Callon's Past

In a room the fourth floor of Ælf's Garden, Callon was having a similar yet different experience to that which Silax was having.

Callon laid on his bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. He was troubled by the number of thoughts and questions that kept running through his mind.

Memories flickered through his mind, curiosity on their sudden departure from Scola, and the different feeling that Silax now exuded.

He sat up, frustrated at the fact that he was unable to shut his mind off and fall asleep.

He took off the leather cord that hung around his neck and began fidgeting with the coin that was tied onto it.

He thought back to when he was younger, a life without worries or cause for concern. A time when he wasn't burdened with the search for answers to a million questions.

He recalled the first time he saw this coin, and how his search for answers had led him to where he currently was right now.

He remembered the vast canvas of the endless wheat field stretching towards the horizon, a golden sea under the summer sun.

He remembered the comforting scent of freshly baked bread, a reminder of warmth and care.

Callon had lived with his father in a community where most of the people were farmers. Theirs was a small farm, not enough to make a living, but just enough to sustain both of them.

The little excess they got from the harvest were exchanged for other necessities they needed for everyday life.

Ten-year-old Callon looked like any other farm boy in the village, except for the fact that he was a head taller than all the other boys his age.

His eyes always had a mischievous glint in them, and he had a knack for getting in trouble, but he always found a way to charm his way out of it with his disarming grin.

The other boys called him "Oddball Callon," because he spaced out a lot, a nickname he wore with a shrug and a secret smile.

Callon helped his father on their farm, or claimed to. He mostly just sat on the back of their horse, Bess.

Callon traced his finger along the worn leather of his father's saddle, the scent of sunbaked hay and horse sweat clinging to the air.

Behind him, his father's calloused hands guided a plow through rows of stubborn corn across the rough earth, coaxing life from the stubborn soil. 

He stared at his father's tall silhouette against the backdrop of the vibrant sunset. He listened to him talk about the fundamentals of farming in his gruff voice, which was always a comforting constant in his life.

Although they didn't have much, Callon was always a happy child. This was an attitude he had gotten from his father. Not matter the situation, his father always had a smile on his face, and the sound of his booming laughter always filled their home. 

His father was also someone who liked to talk. He spoke of the weather, the crops, the temperamental moods of their old mare, Bess. Any topic you could bring up, his father always had an input for it. The one thing he never talked about was his mother.

The only answer his father ever offered was a pained silence whenever Callon dared to ask. A silence that spoke volumes of a love lost and a life forever changed. Work was his solace, the rhythmic scrape of the hoe against hard-packed earth as a constant lullaby.

Then, just after Callon turned fourteen, as abruptly as the summer sun dipped below the horizon, his father was gone. A sudden illness the doctor had said, his voice hollow. Callon knew though, the illness had been the silence itself, a weight that had finally crushed the life out of him.

His mother was a blank space in Callon's life, a missing puzzle piece his father refused to mention. All Callon had was a gold coin, cool against his palm, passed down from his father just before he died. 

Now, that silence was deafening. His father, the anchor of his world had passed away. Taken too soon by a sudden illness, leaving a gaping hole in their already quiet life.

Just as soon as his father had passed, Jack showed up to collect on the debt his father owed him. 

The amount owed was substantial, and even though the villagers tried to help, there was nothing they could do.

So, Callon had to work for Jack as a way to pay off the debt. That was over three years ago.

Then about two months ago, Silax came and paid off his debt. When Callon asked him why, Silax told him that he had an interest in his coin.

That immediately made Callon put his guard up, but then Silax explained that he had no plan of taking it from him.

Silax asked him some questions, most of which he couldn't answer, leaving Silax a little disappointed.

Then he told Silax that the coin had belonged to his mother, and had been given to him by his father before he passed.

Silax promised to help him in figuring out the mystery behind the coin and answer some questions about his mother. He just had to get some things prepared first, and Callon would have to help him with something.

What that something was, Silax didn't say.

As Calon stared at the empty chair by the window, a knot of frustration tightened in his stomach. He had questions. Questions that had festered in the quiet corners of his heart for years, unanswered and suffocating.

Questions that bloomed in his mind like wildflowers in spring, choked by the unspoken grief that seemed to cling to his father.

Callon clutched the gold coin tighter. It felt heavier now, a burden along with the vast emptiness left behind.

He needed answers, a reason for his mother's absence, a glimpse of the woman who remained a ghost in their lives. As usual, he was met with silence.

No. The silence wouldn't win. He would find his mother, or at least some shred of truth about her. He had waited years, he could wait one more night.

He laid back down and closed his eyes, trying once again to get some sleep.