About the Author
Born at a very young age in a place just north of nowhere, William C. Cronk was raised in a small rustic village whose name had larger expectations than its inhabitants. Being so far from anything interesting, William soon discovered he had a great imagination and spent far more time building fantasy worlds than dealing with the real one.
An agricultural wage-slave during the day, and an avid role-player, world builder, professional game master, cartographer, poet and day dreamer by evening, William is finally listening to his friends and is taking some of those worlds he has created and is putting them down on paper.
Past short stories include “Linear Rotation,” published in the Anthology, Sylvermoon Chronicles Volume VII, and “Not the One,” soon-to-be-published in the anthology, Sylvermoon Chronicles Volume VIII. Currently William lives in the Greater Toronto Area with his very patient and understanding wife, and their four not-so-patient cats.
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The Ones Who See
C. S. Johnson
“The Ones Who See” is the first part of my growing narrative serial, entitled “Omelas Revisited,” telling a story of a futuristic, utopian society that has achieved order and perfection, but only thanks to the continual torture of a young boy who magically takes on the pain, suffering, and sinful acts of the Community Members.
The transfer of these experiences is tied to Bloodmagic, their substitutionary magic, and further aided by technology that wipes memories and maintains good moods. This magic, and the boy, are hidden from the Community until the its members come of age.
My story was inspired by Ursula K. LeGuin’s “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas,” which has a similar utopian setup. LeGuin’s story was thought provoking, and I wanted to approach it from a more personal, first person reference, to see what I would do if I knew someone had to suffer for me to have a “perfect” life—and if I would choose to accept or reject it. To me, this is both the most Christian idea and the least Christian idea, and God knows such ironies and puzzles amuse me.
C. S. Johnson
A community has created the perfect life for its residents—but when one girl learns the price of her perfect life comes at the cost of another's suffering, she is determined to find a way to make things right.
The dark moments of my life always came just after waking up.
Ever since I was twelve, there were mornings I would lie on my bed, my body stiff and unmoving, as I opened my eyes. An invisible tension shifted all around me—holding me, trapping me, possibly smothering me. The first time I’d felt it, I had refrained from saying anything, believing it to be my imagination; the City Elders had warned us about that, after all, and there was no reason to think there was cause for concern.
But the strange moments persisted.
Three years later, I still had moments in the shady mornings when I felt an unnamable otherness settle around me. Still, I did not see it, I could only sense it; I did not touch it, but I could not escape the feeling I was being watched—perhaps even watched over. I could only see the shadows, and it seemed I could only see the shadows of things that were not there.
The last day of my childhood was no exception.
That morning, I stared at the ceiling and again saw nothing, but I knew there was not nothing there, either. The walls of my already small room seemed to constrict as I glanced around.
My room was cool but cozy, with whitewashed walls and clean floors, built into a small, perfect square. Off to the side was my one dresser that housed my pristine, freshly pressed clothes, including my newest dress for the Learning Ceremony, and tucked away beside it was my one pair of constantly-shined boots. There was nothing and no one else in my room that should have made me feel afraid.
Surrounded by the gifts from my community—the boots, the clothes, the other small things I freely used, like my toothbrush and my hairbrush and even the small sewing kit my House Mother gave to me last year—I should have felt only safe and happy.
After all, these were the familiar staples of the City and its residents. Every child I knew had the exact same sort of room as I did. We valued conformity as much as community, and our large housing structures were comfortable daily reminders that we were all special, we were all needed, and all of us had a place.
All of us in the City by the Sea reveled in the security of that beauty. Our lives were happy, safe, meaningful, and peaceful. We had everything we needed and everything we could want.
So, I was not sure why the last shades of early morning made everything familiar seem suddenly foreign enough to cause me to clench my one blanket to my chest and do my best to ignore it.
Occasionally, I would stare back at the shadow, trying to be brave. A few times, I would reach up and trace the outline of the shard in my forehead. It was hard and solid, smooth and comforting. The shard marked me as a member of the Community as much as it reminded me of who I was individually—where I came from, and where I was needed. At that reminder, my fear would suddenly whisk itself away.
I did not want to tell anyone about those moments; I did not want others to think I was frightened or troubled.
“Skyla, are you awake?”
My House Mother stood outside my room. The door muffled her voice, but I would have recognized it anywhere. It was the same loving, gentle tone I had known all my life.
“Yes, Mother Annika.” My heart swelled with joy as I heard the same echoes of my mother’s dulcet pitch in my own voice.
“You may need a few extra moments to get ready today. If you are awake, you should start moving.”
Even though she could not see me, I beamed with delight.
Today marked the end of my schooling years and signaled the beginning of my new life as a contributing member of my community—the day I had anticipated for as long as I could remember.
The smile stayed firmly on my face as I hurried to the domicile’s only bathroom.
And then it happened.
In a flash, like a slice of a dream, I fell forward, tripping over my flighty, impatient feet. My face collided with the hard floor, my nose smashing into the clean, spotless tile with a sharp, distinctive crack. I tasted warm, fresh blood; I felt the pain of broken bones, loosened teeth, and unexpected shame.
But then I blinked, and I was standing up again, right where I had stood before I had felt myself fall.
I was no longer smiling.
I touched my nose, running my hands over the rounded bump in its middle, to the short, pointed end. There was no blood. There was no pain.
There was only a shadow.
I blinked again, and found myself in the bathroom, gazing into the mirror.
Nothing is wrong.
It was silly to think there would be.
After all, I lived in the City by the Sea; some say it used to be called Omelas, but I could not remember if that was the case, or if someone came from another city called Omelas and started this one. My peers in school agreed that “City by the Sea” was much more poetic, and it had less connection to the Imperfect Past of humanity’s previous age; no one liked thinking of that topic. We learned of it in school only in our final year, along with the other names of imperfections that no longer existed. But everyone was much happier when we were able to move on, and no one had any other questions about it.
The past was the past; it did not have any bearing on the present, and we were all content to believe that.
The moment passed, and I turned my attention back to the mirror. The shard in the middle of my forehead winked at me as I watched it. The shard was more like a jewel, shaped like a small pentagon, no more than an inch in each direction. I’d always thought mine was a good fit for me, like a diamond resting on my brow.
I giggled as I pressed down on it, enjoying how the color swirled, twisting into different shades of blue and green, and even a spark of purple as the last of my worries faded.
This is who I am.
&nb
sp; Calm and satisfied, I looked over the rest of my reflection. My face was full of unimposing beauty. My eyes were light-colored; my hair was much darker. While several of my peers had curls, I did not have as much as they did; my skin was also darker than some, but still lighter than others. My nose was straight, with the almost imperceptibly small bump on its bridge. I ran my fingers over it again, wondering about the fall and how I had felt the bridge of my nose break.
I frowned. What had happened? Or rather, what had never happened, exactly?
Why didn’t my nose break? Was it the shadows, or was it just my imagination?
Strange.
Maybe I would find out later, I thought, suddenly excited. The Learning Ceremony was central to the Summer Festival. It happened every year, just after sundown, and all those who were too young were sent home and put to bed. Those who completed their education participated in the Learning Ceremony and emerged from it as full Community Members.
At that, I forgot all about my nose, and my face, and everything else. I changed into my new dress, donned my shoes, and headed down to the dining hall where First Meal was being served.
“Skyla, you look lovely.” My House Mother, Annika, gave me a glowing smile as she handed me a plate of bread.
I flushed with pleasure. Mother Annika was very lovely, both gentle in her appearance and humble in her manners. She was one of the younger House Mothers, still in her thirties, and I enjoyed being part of her house. Before I could give her my thanks, both for the compliment and the food, another voice spoke up.
“She should, after all the extra time she had in the bathroom.”
My smile only widened as I looked at River. With a similar facial structure and only slightly darker hair, my brother was close to a year older than me (“one year, two weeks, and six days,” as he would remind me from time to time). But since he had arrived at the Mercer House just after the Summer Festival, we were the same age. Even though he was technically born earlier, he never seemed to mind being in the same class as me—or so I thought.
A slim half-second passed in which he scowled at me, his eyes narrow and his tongue sticking out in clear displeasure.
But then the second passed, and his face instantly righted itself into his usual, jovial expression. His own cerulean-colored shard, embedded in his forehead just the same as mine, gleamed with only happiness.
I frowned, curious at the flicker of another imagining, but River did not seem to notice my concern.
“Are you excited for tonight, Sky? The Ceremony’s going to be great,” River said. “Aidan told me it’s life-changing.”
“Oh, Aidan said that?” I sat down beside River, who chatted easily about Aiden, his closest friend and a member of the Aeros House, our neighbor to the right.
With his bright, sun-colored hair and his ice-like eyes, Aiden was a month older than River, but he had arrived before the Summer Festival, so he was considered seventeen by the Community. That made him nearly two years older than me. I appreciated Aidan and the companionship he provided my brother and me. We had grown up near each other, playing in the same hidden caves by the shoreline, going to the same school, and participating in the Community’s numerous events.
Now that we were older, Aidan had an official job with the Community, and it was my part-time duty to help Aidan’s House Mother, Erika, and her young child, Storm. When I went to their domicile, he would always give me a gracious nod.
There were other things about him I liked, too, even if they were not real.
Once I thought I saw him wink at me, after telling me I looked nice. Another time when I was washing Storm’s baby bottles in the sink, I felt a hand ruffle my hair affectionately. I’d thought I’d seen Aidan come up beside me out of the corner of my eye, but when I turned to face him, no one was there.
But even if those things didn’t happen, I liked to think they did. As a full member of the Community, Aidan would be allowed to start his own House one day, and it was possible he would choose me for a House Mother when he was old enough to be allowed to add children.
There was a knock at the front door, and, as if I’d conjured him up by the mere thought, Aidan appeared at our door. I hurriedly gulped down the rest of my water, stuffing the last bit of bread into my mouth. A rush of pleasure ran through me as I remembered I was wearing my new dress, the white one trimmed with lace. Once the Learning Ceremony was over, I would receive a circlet of flowers and lace I could wear in my hair.
“I was just thinking of heading your way,” River said, giving Aidan’s hand a friendly squeeze in welcome.
“Mother Aeros came to ask me to see if Skyla would be able to come early today,” Aidan said.
I whirled around to face him, almost coughing as I swallowed a large lump of half-chewed crust. I hurried to compose myself, unsure of why I suddenly felt nervous.
The twists in my belly and the burning by my ears evaporated in the next moment, as Aidan and River continued to talk.
“I have also been sent to ask if River would come and assist with the Learning Ceremony setup,” Aidan said. “Lady Sula said it is good for us to help out today.”
“The Lead Elder asked us to help?” River’s eyes widened with excitement.
“We are well aware of how important the Ceremony is to our incoming members,” Aiden replied.
“That is true. I imagine it is also very helpful for the new members, knowing as they do about the Ceremony,” Mother Annika agreed. “What a good way to channel your efforts to help those who are so innocently eager.”
I almost frowned at her remark. What did she mean by that?
Before I could ask—or even think of asking—Mother Annika waved her arm, gesturing toward our house’s daily ration of bread and a container of purified water. “Can I offer you anything to eat or drink before you go?”
“No, thank you.” Aidan looked back at me, as I quickly wiped off my dishes into the sink. “Once Skyla is ready, we should head out. Mother Erika is eager to help set up for the Feast that will take place after the Learning Ceremony.”
“Your House Mother is the Community’s best baker, Aidan,” River said.
There was a silent second where we all seemed to be holding our breath, and then Aidan spoke.
“She is just as gifted as your own,” Aidan replied, covering for my brother’s crudely worded statement.
“Thank you,” Mother Annika said. The shard in her forehead glimmered, this time colored with a strange mix of contentment and contrition; a second passed, and then she smiled brightly, but somehow blandly, too.
River began talking about what he’d heard about the Ceremony, and I finished setting up the dish sanitizer.
“I’m ready,” I spoke up, diverting their attention back to me. River sighed as he was interrupted, but Aidan was as calm and welcoming as he had always been. On some level—the same deep, hidden level inside of me, the one where I kept the secret of my morning shadows and how I could see things that never truly happened—I wondered why Aidan got along so well with my brother. River was energetic and always enthusiastic; he always had something to say. As long as I’d known Aidan, he’d been quiet and thoughtful. His words seemed well-chosen, picked as carefully as a House Father might prepare a friendship bouquet for his chosen House Mother.
They were both good, but still so different. I had to wonder if they were truly compatible, even though I knew everyone in the Community tolerated and supported each other.
I put down my towel just as River started peppering Aidan with questions regarding the Ceremony. They left our residence while I said my farewells to my House Mother.
“Goodbye, Mother Annika,” I said, leaning over to give her a quick kiss on the cheek as she packed up our remaining ration.
Mother Annika paused, letting her fingers slide over the skin where I’d kissed her. She cleared her throat a moment later, and then, with tears in her eyes, she nodded. “Goodbye, Skyla,” she whispered. “You’ve always been such a good girl.”
“Thank you.”
She tucked a stray half-curl of my hair behind my ear. “I will see you after the Learning Ceremony is over.”
“Yes, Mother.” I waved once more and then skipped out the door to our domicile, hurrying to catch up to River and Aidan.
“Come on, Aidan, can’t you just tell me what the big surprise the Elders have for us in the Learning Ceremony is?” River’s voice was a high-pitched whine, and a hearty giggle escaped me as I came up behind them.
“Calm down, River,” I said. “I’m the one who has to watch over the baby today, not Aidan.”
Before I could say anything, that feeling overcame me again, and life that should not have happened came to pass.
In the blink of an eye, River glared at me, looking as furious as any of the pictures of the Imperfect Past leaders. He kicked out his foot, splattering my new dress with a slosh of mud. I felt the tears form behind my eyes, before they were shuffled away by an unseen hand.
I stared ahead, forcing myself to watch, as River’s body paused, his foot still in mid-air from his supposed kick; the next half-second he righted himself, and the mud was lifted off my skirt as if nature was reversing its actions.
A moment later, River beamed at me, all friendliness and smiles once more.
“You’re so funny, Sky,” he bantered back. “You know you’ll always be the baby between us!” He reached out to affectionately pat my head, and then he continued walking, as if nothing happened.
Which, I reminded myself, as I looked down at my dress, was true.
Nothing happened.
Nothing happened, and that was what I was content to believe.
Until I saw Aidan.
There was a look on his face that made my heart begin to race as my feet stayed still.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” he asked. His voice was slightly cracked with incredulity, but the consistent lull of his words remained.
I nodded, and I saw the jewel in his forehead—a fiery amber, almost like a flame frozen in rock—burn with forbidden anger.
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