by Law, Lincoln
“What do you mean?” Amelia asked.
“Well if you must know, I have a friend in trouble and I think the Architect has something to do with it. I have to save him from…wherever he is.” It was perhaps a bit too direct for Ophelia’s liking, but it was better if she was honest.
“No, you can’t,” Amelia muttered, horror-struck.
“I have to,” she retorted. “It’s my fault he’s been taken, and I have to rescue him.”I can’t let him get hurt!
“No! I can’t lose another one to the Architect!”
“But I…” she paused. Another one? “Sorry?”
Her mother seemed to realise what she had just said. She stuttered a little, her breath shaky, as if she were about to cry.
“Another? What do you mean by another?”
“Forgive me,” her mother muttered. “Come with me into the kitchen. It’s time you knew about what happened to your father.”
She turned her wheelchair in the hallway, and rolled herself into the kitchen. Ophelia hesitated on the doormat, still dripping from the rain, but then followed behind, catching up. The hearthflies followed closely behind her, the light filling the rooms with warmth.
“Take a seat,” her mother said, as she lined herself up to the table, rolling herself into her usual position. Ophelia did so.
For a time, her mother just sat there, silent. She was crying softly, tears rolling down her cheeks in slow trickles. With each blink of her eyes, a tear was set free, but she kept a calm expression, her eyes seeming to swirl with memories of a distant past.
“You are more like your father than you realise.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You’re a LampLighter like him. You’re adventurous, and brave, and you have a strong heart. I could always see him in your face. We always said that you would end up like him, and look at you.”
She paused in her words, choking back tears again.
“I met your father just after he became a LampLighter. He was a wonderful man, and honest. Never afraid to say what he really thought—which seems strange when one considers he joined the most secretive guild in Castoro. He told me the first time I met him that he was a LampLighter, and I loved him all the more for it. I was in awe of his bravery. Mind you, I could walk back then.”
“You could?”
“I wasn’t always in this chair,” she said. “But I’ll get to that shortly.” She crossed her hands on her lap, lacing her fingers together. “Every night, your father came home with those about him, but they never came inside. It’s almost like they were drawn to him, as a moth is drawn to a flame or a fiend to the shadows. They had an…attachment to him. But they never crossed the threshold.
“After a while—this was a number of years after your brother was born—I think he was about twelve—and I was pregnant with you—he told me they had taken him to one of the canals and found another city joined to this one.”
“What?”
“Turned out the Architect isn’t the Architect after all. He had a brother, they built the city, and then it was split in two. But that’s not as important as it is to know that this other city the hearthflies had taken him to was a much nicer place. It never rained; there were no fiends or anything. There were three Vindicators, but not like the ones we have here. The ones there are kind and less secretive. Perhaps a product of the leader they serve. It was freedom, and he wanted to move there with me. We both wanted to. But we couldn’t so long as I was pregnant with you, and we had to make sure that Castoro’s guards didn’t follow us through.”
Ophelia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. But she didn’t speak. She had so many questions, but for now, she just wanted to listen.
“Over the next six years, we planned and plotted, and we knew that so long as all went well we could escape and never worry about retribution from Castoro.”
She looked to the side of Ophelia, at the doorway, as if she could see the events happening before her and she was an impartial watcher.
“He came home the night before our great escape—you were six, and your brother eighteen, a Blue Guard about to desert his post, and your father a LampLighter just completing his last shift. He arrived home, surrounded by hearthflies just as you are now. They seem drawn to ideas and plans, almost like they’re sentient. It’s like they long to be like humans, and so want to learn to be like us by listening to great ideas and joining them. The way they guided us to the second city makes me think they know more than we think they do. Perhaps they’re more like us than we think…”
“So that’s why you were worried when I walked in with so many!”
“Yes.” She was only silent for a moment more, though. “I was worried about them coming inside. It seemed strange, as if they knew something was going to happen, and they wanted to be there for it. In my ignorance, though, I brushed it aside and decided it must’ve been because they’ve followed him about every other day, and were ready to come inside.
“That night, we began our way through the streets. You were asleep in your father’s arms, you brother ready with his rifle, and I held the gas stick to keep the fiends away. We had the hearthflies with us though, so we didn’t really need the gas stick. I kept it though for safety’s sake.”
She choked on her words now, looking down at the table top as tears fell more freely. “We arrived at the channel, but the guards were waiting. Someone had found out. More than six years of planning, and something had gone wrong somewhere. Your brother fought, and your father. He gave you to me to hold, and went forth to fight. They knocked him out though and we were forced to come along. Your brother couldn’t fire, else they’d fire back and we’d all be killed.
“I can understand why you wouldn’t remember this. You mind is meant to be able to suppress painful memories. Anyway, we were all put on trial before the Vindicators and we told them all the truth, hoping that they would just let us on our way for being honest. They did, but not without a price. I was beaten, and my spinal cord injured beyond repair. My medicine I take helps the pain, but even today it aches. I was lucky that they only put me in a wheelchair. Damage my spine enough, and I could’ve been affected mentally, or even killed.
“As punishment, your father was forced to watch, and your brother. Your brother was allowed to return to work, but was named and shamed, and for betrayal, his comrades killed him. I told you he was attacked in a brawl, but it was more like an execution through a firing squad. I just wanted to protect you.”
“And me?”
“You knew no better, and you slept through most of this. The Vindicators showed enough mercy to leave you be. But me and you returned home, with your father. As a final act of punishment, your father was given his only wish. He was allowed to move to the second city, but he could only go alone. That was the judge’s ruling, and so he had to leave. The following morning, he got up and left.”
“I remember that!” Ophelia gasped. “I thought perhaps he didn’t love you anymore or something.”
“No, he left because he had to. If he didn’t, we were all going to be executed. And now, here we are.”
Ophelia paused. He left to save us. He left…because he loved us enough to do so.
Amelia put her hand on the table, taking Ophelia’s in her own, holding it tightly. “I know you care about your friend, but you can’t do this. The Architect knows all. He will find you, and you won’t get a trial. We have offended him enough without putting jailbreak on the list. If you are caught, you will be killed.”
“But I can’t just leave him!” Ophelia cried. “I can’t just let him…die!”
“But you have to!” Amelia begged. Ophelia could see the sadness in her mother’s eyes. The hope that her daughter wouldn’t leave. They were the eyes of a woman who knew she had lost an argument before it had begun. “Please,” she whispered. “For me. For your father. He too felt a sense of altruism, and look where it got him. He wanted to take everyone with us when we left. He said it would be better f
or us all, and now he’s alone, wondering whether his family is still alive. You can’t save everyone, Ophelia. No one can.”
Ophelia nodded slowly, as the words were processed in her mind.
“I might not be able to save them all,” she said. “I might not be able to save everyone from the lies of the Architect. I might not be able to save everyone from the judgements of the Vindicators. But I can protect a street with my LampLight, and I will save this boy from a life in darkness.”
She rose from the table, moving quickly to the door, gas bags still about her hip, gas stick strung over her back. “I have to do this, mother,” she finished, turning to the table, where her mother sat so very alone; more alone than she had ever been before. She felt sorry for her, and knew what she must have been feeling. Failure, hopelessness; fear that she would lose the last light in her life. “I’m the only one that can.” The hearthflies fluttered excitedly at this.
She left the kitchen, and the house, exiting through the front door, her cold sadness kept at bay by the fires around her.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, and for a moment she thought her mother could hear her.
She could almost hear her voice in her mind. Be careful, Ophelia.
The Truth about Hearthflies
I can save this city. I can correct my mistakes. I have the plan set out, and all of the pieces in place. Once the drilling is complete in the undercity, the plan can start. Preparations are almost done.
And from my knowledge, I shouldn’t have to wait too much longer.
Lamp light is the key.
“Wait. What?” He blinked, confused. He shifted about in his seat. The hearthflies, or spiritflies, or whatever, are actually the souls of the Cursed?” Faulkner said, for about the fourth time.
“Yes,” Elenor repeated with a tone that suggested annoyance.
Faulkner looked past the girl, staring blankly into the distance.
“But…how?”
“What happens is that once the Blesssing mutates—even I don’t know for certain why that happens, but I wouldn’t take Castoro’s explanation for absolute truth—their heart leaves their body. They fall asleep, and when they wake up, there’s a hearthfly sitting on their chest. Generally, the first thing that happens is they shoo it away. It hangs around, but over a time, they begin to reject it. Have you never wondered what the pulsing was from the ‘flies when they hang around?”
“I’ve always assumed it was their wings beating.”
She shook her head. “No. It’s the cauldron. Within that is a human heart, still beating so long as a person lives. The fire is the soul, attached to the heart. It’s why it’s so warm. It’s the reason it cannot be extinguished by the rains or water.
“And eventually a person will fully reject the hearthfly. That day, it flies away, and they become a fiend. Never again will they be human.”
Faulkner mused in the silence for a time. “So that’s why the fiends are so afraid of their fire…or any fire for that matter?”
Elenor nodded. “To feel love, to be human is to have a soul, and by no fault of their own they’ve rejected it. It’s the Curse, and has something to do with the Blessings going wrong. Nearly every person on this side of the wall is Blessed—or rather, nearly all those in the upper echelons of society—and none of them have become monstrous. Something has happened on your side of the wall, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with Castoro.”
It was quiet for a time in the room. Faulkner spent it mulling his thoughts over, while Elenor seemed on the verge of asking him something. She rocked back and forth in her chair, fists clenched.
“You said something about a boy named Nataniel,” Elenor said, biting her lip.
“Yes? Why?”
“He’s got the Blessing markings on him, hasn’t he?”
“I believe so.”
She paused, and then blurted, “I know him!”
“What?” he said incredulously, for the second time in a matter of minutes.
She explained her dreams, in which they both danced together, and how she had not seen him in a number of days.
“I’ve been worried,” she replied quietly. “Do you know if anything has happened to him?”
His face darkened. “No, I don’t,” he replied. “After we left the Tower, I went straight to Ophelia’s. I don’t know what happened to him after we left him at the foot of the tower. For all I know, he might be safe at home.” He added quietly so as not to be heard, “He’s probably better off than I am at the moment.”
Elenor’s mother walked, hands wrapped around a bottle of medicine.
“Ah, good. You kept him company. You can go now, Elenor. You have to be ready for the ball tonight.”
“Okay,” she replied, turning back to Faulkner to give him one last hopeful look. He undertstood instantly what it meant. She then got up from the chair and left the room, leaving Faulkner alone with her mother.
“She can be so very talkative,” she said. “I hope she didn’t bore you too much.”
“Not at all,” he replied, smiling thankfully as she unscrewed the top on the medicine bottle.
*
Nataniel dreamt again of Elenor, surprised given that it was his first night in captivity. He had expected a fitful night, filled with tossing and turning and sleeplessness.
But instead, he dreamed.
The ballroom was completely new to him. There were ball gowns and suits everywhere; hundreds of them, for the room was massive, domed and ornate. Filigrees of gold outlined frescos of cherubs and angels and fire and towers. There were forests and darkened mountains, and sky-scapes stuffed with clouds and sunlight—something he had seen very little of. Drapes of blood red hung from the tall ceiling, strung from the centre of the room where they were attached to the massive chandelier, dispersing and softening the golden light so that the room was ignited by a warm, moody glow.
And then there was Elenor, dressed in pink, her light hair allowed to flow in waves about her shoulders, a bow around her waist tied at the back. She didn’t look entirely comfortable in a dress that was so massively, exaggeratedly decorated, but she still looked beautiful. Every other faerie in the room, no matter how much they shone, no matter how luminescent their eyes were, paled in comparison to this young lady before him.
She was not dancing at present, though. She was standing at the side of the dance floor, just ahead and to the left of Nataniel, glancing over the dancefloor as if she was searching for someone.
“It’s me,” he said quietly to himself, as he began his way over.
Her face brightened as he approached, and she rushed up to him, her dres flapping about as she held it up from the ground, lest she trip over on the long fabric. Thankfully she was wearing flat shoes, so running was not too much trouble.
The pair hugged each other, and Nataniel blushed as she kissed him on the cheek. He could feel the hearthfly, even in his dreams, though it was currently invisible.
Strange that it should make its way into my dreams.
“It’s been too long,” she said, her excitement quite apparent in her voice.
“It has,” he replied. “I’m sorry I haven’t been here, but I can’t control my dreams.”
She paused, as if confused by the statement, but brushed it aside like a person who had realised what another had said a moment after they had asked them to repeat it. “I have met Faulkner,” she said. “He’s at my house, asleep.”
“What? How?” He said it more excitedly than he had expected to.
“He came to our side of the city,” she said.
He raised an eyebrow at this, confused. “Your side of the city? What do you mean?” He stopped, looking behind himself at the tower through the window. “This is the world of the faeries, isn’t it?” Within seconds he felt foolish. It sounded so stupid saying it out loud just now.
“No, silly,” she said. She quickly explained everything in the simplest manner she could, and by the end of it, Nataniel looked
just as confused as he had been to begin with. “It doesn’t matter, though. He’s here, he’s relatively well, and this means that you can come to my side of the city! We can meet in person!”
His expression showed confusion, but he felt elated. She looked worried for a moment, as if she had mistaken his expression for sadness, but the smile that quickly broke his face destroyed any of those fears. He hugged her once more, so tightly he thought his arms were about to pass through her, not that she was really there anyway.
“But I can’t,” he said slowly, sadly. “I’m imprisoned in the Architect’s tower. It’s a weird place, where they keep the people that know too much about what really happened to the city. I’m here, though, because of these.”
He pulled his collar down slightly, revealing the markings of his curse. They were bruise-like, as always, but darker than they normally were. Perhaps it was simply because he was in a dream, though, for they had never been this dark before. Or maybe it was the lighting? Nevertheless, he expected people to stop their graceful dance to stare at him and at his markings. He waited for a hundred pairs of eyes to suddenly snap to him, but they never did. The people kept dancing, almost unaware of the pair’s existence.
“They’re worried that if my Blessing mutates I’ll be a danger to society,” he explained.
At that moment, the hearthfly shimmered into existence, its pulse smooth, slow. One could almost call it mellow. The flame burned brightly in the cauldron it carried, the fire rich with sparks and light.
“What’s that?” Elenor asked, her gaze quickly snapping to the small, dragonfly-like creature as if it were a fiend lurking in the shadows.
“A hearthfly.”
“No, I mean what’s it doing here?”
“I don’t know to be honest. It’s with me in the prison at the moment. I just woke up and there it was! Strange, eh? I’m actually a little surprised to see it here in my dreams.”
“You say you just woke up and it was there?”
“Yes, why?” He paused, recognising her fearful expression. “Is that bad?”
“Of course it’s bad!” she yelled, though none of the ball guests seem to notice. It was almost as if they didn’t really exist in the room. “Nataniel, that spiritfly is your—”