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The room was spinning, and dangerously bright. The walls of Halt’s cottage looked like they were caving in, or crumbling, or maybe they just weren’t there at all. Will couldn’t tell. He reached out to touch them but they suddenly seemed impossibly far away. And his body felt like he was trying to push through syrup. Thick and tiresome. He blinked and suddenly it was night. Or was it always night? He was outside now, lying on the wet grass, looking up at an impossibly black sky. There weren’t any stars.
“Will get up!”
Will woke, his mouth was dry and his head was pounding. It took him a moment to remember where he was, what he was doing, and why he wasn’t wearing any clothes. He shivered beneath his thin sheets, even as the morning light streamed in through his window in Halt’s cabin. The sky outside was a baby blue, with gentle wisps of clouds. Birds were singing, sitting on the roof of the lean-to, planning on stealing Tug's oats probably. Had last night even been real? It barely felt real. He vaguely remembered dancing…
”Will!” Halt called from the kitchen. He smelled fresh coffee and toast. Maybe eggs on a hot plate over the fire? His stomach grumbled in response. Will swung his feet onto the cold floor and struggled to stand. His sheets fell away and he stood like that for a second, totally naked, just blinking and trying to come to life. Halt chose that moment to walk in.
“Bloody teenagers,” Halt grumbled as he eyed Will off. “I suppose you’re feeling good about yourself.”
“Halt, get out.” Will snapped, scrambling for his sheets, but Halt did not get out. He stood in the doorway, arms folded, brow sinking lower over his eyes.
“I’ve seen it all, boy.” He gruffed, “Hurry up and get out here. You’ve got explaining to do.”
Explaining? Halt marched away back into the kitchen.
“Oh no.” Will groaned as the night came rushing back in full force. Him lying on the grass. Halt dragging him back inside. Halt’s carpet… his poor carpet. Will shuddered but hurried to get dressed. Halt was waiting for him when he came out. Sitting at the table, glasses on, sipping a coffee and reading the Redmont Herald. He looked up at Will. Will sat down opposite him. Halt slid a steaming coffee to him and Will took it gratefully.
“I’m not totally heartless,” Halt said, almost under his breath. Will cringed.
There was a silence between them.
“So,” Halt said, looking up over his glasses. “How long?”
How long since you’ve been doing drugs? The question half asked, but it didn’t have to be finished. Truthfully, Will was almost glad he’d finally been caught. It had been a nightmare keeping it a secret. The late nights. Early mornings. Always trying to pass his symptoms off as a sickness, a trauma, or anything other than a relapse. Since he’d come back from Skandia, everyone had known about his stint with warm-weed. They’d been sympathetic, gentle with him. Never blaming him for things they didn’t think he could control. And for a long while after his return, he’d been preoccupied and hadn’t had a chance to process things. But then the war had ended, and everyone had gone back home. And Will had time to think. And with that time, came the itch. Quiet at first. At the back of his mind. Ignorable. But day by day, it grew in weight, taking up the room in his lungs, in his mind. Sitting on his shoulders like a rock. And it had been George’s fault really. He’d confided in his old friend about his struggles.
“I’ve got just the thing.” Said George, “It’ll scratch the itch, and won't knock your brains out.”
“Is it safe?” Will had asked.
“Perfectly. And it’s not even addictive.”
What a lie.
George had given him a new plant, with tiny white seeds. “You grind it up or put it in your coffee. That’ll set you right. The scribes do it all the time. Helps them stay awake.”
And at first, it had been exactly as advertised. Will had improved in leaps and bounds. He was back to his old capabilities in no time. He used it once a week until that wasn’t enough. Then twice a week. Then every other day. Then every day. Until it was too much. He felt guilty every time Halt looked at him. He felt like the seeds must glow in his pocket. Like everyone in the whole world must be able to see what he had, what he was doing. And Halt was suspicious, that much was clear. Will’s focus started to decline, and suddenly those little white seeds were the only things that were keeping him functioning. He had to slip off a few times a day and drink his coffee in private. Halt had followed him a few times and Will had been forced to skip his dose. The lack made him tired, unfocused, and irritable.
The last time he saw George he asked him what the scribes did to quit. George said he didn’t know. No one had ever quit before.
Halt cleared his throat and shuffled his newspaper and Will let out a long sigh.
“About a month after we got back to Araluen.” He said.
Halt’s eyes were unreadable. Steely grey, fixed on his newspaper. The disappointment must be bitter.
“So three months.” Said Halt.
“Yes.” Will dropped his gaze to Halt’s newspaper. The lines ‘The Ranger’s greatest failure’ popped out at him and for a moment, he thought maybe it was him. Halt folded the newspaper and put it away before Will could confirm.
“What are you taking?” Halt took his glasses off and rubbed a hand across his face.
“It’s this-”
“Show me.” Said Halt.
Will stood uneasily, and he expected Halt to follow him, but the Ranger stayed at the table sipping his coffee. He retrieved the seeds from his room, and pressed them between his palms as if hiding them was going to make things better. Back at the table, he handed them to Halt. Halt took them and looked closely.
“Will do you know what this is?”
“No.”
Wil hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t need the name of the next thing he’d been addicted to. As if not knowing meant it didn’t count. He hung his head and slumped back down at the table.
“I have no idea. Only that it works.”
Halt reached over and took his hand. Will flinched at the touch.
“When I came back from Skandia… I wasn’t okay. Things happened that I never told you about.”
“I know.”
“I just needed something to get me through the day. Never meant for things to go this far.”
“I know.”
Will’s heart tightened and it suddenly became much harder to breathe.
“I’m sorry Halt. I..” Tears started in his eyes, because what could he say? What could make this better? What could take away months of dishonesty? How disappointed Halt must be.
“It’s warm-weed, Will.”
Will went numb. “What.”
It made sense. Of course, it made sense. How easily it soothed the itch. The familiarity in his addiction. But where had George gotten it from and why would his friend give it to him? The question was sour in his mind.
“It’s less potent, in its seed form.” Halt said gently, “But the long-term effects are just the same. Particularly in the case of previous addiction.” Halt said that last part so softly.
Previous addiction.
Will felt disgusting. In his attempts to get away from the drug that had brought so much anguish to him, he’d only brought it closer. Brought it into his home. Halt’s home. The whole space felt poisoned now. How stupid could he be? How stupid must he have been to take it in the first place? It didn’t matter how cold it was, he should have fought. He had spent so long learning to be strong. Why had he been so weak? How could one tiny plant bring him down? Not just once, but twice?
“After Skandia, I should have known better.” Will had to force every breath. “I should never have taken it in the first place.” He planted his elbows on the table and raked his fingers through his hair.
Halt reached across and grabbed his shoulder. “You were just a boy back then, Will. You can’t blame yourself.” There was so much sympathy in Halt’s voice that Will wanted to disappear. “You’re still only a young man even now. This kind of mistake comes naturally to those your age, particularly to those who go through what you went through. But Will this can’t define you. This can’t be your end. You can’t be a ranger and continue down this path.” Halt said.
Will felt sick. ”You’re kicking me out?” He whispered.
“Of course not, never. Ranger or not, you’re always welcome here.” Halt smoothed the newspaper on the table, “But this has to end. I need you to stop.”
Will stared hard at the table, eyes blurring with the tears that just wouldn’t stop. “Halt I don’t know how.”
“That’s fine. I just need you to be willing.”
“I’ll do anything.” Said Will.
“Good. Tell me everything I need to know.”
And so Will told him everything, start to finish. Everything he endured. Every lash and harsh word. The long days spent in the yard. The first time he’d taken warm-weed. How he had struggled when they came home. How he’d confided in George. Halt listened without talking, and by the time Will was done, he was crying and ragged, having purged his soul of the weight it carried. Halt merely stood and put the kettle on for another pot of coffee. Then he brought breakfast back to the table. Will wasn’t hungry. But he ate anyway, feeling light and heavy all at the same time. While Will was eating, Halt picked up the warm-weed seeds.
“Is this all of it?” he asked.
Will nodded.
Halt folded it and put it in a pocket beneath his cloak. Will knew what was to come and silently vowed to stay strong this time. He glanced out the window again. It was Autumn, the season for change.