All Light Will Fall (16 page)

E’lana squeezed my hand. It was such a fragile thing the way
it curled around my fingers. I wasn’t sure I liked it. Her hand was too much
like Fern’s hand. Holding her hand like that with such familiarity was painful.
Because the longer I held it, the more I adored her. I hungered to hold her
like the living doll she was, as if she were someone I loved. As if she were
Fern.

I drew my hand away. E’lana didn’t seem to notice. She
pointed a fierce finger at Windlen. “And I am not foolish. You are! And you
think you know everything! That’s why Father says your head is as big as
Cerniphilus!”

They went back and forth, screaming at each other in Hedai
until Windlen eventually surrendered. For a thing so small, his sister had
quite the tenacious will. “Fine then!” Windlen snapped. “Tell the
kachi
all of our secrets. I’m sure Mother and Father will be proud to hear it!” He
puffed his chest out then stormed passed us into the hall. E’lana turned and
stuck her tongue at him. It surprised me how human of a thing it was for her to
do.

“Come this way,” E’lana cheered. She guided me through the
hall into a kitchen-like area. A small table sat center in the high, open
space. Golden rays soaked through the windows. It was bizarre seeing these
windows in a room that was nearly without any walls. But when the sun struck
the glass at just the right angle, the light spread long over every glossy
artifact and piece of pottery.

In one of the windows, a jungle bird perched in the colors
of sun. It seemed like it was singing just for this rare occasion.

“Sit down, sit down,” E’lana said. She went to the counter
and placed the collected flowers in a vase. “Heeki, this is
manma kachi
.
Manma kachi
, this is Heeki,” she introduced.

The bird greeted me with a whistle, nodding its head.
“Hello,” I whispered to it.

“You should be careful,” Windlen warned. “Heeki can smell
danger from very far away. If you try anything,
kachi
, she will attack.”

I looked up at the bird. It paid me no mind, bobbing
side-to-side across the perch. “Stop it, Windlen. Heeki is not a fighting
bird.” E’lana leaned into my ear. “Brother is just trying to scare you.”

“Am not!” Windlen grumbled. “One time, there was a
saber
in the garden and Heeki was up in the trees. When she saw it, she jumped right
on top of it, snapping and scratching. The
saber
couldn’t shake her off,
so it ran scared. Believe it, E’lana. Heeki is too, a fighter.”

The girl smiled at him then began her way around the
kitchen. She gathered bowls and spoons, seasonings, and uniquely shaped foods
from the kitchen cubbies. “Put fire to the
corroko
,
Windlen,” she
ordered politely.

The boy set his weapon on the countertop. He kept his eyes
on me as he went to the other side of the kitchen. There was a silver door
shaft there. I watched as he lifted the slide and peered inside. He loaded the
pit with a handful of black stones then lit the furnace with a flick of fire.

“
Aya,
manma
kachi
,” E’lana called. She
mixed a creamy like batter in bowl as she spoke. “What is your name?”

“Celeste,” I told her.

She blinked her feline eyes then smiled again. “
Na,
that is a pretty name.”

“Thank you. I like yours too. Both of your names.”

Windlen stiffened at the compliment. He brought a white
bundle over where E’lana was working then slowly stripped the object. It looked
like raw meat. I watched as he took a blade from the counter and sliced and
tossed the meaty slabs onto an oiled skillet. I listened to the sound of the
meat sizzling. There was something about that homely sound that made me
reminisce of Mother. Those hands of hers were so dexterous, moving magically
over everything they touched. I missed her so badly my throat ached. I wanted
to say her name just once, knowing that when I did, she would turn around and
smile at me.

“Where are your parents?” I asked.

“
Desia
, selling our goods,” E’lana answered. “They
are
vegan
.”

“I see. And did your mother make all of these too?” I asked,
gazing across the kitchen. It was cluttered with odd-looking trinkets and
beaded wind chimes.

“She did,” Windlen said.

“Celeste, what is your mother like?” E’lana asked. She
skipped over to me.

“Do not be foolish,” Windlen said from the stove. “
Kachien
do not have mothers.”

“Of course they do!” E’lana argued. “Then where do they come
from, Windlen? The ground?” She said it as if it were impossible, as if a human
being sprouting from the ground was the silliest and most nonsensical notion
she’d ever heard.

“Well, no. They come from . . . from . . .” The boy tapped
his chin in thought then looked at me. “Where do you come from?” he wondered.

“I have a mother,” I told him. “Her name is Patra.”

“See, see, Windlen. Even
kachien
have mothers,”
E’lana squealed.

Windlen rushed to the table, looking at me with a new
curiosity. “Really? You really have a mother?” he asked.

I nodded. “I have a sister too... Fern.”

Their eyes widened. I didn’t know why I was telling them
this. Perhaps it was their innocence—or their ignorance. It was so simple to
tell them the truth—or lie. Then I realized how much power I had over them. How
easy it was to make them believe anything I told them. That was power. That was
ARTIKA. Without ignorance, it couldn’t function. Without ignorance, ARTIKA was
like the rest of us—frail, powerless, obedient.

“What else do you have? A father?” Windlen pried.

I nodded.

“What is his name?” E’lana asked.

I looked at her. My father’s name, I hadn’t said it in
years. Not in my mind. Not in my heart. Not in my dreams. “Well what is it?”
E’lana said again. He had no name. Not to me. Not after what he had done.

“Tell us,” Windlen begged.

“I don’t remember it,” I lied.

Windlen drew back from the table, his face twisted as if
he’d been shot. “You... do not remember,” he whispered. He put a hand to his
lips like he had cursed, like those words were forbidden.

“But you must remember,” E’lana insisted.

“I don’t,” I snapped.

The children were silent, like they were in some sort of
grave pain for me. As they stared at me, something strong caught my nose.
“Something’s burning,” I said.

The children turned. “Ah!” Windlen cried. He rushed to the
stove, throwing water over the rising smoke. E’lana giggled, the sound of her
laughter brimming with mirth. And I watched her, enchanted by her movements. I
had never heard laughter quite like hers. Not even Ellis laughed so fully, so
contentedly, and he was the most spirited person I knew. But ARTIKA had taken
that, too. Laughter, that precious sound, was dead. It belonged to the grave
now. To the darkness.

“I was wondering,” I said. E’lana looked to me. “How I might
have got here. I was somewhere else before.”

“Kurios,” Windlen whispered.

Kurios—I heard that before. Uway Levíí had said it. I
remembered his rage, that startling flame around him, the roar of his voice.
“What is Kurios?” I asked.

“No,” Windlen answered. “Who?”

“Do you want to know?” E’lana chirped. “Do you want to see,
Celeste? Do you?”

I nodded. “Yes. Show me.” E’lana clapped her hands in
delight.

Windlen faced us suddenly. He looked terrified, or maybe
stupefied was more the word. “You can’t see him. If you look at him, you will
die,” he said.

I looked to E’lana and she nodded. “Windlen is right. You
can only see Kurios in one place. That would be the Ohaw,” she said, “but I can
show you everything else he is. Do you wish to see?”

I wasn’t sure. I was curious, of course, but I couldn’t
waste time. I had to find Ellis. I had to get us home. “Show me,” I said.

E’lana smiled. She took me to the back of the house. It was deceiving.
The way it rested against the canyon walls seemed as if there was no way behind
it. But the house continued through the rock to the other side. The meadows
turned to sand, and the stretch of the ocean stood before us. Cerniphilus was
low in the sky, casting a frosty red light over the beach. And from the water,
scaly creatures rose from the tides, taking rest upon the shore.

“Do you see him, Celeste?” E’lana asked. “He lives in
everything. He is the light of the world. In the wind. In the sky. In the
water. He made everything. The sea. The stars. And everything beyond the stars.
All the things that walk. All the things that fly. All the things that swim.
All of it is his. Even us. He is in us, you see. He is our beginning.”

I felt Windlen come up behind us. “Our mother’s work you
saw,” he said, “is the history of our people. The history of how Kurios created
us, a reflection of his truest image.”

My knees hit the sand. Their voices were like bells, soft
whispers against the waves of the sea. So this Kurios was their god. And the
temple in the marsh was an altar. It was a monument for his glory. That’s what
they had said. But still, it did not make it true. Still, it did not mean that
our paths, Meridian and human, were destined, similar, or that one was cursed
and corrupted, the other too pure to look upon. I wouldn’t believe it. I
couldn’t believe it.

“I saw them once before, your mother’s art. In a marsh.
There was a temple.”

“
Galaya
?” they said at once.

Windlen stormed in front of me. “Did you go inside?” he
asked. He looked panicked.

I nodded. “There were images.”

The children looked horrified at my confession. It seemed
the temple was forbidden to look upon. At least for me, a trespasser, with a
foreign presence and foreign eyes. “You saw the tales of the fallen?” Windlen
gasped. “Did you? What was it like? What did it say?”

E’lana elbowed him in the side. “We are not allowed to know,
Windlen. Father says we are too young.”

“Hush, E’lana. I am old enough. You are the young one,” he
insisted. “Tell us,
kachi
. What did you see?”

He stood there waiting, legs bent with his hands pressed to
his knees. His eyes beamed with a curious light. It reminded me of Ellis as a
child—heedless, overwhelmed by passion. It was that passion we shared that led
us. And we stumbled, straight into the arms of the dark. “Don’t be in such a
hurry for the truth,” I told him. “If you’re not ready, it just might be strong
enough to kill you.” I stood up from the sand. “Ignorance is bliss. Haven’t you
heard?” I said dully.

Windlen stepped aside. His eyes followed me as I made my way
to the shoreline. “See what you did, Windlen. You made Celeste sad,” E’lana
scowled.

Windlen answered her in Hedai. “I did not,” he whispered.
“
Kachien
have no feelings. And they are stupid. ‘Ignorance is
bliss?’ How foolish.”

“Windlen!”

“Only a fool would be happy to be a fool, E’lana. It is
their nature.”

He was right. Only a fool would be happy to be a fool. I
suppose I was a fool, then. If it meant going back, if it meant seeing Fern
again, holding my mother again, then I wanted to be a fool.

“Celeste!” E’lana called. “Shall we go back? You must be
hungry!”

I turned from the sea and headed back. The three of us
returned to the house in silence. Windlen was particularly quiet. It seemed my
words had upset him. I hadn’t meant to. I was only speaking my truth.

“It can happen at times,” Windlen said all of a sudden. We
had sat at the table to eat. E’lana had served me a slice of sweetened bread,
some island fruits, and two slabs of meat. All was quiet until Windlen spoke.
“It can happen when there is war. Father says it is the hand of Kurios bringing
balance.”

A world that could bring its own peace. Only people had that
power back on Earth—only the Nazar. I remembered, years after he had arisen,
how quiet the world was. But now that I think of it, there was no peace at all.
It was fear, and it was our cradle of comfort.

The Nazar had promised us an empire. He promised us glory,
life, and a great wealth in that existence. How could we turn away? We were so desperate,
so pathetically clinging to the cloak of extinction. We needed him. We needed
order. It didn’t matter what kind. A selfish order. A wicked order. As long as
it sheltered us, as long as it kissed and caressed us, we were obedient. We
were in love with our very own ignorance.

“It was not always so,” Windlen said. He looked up at me.
“Ever since the
cumenráge
, everything has changed.”

“
Cumenráge
?” I said.

“The battles,” E’lana answered.

“So many have been lost,” Windlen whispered. “So many. Why?
Father says it is destiny, the work of Kurios. But still... why does it have be
so?” He lowered his head, his fist clenching over the table. He spoke like an
old soul, like the spirit of war was such a senseless thing. But I didn’t think
so. War was necessary. It was punishing. It was freewill. But with destiny,
there was none. Destiny was a cage. And death was simply somewhere in between
it all. But he couldn’t understand it, and I hoped he never would. He was too
young to know, too corruptible.

“Your English, where did you learn it? You speak it well,” I
said.

“Before the
cumenráge
, your kind taught it to us. It
came to the rest of us by nature,” Windlen explained. “Father made us learn it.
He said we should not let ourselves be fooled by the stranger’s language.”

Their father was wise. He reminded me of my mother. ‘Trust
no truth but His truth. Tell no lie. Be still and be sound.’ That was my
mother. She was so righteous, so infinitely beautiful. At times I envied her
for it. That eternal faith of hers was unnatural but so heartbreakingly
courageous as well.

“You must leave now,” Windlen suddenly whispered. “Our
patro
will return soon.”