Ash grabs the last of the gear from where it had been tossed into a pile and hauls it to the center of their camp. His group chose a campsite a long hike away from the village, but they have brought enough provisions that they could set up a store themselves and will have little need of the village goods. The hired men, who have hiked the gear in from the canoes that carried it up the river, have returned to their boats to begin the journey back south. They have left them two canoes, which have been carried from the river and stashed near their tents.
James had wanted to bring a cooking tent complete with his favorite palace chef, but Ash had convinced him that they should keep it simple, and enjoy the pleasures of going without. He tries to push aside the awareness that packing eight canoes worth of gear and comfort items does not count as roughing it. He tries to ignore the presence of James’ bodyguard and two assistants, whom James insists should stay with them.
The bodyguard hovers about, scanning the trees as though expecting an assassin to come charging into their campsite. Ash sees James return from a path in the woods, holding his satellite phone. He leaves the assistants to wrestle with the tents. This is the most alone he has found James since they have left home, and he strides over to his brother before he makes it within the circle of tents.
“Why are we here, James?”
James jerks his head up. Something that looks like shame flashes across his brother’s expression, but it vanishes too quickly for Ash to be sure.
“Do I need a reason to spend time with my brother?”
Ash looks at the phone in his hand. James follows his gaze and sighs.
“I cannot be expected to completely turn away from my responsibilities, Ash. You’ve no idea what it takes to run a country.”
Ash’s best interrogation method with his brother has always been silence. It has not lost its power.
“Fine, Ash, if you must know, I have been asked by a friend to scout out land for an estate he hopes to build here. A personal preference for the wilderness, you know the type. Grand house with big windows so he can enjoy the views in comfort.”
Ash does not miss the hesitation before the word ‘friend,’ nor has he become so distant from his brother so as not to notice when James is evading the truth.
“You’re rambling,” Ash says in reply.
“So what? It’s true. He asked that I look for Sassafras trees. He’s partial to the tree. Not sure why. I told him we have more of those in the south than he could find in the north, but he’s partial to the north as well. So that’s the wish list. Sassafras trees and northern wilderness. But other than that little task, I’m free to cater to whatever my brother wishes.” James makes a sweeping bow to Ash.
The few homes they have seen are simple, sometimes well built and sometimes not, but not large enough to have more than two rooms. Even if Ash chooses to believe his brother, the idea of such a project here in this place that has become a haven for many of their people does not sit well with him.
“A mansion will be out of place here.”
James shrugs in response. “I’m not the architect.”
Despite his casual demeanor, Ash knows how his brother acts when he has messed up. In the past, Ash would help James come up with a way to let their father know the whole business, and they would face the consequences together.
“Look, Coal…” Ash begins.
The use of his former name seems to jolt James. “You can’t call me that, especially here. You can’t be naïve enough to think we’ll gain acceptance here as Prince Ash and Prince Coal. We are safer here as James and Ash.”
Ash decides on a less loaded question than the ones he wants to ask. “You really think we won’t be recognized?”
“Everyone expects you to be abroad if they think of you at all. It’s been four years. Mother was always careful to keep us out of the public eye. Father is the face of royalty here, not us.”
“They will think you are a tourist from overseas, with a name like James.”
James sighs. “Funny how a tourist from another country is more welcome in the north than a Prince Ash and Prince Coal would be. But you are wrong, you’ve been gone too long. Name changes have become common. It’ll attract little attention now.”
The reminder of Ash’s absence sits ill with him, bringing to mind all the ways he has failed his country, and his mother’s hopes for their people. James moves away to the center of the camp.
Ash watches the camp activity while trying not to think of his role in the evolving scene. He redirects his thoughts instead towards where to place his tent in their campsite. He is now used to pushing aside his concerns. He is distressed at his ability to effortlessly pivot his attention, at the same time that he justifies it to himself.
After all, this is likely the last chance Ash and James will have, to be simply brothers. Ash has no idea what he could do anyways. His attempts after his mother died had resulted in extradition from his own country. His more recent attempts resulted in the death of his bodyguard, and closest friend. At the same time, he knows he cannot run forever. At some point, he will be forced to act.
ASH IS UNPREPARED FOR how popular this northern village is in the warmer months. He examines the activity in the market square with interest but keeps himself apart from the crowd.
His brother is busy, talking to villagers about northern life, full of questions about the difficulties of the winters. They share their concerns, not knowing who he is, though they guess he is a man of some importance. Ash’s brows draw together in a scowl.
Movement on the outskirts of the market activity catches his eye, and he turns to watch a dark-haired woman plop onto the ground and arrange papers from a satchel about her. She seems about his age, with a timid air about her. It is the way she moves, with a sort of dancer-like quality, that captivates him.
This is the fourth day Ash has seen her. He has heard other villagers calling out her name in their hellos. Cedar. She weighs down stacks of papers with rocks before taking up a pencil and paper on her lap and looking off into the crowd. She studies people with a contemplative intensity. She avoids looking his way. Is it because she has noticed he watches her, or for some other reason? Likely she thinks he is yet another treasure hunter in search of the Governor’s stone.
His brother would say she is his type. The first day he had seen her, sitting on the outskirts of the village market-place he had immediately been drawn to her. He had almost flirted with her that first day, with the same indifference he always felt about whether a woman exchanged his interest or not. Something had stopped him.
The following day, he had been out walking around Lake Dolphin early in the morning and had seen her moving up a steep path with a canoe hoisted above her shoulders. His imagination had drifted to what sort of body her baggy t-shirts and boy’s jeans hid. She was small, but not frail.
On the third day, he had followed her, at a distance, down a path near his campsite. He had reassured himself that he was not being a creepy stalker. She was walking in the same direction as he was. Also, he was listening to birdcalls. He had always wanted to pursue his love of birds. When she had come to an open clearing, Ash had hung back, reluctant to give up the sheltering camouflage of the winding wood path, but unable to tear his eyes from the figure who danced across the clearing. He had wondered what music she heard, then remembered he was supposed to be listening to the song of the birds. Was she doing the same?
He had forced himself to turn back then, guilty of having infringed on that private moment.
Anything else he learns of this intriguing woman will be given freely by the lady herself.