The Springborn

CALDER

N ever in all my days did I imagine that being threatened with annihilation would make me happy. But as I pack boxes and load the wagon, I can hardly keep from singing aloud. I must remind myself not to grin and cause Sabella to think I am some sort of madman. Truth be told, I do not care much for moving to parts unknown. What delights me is the fact that Sabella is going with us. She has chosen us, as is right and good.

I try not to stare at her as I carry yet another box from the bedroom to the front door, but good glory, she is something to behold. The look on her face as she whispers to little Sparrow is so tender and loving, so divine, that anyone would believe the babe to be her own flesh and blood. The antlers her father despises are a silvery-gray crown upon her head. In the dancing firelight, they look like the gift they are.

“Calder,” Robbie scolds from behind me. “A snail could beat you in a footrace.”

“I’m going.” How he still has such vigor after all this hard labor and being awake half the night, I do not know.

Once outside, we pass our boxes up to Yonaz, who crouches under the bowed canvas roof of the wagon. Behind him, our belongings are stacked and piled. It is odd to see our lives shoved into so small a space, but also the picture of how we Springborn exist: keeping to our own little corner of the world where we do not offend the regular folk with our outrageous attributes.

When I was younger, I railed against the narrow-mindedness of the society we live outside of. Yonaz taught me that they were the poorer for not knowing us. That we are more blessed than they’re capable of imagining. His words ring more true to me now than ever. If I were the king of this land, I could want for nothing more than my Springborn family—provided that Sabella were my queen.

“Mooning,” Robbie mutters as we head back into the house. “You’ll scare her off if you don’t calm down. She could still go back to her parents, you know.”

“Heaven forbid.” I offer him a feigned frown. “Better?”

“No, you look more insane than before. Stop that. There’s no hope for you, is there?”

“All I am is hope at the moment,” I say.

“All you are is ridiculous,” Robbie counters. He holds the door open and I slip past him into the warm kitchen.

I will miss this place, its comfortable chairs and use-scarred table, its pretty stone hearth, and the faint scent of bacon that always lingers here. I try to commit the scene to memory—including the antlered girl who’s standing by the dying fire now, yawning and bouncing lightly to soothe the baby in her arms.

And I think she could be home to me for the rest of my days—if I don’t mess this up and she’s willing.