Aurora Borealis

“What do you mean you’re leaving?” he asks, standing over my travel bag as I gather my belongings.

“Just what I said. Did you think I was going to stay forever?”

“But we’re happy here. We have a home. What about Tobias? You can’t just leave. He wants to marry you.”

“Happy? I never said I was happy here. You are happy and you have a home. Not me.”

“And Tobias? What am I to tell him?” he asks again, insistent.

“You’re the one who wanted me to marry, Nikolai. Tell him whatever you like. Tell him I left to join the Blessed Virgins.”

Nikolai throws his hands up. “Even Tobias would know that would be a lie. Care to try again?”

“Tell him the truth, then. I’ll be gone, so I couldn’t care less.”

Nikolai looks at me as though I’ve struck him. That look alone makes me pause. “Do you truly care so little?” he asks, finally. I take his hand in mine and lead him to the bench by the window to sit.

“I love you. I always have and I always will,” I pause. “But can you not see that I am unhappy here? I cannot stay.” I search his azure eyes, beseeching him to understand.

We sit there a while, clasping hands as we did as children sheltering in the cold nights after out parents died. He stares through space, eyes unfocused as I wait for his response. A deep sigh seems to physically deflate him.

“You are my baby sister, my responsibility. All I have ever wanted was to keep you safe. How am I to do that if you’re far from here?”

“You can’t protect me forever. I need to do this, and you need to let me.” I lean my forehead against his, letting the love we have flow around us. I crack one eye open to look at him. “Besides, you made sure I could take care of myself. Are you doubting yourself now?”

Nikolai chuckles. “No, I suppose not,” he sighs. “So, you’re really going, then?”

I lift my head to look at him, waiting for him to meet my gaze. He does, after a moment. “I am. Are you going to be okay with that?”

“Well, I’ll have to be, won’t I?”

“Yes, you will. But I won’t be gone forever. I’ll have to come visit. This isn’t ‘good-bye’. I’ll see you again soon.”

I’m wrapped up in a tight hug. “You better, or I’ll have to track you down myself.”

“And leave your new wife for little old me? She’d never forgive you,” I laugh.

“Well, then, be sure to keep my marriage intact. Come home soon.”

“I will write to you when I can.”

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“Where are ye off to then, love?” The woman is motherly and a little rough around the edges, but her eyes are kind. The sort of eyes you can trust. I smile.

“Wherever the wind takes me.”

The look she gives me tells me she understands my meaning. I turn my head to return my gaze over the churning waters below. As the breeze from the sea washes over my face and through the loose strands of my hair, I feel it. The sun peeking out of the clouds to kiss my skin. The weight lifting from my chest, the itch under my skin finding relief. I can breathe easier. I am free.

When the sun sinks below the horizon, the moon takes its place, providing its own beauty. I lean on the railing and stare out across the water, imagining what is across the space. Finally, my stomach rumbling can longer be ignored, and I make my way below deck to the mess hall for a bit of dinner. All along the halls I hear the other passengers giving into their sea sickness. Hurrying along, I am grateful to have none of those unfortunate side effects to being at sea. Once I found my sea legs, I was quite at home.

“Is it too late to grab a bit of dinner?” I ask, popping my head around the doorway to the galley. The cook turns, a slim woman with silver hair, a stern expression and kind eyes. She grunts and jerks her chin.

“Come on, then. There’s plenty with half the passengers confined to their quarters. No sense in wasting perfectly good stew.”

“Thank you,” I smile. “I meant to come down earlier, but the view is just breathtaking. I found it hard to leave.”

“Your first time at sea?” she asks, ladling a hefty, meaty scoop of stew into the tin bowl. Handing it to me, I pick a spoon from the open utensil canister.

“Yes, it is.” I take a bite of the stew, groaning with satisfaction. “This is delicious, thank you.”

“My pleasure.” She smiles and it lights up her face. “Where are you headed, child?”

“I booked my ticket for the colonies, but we have several stops before we get there. Someplace else might catch my fancy better.”

“My, my.” She leans in closer, inspecting my face. “You have a restless spirit, if I’ve ever seen.”

“Is that bad?” I ask, not sure what to make of her expression, setting my spoon back in my bowl.

“No, sweet girl. You hold on to that for as long as you can.”

Smiling, I continue eating and the cook, Divina, I learn, resumes her cleaning. We exist in a peaceful quiet, lulled by the water lapping at the sides of the ship and our own thoughts. When I finish eating, Divina insists I leave my bowl where it is and urges me to come sit with her anytime I like. I bid her good night and go to find my cabin.

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Every day passes much the same, though I am able to find simple joys in each day. I spend many of the early morning or evening hours in the kitchens where Divina shares stories and legends from the many places she has been. Occasionally she allows me to help her by washing and peeling vegetables or seasoning the meat. Most times she sets a pot of tea before me, and we sip and work in silence.

Whenever we pull into port at various islands, I take my time to explore, delighting in the people and foods. Their stories and customs. Nothing called to me beyond passing fascination. Each time, I return to the ship adrift as before, an ache settling in my chest.

“Maybe I was being foolish for coming here. Maybe my brother was right,” I sigh into my tea mug.

“Oh child. Do not despair.” She rests a hand under my chin. “You are young. Your journey has just begun.”

“What am I even looking for?”

“You will know it in your bones. Have faith and a little bit of patience.” Divina smiles and it warms my heart a little, even if there’s still an ache left behind.