Artem took a final, appraising look around his now mostly empty bedroom. He was surprised by how empty it now felt. The furniture remained, a simple bed and dresser as there wasn’t room for much more. Everything else, however, had been loaded into their wagon and awaited the journey to their new home. Artem was able to keep a few things in his pack; a change of clothes, a couple of his favorite books, and a few cool rocks he found down by the stream over the years. He was going to miss this room. It wasn’t much, but for the last 6 years, half of his life, it had been his.

  With a mental wave goodbye, he left his former room and stepped out into his family’s common room where his mother was doing some last minute sweeping. Without looking up from her work she addressed him,

  “If you are finished saying goodbye to your room, you can head out and see if your father needs any help. We will be leaving soon.”

  A mischievous grin danced across Artem’s face. He had recently started a game with his mother. A game for him, at least. His mother had always seemed to come off as rather stern and quick to anger. It wasn’t until recently that he began to understand that her cutting remarks and deadpan responses were a sense of humor that he previously didn’t think she possessed. The game he created revolved around finding ways to use his wit and sarcasm to goad his mother and then try his best at avoiding the swift retribution she would dish out. The first stage of this game was to out-wit, out-sarcasm, or otherwise just plain annoy his mother to the point that she lashed out at him. From there, all he needed to do was dodge the slap to the back of his head or kick to the seat of his pants. If he managed to do all that, he would count it as a point in his column. The current standings had his mother leading by several points. As a former Adventurer, she could be fast, but he was slowly figuring out how to read her intentions and react more quickly. When she did connect, it luckily didn’t hurt for more than a couple of seconds. “Love taps”, as she called them, meant to “Remind his brain where it belongs”.

  “Not yet.” Artem responded, taking on a serious air. “I still have a few goodbyes to say. Goodbye pantry, thanks for holding all our food and stuff.” Artem began making his way to the front door, doing his best to look casual. “Goodbye kitchen, I will miss eating all the wonderful meals my mother has made with you!” Artem smiled internally at the eye roll and exasperated sigh his mother let out, he was close enough to the door to go for the kill. “And goodbye ghost that haunts my parent’s bedroom! I hope you don’t give the next family quite so much trouble!” With that attack, Artem beat a hasty retreat out the door, leaping off the porch and sprinting with all possible haste to get out of range of her special attack. He thought he made it to safety when he felt a flash of searing pain across his backside.

  “Ack!” Artem flailed his arms out, collapsing in the dirt as he began to writhe in pain. “I’m hit!” he shouted out, “If I don’t make it, tell my mother I love her!’ He made one last cry of pain and went still, his life seemingly fled from him.

  “If you are done with the theatrics, you can bring my shoe back!” Artem’s mother called out from their porch. With that, Artem jumped to his feet and brushed off the dust that settled on him during his performance. Taking a bow for his wonderful acting, he bent down to pick up his mother’s shoe, the pain on his seat already fading. He had made it nearly 30 paces from the porch, that she was still able to get him was too impressive to be mad about. When he got to his mother, he handed over the projectile at arms length and took a step back, just to be safe.

  “I thought I had gotten out of your range.” He said defeatedly. His mother let out a good natured laugh and closed the distance between the two of them before he could react, gently tussling his hair.

  “You don’t know my range.” She said with a smile. How that woman could say something so objectively terrifying with a smile on her face was a mystery Artem wasn’t sure he wanted to solve. “Next time, don’t run in a straight line. Try to make your movements less predictable, I could use a small challenge.” Her smile got a little wider. To most, it was the kind of radiant, warm smile you would expect to see from a mother to a son. Artem saw that… and the lion’s grin just beneath the surface. He gulped.

  “Yes, ma’am”

  “Good!” She said while slipping her shoe on. “Now, like I said a minute ago, go see if your father ne–” She stopped as she glanced over his head. “Well, it looks like you have a visitor. Go see to them, then find your father. I’ll be done in the house in a little bit.” With that, she turned around and made her way back inside. Artem whipped around and immediately deflated at the sight of the person standing at the entrance to their property. Looking angry and like he would rather be anyplace else was Larson, Artem’s mortal enemy.

  Artem began stomping towards him. “You looking for another beating, Larson? Artem shouted.

  “If I remember right, you got the worst of it last time, Fart-em!” Larson shouted back.

  “Only because your buddies got in the way! But I don’t see them around, you ready to settle things once and for all? This will be your last chance!” Artem stopped just outside of striking distance and raised his fists, ready to fight.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Yeah, I’m here to settle things! But..” He paused to take a deep breath, his next words holding a forced calm. “But I ain’t here to fight.”

  “Oh.”

  Artem was dumbfounded and dropped his hands. In all his time of knowing him, Larson never backed down from or tried to avoid a fight with him. He looked at the boy across from him and tried to figure out what this could possibly be about. Larson was about a year older than him and already nearly twice his size. He had always been bigger and stronger than any other kid in their community and he used it to bully anyone he didn’t like. Artem was number one on that list. Like nearly everyone else in the village, Larson had dark hair and sun-tanned skin which made Artem’s sandy blond hair and fairer skin stand out like a sore thumb. A fact that Larson never let Artem live down. Artem and his mother and father were outsiders to this village, only settling in the area to farm when his parents grew tired of Adventuring. The adults of the village seemed to get over their intrusion, or at least tolerated it since it never hurt to have ex-adventurers around. The kids, however, carried all of their parent’s intolerances with the confidence and certainty of youth. Sadly, this meant that Artem had more enemies than friends, which was not hard with a list of friends that totaled zero. Artem would say that this didn’t bother him much, he had plenty to do on the farm and enough books to keep him occupied. But deep down, it hurt him to not have others his age to spend time with.

  Oddly enough, Larson’s dad and his father got along great. Artem’s dad needed all the help he could get with farming, and Larson’s father loved to hear old Adventurer stories. This meant that Larson and Artem had more run-ins than either would care for.

  “Well, if you aren’t here to fight, what are you here for?” Artem ground out between teeth.

  “We have a tradition in our village, not that you would know anything about it. Sorry.” Larson apologized, seeing Artem bristle, “Habits die hard.” Artem was shocked. He could not remember the last time Larson apologized without an adult right behind him, pushing him to do it. “We have a tradition,” he continued, “that when someone leaves the village, there can be no bad blood between them. It is bad luck and invites a curse on the person who stayed. So, I want to say that I am sorry for the way that I have treated you.” Artem stood frozen, mouth open having forgotten whatever retort he had planned. Larson took another deep breath, the next part seemed almost painful to talk about. “I shouldn’t have treated you the way that I have been. It’s just-” He paused, throwing his hands out for emphasis. “I was so jealous of you!” You were so different, you grew up in a city and had already seen more of the world than I ever will. You looked at things differently than any other kid. You knew how to read and seemed to enjoy it. Everything about you was so different and that made me jealous, which made me angry and I took it out all on you. That was wrong of me and I am sorry.”

  Artem was taken aback by this revelation. He searched the face of the boy across from him, looking for some sign that what he said was a lie. But, the moisture in his dark eyes and the awkward way Larson refused to look at him, told him that his most hated enemy was being honest. Artem sighed, all fight leaving him as he took in what Larson told him. Such an open and honest display deserved one in turn.

  “You are right, that was wrong of you” he started. “You and the rest of the kids in this village made my life hell.” Larsen bristled at these words, but did not say anything, only clenching his fists and screwing up his face in anger. “But,” Artem continued, “I also didn’t help things out between us. I was jealous of you too. You have friends, you are bigger and stronger, and you know more about farming than me and my dad ever will.” They shared a chuckle at that. “I knew I was different and rather than try to fit in even a little bit, I did everything I could to stand out and get under everyone’s skin. I constantly tried to make you feel stupid and that I was better than you, and that was wrong. I’m sorry.”

  The two boys stood and shuffled on awkward feet, seemingly unable to look at each other except in quick glances and then back to their shoes like they had suddenly become the most interesting things in the world. After a truly uncomfortable amount of time had passed, Larsen was the first to break the awkward silence. “You, uh… you missed something earlier.”

  “Oh, and what would that be?”

  “I’m bigger, stronger, and better looking than you.”

  The two boys stared each other down, any progress made towards ending the bad blood between them teetered on the edge of a cliff as they stood like two rams about to butt heads. The tension was shattered when Larsen let slip a mischievous grin that transformed into a smile when Artem began to grin. From there, the two lost all hope of maintaining a serious air and threw their heads back and laughed. When they finally finished laughing, Artem held out his hand.

  “I can’t exactly say we’re friends, but you don’t have to worry about being cursed. You can consider our bad blood buried.”

  Larson took his offered hand and shook it. “Can’t say I’ll miss you, but I mean it when I say that should you ever find yourself back here, it’ll be a much more welcoming experience.”

  “Well, with any luck I won’t ever find myself in such a backwater again.” Artem lifted his nose and did his best impression of a spoiled noble.

  Larson snorted and shook his head. “So long as your Pa is a better Adventurer than he is a farmer, we probably won’t see each other again.”

  “Honestly,” Artem started, looking around at the clearly failing fields, “that wouldn’t take much.” They both laughed again and Artem cleared his throat. “Well, speaking of my dad, I should probably go see if he needs any help before we head out. Best of luck to you and the rest of the village.”

  “Yeah, good luck to you and may the Ascended Gods protect you on your travels.” With that parting blessing, Larson turned down the road and made his way back to his home. Artem took one last look at his former mortal enemy then turned and made his way to the barn to find his father.