Fiction Friday:
The Book of Micah, Ep. VIII

Micah’s heart pounded as he dashed along the path through the forest. Tonight, he was sure, would change everything. He stopped at the edge of the clearing. In the distance, Balaban stood facing away from him. Micah took care to mask the sound of his steps as he approached Balaban's side and nudged him with an elbow. Balaban turned his head and smiled. Before enough time passed for a second thought, Micah reached up to catch Balaban’s face between his hands. He leaned in, pressing his lips over Balaban’s mouth. For a startled moment, Balaban did not respond. Then, wrapping his arms around Micah’s shoulders, Balaban returned the kiss.

When they broke apart, both men were breathless. Micah stared into Balaban's eyes, as if to see inside, but Balaban blinked and glanced away. Micah grabbed hold of Balaban’s hands, whispering urgently, “Let us leave together. We will journey to a place no one can track us. We—”

“I would like that.” Balaban squeezed Micah’s hands before letting them drop. He raised his cheeks in a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“What is it?” Micah placed a hand on Balaban’s chest.

Balaban shook his head. “I cannot stay any later tonight. I’m sorry. I must go.” Balaban allowed a brief hug from Micah, before he turned toward the path, breaking into a run at the woodland’s edge. Micah watched his retreating form until he disappeared from view.

“Did you see him again?” Vestia asked as Micah drew out the silence.

He shook his head. “He'd left the village, I learned the next market day. He had gone without speaking anything else to me. He made vows to his betrothed, Esiri, your friend.”

Vestia’s mouth formed an O in surprise, then curved into a frown, before she spoke, “I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Micah, that he broke your heart.”

Micah nodded absently at her words, unsure what to say in response. It was true. Balaban had broken his heart, yet he'd never allowed himself to admit the truth of it, even in his own mind.

Conversation dwindled as the meal continued. Micah emptied his bowl and drained the cup of ale. He waited until Vestia took her final bite of stew before rising quickly and announcing his intent to retire for the evening.

Despite the strong emotions that had accompanied his tale, Micah found the hard work he'd forced from his body, followed by filling stew and dark ale, allowed sleep to capture him quickly. He did not wake until sunshine once again lit the room. As he sat up and stretched, he could hear scuffles and giggles among Vestia’s sharp yet soft directives. His children had returned home. For the first time in years, his longing for Balaban or another man he might love did not consume his first minutes of wakefulness. Instead, he stood, quickly performed his morning rituals, and strode toward the sounds of his wife and children with a grin splitting his face.

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