Lantern

Rain had turned colorful leaves into a parchment that clung to the cobble-stone outside of the manor. Mortis had a new, strange quest; to speak to people on the other side of the iron gate. Klava did so all the time, so it couldn't be that bad. He needed something to show the next person who asked that he was not trapped within the manor.

The second he set foot on the winding path down to town, he felt exposed. He was able to see too far in any direction just how big the world was outside his home. He kept his head down, acting as small as possible as he finally exited out into an alley of abandoned wealth. Large, white wood homes grinned at him with darkened eyes and boarded-up mouths. Each one had a hopeful sign asking someone with enough pride and coins to open them back up to the world. Instead they stood empty, much like when Mortis first arrived.

He made his way to where he thought there should be people: brick shops with glass viewing windows showed off rows of clothes. The shop hours were so short, yet Mortis had managed to come at a time where all were empty, save for forgotten trinkets and porcelain plates. A shame, as he loved nothing more than getting lost in aisles of things uninterrupted. Perhaps there was something magicky hiding in one of the shelves he could show Klava.

Then he heard voices. Down the paved street, on yellow grass, sat carts set up with tables and people asking questions. There were so many loud questions and squealing children that Mortis felt the need to hide lest he be perceived.

Of course, he had permission to be out. Old Father wanted him to 'live', Rook worried he'd go mad alone, and he felt supremely boring anytime anyone asked what he'd been up to. Polishing already polished silverware and exploring the house was apparently only fun to do, not fun to hear about. People wanted tales about adventures and funny conversations, not the latest chapter of whatever book he dug out of the library. These people would be the same, curious or eager, moving on to the next topic before he had a chance to properly answer. It had always been like this.

Only now, as he scanned the faces in the crowd, he was reminded of the North Star. It too had been full of lively, too friendly people, until the barricade brought out the stink of desperation. Old to young fighting with one another as to who would eat or be eaten. Granted, Cariann Gardens had plenty of open space and food to share. It must be different for there to be smiles, however strained.

Yet the second he thought eyes fell on him, cold dread welled up in his heart. Why look at him? He'd been as quiet and uninteresting as he could, so he knew what they expected him to act like before speaking. He couldn't be thrust in front of them, not until he was certain they were the sort not to eat souls if given the chance. He lacked a concise way to explain that his fears were very real and well lived in the past, not some crude exaggeration. They would think it an exaggeration, just like any other time he spoke to strangers about what he felt and saw.

So he said nothing. He ran from the market, past walled-up eateries and houses, back behind the safety of the iron gates. Was this what it was like for Old Father? Was that why he never left? The uncontrollable fear of being seen before knowing who was watching haunted every footstep until he was safe inside the manor once more.

Mortis peeked into the sitting room where Old Father sat, staring at the same old fire. On the mantel were little wooden figures Mortis had fashioned in his spare time. It was the only decoration Old Father allowed, and Mortis liked to think the dolls kept him from feeling lonely. He flinched when Old Father turned toward him.

"Another story?" Old Father laughed. Perhaps he had hoped Mortis had come to talk to him. "Go ahead and pick your 'hero’."

Mortis jumped in. He'd heard plenty about the one that looked like Morai. This time, he gravitated toward the one decorated in flowers.

"That's who tied me to these bones," he said. "It was the last time anyone was given the 'gift' of being a new immortal." There had been unlimited potential in Ameberos' box of unwanted gods, and yet she chose to be the one thing that could kill them all. "She is the reason our world breaks and poor girls bear her curse." Fragmented into nothingness, he could never understand how existence was so unbearable to her, while here he clung to it long past when he could have left. "Like wildflowers, she is everywhere and nowhere now. But when I was younger, she freed me from my anchor in a way." He leaned back in his chair. "So much wasted potential, so bitter about immortality... I should have left her be."

"Were you lonely then too?" Mortis asked.

"In a way," Old Father said. "Before, I was mortal I was with everyone, but they didn't know it. I couldn't touch or speak to them, just watch their lives play out as they yearned for miracles." And yet now he chose to stay inside, where no one could touch or hear him. "They know now. Oh, how they know now and I wish they didn't."

"…people are scary." Like sparks that escaped from the flame.

"They can be," Old Father said, "but they also can do nothing. Everyone has the power to do nothing, regardless of the thoughts in their head. For her, I should have done nothing. We all would have been better off for it."

"Is that why you won't 'teach' me?" Mortis asked. "Is that also a form of nothing?"

Old Father thought for a long time. The fire crackled in the hearth, bathing Mortis in a golden halo that only lit the whites of his eyes. There was no arguing with fate or death, no matter how often he did. Even by not choosing a successor, this boy still would take his place. "I suppose you're right." He just wished Mortis could be old and wise enough to choose that fate for himself. "That's why you must do everything you want to now while there's someone to set things back the way they were. When you're in my shoes, the only one that can make things right is you."

***

For potions lab, Klava's class had been divided up into groups of three. She was rather excited about being assigned partners, as the whole process had been significantly faster. Having read ahead, she knew they'd be experimenting with different ways to put fire in a bottle. If she slipped a little copper in, theirs could be a pretty blue instead of the ordinary honey glow that hung around the campus at night.

"Step two:" the teacher said as floating chalk made a replica of the diagrams on the board. "Smoke the inside of the glass with sage to prevent cracks."

Admittedly, Klava had quietly been moving on to step five. It didn't take fifteen minutes to smoke a glass and her partners had graciously allowed her to work in silence while they feigned interest in the lecture. Anything to impress the teacher with just how clever she could be when allowed to work on her own.

After going through the instructions slowly to prevent any mishaps, the teacher began walking around the room. Fire was dangerous in the wrong hands; in Klava's it was a beautiful sapphire. She held up the finished bottle with a grin on her face.

"That isn't what I asked you to do," the teacher said. "As pretty as it is, you need to learn the basics before altering spells. The wrong temperature inside the bottle could send glass shards flying." She doused the flame, much to Klava's disappointment. "Try again." She turned to address the class. "Now, by the end of class each group should have three lanterns. We're aiming for quality, identical flames."

"Where's the fun in that?" Klava turned to her partners. One of them was grabbing the wrong kindling and the other was smoking the outside of the bottle as well as the inside. "May I?" They'd be at it for the entire period having to redo it at that rate. However, both girls glared at her and continued what they were doing anyway. "It's just, that isn't-"

"I'm not stupid," one of the girls snapped. "Why would I listen to someone who did it wrong anyway? This is what the book says to do."

It most certainly was not, and the end result left soot all over everyone's fingers. Still, the teacher praised the effort, pointing out which step Klava's partners had misread. She worked on her own lantern in silence. She hadn't needed help with the first one; she just wanted hers to be special was all. As soon as classes ended, they left her behind without another word.