Cedar dances on the paths to the village market. The sun is low in the sky and casts a golden glow. The leaves still shimmer with a vibrant green. Mountain bluebirds fly past. Life is just as colorful. The only shade of grey is the sadness of knowing summer is nearing the end.
She lets her satchel hang over one shoulder. She will redraw the final map today and begin adding colour tomorrow. She stops dancing and breaks into a jog.
It is not the progress on her maps that causes sparks of anticipation to shoot through her middle. Will she arrive before Ash returns to his camp for the evening? Grandma’s list of chores is growing more demanding and Cedar finished later than usual.
As she rounds the endless curves in the tree paths, she hears voices and slows her steps. Someone is shouting, and she is familiar enough with his voice to know it is Ash.
“These people have fled here for a reason, it is the one place where there is some semblance of freedom.”
“Their location and actions have always been known, Ash. Their flagrant rebellion of the ordinances has simply been tolerated.”
“Ordinances that are not our own,” Ash says.
“I’m not getting into that with you again.” James sighs so heavily Cedar can hear it from where she stands, obscured by trees and a bend in the path.
“Do you think a mansion is all he wants here? He can’t be trusted, James.”
Cedar backs up and pauses in thought before stopping to collect dry twigs. She deliberately breaks them before tossing them aside into the trees as she comes down the path the second time, making sure her approach is heard. The conversation ahead shifts to hushed tones. When Cedar comes into view, Ash is holding his hands in fists at his side, his expression stormy. The brothers look her way and Ash’s hands uncurl. James nods to Cedar before turning towards the village and leaving the two alone.
Ash runs a hand through his hair and smiles at her, but it falls far short of its usual confident charm. She sits down on the path, crosses her legs, and leans back on her hands. Ash leans against a tree and looks off at some undetermined mark in the trees.
She does not know how much time passes. They stay, until the colors of the sky change. Then Ash turns to walk off the path into the trees. Cedar rises from the ground and follows him. He walks farther from the village, deeper into the woods, twisting every direction, until the sky darkens completely. Only then does he stop.
“Do you have a sister or brother?”
“No,” she replies.
“Be grateful for that. Siblings have no sway over another, and there is nothing more painful than watching one you love descend in a pit of mire.”
“You don’t think the same way,” she guesses.
He laughs, an acerbic sound that is muffled in the thick trees.
After several quiet moments, he says, “I don’t know the way back. Do you?”
“Yes.” Even on a moonless night, her time of becoming lost in these woods is long behind her.
“Pity. I’d hoped to get lost in the woods with you.” His good-natured humour is back.
“I would not have followed you only to doom myself,” she shoots back with a grin.
He laughs again, this time a beautiful sound, clear and full, and she leads him out of the woods.
When they come out onto the paths that lead to Ash’s campsite to the south, and Cedar’s cabin a little farther north, Ash stops her. “I’ll take you home first.”
“Who do you think walked me home before you came?” she teases.
“Humour me. Maybe I’m still a little shaken up.” He reaches for her hand, and Cedar surprises them both by not pulling away. This feeling of being taken care of catches her off guard. They walk hand in hand until they come near the clearing where Grandma’s cabin sits in silent stillness.
Ash stops, abruptly withdrawing his hand and raising it in a stopping motion. He arches out his neck as though straining to hear. A moment later, his arm encircles her waist and he draws her off the path, into the trees.
Cedar imitates his crouching position and his silence. There is a sound of approaching steps. It is dark by now, but she immediately recognizes who rushes past them. Maybe by his shape, or his smell, or some other mental note she has tucked away in her subconscious. She shrinks back, trembling in the bush. She feels Ash brush against her as he rises to peer after the disappearing figure.
“Sorry, I guess I’m a little overreactive. Bad history. Probably someone visiting your Grandma.”
“He wasn’t visiting. Grandma wouldn’t let him in if he begged.”
Ash looks down at her.
“You know who that was?” he asks, reaching a hand down to help her to her feet.
Cedar ignores his hand, trying to still her trembling while rising to a standing position. She steps out from the cover of the bush.
“Samuel,” she says.
Ash moves onto the path, placing a hand on her shoulder. Has he noticed her reaction?
“Why is the village mayor spying on your cabin?”
Cedar snorts. “Self-elected mayor.”
“I take it you are not a fan,” Ash says.
“Are you?” she responds.
“I don’t trust any man who is easily persuaded by money,” Ash says, his voice laced with contempt.
She wonders what interactions he has had with Samuel to offer him that insight, but is too fatigued to ask. She sits on the path, leaning up against one of the large pine trees that encircle the clearing to Grandma’s cabin.
“I think I’ll rest out here for a few moments. You should get back to camp,” she says.
Ash sits near her, only facing the direction Samuel had gone. She tucks her hands underneath her before he can reach for one again.
A birdcall pierces the air around them, and Cedar responds in kind without thinking. The exchange of communication continues until she hears the bird call fade into the distance. Ash is watching her.
“It’s the closest I can get to singing.” She startles herself with the admission.
“I had thought to hear more singing here in the north. Isn’t that why so many people are leaving the south, for the freedom to read and have music?”
“Things are changing, even here.”
“You must miss the music.”
His voice is so genuine that she responds with vulnerable honesty.
“I’ve never had music. Not that I can remember. My Grandma has always forbidden it.”
“I’d heard your Grandma is opposed to the ordinances.”
“She is. She has other reasons.” Cedar thinks of telling him about her mother, and her death, but different words are pulled out of her mouth before she can stop and think. “I hear music sometimes. Inside me. It’s all I can do to keep it contained. Sometimes I think it will drive me insane not to let it out. I don’t know where it comes from.”
This admission does not give Ash the slightest pause. “There are underground musicians in the south. I can get you in touch with them. You could sing, or choose an instrument to play,” he says.
Cedar nearly blurts out a yes, willing right now to even beg him should he take back the offer. But her mind gets stuck in the logistics of how to make the dream a reality. Where would she work? How could she afford to feed herself? Where would she live? A memory shrouded in shadows inches into her mind, but she cannot bring it into focus. She strains to remember, but at that moment out of the corner of her eye, she sees the doorway to Grandma’s cabin open, bathing the porch with light.
She rises. “I’d better go.”
Before Ash gets to his feet, she is walking into the clearing.