we’re all very glad you did,” she says, smiling at him. “Come now, we have things to discuss.”
She leads him by the hand up the steps and into the caravan, behind the curtain up to the front of it. “Louis will be along momentarily,” she says, taking a seat and motioning for Harry to do the same. The area is covered with cushions and blankets tacked up against the walls, their bright colours giving everything a feeling of home.
She hasn’t stopped smiling, and her eyes are so terribly, terribly kind that Harry feels safe but all the same he feels unendingly confused.
Then there’s a stomping of feet and a “Mum!” and Louis bursting through the curtain behind them. “Mum, you’re interfering.”
“Well darling, you’re much too slow,” she replies. “It would have been years of circling this village before you even got the courage to ask his name, I’m just speeding the process along a bit.”
“That’s not—” he grimaces. “This is embarrassing.”
“I’m Harry,” Harry says, raising a finger. “If that’s what we’re talking about?”
“Yes, that’s what we’re talking about,” the woman says. “I’m Johannah. Lovely to meet you, Harry.”
“Not lovely,” Louis says. “Mum! Please!”
“Fine, fine,” she says, laughing as she stands. “But only because you’re stubborn.”
She parts the curtain and exits, and Louis stands and waits until her footsteps recede before turning back to Harry. “Please don’t judge me for throwing a tantrum in front of my mum,” he says.
“Oh,” says Harry. “I mean, of course not.”
Louis sits where Johannah had been and faces him. “I did something bad,” he says.
“Bad?” asks Harry, feeling whiplash.
“Yeah, I did something that I shouldn’t have done, and it involves you, and then I got scared and ran away.”
“Did you break into my chicken coop?” asks Harry. It seems logical. The ring was there, and his chickens produce excellent eggs.
“What?” asks Louis, frowning. “No. I— I did a bit of magic to find my soulmate—”
“Magic?”
“And my ring found you, but then I got too scared to tell you—”
“The ring found me?”
“But when you swore that oath with your finger in mine it bonded us—”
“It what now?”
“And then I got scared again because I made it worse so I ran away and I didn’t even tell my mum until winter because I was so embarrassed.”
Harry looks at the green mark on his finger. “So this isn’t just a really bad allergic reaction?”
Louis looks at the mark. “I mean it could be,” he says. “If that’s what you want. We’re leaving in two days and won’t be back for ten months.”
“Oh,” says Harry. He thinks about his life with the chickens and the goats and the cows and his parents. “Are you saying the other option is that I come with you?”
“You don’t even know me,” Louis says, sounding exasperated. “I couldn’t ask that of you!”
“That’s true,” Harry says. “I think that would be a wild thing to do.” He looks at the bronze ring on Louis’ finger. “Why were you trying to find your soulmate?”
“Why— I mean why wouldn’t I?” Louis asks, looking positively dumbstruck. “Your soulmate is your other half, the person who completes you. A lot of people don’t even get a soulmate, they’re rare and special!”
“I’m not rare and special,” Harry says. “I’m pretty bog standard, honestly.”
“Well maybe to everyone else,” Louis says. “But not to me.”
“You don’t know me.”
“But I’d like to.”
Harry frowns and thinks of the girls in the village who keep hinting at weddings and rings and flowers and babies. He thinks of his sister and her husband, and their small plot of farmland, and their desire to do more.
He thinks of the way things feel a little different since he first looked in Louis’ eyes, almost a year ago now. They’re not very different. The world didn’t tilt on its axis and he has no grand purpose that he didn’t have before.
But maybe… a little different. Maybe different enough?
“There’s nothing unusual about me,” he says. “But there’s something unusual about you, and maybe I’d be okay with finding out more about that.”
“Maybe unusual is only ever true about someone else,” Louis says. “He slips his ring off of his finger and holds it out to Harry. “If everything goes horribly, horribly wrong we’ll be back here in ten months.”
“If everything goes horribly right?”
“We’ll still be back here in ten months, but happier.”
Harry slips the ring on his finger, over the green. He looks up and sees the brightness in Louis’ eyes, his pointed ears.
“Does it matter that I’m not… like you?”
Louis smiles, and his teeth are just a little sharper than Harry had thought. “That’s the thing about soulmates,” he says. “I think you’ll find we’re more similar than we used to be.”