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Bushels of lilac stretched across the modest plain of land, the masses creating a deep and lush sea of beauty. The lavender field was enclosed by a stone wall, where wild vines had quickly found their home. The quaint garden was the Janus’ family’s pride, the arrangement a spectacle that many a passersby couldn't help but gaze upon. Though the family’s living quarters were smaller than most Cielian neighborhoods, the garden made it seem like the welcomings of a palace tucked into the outskirts of the grand city.
Humbly, the family worked in the lavender after previous labors in city council matters, tending to miscellaneous weeds, watering weekly, and properly pruning as necessary.
The plants were not difficult to take care of, but even the most carefree of plants needed extra attention on some days of the week. The family knew this, and it was with happiness that they tended to their garden- ever so together. Wide garden hats, made from gerricon straw, were regularly doned on their heads as they kneeled in the dirt and talked together in their native tongue to progress through the chore quickly.
After they finished tidying up their flowered lawn, and wiped their brows of perspiration, they set their tools in their proper places; tidiness was a virtue they did not pass up.
The entrance of their home, surrounded by pots of homegrown vegetables, was lined with hanging threaded baskets, their fibers intertwining in an intricately foreign fashion that told the Cielian world an elven family dwelled there, for better or for worse. It was a delicate and sweet life they lived, and neither of them ever did dare complain.
The more privileged families had the habit of sending their children to seasonal school and kept them indoors for most of the sunshine hours. The Janus parents had decided early on that they would not raise their young that way, as it was not right nor natural.
Elven childhoods in the country contained a rare type of blissful freedom: it was thus the arrangement of the summer.
Deep in the small Janus forest, a figure stirred amongst the sheets of planted purple. Her boots dug into the dirt, the tips already covered in dried flecks of earth. Hunched and determined, her swaying shawl hugged her sides as she reached for the thin stems.
She made sure to take extra care when handling the flowers, as to not make them shed their petals too soon. It had happened countless times before, and she was not to carry bare stems while her parents contained their laughter from afar again. She was older now, and took pride in learning from her past silliness and skylarking.
Her task accomplished, the girl tenderly caressed the bundle against her chest as she stood up, dust collecting around her legs. Lavender was grown alongside many elven crops by local farmers for their healing properties, which cured many of life’s blemishes. It was not uncommon for lavender bushels to be given to a grieving family after a burial, as an omen of relief and assurance.
The peak of the final sunrises of summer was an anxiety for those who had expectations carved on their foreheads. Young Layra knew of just the person that needed such omens.
“Where are you taking those flowers, Layra?”
The patriarch of the household, Ryul Janus was known to be as stoic as he was gentle. His kind eyes were framed by kind wrinkles, and he was very seldom seen with his beard shaven.
His daughter was a curious one, but he let her roam as freely as she wanted- under a close and careful watch. Though, more often than not, she had a reputation for being a wanderer.
The girl rearranged her filled basket over her arm as she opened their garden gate, and where she stood immediately became shrouded in purple scales.
“Oh.. I’m bringing them to a friend.”
—
The twilight view from their residence on the cliffside had been a evident distraction. Max had let his mind become shrouded in a daydream, so much so that he had begun to tap his quill against his temple in deep thought, not realizing that he had dabbled some ink on his dress shirt (a mistake that his mother would not be keen about). The buffer caused him to neglect his work, and his father, coming in at the wrong time, shut the drapes with a force that almost took the curtain rod with it.
The boy’s study was in need of a good dusting. Stacks of yellow paged books sat atop a delicately carved table, along with his dwindling candle, which demanded a change of flame.
Max knew exactly what his father wanted from him. It was an expectation that was as plain as daylight. He was to go to a prestigious academy for young stonekeepers and continue the Griffin family tradition of high marks, high praise and outrageously high amounts of respect from his peers.
He couldn’t say that he was thrilled about the exchange he had with his father the night before. The tension continued to linger in their home, and it became unbearable for the father-son pair, though neither would vocalize it out of haughtiness. But the point had been made; Max had no choice but to be reduced to a boy who was stripped of all his leisure. There was plenty of studying to be done if he were to remain the top of his class, which could be easily accomplished, but he knew that he would never measure up to the top of his fathers good graces.
That was a feat that would take a lifetime of refining and failure.
Instead of writing out which defense patterns were best when faced with an opponent with a weapon, Max doodled on the side of the parchment, letting his mind wander for a few minutes longer, as that luxury would surely come once in a blue moon as he became a full time student.
Those short minutes easily turned into hours, and by nightfall, Max had failed to complete his work, let alone fill out his application to the training academy. The form lay blank on his desk, and it easily could have been mistaken for an ancient relic that contained dark magic with how afraid of it he was.
A yelling fit was what he would receive from his parents if his persisting procrastination on the matter ever surfaced. He had been keeping a monthly streak of staying a good distance away from it, but the deadline was fast approaching and he was close to being left behind with ruined eardrums.
Feeling dizzy, he crawled under his bed covers and attempted to close his eyes and dream a nightdream for once.
-
The boy faced a scolding the next morning, but under his fathers annoyingly close supervision, he sent in his application in a manila envelope. His father examined the letter and harshly stamped the Griffin family seal on the front. The glint of the seal under the light was… threatening.
Roy Griffin would guarantee that his son's marks be reviewed and received well by the academy board, thus granting him a spot with assurity. He was rather affable with the Council, and he knew how to worm his way to all kinds of promotions and advantages with a sharp, velvety tongue.
Either that, or he would pay his way through.
Max wanted to go to the academy ever so badly, especially after meeting graduated stonekeepers in the flesh, but he knew he wasn’t prepared for the pressure he would undergo as a result. Hours of admiring academy trainees practice on each other in the recreational courtyards (after waiting for his fathers guard duty to expire for the day) had helped Max with his skills as a beginner, but he still had much to learn.
The duties of a stonekeeper were not always pleasant, and the final exams were notoriously rigorous.
His father squeezed his shoulder- the only affectionate action he considered fatherly- and left the room after filling his head with new anxieties. Max immediately pulled out a fresh quill and began his letter.
‘Dear Layra-‘ was scratched out soon after he found he was speechless. What would he tell her? He wasn’t accepted by the academy yet, and it would be some time before he would pack his bags.
He told himself he simply needed someone wise to talk to. She knew of his pressures better than anyone. Max’s crystal clear future was not something he spoke of to even the most favorable of his peers, but with Layra, it was different. He felt as if she were his one saving grace in his world of threatening responses to his inattentive nature. She took advantage of his absentmindedness, but she was never quick to rebuke him for it.
His whole life was a generationally crafted brick building that he was tempted to knock down by the foundation: it wasn’t as strong as his father intended. There were already cracks starting to surface, but Max hid them well.
Layra was someone he could turn to who resided outside of his circle of expectations, and her life was something out of a storybook that he slightly envied.
He crumbled up the parchment and threw it behind his cot’s headboard, deciding that it was best to tell Layra everything in person. Rather than study with his dull classmates, he often met with Layra in town, and together, they poured over thick volumes of both histories and fantasies. It was a recurrence that he looked forward to, as Layra was the only person he could truly call a friend. What his father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
-
The lavender basket was held out to him so that he could take it, but he just stared.
“What’s this for?”
“I thought you might like them,” Layra said as she plucked a withering petal from its stem. “They would look nice on your desk, the one by the window. I would be able to see it from outside.”
Max nodded, only half understanding what her gift meant, and took the basket in hand. The lavender was beautiful, but the boy couldn’t help but wonder why Layra had chosen to give the blossoms to him of all people. Lavender was said to be immensely symbolic, almost sacred, to the elves. Was he really that special?
Layra beamed at him, and Max realized he hadn’t said his thanks yet. He smiled down at his gift and gave his graditudes with a new sensation stirring in his chest, one he would find to never get used to as he grew older.
Together they roamed the Cielis streets, passing through vendor after vendor. Max had been given his allowance, and he delicately unwrapped his money cloth to pull out a few coins. They sat by the grand fountain and ate their pax fruit, with the lilac bushel settled between them.
They giggled together about unimportant things for some time, but sooner than later the important topics surfaced. Max confided to Layra about everything; sending in his application to the hoighty-toighty academy, the possibility of having to board at the school, training under masters, and finding new friends. It didn’t register until then that he had been keeping so much concern inside his small body.
“I don’t know if I am ready for change, Layra. My mother says I get too comfortable for my own good.”
His legs wouldn’t stop jittering as they dangled off the edge of the fountain’s ledge.
Layra gazed at the stone tiles, deep in contemplation. “Well,” she started, “it won’t be all bad. You will become a stonekeeper, just like you have always wanted. And you might find that you will get too comfortable there and never want to come back.”
Max laughed. “Perhaps. But I doubt that I will ever find comfort living with stuck up know-it-alls.”
Layra rested her chin in her palm, a joking twinkle in her eyes. “But I thought I was a know-it-all, and you tolerate me just fine.”
The teasing continued. “I don’t know about that.”
Layra playfully swatted at his arm and regathered the flowers. “Lets take these back to your house! I don’t want them to wilt.”
His father was sure to ask about this one, Max thought, but he proudly carried them through his door anyway as the friends parted ways.
They started a tradition of sorts, with Layra picking out the best collection of lavender flowers she could find. The girl elf was meticulous, and it amused her parents greatly.
-
Acceptance day came and went. His future came in an almost laughably small letter that had the Council crest on the front, all else bare. He ripped it open with his heartbeat crawling up his larynx.
The letter read:
“To the parents of
Maximillian R. Griffin,
After much consideration and assessment, we have found your son to be worthy in commencing his training under master stonekeepers and professors of the magical arts.
He will arrive on xX-XX of this year, and will need the following to begin his first year.
On behalf of the staff and councilmen, we are delighted to have him with us as an understudy. We acknowledge the Griffin name, and find ourselves honored in teaching the new generation of skilled stonebearers.
-Guardian Stonekeeping Academy”
Max felt his stomach do a very bad flip. The panjumdrum of it all…
That night he was given extra sweets with his dessert, as a ‘reward’ for a job well done, but they sat neglected after he finished pretending to eat. He felt sickened, and yet… delighted? He had passed his father’s tests of merit, and he could see the pride on his face.
Though the boy’s own pride plummeted at the knowledge that his tests of satisfactory accomplishments were indeed not over yet; they had only just begun.
-
“You abandoned your studies to be here?” Layra shut the book she was reading out loud with an unintentional slam.
Max only sat nonchalantly, leaning on his hands which were stretched out behind his back.
Bad posture was his rebellion.
“It will be alright, Layra.”
He wished he had kept his gaping codfish of a mouth shut so that Layra would continue her reading instead of chatising him. They had gotten to the good part, the part where the war unfolds and the vivid action starts.
Predictably, Layra started her bouts of worry.
“But what about last time- and the time before that? You got in trouble, didn’t you?”
The boy remained unbothered. “Yes, but I really don’t care what happens anymore.”
Layra persisted, collecting her belongings. “Really, Max, I don’t think you should do this, your father…”
“Would you stop worrying about my father? He should be content that I am at least passing every class and evaluation.” Max angrily scratched at the back of head. “Please, let’s not talk about it any further.”
Layra paused, thinking over her next words consciously.
“Max, I know you’ve been working hard… but your father is working harder because he cares about you. He cares about your studies. He cares about…”
Max had been flipping through a random book, something about cartography, in an attempt to give Layra the message that he was not listening to what she had to say. It was a rude gesture that made the elf irritated.
Layra slung her leather bookbag over her shoulder with a murmur and made for the exit. “I will see you next week, then.”
She berated herself on her long walk home, through the muddy roads and puddle flooded grass, knowing that she had acted selfishly. The first few months of his training had been rough on him- she had seen the small scars on his forearms. It saddened her that he seemed out of place and lonely in the academy, and all of it was to uphold his family name.
In an act of redemption, she would make it up to her burden laden friend that all she had ever done was try to help.
-
Layra walked through the courtyards, searching for that familiar head of unkempt black hair.
She passed through tall hedges and a decorative gazebo, and soon spotted Max chatting with other children, all dressed in their academy uniforms. She should have been intimidated by the older boys and girls, all wearing a stone of power around their necks, but she didn’t feel the slightest bit nervous around them. The freshly picked batch of her most prized possesions, clutched snugly in Layra’s hands, stood tall and proud, the colors as vibrant as anyone could hope for.
Layra had made sure to observe their growth from seed to sproutling for the best results, and she was proud to present them to Max. He had been kind enough, after all, to spend most of his free time (and some of his study time) with her every week.
A tap on the shoulder was all it took to get his attention.
He turned his neck to look at her from his position on the stone steps, but didn’t grin up at her. His face wore a surprised expression, amd it wasn’t one Layra was used to seeing.
“Max, I brought you these.”
His cheeks flushed, he looked nervously to his left as the students beside him snickered. With nervous hands, he took the bundle but did not say a word in return. The band she had wrapped the stems with all of a sudden seemed intriguing to him. Layra continued.
“I was hoping to find you here. After not finding you at your usual spot in the library, I almost headed back.”
Max abruptly stood up, embarrassed that she had mentioned their usual meeting place, and led her away from the steps, where, of course, the students had started to make cooing noises.
Certain the twittering children could not hear them by a coppice of laeba trees, Max sighed. He wasn’t about to blow his top and say something he would later regret: he would keep it civil.
“Thanks for the lavender. It was… nice of you.”
Layra found the hesitation in his voice odd. He knew that she would bring him flowers; she always did. She decided to explain herself.
“Because of the rainstorm yesterday, I couldn’t come earlier. Mother made me keep them in a vase overnight.”
Max nodded, his eyes seeking something to gaze upon in every direction but where Layra was standing.
“Is there- is there something wrong?”
Layra kept her voice at a moderately low volume, knowing that he didn’t want the evesdroppers to overhear.
Max closed his eyes as he sighed once more, like he was blinking in slow motion.
“It’s just… for next time, don’t try to get my attention in front of all those kids- Elrese and them. They don’t fully understand our friendship and- I don’t think I want them to yet.”
It took several seconds too many for Layra to comprehend Max’s words, but she nodded along nevertheless. What was he meaning? He was the one who had abandoned their original plan and was acting strangely.
Layra shyly gazed at the others behind Max’s shoulder, and made her decision. “I better go. Mother is waiting for me. She told me to wish you good luck on your exams. I am sure you will do wonderfully.” With a sad smile, she headed back from where she came, refusing to wonder any longer about why Max had developed a new behavior while he was at school.
She kept quiet the rest of the evening, using head nods and shakes to do all the talking. Her parents assumed she was simply exhausted and sent her to bed early. Sleep did not come to her easily.
So her fear of Max changing had come true.
-
The small Cielis library remained their sanctuary, but it was a quiet one. Read alouds soon turned into silent readings and awkward shufflings. Their reunions became shorter and shorter with each passing week. The girl worried that Max was becoming tired of having to spend time he didn’t have with her.
Layra had tried her hardest to extend his stay by telling him about her fathers promotion, their new cattlehorse, their gardens fresh pallonia that grew twice as long as last years, but no attempt proved of any use.
Their outings together slowly dwindled, and their distance didn’t go unnoticed by the other children.
One evening, Layra was told to go to town and pick up some produce. Times were getting harder for the family as the seasons phased. Their garden appeared nearly dead, and newly harvested food was running low.
She hated going alone, especially after her dilemma with Max, but her mother decided she was of age. Layra was an obedient child and didn’t make a fuss- out loud, at least.
As she walked back with her hand weaved basket full, a group of children, hollering and laughing, ran past her like she was a spiritual entity who haunted the area.
Max was at the head of the group, shouting nonsense along with rest of them. They decided to play in the Cielis City Reservoir, and Max, being a brashful boast of a boy, jumped in first, his pant legs rolled up over his knees. Layra made a face from the stone bridge, but looked down at the water to make sure he was alright. Sure enough, his head popped out from the pool and others soon followed his lead. The young elf tried to avoid any interaction as the kids splashed and capered.
The sound of water being pushed through the overflow pipes like miniature waterfalls prevented her from hearing the children down below, but she knew they were making fun of her from the way they were pointing and sneering. Their laughter echoed through the concrete reservoir, an eerie projection of taunts and jeers.
Layra, content she was on the surface, gave one last lingering look to the small figure she pinpointed as Max. She shook her head, aiming to forget it all, and continued her way down the bridge, past the aircraft ports and markets and crowds and wagons and groves of trees, until she finally made it to her beautiful purple sea on the hill.
That night, Layra sat by the fireplace with her head in her small hands, knowing full well that her mother didn’t recognize her calamity for what it was.
“I am sure Max did not mean to ignore you for so long.” Malal Janus was a soft-spoken and tender mother, but she often thought that no one was capable of doing any wrong, especially a child who had successful and wealthy parents. The Griffins seemed standoffish at times, but were all the more respected by everyone.
“Go speak with him tomorrow, Layra. I am sure all of it,” she said as she set down a bowl of saltah for her daughter, “was a misunderstanding.”
Layra trusted her mother’s judgment, like all daughters do, but her words of encouragement didn’t make her feel better. She knew that Max was acting differently around her, and it was because of those new friends he made at his stonekeeper training academy. She never had received such backward glances and backhanded remarks before, but she knew if she dared repeat what had been said, her mother would surely remove her from playing with any and all of the neighborhood children.
Her ears sagged well into the next morning, and she dreaded the thought of having to make the hike back up to Max’s beloved academy just to speak with him.
Weeks went by without the effort of going to visit Max again. Layra had soon begun to understand that she had no other close friends besides him… which was a pity.
The family was friendly to their neighbors, but didn’t engage with others if it was not strictly necessary. It was known courtesy to remain in people's good graces, and that meant only speaking when spoken too.
And so, most afternoons for Layra were spent quietly on the sur-side of the hill, filling up water buckets and washing her mother’s sashes.
Layra washed her hands in the garden spicket one afternoon, the bracing cold water making her skin flushed. She watched as dirt was washed up from underneath her fingernails and inspected a small cut on her wrist from her early morning encounter with a rose bush.
Max came up to her out of the corner of her eye, in the brazen way he always did, his cloak over his shoulders. He had a book tucked under his arm, and a more joyous Layra would have taken it out of his hands in an instant excitement. She dried her hands on the hem of her dress and stared at him with her big, wide eyes, waiting for him to open his mouth and say something.
Instead of avoiding her eyes and apologizing to her with a dejected look like she expected, Max opened the faded front cover of the book and presented her with a folded piece of paper that was wedged in between the pages.
“It’s a notice from the library. You never returned ‘An History of Skyway.’”
He gave it to her in silence, and Layra read over the short notice twice, not knowing what to say.
Max massaged his wrist in a nervous jitter when Layra remained quiet.
“Can we still be… friends?” The boy felt foolish, like he was pleading. He had been absolutely awful to her, and he wouldn’t put any blame on her if she were to refuse.
But Layra, the face of mercy, gave a coy smile. “Yes. But only if you walk me to the library and
promise to walk me back.”
A hand and a laugh of relief. “Deal.”