Five years have gone by since the last Solstice. Spring embraced Sur Nam Khaar, and the scent of flowers filled the air. The fields were bursting with ripe fruits and vegetables as the harvest drew near.

Adjacent to the barn stood a shed, housing a dining hall for thirty and a kitchen equipped for demand, plus two resting rooms with comfortable beds. After working all morning feeding my brothers, I served lunch, cleaned up, and left the place spotless for Jacob.

I headed to the town, admiring the scenery. The wind smelled sweet, and insects flew around in a hurry. A bevy of doves twirled and chirped, teaching their offspring how to spread their wings and fly. A lump formed in my throat, and I became teary for a moment. The victories in my son’s life flashed in my mind; when he learned to crawl, spoke his first words, walked toward me, swam in the lake, recited a poem for the whole village on his fifteenth birthday celebration, was complimented by Jacob, learned how to play the flute, and got ready for the most important day of his life.

The town square buzzed with people. Outside the school, fathers waited for their younglings, who ran into their arms after being dismissed from their classes. Alessio loved studying so much that he would walk as slowly as possible out of class. My sight burned, but I swallowed hard and kept moving.

Ten minutes later, I got to the hut, built with gray stones and fir wood. A loud cry came from inside and gave me a hint about what was happening and why my kid’s friends had called me in distress.

“Fredrik! Khenan! It’s Brandon.” I clapped and shouted.

A fraction of a minute was enough for the towering young lad to open the door, his green dreads in disarray.

“Lossar heard our prayers. Come in, please.”

He led me to the bedroom. Fredrik sat in a nursing chair. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, but his smile was even wider as he cradled their Treasure of Ages, Bayani. His skin was pale, and smooth pink hair had bloomed atop his head. The tiny hand held tight to his father’s blond braid as he screamed and sobbed, proving how good his lungs were.

“Bay won’t stop.” His voice came out as a plea. “He is fed, bathed, and changed, but still we don’t know why he is crying nonstop.”

Khenan applied gentle pressure to make the baby release his dad’s strands and handed him to me. I couldn’t help chuckling. Every first-time parent acts the same. And these two are doing well; the thought that a brawling thug like Fredrik became a zealous dad surprised me.

I rocked Bayani in my arms to see what was making him uncomfortable. It took me a minute to recall my actions with Alessio when he was little and frustrated. I turned him onto his belly, down on my forearms, and sang him the first song Khaarians learn for the Solstice.

Gradually, Bayani’s sobs eased with the rhythm of my voice. Relieved by his calm, both fathers sighed, marking a transition from anxiety to peace. 

“It’s a miracle.” His blond dad received him back and mimicked my actions.

“No miracle, just experience,” I assured them. “Colic is common at this age. You are doing well. Let me show you how to comfort him when this happens…”

We discussed the best positions to keep the child in and the type of plant that could help relieve that pain. The young couple thanked me and sent me off with a basket full of red apples. I advised them to get as much rest as they could while their kid also slept—those moments would become rare.

Leaving the couple’s home, I headed back, basket in hand. The fruits peel shimmered, and its scent filled my nose. As I strolled, I recalled an old recipe for those apples. 

Arriving home, I entered the room and approached the modest table in its corner. A half-melted candle flickered beside incense smoke. Alessio’s baby teeth and a lock of his mane rested on a plate. The flowers we placed there had vanished. It was our memorial altar.

“Hello, my boy.” My hand touched it. “Your father will bring more as soon as he’s back from the forest. How about we bake a pie to cheer him up?”

Cooking helped me keep my son’s absence at bay because it brought so many wonderful memories of us together. For the next hour and a half, I chopped the apples, mixed ingredients, assembled everything, put the pan in the oven. When it was ready, I took it to cool in the window. As I finished cleaning the house, I heard the door swing open and shut.

“Don?”

As I finished cleaning, Alejandro’s voice sounded unnaturally calm. Crossing stares, he forced a smile; his jaw tight, the skin glued to his bone after years of longing.

“Welcome back, darling.” I placed a kiss on his lips.

“Something smells nice.” He sniffed the air.

“Your favorite dessert is waiting.” 

He slid the tip of his index finger along my cheek.

“You always care for me. Let me give Alessio his bouquet.”

I nodded and counted as he laid them down—twenty-three chrysanthemums, purple and white—one by one beside the burner, until the basket hung light in his hand. His breathing became heavy, as it had so many times since our son was gone, and he couldn’t hold his cry.

“Come now, love.” As I wrapped my arms around him, the tears that welled in my eyes overflowed.

“I begged Her, Brandon. Day and night, knees on the ground, praying, pleading. Why did the Mother take our Treasure away?”

He asked that question repeatedly for days after the Solstice, yet received no answer. I had coped, but nothing seemed to reach my husband’s soul. No words that came from elder Shu, Jacob, or any of our brothers; no food, drink, story, or event could soothe the pain or fill the void left by Alessio’s absence. 

Wailing filled the room. My beloved gripped his shirt tightly, as if the fabric suffocated him. I swayed him back and forth, the movement drawing the ache out of me, too. I would do anything to hold my son again.

After a long hour, loud mourning settled into weeping. Alejandro’s breath hitched. I comforted him until another sound caught our attention—a colorful bird landed on the window, bearing witness to our sorrow, and then broke into song.

Its tunes were bright and warm. Each note entered the room like a ray of light, dissipating the gloom. They swelled in my chest and filled my core with joy. By the change in my partner’s movements, I noticed the music reached him too, as he eased his breathing and stopped sniffing. Later, he raised his eyes to me, his stare red and his nose swollen.

“Are you a little better?” I slid a couple of strands of his dark hair behind his ear.

He nodded.

“It was a nice change of pace, listening to a sound that was not my own lament.”

Another sound… Wait, that’s it!

“My love, listen. Why don’t we get our violins?”

“Huh? What for?” His forehead creased, and he squinted. 

“Let’s go outside and play Alessio’s favorite song. Music is the Goddess’s gift to reach the soul, and it shall get to him.”

Alejandro finally agreed. Together, we left our hut, instruments in hand, and walked to the woods’ path. The wind whistled, bringing a fresh breeze. We played the melody we both knew by heart, marking our move outdoors.

“The colors and flavors of this land I’ll sing,

With birds and rivers and grass that clings.

The gift of living in Sur Nam Khaar — 

A joy for men, welcoming the women from afar.”

The colorful bird settled nearby and joined us with its singing. I took it as a sign and a blessing; the Great Mother would deliver our message. That warmed my chest with a beam of hope, so comforting that I started dancing.

“If She calls us, oh let it be,

The time has come—the Moon runs free!”

To my surprise, other notes drifted in from afar. Maybe Lossar was sending more of Her creatures to cheer us up.

“Majestic, She comes, with lips of flame,

Kissing the earth that spoke Her name.

We raise our voices, hearts aflame,

Praising the beauty no one can tame.

The elder cries out; the flute takes flight.

Now sing and dance through the silver night!”

The other tunes had gotten closer—bright plucking, soft thuds, and a thin ribbon of sound that kept the melody going as we both stopped.

“Do you hear that?” My husband frowned.

“Yes. Where is it coming from?”

He paced back and forth, listening for the source. I revolved my head, heart racing like wild horses on the field. The road bent toward the forest, and we agreed that it emanated from there. Then what broke into view made me forget how to breathe.

Our violins hit the grass at the same time, and I fell to my knees, covering my mouth to muffle a cry. Alejandro sprinted as fast as he could, while my mind was still gathering the pieces of the scene unfolding before me.

Just as we finished, a much older Kenta skipped toward us, hitting his drum with familiar energy. Behind him, the Rainbow Mage struck her mandolin, followed by our son and his flute. He wore a braid, longer than at the Solstice. He beamed with happiness and pride. Beside them, a child with dark skin and purple locks played a small violin. Together, they sang.

“Soft and sweet, the Solstice fire,

Brings pleasure, warmth, and wild desire.

With spirits high, we celebrate here.

Our kin, our home, our joy sincere.

Let us praise the one who will be the rite.

Assured the Goddess hears tonight.

We hail the new man, his sacred way,

And hope reborn that lights our day.”

Editor: Lucy Cafiero