Chapter Text
Julek, like most people certainly, only has fuzzy memories of his early childhood. His family never had much, but enough to put food on the table every day and keep warm in winter, which is more than many can claim.
When he thinks about the tiny hut he used to live in with his parents, the smells come back first. The bee wax his mother worked into candles to sell at the market every week. The roasted chicken in the oven, slowly cooking with herbs and potatoes. His father’s shaving soap, which Julek loved to sniff at every time the tall man took him in his arms. Those all still evoke happy times to Julek.
But if there is one thing he remembers really clearly from his early years, it’s the bedtime story his parents would tell again and again at his repeated requests almost every night. He would burrow under the covers and one of his parents would come sit by his bed. It would go something like this.
Once upon a time, there was a happy couple. They loved each other very much and every new day spent together was sweeter than the one before. There was only one thing missing to make their life perfect. A child. No matter how much they tried - ‘And try they did’ his mother would always chuckle as his father blushed - they never could conceive. Years and years they waited, fruitlessly. And as they grew in age, their hopes dwindled. So it came that, during Beltane’s night, they went to Melitele’s temple, bearing gifts and a single buttercup from their garden. They prayed together, hand in hand for the mother to grant them a child. And they did again the next year, and the next after that, always bringing offerings and a sweet smelling buttercup. They did so for nine years, as their hair grew white, always wishing for a miracle. And it was then, on the following morning of their ninth prayer, that they woke up to a cry. They went out in the garden and there, nestled on a thick patch of buttercups, was a baby.
At this point, his father would kiss Julek’s forehead, his short silver beard tickling the boy’s nose. His mom would come and softly brush her fingers on the nine-petaled buttercup tattoo adorning his small left wrist.
“You’re a wish come true darling.”
&&
Julek is much bigger now. In fact, he just turned ten yesterday. He’s not interested in bedtime stories anymore, he’s almost a grown-up after all.
Since he’s done with his chores for the day, he’s playing hide and seek with other kids from town. He’s not very good at this game because he can’t stop himself from giggling whenever someone gets near him and he’s always found out. When he sees a tree with branches low enough he can reach them, he thinks it's his best chance to win. It’s easy, climbing on the first few branches. Julek wants to get higher though, to be well hidden by the thick foliage. He tries to go as high as he can but his foot suddenly slips on the smooth wood and there is nothing he can do as he feels himself drop backward. He hits the branches he just climbed as he falls down. There’s a few more seconds of free falling, a loud crack as his head hits the ground. And then nothing.
He wakes up with a gasp, back arching from the ground he’s laying on for the violence of it. He feels weirdly heavy and disoriented as he looks around him. Night has nearly fallen and it's already very dark under the canopy. It takes a few tries but he manages to stand up and dazzely makes his way home. He can already hear his mother’s annoyed voice when he starts pushing the door.
“Well, I hope you had fun young man because turning ten is no excuse to come back home this late. What do you have to… Julek !”
The plate she hastily drops shatters loudly on the dirt floor as she rushes to him. Her trembling hands come up to his face and, ever so carefully, she turns his head to the side.
“Oh my boy, my love, come here.” She lifts him in her arms and sits him on the kitchen table. He’s still too shaky to feel much of anything but his mom’s panicky mumbling is making him anxious. She dips a clean rag in the water bucket nearby and gently rubs it on his forehead. When Julek sees the cloth come away bright red, his heart squeezes painfully in his chest.
“Mom ?” he squeaks, suddenly afraid.
“Everything’s fine my love, just let me have a look, everything is gonna be fine.”
Julek stays as still as he can while his mother wets the rag and cleans his face again. His small hands are clenched on the dirtied hem of his shirt, his rabbity heartbeat loud in the tense silence of the room. His mother is careful, slow and thorough, but her face grows confused with every new swipe. He considers it for a moment, trying to think past the fog of anguish.
“It doesn’t hurt,” he answers with a small voice.
“Are you sure ?” She asks, combing his hair away from his face, massaging his scalp while looking for a wound. “But then why…” Her voice stops suddenly. Julek looks up, worried, to find her looking wide eyed at his left wrist. She grabs it with trembling hands, her thumbs brushing his tattoo softly at first, then more forcefully. She brings it closer to her face. The crow's feet around her eyes deepen as her face turns sad and she brings Julek against her breast with a sob. Confused, tired and scared, it doesn’t take long for Julek to start crying along.
It takes his father a long time to calm them both when he gets home, his mother repeating all along “Only eight left, there’s only eight left.”
&&
He’s not allowed out for a few days after that. He doesn’t really mind though, he still feels tired and a bit scared. Julek doesn’t understand what really happened and the haunted look on both his parent’s faces keeps him from asking any questions.
It takes some time for everything to come back to normal. A month later, his mom no longer seems so on edge anymore but she still checks his wrist every night, kissing the eight-petaled buttercup on his skin.
&&
Life goes on without any more dramatic accidents. Julek grows up, his parents grow old. He learns his letters under his father's patient tutelage, his mother teaches him how to sew. He plays with his friends, maybe a bit more carefully than he used to but without fear. He is happy as any child can be, loud and exuberant, loved.
One day in late autumn, he comes home from the market when a light snow starts falling from the sky. He’s not very surprised by it, the weather had turned cold weeks ago already to the farmers great dismay. But when they wake up the next day and find themselves snowed in, Julek can’t help the shiver of dread that crawls down his back. He spends the morning shoveling snow, freeing the way to the house and the shed. His father looks at the cloudy sky with a deep frown and goes to chop more wood. Julek accompanies his mother back to the market. She wants to buy flour, grains and dried meats but it seems everyone had the same idea. They manage to put their hand on some wheat flour but there is no meat to be found. She buys strings of dried mushrooms and as much nuts as they can carry home instead. It has started snowing again when they get there.
For a few days, everyone is terribly busy preparing for what feels like is going to be a very long winter. Wood piles up by the door, wool is spun and knitted in thick plaid faster than Julek believed possible and he is sent to scavenge roots in the wood all day long. It doesn’t snow for a week but the sky remains threatening, full of heavy grey clouds. Julek thinks maybe the adults are all overreacting, maybe they’re being too cautious and everything is going to be fine.
He is proven wrong terribly fast.
Temperatures drop one night and don’t go up the following day. Trees around the house are encased in a thick cover of ice, branches hunched under layers upon layers of fresh snow. They go through their stock of wood horrifyingly fast and Julek insists on being the one to grovels through hip high snow to get more in the shed. It’s not long before they push a bed in front of the fire and remain under the covers all day long, curling up around one another to keep warm.
At first they eat two meals a day, then just one. Time stretches and it gets harder to get up everyday. Cold bites deep in his bones, slowing his mind and his limbs. His father tries to get his mother and him to move around a little everyday but soon he too remains under the safety of the covers.
Julek can see his parents have grown thinner, their misting breath slower. He wants to get up from the bed, put more wood in the fire, prepare some food for them. He tries, he tries so hard, but his muscles simply refuse him and he remains here, nestled on the bed under mounds of blankets. Exhausted, he closes his eyes and feels himself fall into darkness, helpless against its tantalising pull.
Waking up takes Julek a long time. He can’t feel his limbs, can’t even open his eyes. His breath seems to resonate in the silent room. Feeling comes back in small painful steps, needles stabbing his hands and feets for long minutes before he can move a finger. As he manages to stretch a little, eyes still closed, he can finally take a deeper breath. The air is freezing deep in his lungs and it has barely even warmed up when he exhales. He’s so cold.
After an eternity, Julek straightens and opens his eyes. He is still on the bed in front of the hearth but the fire died out. Now that looks more carefully, he can even see a layer of frost covering the burned remains of wood. Actually, the whole house is thinly veiled in white from floor to ceiling. Still sluggish, Julek goes to stand up and light the fire again. Two weights next to him on the bed stop him in his tracks. Dread fills him and he knows, somehow he knows, before he even looks, before he truly even has time to think about it. He knows and yet he still hopes as he turns to look.
His father is sitting on Julek’s right, back to the wall, and his mother is lying under the cover to his left. Their wrinkled faces are peaceful, eyes closed, as if death had come for them in their sleep.
A whimpering sob escapes Julek. His already fragile control shatters and he cries uncontrollably, trying against all hopes to raise them both, calling out for them. Once he has no more tears to shed, he gets up. Everything is strangely distant as he puts on his fur coat and his winter boots. It is cold out but not as cold as it was last time he left the house. Snow is still high but the sky is clear and the sun shines brightly, blinding his sensitive eyes when he looks up. He walks to the town, falling often in the soft snow. It all seems like a bad dream. Even once he gets there and the mayor comes to check on him after she spots him from her window, he can’t shake out of the fog that’s taken over his mind.
He’s brought inside, warmed up in front of the fire with a hot and hearty stew. The mayor’s son is sent out without Julek noticing and when the man comes back, shoulders weighted and face closed, she hugs Julek to her chest.
Later, when he has had time to rest and come to terms with his new situation, Julek realises that months have gone by without his noticing and spring is already starting.
On his left wrist, the buttercup only has seven petals left.