Daxton - Episode 19
Daxton - Episode 19
The 5th Compass | Tales of Stonehaven [2,094 words]
Daxton is the first book in the 6-book series, The 5th Compass, which takes place in Stonehaven. Released in serial form, two episodes each week on Tuesdays and Thursdays. The audio version is coming in the future for paid subscribers only. Visit the table of contents for a list of previously published and upcoming episodes.
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The rest of the day Daxton spent in a daze. Thoughts of Fang kept entering his mind and for once he enjoyed the distraction that came with helping his father.
His lack of complaining about the labor that came along with helping his father deliver food to their neighbors made Ephraim concerned. He could sense something was wrong but spent the entire day avoiding asking the question that hung in the air like rotted fruit; where was Fang?
When the sun showed signs of setting Ephraim let him wander off to find Barton, happy for a moment alone to ponder what made his son so attentive to working. It wasn’t until he returned home and saw the freshly dug mound of dirt behind the house that he managed to guess what must’ve happened.
Upon entering the house, he found his wife waiting for him at their kitchen table. It was the only place in their home to sit, besides their bedroom and therefore became the central location for discussions. Usually, when he first came home his routine was to wash up as Mirum did not believe dirt had any place at the table but judging by the sad expression on her face he knew she was willing to make an exception.
“We can’t keep this from him any longer. I fear he will come to resent our secrecy. Especially after what happened today.”
“I have thought about it and I don’t care. He is still young, Mirum. What good would it do for him to know how he came to be ours? It may just confuse him, and he may hate us for that. Let us give him time to mourn Fang.” Ephraim was always arguing with his wife about the right time to tell Daxton the truth about who he might be. Up until now he was winning the argument. But now that Daxton was eighteen, he could not use youth as a shield to protect his son any longer.
“You love him far more than I do. I just wish the two of you would get along, so he’d know that,” she said, putting her hand on his back to comfort him. “We’ll tell him tonight. You’ll see, he just may surprise us both.”
“You think with a mother’s heart,” he said, taking hold of her hand and squeezing it tightly. “What about Fang? We cannot let him suffer in silence. You should’ve seen him today; I’ve never seen him work so hard just to forget.”
By the time night fell over the small town of Dunwich, Daxton, Mirum and Ephraim, were seated around the table to eat. Ephraim kept his head down and stared at his plate, avoiding eye contact with both his wife and his son. Daxton found this odd but said nothing as he wanted to avoid talking about Fang for as long as possible.
A typical evening with his parent’s always brought on, at the very least, questions about how his morning went. Instead, he was met with silence. Daxton looked over at his mother unable to hide his sadness, though he tried. She noticed and smiled reassuringly.
“Daxton, your father and I have something we need to talk with you about.” For the first time since seated at the table Ephraim’s face shot up to glare at her.
“It’s more like your mother has something she wants to tell you.” Daxton’s anxiety mounted.
“If this is about Fang, it was an accident. I thought I shot that boar straight through as did Fang. I didn’t want you and dad to worry or help. You do enough around the house. Barton helped me bury him in the back. I should’ve asked,” Daxton blurted out, barely taking a breath.
This time Ephraim behaved strangely and began to laugh uncontrollably. “Sorry. I am sorry, son,” he said, fighting to stop his laughter.
“What’s going on? This isn’t about Fang, is it?” Daxton asked. He looked at his mother, waiting for an answer, while his father managed to stop laughing. She remained silent as she stood up and disappeared into the bedroom, returning moments later holding a sword and a few other things he couldn’t identify from afar. It wasn’t until she placed the sword down in front of him that he knew it to be from the royal army. He recognized it right away, as Barton’s father wore one like it on his hip from time to time.
“First, Daxton, we need to tell you that you are not really our son.”
Daxton looked at her in disbelief. “I don’t understand,” he managed to croak, his throat becoming dry. He grabbed a cup of water and drained it in one gulp. His father just pushed food around his plate. Daxton wanted to take and hurl it across the room with the anger he felt. Why would he not look him in the eye?
Mirum continued, “One early morning I heard a baby crying outside. When I opened the front door, you were there, on the stoop. You were wrapped in this blanket.” She handed him a blanket that was coarse now from lack of use, hidden away for a long time. He took it from her and stared at it as her words and their meaning sank in. His heartbeat quickened.
“Why are you telling me this? you are lying. Da, tell her she’s lying. Why are you letting her say these things?” His father looked up at Daxton, with tears in his eyes. His son only ever called him ‘Da’ when he was frightened or in distress. He reached out his hand and placed it on his sons, squeezing it tightly.
“She isn’t lying, son. There’s more.” He nodded to his wife to keep going. He could only provide a source of comfort and strength to Daxton, but he would not be the one to tell him the truth.
“Along with the blanket there was this note pinned to you.” Her hand shook as she handed him a folded piece of paper. He took it from her and placed it down on the table without looking at it. “do not you want to know what it says?”
“No. I do not care what it says. you are my parent’s and no matter what you say to me that is all I need to know.”
“You say that now, Daxton, but your nightmares are trying to tell you something. We’ve raised you well, son, and now it is time for you to know the truth.” Next, she handed him a compass. He took it in his hand, the weight of it not what he was expecting. He turned it over to inspect it closer, hoping to find an inscription on it, but found none. It was an intricately designed piece, but it meant nothing to him. “We think this may have belonged to your mother.”
His mother? He never imagined he’d hear those words come out of the mouth of a woman he’s always known to be his mother. But here she was telling him there was someone else out there in the world who gave birth to him and then gave him up. Why would he want to know of such a woman? And yet, that recurring nightmare he’s had every year, for a long time, was directing him to help his birth mother. He thought it was telling him the woman who sat before him was or would be in terrible danger, but perhaps it is the mother he never knew he had?
“And what of this sword? You cannot tell me my mother is a member of the royal army. They do not allow women.”
“We believe you must take it for your safety,” Ephraim said, finding the courage to speak up.
“Take? Take where? I am not going anywhere.” Daxton was not expecting this, not on his eighteenth birthday. He was not expecting to be told by his parent’s that he isn’t theirs and that he would be leaving them. He wished he could turn back time to just two days ago when his life seemed perfect. He closed his eyes briefly and prayed to Zoldir to grant him the gift of time. He knew it was pointless as Zoldir hadn’t answered a human’s prayer since She created them.
“You must find your mother. It sounds like she needs help and you are the one who must save her. We trust you will do the right thing,” Mirum said, looking for her husband to say the same but locked his jaw in defiance. He did not want his son to leave and possibly encounter danger.
“Your mother is right.”
Daxton had many questions, but he knew his parents probably told them all they knew already, the rest he’d have to figure out on his own. “May I be excused?” His mother nodded while his father turned his head away from his son. Daxton picked up the letter still folded and unread. He placed it in his pocket and gathered up the other items in his arms as he walked back to his room.
Without saying a word Ephraim slid his chair back, stood, and stomped out the back door, slamming it shut so harshly it shook the house. Mirum flinched, causing a tear to roll down her cheek.
In Daxton’s room, he threw everything down on his bed and pulled out the letter from his pocket. He flipped it in his fingers over and over, daring himself to read its contents. He feared it may contain a message from his birth mother giving some feeble excuse for abandoning and never returning for him. But what if it held some clue as to where he should begin to find her?
If he didn’t already have the note, he had decided to start by figuring out who made the compass. If he could find who made it, then perhaps they could tell him who it was sold to. The compass looked practically new which told him it was probably only owned by one person before it was left with him and that one person could very well be his birth mother.
Curiosity got the better of him and he unfolded the note:
“When you are ready the answers you seek to your destiny can be found near the ocean.”
“Is this it?” he said aloud, turning the paper over and inspecting the back for something more he may have missed or may have rubbed off from years of being hidden away. He even took it over to the lantern on his desk and held it over the open flame, but nothing further revealed itself. What did it mean? Which ocean? There were many he knew of but only one was near his village.
He couldn’t stomach the thought of having to go anywhere near the ocean in the hopes of receiving some sort of message. The idea made him dizzy and he returned to his bed before he collapsed. He swallowed hard and put the note away. Maybe he’d find a better clue on the sword. He slowly removed it from its sheath and the sound made his skin crawl. He’d seen what men who wield swords like this could do with them and he wanted no part of it. He looked very closely and saw slight nicks in the blade. The thought crossed his mind of how many lives this sword took before it was forced to rest dormant in his house for nearly two decades. He laid the sword on his bed and went to work inspecting the sheath. It contained no markings that would tell him who it belonged to. Then he lifted the sword again to take a closer look at the hilt. Etched along the handle he found a name, Adelaide.
A woman’s name. Could it be his birth mother’s name? He thought back in his memory to all the women he’d ever met in his childhood and could not recall ever meeting one named Adelaide. It was the only clue he had, and he used it to put his mind at ease so he could sleep.
As he slumbered, he found himself surrounded by a fog once more and the whisper of a woman’s voice calling out for help.
Not yet morning, he woke in a cold sweat again, only this time Fang wasn’t there to comfort him. There was only the familiar, and nauseating, smell of the ocean lingering, till he leaned over the side of his bed and threw up.