[Author's Note: This is the first chapter of BLISS, a 400-page epic written in script form between 2021 to 2023. Below is an edit of the first of 25 chapters reformatted in Novel Form!]
BLISS a.k.a. Of Wit and Cunning
PROLOGUE
Before these pale glows swallowed our eyes, before a wet mouth became a matter of commerce, before our sprawling forests and mountains were slathered in tar, life and earth were a singular affair. Yet, our complex minds couldn’t sit cozy in simple times, not when burgeoning desire gave us so much to do.
The flames of “progress” were ignited by a chance spark, the whims of want kindling it to a blazing inferno. The flames licked our lands, swallowed our continents, drank our air. One man from Mor Ubhal was all it took to grow out of hand. I’d been there, seen him, let him have his way. I let him fill my pockets for sips of my blood. I said nothing ‘til the flames came home. No one did. I hate to think that man could’ve been any one of us. He was small-time, he was humble, he was hungry. I watch these emerald flames have their way on the very grounds I let them walk.
We were all too beguiled, let the green melt all it touched into its own image. There was too much potential in its promises of sugar and cotton. No hearty trader would pass up such a sell. First she swallowed the port towns, then the villages, then the forests, but foremost the minds. The whole empire danced along with the flames of frenzy and fervor. The unrelenting hunger for supply and the careless suppliance of demand. It truly felt a renaissance where all theoreticals now seemed plausible. I just wish I listened to her, just wish I said more.
These dormant vats, these viridescent seas that bubbled beneath our feet seemed to bear all the marks of evolution. Beneath every mountain, river and reef, prospect for any well-equipped fool. The scholars knew and they kept quiet, as did its victims, as did the politicians, but the businessman? The businessman knows no blindness and has forced us all to sea. Home is drowned, though those that weathered the storm stand by me as I write.
We look off at the burning city, the places that governed our spirits drowned in a pale green. I recall that day back in Glenshire, the lazy days tucked comfortably in that lush, verdant valley. We were just 20 miles north of Mor-Ubhal, the city of business, yet so content in the simplicity of pastoral life. Yet, even the fullest hearts have room to hunger.
CHAPTER 1
In his drafty attic with walls and floors of exposed-wood, Oswald Sullivan sits by the window, pouring over a set of parchments for each of his many hats. In as small a village as Glenshire, a dead end town nestled along a river in the heart of a mountain range, there was a lot that needed to be done. He’s mainly a fisherman, though has been designing boats for such recently, perhaps for opening transport downstream to Mor-Ubhal. Besides a single road, the village is incredibly isolated in its function. Oswald is also an archivist, his spacious attic loaded with shelves of scrolls and documents, a construction man, and as of late, a writer for the archives at the suggestion of his daughter. In these unstructured times, you go where you’re needed. Right now, he spills his mind through ink and quill.
Our village remains peaceful, a world of its own separate from the constant pursuit of revelation and reinvention I’ve seen in the streets of Mor-Ubhal. Labour is a hard term there nowadays. Didn’t used to be. Here, though, it’s as clean as family. I wouldn’t call building boats and homes toilsome. Hard work? Only kind of. Such tasks aren’t a means to an end, but a means of continued community.
We’re a village of misfits in a way; mostly those who found their way here from elsewhere in the empire. Very welcoming bunch, as all of us came here in the same way as nomads or artisans without a home to go back to. Through all that growth and shrinkage of our aging and amorphous population, community rests in the land itself and the means we find our place in serving the land. It’s not all duties and that, we are folks of great leisure with seasons of rest, folks fine keeping everything as is.
“Oswald, honey. Dinners ready!” his partner, Allegra, calls up the attic ladder. He sighs, hovering his pen over the manuscript. He had planned to work on a fishing boat design today, but it again had slipped his mind. There’ll always be tomorrow. “Be down soon, my love! I’m finishing up a project!” “Alright, well Bliss should be home soon and I’d like you at the table tonight.”
He looks at the blueprint, but continues to write for the archive, reeling back in his line of thought:
Now this may sound like we’re stuck in our ways, but I disagree. Progress is a misnomer in some parts for what’s often self-correction. Nature, and this place, is a tough thing to answer in how we might correct it, so we keep it as is and give to it what we can from our own ability. Why label such labour? What incentives are needed other than keeping on being neighbourly? Why procrastinate a good friend? We all gotta survive, so best we do it together, yeah? It’s simple, but it hasn’t failed yet! I wonder what those capital cities of knowledge, art, science and commerce would think of how we live. I came here young and chose to raise a family here, so maybe I’m mistaken, but what more from life is needed than this? That’s the Glenshire way.
Bliss would probably contend, though best I leave it to her own words. My and Allegra’s daughter and child of Glenshire, she’s gotten snappy about these things as of late. Keeps her nose in books half the day and knows more than even the elders. I’m sure she’s cleared the library and archives, even so young. Sure you’re reading this too, honey. My point here being those who know the least of life outside the village seem the most enamored by it. Maybe because they don’t get the choice. So she lives through these outside experiences as if everything here’s all dried up. She’s been quietly shirking on tending to livestock and fishing. The writing’s on the wall that she desires to take flight beyond our narrow slice of Earth. Maybe she’ll come back at journey’s end in appreciation, or maybe the world is better for some outside these hills. I just hope that day doesn’t come too soon.
“Oswald! Your daughter is home! Any longer up there and your dinner’ll be colder than a shaved bear!” Allegra pokes her head back through the hatch.
Oswald grunted, putting his pen back in the well and running his hands through his messy grey-ginger hair. He rubbed a knot out of his back and hazily climbed down the ladder, still deep in thought. Carelessly, he bumps into someone at the bottom of the ladder.
“Er, sorry, Bliss. Say, are those my clothes?” She wore a tank top, an oversized green flannel swung over her shoulder, and baggy work pants held up by a belt. She seemed to be chewing something.
“Yep. Good for the mud. Figured you weren’t using them any time soon if you still haven’t finished those new fishing boat blueprints.” She smirked, noticing the ink on my fingers. “Glad to know you’re doing something up there all day.”
“Now, now, just a few more kinks. Boats’re delicate beasts. I promise, I’ll be runnin’ lumber in with the Burr twins by the end of the week. Your father knows how to focus when the time is right!”
“I’ve heard that before.” She takes a few steps up the ladder and peaks into his study. “Explains all that extra paper on your desk, too. All blueprints, I take it?”
“Insightful as ever, detective. Just some things for the future, things I’m sure you’ll read. Clean up now, your mother’s waiting.”
“I know you’re getting old, man, but isn’t it a little soon to be writing a will?”
Oswald chuckles. “Best to do it now before my hands start shakin’ like old Seann. No, I’ve been trying to journal for the archive, as you suggested. S’a fair bit of fun, even if you just want me spillin’ my secrets where you know where to find them.”
“You know me so well. I’ll set some time aside tonight. I know I’ve offered before, but I’ve got this book on fluid dynamics I can give you in the meantime.”
“Well you know… equations and reading aren’t really for me.”
Allegra looks up at them from the kitchen, her ruby hair tied back by a bandana. “A conversation on the stairs? Are you two that afraid of my cooking? It’s steak, you know.”
“Another day feeding on Poor Marvin?” Bliss interjects bemoaningly before cracking. “Sounds delicious. Won’t keep you from it, old-timer.”
Oswald couldn’t help but smile. Much like his wife’s cooking, he never knew what to expect from her.
[Perspective: Bliss]
Alright, pipe down, Bliss. Enough cutesy facade. I peek through my curtains looking for them. That man earlier… but more concerning, that girl with him? Outsiders and merchants always mean a dose of flavour to break up the bland days of fishing, but I’ve never seen any like these two. While fishing in the river this afternoon, the two come from the forest-line, manually pushing their caravan across the bridge. The man was older, the girl about my age, both clearly from some far-off part of the Empire and in some of the finest dress I’ve ever seen. Girl was cute, but combos like that always irk me. Maybe that’s the weird feeling. Or maybe it’s because the cart was too tiny to turn a trade. They clearly had something dressed like that. Bet they went to Tomm’s. Wonder if Mom or Dad saw them at all. Maybe I’ll stake out the inn tonight.
My stomach rumbles.
Suppose I need steak in for a stake out. My best clothes lie atop my feathery bed. I stand in front of my full-body mirror to change, staring dead-eyed at my reflection as I slowly strip. Thin and pale as ever. So pale I seem to glow in the dim room. I put my fingers in my rib divots and stretch my back. My clumpy red hair clung to the sides of my face, the smell of pond water lingering in my nose. I bound my flat chest and slid on dad’s button-up. Green, my favourite colour, with black stripes around the waist. Did well to hide my probably unhealthy figure. The pants of Theseus clung disgustingly to my legs, more patches than original fabric. I changed into a soft grey pair I usually use for pajamas. I’d shower later. Clean enough for now.
I fish to cover for my father while he works on his boat project, which is why I get on his case about it. Other option is tending to the animals with my mother. Cute until you have to scrape their shit up. I usually keep a baby in the house as a pet. Right now it’s a pig I’ve named Prince. Dinner tonight was one from when I was little.
I need my own clothes. Dad’s are the only ones I wear these days. I could ask Mrs. Saydean for something, but bet she’d have me dress “more womanly”. Whatever. Everything’s pretty communal in this town, even clothes. Not that I think we need an outfit for every want, but it’d be nice to have something I could feel myself in. But sure, hold your questions and accept the standards. After nineteen years, I know it all. Here, that is. I’ve heard from travellers of a coastal city far to the east where they all make and wear their own clothes. Just think it’d be nice to see it. Look at me, my colourless freckled cheeks, my matted hair and lack of an expression. This is the real me, apparently. As good as it gets. Sometimes I feel the self isn’t something we have, but something we make from what we’ve found. Who am I? What chance have I had to find anything? I can read as much body science as I want and it still won’t tell me what it means to feel like myself, to feel at home in clothes or among friends.
What’s a friend when everyone here is nice to each other? How books describe friends, that’s just how people are here. I’m my parent’s kid, I’m smart, I’m an old soul, I’m a real help. They call me beautiful, but in my reflection I see all but that. Each one of these labels, they aren’t mine. I can’t find myself while I stay here, I’ve come to realize. Maybe my self lies in the wilds, in the city of clothes, in the farthest reaches of the Earth, perhaps in simply seeking an education in Mor-Ubhal. All this talk and I’d never even gone that far. When they’re finished, I’ll ride one of dad’s boats and ride it to the river’s end, spend my days there to see what’s on offer. I’d hate to leave my parents alone, knowing how much they worry about me. The truth of that weird feeling I got about those merchants is envy. My age and that girl had it figured out, it seemed. The clothes, the journey, looks I wish I had. It’s settled. I’ll talk to her after dinner.
~
“So, Bliss, any good catches?” Mom asked, sliding a slab of meat and a roasted potato over to me.
“Three trout. Brought them over to the market.” I said, shovelling my mouth full. As surplus food and harvests were communal, goods were stored and rationed from a structure in the center of town called the market.
“Three, eh? That’s my girl!” Dad gives me a hefty pat on the back, to which I cough. “Now imagine you runnin’ a ship up and down the river looking for fertile grounds! We’ll be able to catch double, no, triple that!”
“I long to see the day, Oz. It would really be a burden off of the farmers. Could keep a lot more packed away until winter,” Mom says affectionately.
“You know, population's been sparse this year. Don’t know if the salmon could bounce back from fishing up that many. Maybe we could take it out to sea, finally see Mor-Ubhal.”
“Maybe so, but I’ve no doubt it’s just an off-year. Salmon’ve migrated through this valley for hundreds of years. Whatever problem there is will fix itself.”
I stared silently at him, chewing my food. “Just an observation,” I said through a mouthful of potatoes.
“Observations are for folks like that screwy astronomer. Mother Nature knows how to suture her own wounds. Sorry, I know you’re entertained by that woman.” He hesitates. “Sorry, I shouldn’t talk bad of people you might look up to. You could study under her like Ghrian, you could sew, you could take care of the elders. Really. Whatever it is that gets you there, I want you to be happy, Bliss.”
“I’ll get back to you on that one.” I say dryly.
“Though I would prefer it not be with that Rionnag woman,” Mom says, concerned. “I don’t know how she does it. Atop the mountain all day, coming down for food every so often. I couldn’t keep my head on in such isolation.”
I’m guiltily a little enamoured by how Rionnag lives. Our few encounters have been coincidental and rather transactional, for such was her nature. She’d been like that since arriving in the village five years ago, creating quite a few enemies by having Tim and Fi drag all the supplies up to the ridge. “Well Ghrian seems to learn a lot from her.”
“Oh, speaking of whom, I heard something interesting over at Taylor’s today! It seems the pair who came in today were looking for a house! Did either of you see them?”
“Yeah. Fancy pair. Was gonna ask the same.”
“‘nother building, huh? Hope it’s not out of wood. Hope Tomm’ll keep ‘em and give the Burr twins time to focus on one thing at a time. Know he’s stubborn about that kinda thing, though. Would be too running an inn by myself.”
I paused, unsure how much was worth telling them. “S-something seemed strange about ‘em. Had a small, covered caravan, no horse or anything. Too small to hold all their stuff or hold stuff to trade.”
Mom paused me. “Be considerate, Bliss. Maybe they’re coming from a bad situation, or maybe, if they are merchants, they all have their own little things they do. Ooh, or maybe it’s a gift to compensate for their sudden appearance! Oh, we should prepare a gift in return! I know just the thing!” Mom leaves the table and shuffles around in the pantry. “Don’t chew on the bowls, you stupid pig!” Prince jumps out behind her when she does and runs over to rub his nose on my leg.
“Can you not, Mom? I’d rather we make a good impression on them!”
“Wh- a good impression! Such cheek!” Dad looks sternly at me in response to Mom, although I know he agrees with me.
“What’s wrong, lass? You were fine before dinner. Why so down now? Do you need a few days off from fishing? It is hard work, after all. I can-”
“No! I’ll be fine!” I cut him off. “Things are going great! Please, finish your boat! We’re all counting on you to do great things!” I feel like a shithead talking to my parents like that, but it always got them to stop asking questions. I genuinely did want to make a good impression, to fix that feeling in my gut towards this whole situation.
“If things are as great as you say,” Mom emerges from the pantry with a crate full of her infamous jars. “I’m sure you won’t mind taking these over to the inn for me. Some of my more interesting pickles and preserves to leave the impression Glenshire is a place like no other. I mean, who else in all the empire has experimented with fruit juice brine! We are a household of pioneers!” Like mother like daughter… Seeking something new wherever it might be found. She loads the crate of locally notorious preserves into my arms and guides me out with a floating arm.
“Good luck with ‘em, lass! Use that better judgement of yours and don’t let the weevils bite!” Dad waves his metal mug as he speaks.
“Take the pig out, too. Two birds and all that.” she says, Prince prodding against my ankles with laboured grunts. The door swings closed behind me, but doesn’t shut. People here tend to only bother in the winter.
I crossed town on a familiar line: between the kissing houses, across the playfield, past the lumber-mill, over the bridge, up the hill towards the inn. Prince loosely clung behind me through my leisurely steps, cutting out onto the grass and balancing alone the cobblestone walls that lined the fields to brighten my path. The sun set behind the inn, framing it in a warbling wispy pink.
The inn’s the largest building in town, housing the few merchants who pass through the valley, mostly tradesmen from Mor-Ubhal or the villages north of the mountain range seeking crops and spices, though a few come for our mead. The inn also served as a second home in the slow seasons, be it for silent nights of study, hosting a get-together or getting drunker than your family might hope to see you.
Its owner, Tomm Holliday, though hung up on keeping the place in order, always came off to me as laid-back and pretty gung ho about whatever might come his way. Also, as the sole brewer for our aforementioned mead and only one in town with liquor on tap, he stayed popular on off-season nights. I bother him quite often, for though he's as old as my father, he’s a great listener and an even better gossip to keep a shut-in like myself fed. Such is the nature of the only man in the village to live alone.
Cracking open the inn’s heavy, metal-plated door, Tomm stares me down from the counter, polishing a set of metal tankards before an empty bar. He meets my eyes through his rectangle spectacles and runs his tan hand through his gradient of greying hair.
“Good evening, Bliss. Pig outside, you know my policy.” he says nonchalantly.
“C’mon, buddy. Out.” I slide the crate of preservatives onto his counter, which Tomm eyes with some loathing, and cradle Prince to the door. He won’t go anywhere.
“What brings you here tonight, Miss Sullivan. A conversation with this old man, perhaps, or maybe you’re here to pilfer another bath-cloth? I’d hate to bother Mrs. Saydean to make more of that which could simply be returned.” Tomm jokingly accuses me.
“Sorry, Mr. Holliday, but it wasn’t me this week.”
“Must you Mr. Holliday me?”
“Must you Miss Sullivan me?”
“Fair point, my dear, fair point.” He slides one of the tankards behind him and starts on another with the same rag. He looks again at the crate. “Really, then? Then it must be you’ve finally come around to sharing a round? You know I’d never tell your father if you did!”
“You know I prefer my mind unimpaired, Tomm. Unfortunately-” to which I eye the crate too, “I think we both know why I’m here.”
“Oh, I know… it’s never about me when I want it to be… you’re just like everyone else!” Tomm dramatically tosses back the tankard and wipes his eyes with the rag. I don’t react, to which he looks sternly into my eyes. “She really made that pickled fruit stuff again?”
“Yep.”
“See? I’m impaired and still observant as can be! I’m telling you, you’re missing out! I get it, though. Stubborn. Stubborn. That stuff though? Poison, at least business-wise. Remember that last merchant? Maybe try bringing it up with your mother, all praise-like, that she’s doing a great job making sure we have few enough mouths to keep feedin’. Kidding, of course, you’re mother’s lovely, don’t say that.”
“Oh, will do, and I’ll even make sure to name-drop you.” Tomm snorts at this, before hushing himself in consideration for his guests. “I haven’t forgotten about you, Tomm. Just… a bit distracted is all.”
“Well you know I’ll always be here to listen, kid. Now get that stuff outta my site. They’re room three. Good luck. They’re… a bewitching pair.” Tomm laughed to himself as he poured another drink from the counter keg.
"Thanks."
I head up the stairs, running my hand along the bumpy plaster wall. Each floor had two doors against the back wall on either side of the bar. Always dimly lit by the box windows on each wall and hanging candles. Crossing the creaky loft to the last door, I caught myself trembling a bit. I couldn’t parse it, but squeezed my wrist as I stood idle before the door. I raised my knuckles, but froze. What the hell’s wrong with me? Just… a man’s voice sounded out from inside.
“Get the door, would you, girl? Heard someone sneaking around outside.” Good ears, I guess. After a few inaudible whispers and an uncomfortable amount of time, the door slowly unbolted and creaked open. She was shorter than she seemed at a distance, almost a head smaller than me, though I was certainly right about our similar age. She had a round and innocent face with a bit of a hazed, distant expression, no doubt from the liquor, and well-kept black curls. Quite a bit of her brown skin was exposed, her attire rather minimal and skimpy for what I would answer the door with, though who am I to judge clad in muddy rags? Her deep black eyes hung on my chest before I crouched a bit to meet them.
"Hey."
“Ah, sorry… hello. You’re one of the townsfolk, I assume? Mas- er, Mister Cunning is resting up for t-tomorrow. Sorry if you’ve got business with him or whatever.” The girl trailed off, though her voice was soft, warm. Her eyes moved to the crate, though she made no comment.
“That’s fine, you’re good with me. I just tend to get curious with guests, especially in such… interesting pairs. Always a story, I suppose, right?” I laugh a bit nervously, trying my best to get her to lighten up a little. Her mouth cracks a bit, but she seems pretty far gone. “I-I’m Bliss, by the way. This is just a gift from my mother. It’s not… good, but if you get hungry tonight, maybe you could use some… food.” I lift the crate of jars into her reach, which she slowly accepts. She looks me in the eye with a bored expression. I offer my hand for a handshake with a “And you are?”, to which she awkwardly looks at the crate in her arms. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I can… take them back if-”
She interrupted me. “I’m sure the merchant will enjoy these. Thank you, Bliss.” She put the crate down inside and began closing the door.
“If you don’t mind a few more questions, what do you mean merchant? Just he’s the merchant or are you, like, trade partners? Well, I guess with clothes like yours, maybe… Sorry, too far probably. I never got your name!” I rubbed my hand over my mouth, my face getting warmer with each stumble.
The girl gave a surprising smile, however, as she cracked the door back open. “I’m Amira. Nice to meet you. The clothes are… typical women’s merchant’s attire from my home. From Al-Dhahab. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow, Bliss. At the showing. If you’ll be there, of course.”
“The showing?”
“Yes. I’m-” She looked over her shoulder. “I’m not permitted to say more. Sleep well tonight.”
“Thanks… you too.” She started closing the door before I spoke, this time bolting it back shut. Part of me wanted to knock again, but her apathy had drained my ability to feign any more excitement. A bit defeated, but too a little enamoured, I ran back down the stairs with my hands in my pockets.
Mr. Holliday met my gaze and laughed at me as soon as I turned towards him. “Didn’t sound like the food went over too well, huh?”
“I mean… the girl took it. Amira. But…” I trailed off, unsure how much I wanted to tell him, though I knew he heard the whole exchange through the floor.
“Can’t blame a bit of trepidation. You can be quite intimidating. Was mainly surprised you got a name out of her. The older gentleman did all the talking with registering and over drinks. Real fireball of a man, knows how to get in people’s heads, I could tell. Also offered these bits of metal to pay for the room. Funny, aren’t they? Must’ve come from doing business with the miners from the other side of the mountains.” I didn’t have much to add, but it was refreshing to hear him shine some light. Truthfully, the whole ordeal took more out of me than I could admit to myself.
“It’s… it’s getting late. Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow. Nice seeing you, Tomm.”
“Indeed, indeed. Know this inn could always use some extra help with cleaning if ever you’re bored, Bliss. Take care now.”
“Same to you.”
Prince barreled out from the shadows as soon as I slid out the door, much to my terror.
“Quite the disappointment, little buddy.” I muttered, scooping him up. “Just crumbs… crumbs of their trade, their personality, their ermph-”
I stumble over something lying on the hill path, overcorrecting until I fell flat on my ass. By my side, the moonlight reflects off a round pair of glasses and a little glass marble being tossed up and down on the figure’s fingers. Their face met me with a sheepish smile, to which I could identify the perpetrator of my fall. He sat up, brushing the kicked-up dust off his dark sweater and black shorts (a cruel camouflage for this hour).his blonde tufts of hair blowing in the evening breeze.
“Evening, Ghrian. Any particular reason you’re lying in the middle of the path dressed in all black?” His blonde tufts of hair jostle around in the evening breeze, his expression not changing to my sardonic words.
“Evening, Miss Bliss! Sorry for the tumble. Guess black just happened to be my colour tonight!”
“I’ve told you, you don’t need to call me Miss every time… you’re a year younger, dude.” I settled in the dirt, entertaining him from my lack of wanting to get up. He’s always stupidly polite, quick to apologize, hard to get mad at or be as jerky to, even ironically. Near-constant smiles, too. Whatever his secret was to seizing the pastoral mundanity, I was envious for a dose. Always a puppy-dog type of guy, always seemingly authentically so. I’ll never get it.
“Sorry, it’s just “Miss” flows off the tongue with your name and all.”
“With them rhyming, yeah? You’re usually not out this late without Rionnag.”
“Neither are you. Evening stroll to admire the stars, as well? To answer your question, Miss Rionnag and I’ve noticed all sorts of odd little cosmological phenomena recently. Mind lying next to me so you can follow my gaze?”
“Sure, I’ve got nothing better to do.” I’d known for years he had a crush on me, but he wouldn’t try anything. He never had. Too timid a guy to do anything but dream.
“Excellent. Follow my hand now… see it? I’m sure a girl as brilliant as you caught on right away. It’s truly quite the enigma.”
“Sorry, but I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He chuckles and lowers his arm. “That’s alright. If you’ve been attentive to the sky the past few weeks, as we have, more and more stars seem to be vanishing. Weird, right? At the same time, the other planets in our solar system seem to all be on trajectory for a syzygy, er… a coming-together in the sky. An alignment.”
“Sounds rare.”
“Once in a life-time, it is, if even that! Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, all in a single night's sky. It’s hard to say how close they’ll be now, but imagine if they all lined up perfectly... that’s once-in-forever, a dream come true for any student of the stars! Pardon my ramble, but fate must have something grand in store that night, don’t you think?” He tilted his head over to me. I scoffed, resting my hand on my temple.
“Cut it with that fate stuff. Certain tomorrows are for storybooks. Who knows, the sun could blow tomorrow, a tornado could sweep us all away…”
“The planets could align!”
“Sure. It’s just… the unknowability of it all keeps me going. Maybe it’s a pipe-dream, but that any day could be the day where it all just… changes and finally comes together. Sorry, space got me wistful. Ignore me. I guess that stuff must be pretty cool for an astronomer.”
“Oh, undoubtedly a day for us all! You’re right, though: could be a sign for anything! By that theory though, for someone somewhere, it’s gonna mean something.”
I smiled and looked away towards Prince, who picked at a brown mushroom. “Someone, somewhere. Guess it’s what we make of it. Going back though, can stars really disappear?”
“No, that’s the strange part of it all. None in the texts we have have ever written about such a thing. At the very least, we’re sure they’re not *actually* dying or going anywhere. Any theories?”
“The feeding frenzy of a galactic worm! No, no serious ones. By the way, before I go, did you hear anything about the merchants that came in today?”
“I did. Haven’t had the courage to talk to them yet, though, so such remains the ghost-story rumours of Miss Rionnag. Have you?”
“Yeah. Just coming back from it. Just talked to the girl. Amira. She seemed out of it, so not sure I got the best picture. Kept quiet about their trade. Tomm seemed to think they had something to do with the miners. Maybe the Caldera’s would know something. Whatever. We’ll know soon enough.” I stood back up, brushing my pants off.
“Heard from Miss Rionnag that they’re holding a presentation tomorrow morning. Suppose I’ll see you there?”
“Even need to ask? Not like much else goes on around here. See you tomorrow.”
As I hunted down Prince, he waved goodbye and returned to peacefully lying in invisible obstruction of the path. To spend all your nights spacing out in the patternless array of dots… truly a different man than I. Ghrian and I are the only ones of our generation in the village, somehow. No one else within five years either side of my age. He’s a nice kid. Smarter, more introspective, than he lets show. We have our differences, but bond over the academic interests we’ve taken up. Conversations with him never feel like a waste. I spend my days reading from the giants of the past of any field, while he spends his days as the ancients might: one teacher, one subject, and what a teacher Rionnag must be.
Few other than Ghrian are favourable towards her, but somewhere in closing that distance, he seems to have developed a deep admiration of her. Ghrian’s brought me into the lab on a few occasions, but even there she was off doing her own thing. Her mannerisms seemed a bit belligerent, and certainly unfiltered, but if Ghrian and her equipment were any testament, there was a method to her madness. I stomped my boots clean on the mothy, lantern-lit doorstep and ushered Prince back to the barn out back for the night. Back inside, I found the table damp from cleaning and a soothing silence, broken by crickets and a crackling fireplace. My father sat alone by the fire, hunched over in his chair and swirling a light glass of mead.
“Welcome home, lass. See the package has been delivered.”
“To its destination with nary a word.”
“Hmph. And otherwise?”
I sighed, slumping down on the floor next to him. “Quiet. Apparently, they’ll be presenting something tomorrow morning, if you’re interested. Not just looking for a house, so I bet they could be reasoned out of using wood.”
"That’s my detective!” He coughs and puts his drink down. “How’s Tomm this eve?”
“Well. You doing alright? Do you usually just sit here doing nothing with a drink?”
“Of course! See, you’re usually up there reading at these hours, drowning yourself in this and that, given’ every minute measurable value. But when you get to my age it’s letting the mind wander, recollect for a little, that keeps it all valuable. The flames inspire my best ideas. Besides, I need something to do now that my fishing boat project is complete.”
“You just finished it?”
“Your father’s a reliable man when you put his feet to the fire. Earns his rest. Whaddya suppose we do with it?”
“Fish?”
“Come on, don’t get smart with me, lass.”
“Well, I’ve always wanted to make the trip downstream to Mor-Ubhal.”
“There we are. I’ve been thinking a change of scenery would do you well. When the season turns, that’ll be the time.”
“Consider it a plan, then. But for now... I’m going to bed, so if you’re going to need help getting up the stairs, or…”
“Oi now, don’t be a smart ass after that!” He picks his drink up again and swigs the rest down before extending his arms for a hug. “I love you, Bliss.”
“Love you, too.” He was warm from the fire, smelled of that familiar blend of sweat and flannel.
I slogged up into my room, utterly drained. I’ll get more info out of that girl. That’ll be my pet project for the next few days. This envy, this feeling, this concern I feel deep down… there must be something to them. I’ll get the words out, for I could feel it. In them, there’d be that bit of myself, an answer to my distance, my longing. In them, there’d be a clearer tomorrow. For now, the best on offer was whatever their little showing would be. I closed my eyes, and though I’d usually be excited in these moments, found myself lulled by picturing that girl's face. Amira. Amira.