“Are you sure we shouldn’t check on him?” Opal asked as she wrapped another bandage around her mother’s arm. Her open sore oozed on the dark fabric. She wished she had new dressings to care for her mother. No matter how many times she cleaned the reused bandages, the faint remnants of past bloodstains would not wash out nor could she rid them of the stench of death.

  Her mother’s condition was worse today. She awoke to eat whatever breakfast she could keep down. The rest of the day was spent dozing as sweat soaked into her cot. Opal was unsure if her mother dreamed, but she prayed that they were happy ones. Anything to relieve her from the dreary misery of her life. If she was stronger tomorrow, the senior healer would curse herself for wasting a day when she could instruct her daughter further on their craft. Opal remembered a year ago when Lydia explained what would happen. An eerie chill touched her at the mere memory. A matter-of-fact mother explaining her illness, and how much worse it would become. Some nights, she dreamed of that day. She always woke up with a miserable headache and dry throat.

  “No,” Ur answered, holding out the remaining bandages. As Opal bandaged her mother, he held his head high, averting his eyes from the healer’s ugly condition. The child requested to help and could not be deterred. He withstood the sight and smell better than grown men.

  Since Tristan fled from them, Ur kept close at hand. He claimed it was to watch out for her. “Women need protecting,” he said with his chest puffing out on more than one occasion. She smiled at his bravado, but Opal knew better. Whether he liked it or not, Ur was still a child. He was lonely and scared with no one else he could turn to. His best friend, the only brother he had, was losing his mind.

  No, he’s not, a little voice cried in her mind. Since Tristan almost attacked her, he had not shown his face. Opal was not sure if that was a good thing. At times, she doubted his grip on sanity, wondering if the accursed Lytta stole his soul, leaving a madman in his place. Ariel had its cases of madness in the past. After the death of her husband, an old woman named Gwyneth killed two men, claiming that if she took five more lives, her husband would return from the dead. Once, a man tried burning the wheat fields, believing that the fire would bring Prospero’s blessings on the village. Both individuals, and any other deviants of the like, were banished. Sent into the forest, their punishment would be delivered by the gods. Madness was not uncommon to the people of Ariel. However, it never happened to someone as young as Tristan. No, she reassured herself again. Tristan is not mad. She nodded to herself, refusing to give in to despair. Whatever problem he had would sort itself out in a few days. There was no reason to worry. At least, that was what she hoped.

  For now she let her thoughts focus only on Ur and her mother. They needed her. She could not help Tristan if his hand did not reach toward her outstretched palm. Despite Ur’s boasting, he never left the room, even when she stepped outside the home. He gave no reason for this strange inconsistency in his vow of protection. When she stepped out to fetch water or clean bandages, someone could hurt her. Yet, he stayed inside.

  He’s scared to see Tristan. The boy did not have to say it. His eyes whispered his fear, a terror that he had not realized himself. He believed Tristan had to work everything out himself, but he dwelled on the fact that he couldn’t do anything for his friend. More than that, he didn’t want to face the possibility that his friend might only slip further into madness.

  A knock resounded outside. Opal’s teeth grinded. No doubt someone else needed her care. Though her mother still lived, her daughter was the official healer of Ariel now, in function rather than name. Every day someone came with some ailment for her to treat. None of it was too serious. A few injuries from the fields. Esther came once a week complaining of her aching knuckles. The most common issue was with the bowels, a common problem with the elderly and malnourished. She had some difficulty herself from time to time, despite her age. It would seem that sleeping Prospero gave no thought toward the inner discomfort of his people. The bowels were one of Lydia’s first lessons. There were three remedies that helped: Asher Drop, Plopping Willow, and Quick Jasmine. She gave them a small dose of one. A few days after draining the effects started to wear off, they would come for more. “The key is to never give the same one twice in a row,” her mother had explained. “If they grow used to the same remedy for too long, it loses its potency. That’ll leave you with a far worse problem.”

  Approaching the door, Opal took a deep breath. Take the pained outstretched hand, she reminded herself, steeling her resolve. Her responsibility as healer weighed heavy, no matter how many times she helped with these simple tasks. She hoped that her confidence would arrive sooner rather than later. Guide them to being well. You are the healer of Ariel. Heal. She reached for the door, pulling it inward. A gasp burst from her lips. Standing in the door was a disgruntled youth. Dark lines under his eyes, he looked as if have hadn’t slept in days. “Tristan,” she breathed, unable to believe what she saw. He looked worse than the day before. It was as if he aged ten years. His face bore a haggard weariness. He always slept in his clothes, but they looked like someone dragged him through the dirt. His breathing was heavy as if just standing was difficult.

  They stood in silence until Opal struggled out, “Uh, are you here to see Mother?” She bit her tongue from the nonsense that spewed from her lips. What can Mother do for him? If he sought help, she was his only healer. This fact made her quiver in fear.

  In broken bursts, he stammered, cheeks flushing, “No. I-I want to talk to you.”

  She blinked at this, freezing in place. Sucking in a low breath, she prayed that she was ready for whatever would happen next. With a slow nod, she stepped outside, letting the door close. Gripping the handle, she hoped to keep Ur from seeing Tristan in this state. She waited in silence, ready for Tristan’s request, but he said nothing. They continued to stare at one another. Their silent standoff drug out for a long time. Feeling self-conscious, she folded her arms across her bosom. That was a mistake. Tristan’s flushed face turned a deeper red as his eyes darted away.

  Her heart fluttered as he gulped. She cursed her weakness. Now was not the time to be distracted by childish infatuation. Her face turned away from him, hiding her own flustered face. When did she realize that she held some love for this disheveled young man? Some nights she looked deep inside for the answer. It never revealed itself. All she knew was there was so much she wanted to say to him. Words she could not coax from her fragile heart.

  “I’m leaving,” he blurted at last.

  His words slammed into her chest, driving a gasp from her lungs. All thoughts of love flew from her mind. The last thought to remain was what she just heard. Her face twisted in disbelief. “You’re leaving? Why?” Those three words turned back and struck her, making her pain worse.

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  Tristan looked as miserable as she felt. “Something has come up,” he struggled to explain. “It’s important.”

  “You can’t leave Ariel,” she replied, struggling to remain calm. What he said was madness. Was his mind lost? “It’s death.”

  Everyone knew this. Since the mountain pass vanished in the forest, anyone who tried to leave never returned. Some wanted to believe they escaped, but all admitted the truth. That’s why Ariel banished dissidents into the forest rather than execute them. They were dead. “I know,” he answered with a shaky shrug. “But I have to go.”

  She gaped at him. He was not making any sense, not that he was trying to explain himself. Did he expect to tell her this and that would be the end of the conversation? “Why?”

  He raised his hands in defeat, having no further argument. “I just have to.”

  A flash of anger ignited her heart. “That didn’t answer my question,” she demanded, her eyes narrowing.

  Tristan took a step back, surprised by her sudden ferocity. Regret washed her with shame. He had not seen this side of her. She tried so hard to avoid it. All she wanted was his affection. For so long, she tried to avoid doing anything that might push him away, but what was the point of maintaining a fa?ade if he planned to leave her? Whatever it took, she had to convince him to stay.

  “I can’t,” he hissed under his breath, but not to her. He glanced to the side, speaking to the wind. The horror she feared revealed itself at last. His mind was gone.

  “Tristan,” she stammered. He looked back at her, a wild glint in his eye. Swallowing, she continued, “Why don’t you come inside? Rest for a little bit.” He shook his head. “You are a sick man. I’ll help you. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but maybe if we stick together, we can fight this.” Her cheeks were on fire. What was she saying? Did she plan to confess her childish love as well?

  She reached out to him, taking one of his hands, though he never extended it to her. His palm was cold as the dead. “Please,” she begged, rubbing his hand. “If you leave, I’ll be lonely. Stay here. Stay with me. Please.”

  Her plea hung in the air, the words echoing in her ears. “I’m sorry,” he answered, pulling his hand away. It felt as if he stabbed her. She blinked back a tear. “Listen. I can’t explain everything now. All I wanted to say was that I had to leave; but I’ll return as fast as I can. When I get back, I can tell you everything.”

  It felt as if Opal’s heart crumbled inside her chest. She had poured her heart out to him. There was little left unsaid, except for three short words. Perhaps if he gave her a few moments before his retort, she might have said them. After his rejection, they were the last words she’d ever say. As far back as she could remember, Lydia warned her daughter of her raging temper. “It’s an old family flaw,” she cautioned so many times. “Not your fault, but if you can’t control it, your life will be miserable.”

  Standing rejected by the man she dared to love, Opal found her jaw locked tight to avoid launching into a bitter tirade against Tristan, a wild man that didn’t need her chastising. Looking in his eyes, she knew there was nothing she could do. Still, she couldn’t help letting a sliver of her anger spill through. “Fine. Do whatever you want. Makes no difference to me, but I’m not the one you should apologize to.”

  “What?” he exclaimed.

  Pushing the door behind her, she unveiled Ur. He had heard everything. How could he not? His blank eyes stared in disbelief. “You’re leaving?” a child asked in a voice so fragile it could break at any moment.

  Pain flashed across Tristan’s face, worse than any he displayed yet. For one chilling second, he said nothing. “Yes,” he croaked. This was not something he was prepared for. This was where Opal would see how far this insanity could go. Surely, he had to return to some level of sanity for his only friend. To her shock, he said, “Something has come up and I don’t know when you’ll see me again.”

  “What?” Ur cried, clear despair on his face. Recoiling from an invisible fist, he drew back.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll come back as soon as I can. That’s a promise.”

  The child met this with total silence. He stood with his mouth gaping open. “Is this because we had a fight?” he whimpered. Before Tristan could say anything, the child ran to him, wrapping his arms around his waist. “Don’t leave Tristan. If I annoyed you, I didn’t mean to. Please, don’t leave.”

  Tristan’s hands trembled, contemplating if he could return the child’s embrace. Opal watched with bated breath, hoping this would break this deranged resolve. “Wait a minute,” Tristan said, placing his hands on the child’s shaking shoulders. “What gave you that idea?” As soon as he said it, a faint glimmer of Tristan’s sanity flashed. In a calming tone, he explained, “I’m not mad at you. That fight wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’m sorry.”

  “If you’re not mad at him, then why are you leaving?” Opal interrupted, unable to watch any longer. Nothing Tristan did made any sense.

  Tristan gnawed the inside of his cheek. “The truth is, I’m sick and I need to get better.” When those words left his lips, his eyes narrowed. They darted at the air beside him.

  She gawked at him, unable to believe her ears. We were so close. He knew he had a problem. His actions were that of a madman. In his heart, he understood it. He regretted his recent actions. If he was sorry for terrible, unhinged behavior, why did he need to leave? If he recognized there was a problem, he could stay with them and fix it, right? They could help him. What was driving him into the forest?

  “Don’t leave,” Ur begged, echoing her thoughts. “If you’re sick, Opal can help.”

  “No. She can’t help. Not with what I have,” Tristan concluded. His voice was level and determined.

  At this, Opal’s eyes widened. Her hand reached up to her heart. This was it. This was her final moment with Tristan. “Don’t worry,” he reassured, eyes welling up. “I’m not going to die.” She wondered if he believed his own words. Patting Ur on the head, he pried himself away from child’s grip. A pitiful cry escaped the boy’s lips. It hurt her heart.

  Ur was a tough child, but this was more than he could bear. Little tears rolled down the boy’s cheeks. “But if you’re gone, who will I be friends with?”

  A forced grin greeted him. Throat choked, his friend answered, “Just because I’m far away does not mean that we aren’t friends, right? Besides, when I get back, there will be a lot that we can talk about. Anyway, I’m sure Opal will want to be friends with you.” His eyes met hers, pleading with her to agree.

  She wanted to berate him, but this wasn’t the time. There was nothing she could do for Tristan. Madness was an illness she couldn’t fix. All that mattered was helping Ur, ensuring that he never ran into the forest after Tristan. “That’s not even a question,” she replied, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “See,” Tristan said. “Everything will be fine. No need to cry.”

  “I’m not crying,” the boy spat, wiping away his tears. Pulling away from her, Ur turned back to the door. “Go on. If you want to leave, go.”

  Even madness couldn’t mask the agony on Tristan’s face. Three bitter tears ran down his face. “Okay. Guess I’ll be going. Don’t grow up too much while I’m gone.” He exchanged one last look with Opal.

  She wanted to leave him with some final words of wisdom. Maybe they might bring him back to them one day. “I don’t know what’s going on, but don’t get yourself killed.” That was the best she could do.

  “I won’t,” was his answer. She watched as he walked away. It was up to the gods if they would see one another again, but there was one thing she remembered and contemplated the meaning for a long time. When he walked away, he said, “Let’s go before I change my mind. I have to bring this curse to an end.” As he vanished from her sight, she closed the door, uncertain what she would see when she opened it again.