Colorless

by Rita Stradling

  On the final rung, my hand moved into a grayish illumination. The smallest refraction of the light moved over where my fingers should have been. I flexed the digits and again saw the light move, but I felt absolutely nothing in the movement.

  My stomach twisted.

  Hands shaking, I climbed halfway out of the stove and grabbed onto the iron lip at the base of the doors. Between my heedless run, the traumas of the past day and a half, and the tensing in my muscles every time I thought of my hand, my entire body was sore.

  “I was wondering if you were going to come out today,” Sophie said from a foot away.

  My injured hand slipped, and my wrist banged against the edge of the stove. A jolt of pain ricocheted through my arm as I lost my balance. Scrabbling wildly for the ladder, I caught the wooden rung, jamming my fingers against it. Gripping hard, I looked into Sophie’s composed face as she peered in. “You scared me,” I breathed on a harsh breath.

  “I see that.” She leaned into her spare wooden rocking chair. Slowly, she rocked in and out of my window of view, framed by the stove’s innards.

  “All right, well then, I’m going to climb out now,” I called before gripping the outside of the stove with my uninjured hand. Keeping my other hand at my side, I clambered up the rest of the ladder and through the hole. As I stood, I tucked my injured hand behind my back.

  My gaze skipped around us, finding the space empty save for the old woman.

  A line of light speared into the shack through an open window, frenzied with thousands of moving dust particles. Otherwise, little illumination managed its way into the space. Faint outlines of light and shadow differentiated the features of the furniture and walls. The house was one cluttered room. A recess separated three dilapidated bunks from the main space.

  I wasn’t completely unfamiliar with poverty; I’d been on charity trips before, visiting the less fortunate with my mother who had a passion for such tasks, but no house I’d ever visited was as destitute as this.

  I turned to Sophie and noticed she held a tiny wooden hook in her hand. Her fingers continuously worked, feeding a black fiber wrapped around her finger into it and crocheting it through a strip of lace. Even in the low light, I could see the pattern was much more elaborate than any lace piece I had.

  “Your work is beautiful,” I said.

  “I take no pride in it,” Sophie said as she continued to rock, her ankles hooked up off the ground. “You don’t need to hide your injury from me. I’m not going to do anything about it.”

  I stared at her for a second. As far as I could tell, she hadn’t even looked at me. Either I was obvious or she was strangely observant; I was leaning toward thinking that both were true.

  “It is a bizarre and gruesome injury; I’d hoped to shield you from it.” Nodding, I let my hand fall to my side.

  “Little frightens me, and certainly not the sight of a wound—even a fatal one.”

  “A fatal one?” The word hit me like a stone thrown to my head.

  “You think the magicians would strike you with a glancing blow?”

  “I–I…” I glanced down to my injury, then quickly back. “This will kill me?” How brainless the words sounded, yet I had held onto a small amount of hope until that moment. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding—a mistake. Perhaps the snake biting off my fingertip had all been a hallucination or the magicians had truly meant to cure me. All the ideas seamed foolish now.

  I would not panic.

  My heart raced and my vision swam, but my voice somehow managed to sound calm when I said, “Thank you for your hospitality. I think it is time for me to take my leave of you. I’ve intruded enough upon your generosity.”

  “Perhaps that’s best,” the old woman said as she continued to work the fibers.

  The words stung, even though they really shouldn’t have. As dire as my need, I knew I was mostly unwelcome. I was putting their family in horrible danger. But, until this moment, I didn’t realize how alone I was in the world.

  It was as if for the last month, I had been burning on the residue of affection from my former life, and the fuel just ran out. Alone was too small a word for what I was. My entire existence had abandoned me. And now even life itself plotted to discard me.

  Clearing my throat, I said, “I’m sorry for putting you in danger.”

  Her arched white eyebrows rose on her face, deepening the lines of her forehead. “I brought you here; therefore, I put us in danger, girl.”

  Biting my lip, I nodded. Swallowing what felt like a rock lodged in my throat, I asked, “Before I leave, can I ask you a question?”

  She rocked, her gaze still fixed on her work. “Ask.”

  I took a steadying breath, and then said as evenly as I could, “You said there were others like me.”

  “That is not a question. And I didn’t say that.”

  “I’m sorry—um—”

  “Stop apologizing, girl.”

  “Why do you keep calling me girl? You know my name and title,” I snapped before I realized what I was doing. I squeezed my eyelids closed. I was handling this entire encounter wrong; whatever mind and willpower I possessed was pulled taut and fraying. “Excuse my rudeness—”

  “All right, Annabelle girl, ask your questions—real questions. And don’t apologize for barking at me. I’d rather hear you yell than another dratted apology. I’ll choose to answer or not, so ask each question only once.”

  “What happened to make me lose my color—you’ve seen it happen before?”

  “I have.”

  “Is there a way to reverse it?”

  She rocked, regarding me. “Reverse it?”

  I gestured to myself. “To regain my color.”

  “I suppose that there might be a way, but I’m not sure it’s the same as reversing what happened to you.”

  I leaned in. “How is it done?”

  She didn’t answer. Her attention was fixed on the hook, her hands busily working as she pulled loops into the tightly weaved lace.

  Swallowing, I steeled myself and asked the next question on my mind, “Are there others like me—ones who have been cured?”

  “No.”

  “But there are others who are still colorless?”

  “No.”

  “But you said—”

  “I said I know the signs, yes, but only because I’ve studied them. I have a particularity that lets me remember your type when so many others forget, and I have a long memory.”

  “So these others—what happened to them that they’re all gone?” I thought I knew the answer, but there was a slight chance I could be wrong.

  A draft blew through the space, sudden and strong. Gooseflesh ran across my skin while the tatters of my dress drifted around me. I almost thought I heard a word spoken on the breeze. Murdered, it whispered. The window’s threadbare curtain flapped once, smacked against the sill, and then fell still.

  Blinking rapidly, I swung my gaze to Sophie.

  If she heard the voice, she showed no sign of it. “They were killed, every single one of them, a long time ago.”

  It was the answer I’d feared.

  “Was it the monks who killed them?” I hugged myself.

  She shook her head. “No. I wouldn’t fear them over much.”

  “You wouldn’t?” I couldn’t quite keep the skepticism from my voice. “Few things in this world frighten me, either, but I am not ashamed to admit that the congregational monks do quite a bit.”

  “They can’t see you, can they? Can’t hear you? What they have, it’s not from the gods—it’s from the magicians. Tainted, wrong, they’re just tools now, gears to be moved about. If they had the power to find you, don’t you think they would have done it by now?”

  “What killed the iconoclasts before, then?”

  “Have you never read the parables? I thought even the ladies who weren’t educated were supposed to know those.”

  I took a step closer. “I’ve read them, I—”

  “Dear g
ods, child! I don’t enjoy you just standing over me that way. If you insist on questioning me, take a seat.” She nodded to a pile of wood that held some resemblance to a chair beside her rocker.

  “I apologize, I’ve forgotten my manners,” I said, smoothing my tangles behind my ear. Carefully, I settled onto the wood pile. The logs dug into my bottom at strange angles, feeling not completely stable beneath me. When my skirts were straightened into something resembling decency, I said, “The parables—um, I believe they say that the children of Sun defeated the iconoclasts.”

  “That’s about right.”

  “I’m sorry—how could that be? From what I know, the children of Sun usually refers to trees or animals?” I winced a little at the ridiculousness of the words.

  Sophie looked toward the open window, her strong profile backlit by the spear of light. “Dire wolves,” she said.

  “Dire wolf—as in the god Sun’s animal form?”

  “And the form of his children.”

  A shiver ran down my spine. “So, the dire wolves hunted the iconoclasts and killed all of them. Meaning, I—they—were hated by Sun?”

  “Sometimes, sums don’t add up so easily,” she muttered. Her foot pushed against the floor. With a creak, the chair began rocking once more.

  “Can I ask your meaning?”

  “My meaning is exactly what I said.”

  “All right.” I smoothed down what was left of my skirt, my hands still shaking a little. “Thank you for the information. However, I have been taught that dire wolves are extinct outside the southern jungles, along with the short-faced bear, ground sloth, and mammoth.”

  “I suppose they are for now,” she said.

  Nodding, I stood. “I will be sure to avoid traveling to the wilder places. Thank you. It is a comfort to know that I do not face the same dangers as those iconoclasts of the past.”

  “But you do, and much, much more.”

  I stilled. “I don’t understand.”

  “First, the magicians already caught you. And a little more every second, you’re passing into Nirsha’s realm, where you rightfully belong.”

  I glared. “Why would I belong there? I have done nothing. I’ve been vilified without cause—”

  “Your existence is enough cause for the magicians. You should instead be questioning why that is, instead of wasting time on self-pity.”

  “I am not pitying myself! I am a Klein; I do not wallow in self-indulgence. But I will not be told that I deserve this, either.” I gestured down to my body.

  “Do you not deserve to be what you are?”

  “I still do not understand your meaning.” My breaths came harsh as I battled to contain my affront at her accusation. “I’ve committed no crime.”

  “I doubt any iconoclast ever did. Most of them were children, even younger than you.” Her words trailed off into almost a whisper.

  “Really? What do you know of them?”

  “This conversation is causing me to tire, child. Your questions and emotions hop around too quickly for an old woman to follow.”

  “Please, if you have any information that would help me, I will repay you twofold the moment I reacquire the means to do so.” Clearing my throat, I added, “I apologize for taking that tone with you; I am not myself.”

  She breathed out a laugh. “Stop apologizing. I don’t need your high manners, they’re lost on me. Feel what you feel, but don’t expect that I will keep up.” Her rocking chair stilled. For the first time, her gaze broke from her work to fix directly on me. Her hands did not stop working. “All right, Annabelle girl, I’ll help you some, but I don’t want twofold repayment. Answer me this question: what do you know of the gods?”

  I blinked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “The gods, tell me what you know about them.”

  “There are four of them?” I said it like a question, not knowing what she wanted precisely.

  She scoffed. “You and every three-annos-old child in Domengrad knows that.”

  “To be frank, there’s a wealth of information about them—we could speak about them well into next week. What specifically are you referring to?”

  “How about, what do you know about what Nirsha and Sun have in common? Something that makes them different from Weire and Ester?” she asked.

  I thought on it for a moment. “They’re opposites, I suppose. Nirsha controls winter, the North, and the spirit, especially after death. Her temperament is emotional and as erratic as the wind she rules. While Sun controls summer, the South, and life in all its incarnations. His temperament is known to be mostly steady, calm, and unyielding—many parables claim they are enemies, always circling each other.”

  “Others say they were the great lovers who formed all life, torn apart by Ester and Weire’s machinations, always blocked from reconnecting. I don’t believe that is true, either.”

  “The parables on the gods are many, and often contradicting,” I agreed with a nod. Again, I began to stand. Truthfully, I couldn’t sit anymore. Sophie knew something of my situation, but I was disappearing, vanishing, diminishing. Discussing theology was too intellectual for my urgent need.

  “Where are you going? I thought you wanted my help, girl. Or do you mean to intimidate me?”

  “Of course not.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry for leaving in the middle of our discussion. While religious lessons are always to be cherished for my immortal spirit…” I glanced down to my hand, where the glove had collapsed to the first knuckle of my middle finger, “My need is more urgent. I really should go now.”

  The old woman said nothing for a few rocks of her chair, keeping me there with her lack of parting words. Finally, she whispered, “It must be exhausting to always pretend to be so polite, when inside you are as wild as your mother.”

  “How dare—how dare you judge me?” I hissed. “How dare you judge her?”

  “I do not. I would never judge a fifteen-annos-old girl for taking the life of a much-larger man attacking her. I do not even judge her for the brutality with which she did it. If someone attacked me and there was a rock within reach, I’d—”

  “Stop this now!” I couldn’t hear the tale recounted ever again. I’d wondered my entire life why my mother despised moving among society when she’d been born the only child of a man who was considered the most powerful lord in Domengrad until his murder at the hands of his own brother.

  When I’d heard the story from my mother’s own lips, I wished I could have forever unheard it. If Sophie insisted on recounting my mother’s horrors, I’d run out of the house. I backed toward the door, my glare holding the old woman’s sharp, merciless eyes. “I am not ashamed of my mother for killing her uncle. I’ve lived with the whispers my entire life, and not once have I felt ashamed that she survived in the only way that was left to her. But I am my father’s daughter.” I pointed at my chest. “Everyone knows I take after him. It is a fact.”

  Her eyes closed, seeming to fold into her wrinkles, as she let out a long, low chuckle. The chortling and rocking continued unbroken until I felt ridiculous standing there, glaring into the old woman’s mirthful face. Through it all, her hands never stilled. When she looked up at me again, her eyes still shone with her amusement. “I’ll tell you one thing, Lady Annabelle Klein, if you took after your father, you’d be marrying your cousin right now.” And then she laughed more, though for the life of me, I could not see anything funny in her words.

  I spoke over her chuckles. “Your meaning is that I would not have changed into what I am now? I do not understand. Must you always speak in riddles? Obviously, you know quite a bit about my situation. You seem to know about the past, about all the matters I need to know about. You see I’m slowly vanishing, and yet, you’re—you’re playing with me.”

  Her chin bobbed in a gesture close to agreement. “Maybe I am. But I’m helping you more than I should.”

  “More than you should?”

  She wasn’t helping me at all.

  “I’
ll be honest with you… it might be better for everyone if you disappear for true.”

  Heat surged into my eyes. I had a sudden terrible urge to shake the old woman, though even in her age, she was twice my size and girth. Even with its impossibility, it was a horrendous urge. I forced my mind away from it. “Those are horrible words to say to someone.”

  “It might be, but it’s also the truth. And then, it might not be better if you disappear—perhaps this time, everything will turn out differently. It’s not in my plan to stop you from finding answers or to help you overmuch, either. I learned long ago that interfering with the plans of the gods is folly.”

  “I see.” Closing my eyes, I made another attempt to push down that hot feeling. “And you’d prefer I leave now?”

  “That I’m not sure of, either. My boy Dylan will follow you and try to help; it’s in his nature. Ever since he came to live here, he was always bringing home injured animals—always the fool for anyone or any creature in need. He has a healer’s spirit and you’re dying; it’s irresistible to him.”

  “You should never visit the dying; what uncomforting words you give me.” I shook my head, feeling as if her words were literally burying me where I stood. “And I hope you know that that’s not what I want, either. I have had no intention to tempt Dylan into danger.”

  “But it’s what happened. Him choosing to be involved, helping you, and bringing you to my attention, those aren’t coincidences. There aren’t many of us who will be able to see you—and it’s no good fortune for you that we can. However, I’m not going to question the will of the gods—I’m not that big of a fool.”

  I studied her for another moment, her question about the gods replaying in my mind. “I think I have the answer to your question from earlier.”

  “Yes?”

  “Is it that Nirsha and Sun are the most powerful of the gods? Weire and Ester, they’re limited in their powers by depending on the others. Nirsha and Sun were so powerful, they’re said to have come and gone as they pleased, in and out of the realm of the gods—where the others were just restricted to certain days and times of the annos.”