Mathieu (White Flame Trilogy)

by Paula Flumerfelt

  He looked at himself in the mirror again, pulling his hair over his shoulder and braiding it loosely. The braid hung to just past his collarbone, long and pure white. It contrasted with his lightly tanned skin and purple eyes. He knew how he looked and he was okay with it. Never once did he wish he looked like anything other than himself.

  Wrinkling his nose, he turned away from his image, going back into the bedroom and opening the dresser. Mathieu pulled out a white tee-shirt and a pair of tight jeans, pulling them on quickly. He needed to get his day started as soon as possible. Taking a deep breath, he went to the door and pulled it open, only moderately ready to face everyone else.

  Looking left and right before ducking into the hall, Mathieu strode towards the kitchen.

  The portraits seemed to be following him with their eyes, accusing. It wasn’t his fault that he’d had to hurt Darrel. He’d been asking for it. There was no way that he was going to let this get to him. Not now.

  Rebekah was in the kitchen when he entered, working at making breakfast for the five other kids that currently lived at the orphanage. “Oh good, you’re up. Come help, won’t you?”

  Rolling his eyes, he went to the refrigerator and got out the small plate of eggs, carrying them to the stove. He set them on the counter and got out the skillet, setting it on the burner and lighting a fire under it. Carefully, he cracked the eggs into the skillet, tossing the shells as they were emptied. They started to cook almost immediately.

  “Don’t make a mess.”

  “Beks, I’ve never made a mess.” She sent him a exasperated look. “Okay, I never make a big mess.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” She whisked the homemade batter for biscuits silently for a few moments. “Darrel’s fine, by the way. Just a bit embarrassed.”

  He watched as the eggs cooked away, “Well, that’s good to hear…” Guilt clawed at his throat but he swallowed it down harshly. He’d only protected himself. Nothing more.

  “…Yeah. The others aren’t exactly happy he called you a…well…it doesn’t matter.”

  Wrinkling his nose, Mathieu flipped the eggs silently, cooking the underside. Under everything, he was seething at being called a faggot. It was a crude term from Ateri, a word that everyone had always been told not to call others. Slang for being gay.

  He knew what it meant perfectly well, and he knew that it was probably the worst thing that Darrel could think of to call him. That was why he’d snapped. He didn’t care that someone had called him on being into guys. No, that was okay; he just didn’t like that it’d been an insult.

  For the past four or five years, Mathieu and Darrel had been in a competition of sorts. Neither of them was prone to listening to others, to taking orders. Sure, they had fought here and there, but it hadn’t ever crossed his mind to try to inflict serious damage. To him, it had always been like siblings struggling for dominance, not like real enemies. It hurt that something had changed. He’d never had a family and the few people that he counted himself close to were limited to Rebekah and Darrel. But now he wasn’t even sure about that.

  In all honesty, Mathieu knew he was different. Always had been, always would be. He was stronger than he should be, had a horrible temper, and was awkward with others. Still, never before had he felt so…unwanted. What if Darrel had meant what he’d said about him belonging in Korinth…?

  Shaking his head, he pulled the eggs off the heat and sets them aside. Rebekah was putting the biscuits in the oven and breakfast was nearly completed. The others would be down soon. It was time for him to go.

  “Listen, I’m gonna go organize the library or something. Save me some.” With that, he hurried out of the kitchen and up the back stairs, bypassing the others that he could hear now filing into the kitchen.

  The back stairs led all the way up to the attic if one chose to follow them. He took the hall that bisected the staircase, however, and followed it to the end. He came to a pair of thick double doors with old-fashioned silver handles that were cold to the touch. Turning the handles slowly, Mathieu pushed them open to reveal the two story library, complete with a catwalk. The room smelled like cigar smoke, exotic perfumes, and something definitely woodsy. Every book was older than anyone in the house, thick and bound in various textiles. The shelving was made of stone and set into the circular walls, and the desk was mahogany. Mathieu let his eyes travel the room, smiling slightly at the ladder that slid around room, which was made of a creaky wood, but it had stood the test of time. A huge chandelier was the only source of light in the room.

  Closing the door behind him, Mathieu looked up at the ceiling mural. It was a detailed map of Unith, showing all of the rivers and valleys. Except for where Korinth should be. The area it covered was completely blank, as if it didn’t exist. That wasn’t uncommon. Many people in Unith didn’t truly acknowledge the existence of Korinth. Sighing at the stupidity of the painter, he approached a pile of books sitting on the floor. He picked up a few of them and looked at the titles, deciding where to shelf them. The books mostly belonged on the second floor. Typical.

  “Why do they take them down and then not put them back up…?” Mathieu mumbled to himself as he dragged the ladder around the room to near the door. Taking the books under his arm, he climbed up to the catwalk with careful feet. He followed the narrow walkway around the room, shelving books as he went.

  He stopped at the end where a standalone locked wooden cabinet housed the leather-bound books. It came up to maybe his waist. No one knew what was inside of them, but they were supposedly very powerful. The owner of the orphanage, some old woman, was a descendant of a witch from a distant land. The kids guessed that the books were spell books.

  Tilting his head, Mathieu wondered if he could pick the lock. He just wanted to touch them and smell them. The smell of books was his favorite. Wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans, he knelt down and took the lock in his hand, he looked at it closely. Something told him that more than just a key was required to open it. He ran his tongue over his top lip, considering. It wasn’t something that he did often, but he could sometimes force things to do what he wanted them to do. He wasn’t able to explain how, but sometimes…

  He stared at the thick silver lock, trying to envision its inner mechanics. They would be like tumblers, he imagined, old and hard to shift. Once he had a clear picture in his head, he imagined trying to force the tumblers up with his mind. How it happened, he wasn’t sure. One moment the lock had been securely closed, attached to the cabinet; now it lay in his hand, open.

  The door slowly swung outward, no longer restrained by the silver lock. Delicately, he hung the lock on the railing before looking back down at the ground floor. When he was sure no one had entered while he’d been distracted, he turned to the slightly ajar door of the small cabinet. His heart started to pound in his ears as his fingers touched the smooth wood.

  If the rest of the wood in the house had a warm feel to it, this did not. It was cold and hard, unyielding. Touching it made his fingertips tingle, much like the cold water earlier had. The pounding in his ears got louder as he pulled the door open.

  Mathieu hesitated, eyes roving over the thick volumes. One in particular, however, caught his eye. The others were weathered, brown leather books.

  This one was different.

  Its cover wasn’t leather; instead, it was some sort of deep red fabric. The writing on it was perfect cursive done in thick purple stitching. It also was significantly thinner than the others. While the rest looked like they could be used as weapons, this one was much more dainty and elegant. His hand shook slightly as he reached out for it. His instincts were screaming at him to stop, to not touch it. But he had to know.

  The fabric of the cover was the softest material he’d ever felt. Mathieu’s fingers plucked it off the shelf and out of the confines of the cabinet. Looking at the cover, he realized that the words had disappeared as soon as his hand had touched it. The book wasn’t overly heavy, and it made him feel focused, in control. He couldn’t hel
p the grin that broke out across his face or the way his fingers gently caressed the cover of the book. Peeking into it, he flipped through the empty pages. It struck him as odd that the pages would be blank, but he didn’t question it. He just knelt there, mesmerized.

  Finally, he partially listened to his instincts, closing the cabinet and securing the lock back onto it. Quickly, he followed the catwalk back to the ladder and climbed down. Tucking the book into the corner of a shelf, he finished putting away the rest of the books.

  He bit his lip. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that he was going to keep the book, but the question was where to put it to keep it safe. Stealing wasn’t something he wanted to be known for. Retrieving it from the corner, he tucked it under his shirt and ducked out of the library, pulling the door tightly closed behind him. He looked left and right before all but running down the hall to the main stairs and up them. His room was just down the hall when he heard noises that seemed out of place. People were in his room.

  Mathieu swore under his breath. In the excitement of finding his new treasure, he had forgotten all about his punishment from the others. Panic started to slide up his spine. A book was something innocuous to get destroyed. Looking around, he realized where the safest place for the book was. Without hesitation, he turned and ran towards the music room. The hidden panel in his favorite room would be the best hiding place for it, and once he knew his book was safe, he could deal with the others.

  Skidding into the room, he immediately backtracked into the hall. He wasn’t sure whether to cry or start screaming. Darrel had been in the music room, the wall panel open and his most prized possession had lain in pieces on the floor. Anger flowed through him, his eyes clouding over, lighting to a mauve color. His control was slipping again, that much he could feel. He strode back into the music room, the book still in his hand.

  Darrel looked up at him, eyes cold. Behind the coldness though, there was regret swirling deep within the boy. “I’m sorry. We all knew it was here and you knew this was coming.”

  “Then you’ll understand why I can’t let you get away with this, Darrel.” Something feral was rising in his throat. He approached the boy and growled.

  Darrel never even saw it coming.

  Mathieu slammed the book into Darrel’s stomach, causing him to double over. With a swift uppercut, Darrel fell to the floor, unconscious. Mathieu leaned down and picked up a piece of his once beautiful cello. It was part of the artfully carved body, a piece shaped like a tiger lily. Taking a deep breath, he opened the book and laid it within the depths of it, closing the pages around it protectively.

  Before anyone could show up to see what he had done, Mathieu turned and left the room, winding through the orphanage to the back staircase, going all the way up. Without preamble, he shoved the door open to the attic and went in. Going to the only trunk in the dusty attic, he opened it and dragged out his shoulder bag. Tucked within it was a few hundred Khrons, a map of Unith, a fake ID and a change of clothing.

  He placed the book into the bag, nestling it between his clothes to keep it safe. He was getting out of this place. For fifteen years, he had been suffering at the hands of the others for being different. Now, they had destroyed the only thing he’d ever formed a real attachment to in his life: his cello. Anything else he could have handled. But not this.

  Slamming the trunk closed, he left the attic and headed back down the stairs. There was nothing left for him here. The only place he stopped was in his room to pull on some shoes before leaving it and returning to his voyage down the stairs. He wasn’t going to regret this decision. It had been coming for a long time. The front door was only a few feet away and he hadn’t run into anyone. That was fine. He hadn’t wanted to see the others before he left anyways.

  His hand was on the door handle when he paused. Going into the sitting room, Mathieu went to the desk and pulled open the top drawer. He plunged his hand in, felt around, and pulled out a wad of Khrons. Shoving them into his bag, he returned to the front door and threw it open.

  “Good bye.” He didn’t even bother to close the door behind him as he took off from the porch at a run.

  ~*~

  Mathieu knew that no one would come looking for him. They didn’t care. But that was what being an orphan got you, a lack of someone giving a care if you disappeared and nowhere to really call home.

  Sitting down in frustration, Mathieu huffed and folded his legs under himself. It was a long way from the orphanage to the capital, nearly a thousand miles. It would have been a full day journey by carriage at least, if he didn’t stop to rest. Unfortunately, the orphanage didn’t have a carriage, and that meant that he had to travel on foot. He thought his legs were going to fall off.

  Ateri. That was where he’d decided he’d head. It was the only place that was big enough that he could disappear and no one would ever find him; not that anyone was looking. Maybe that was all he’d ever wanted, though. To have the ability to disappear and not stand out for his white hair or his purple eyes, to become just a part of the crowd; he didn’t want to be a freak anymore.

  “Ahh! This was a stupid idea!” He thudded back in the grass, looking up at the sky. The grass felt nice and cool under him and his hands twisted a few blades. The tree above him shaded his eyes from the glaring double suns and allowed him to see up to the clouds, which he wateched slid across the sky for a time before he stretched and finally rolled back to his feet. Mathieu was not one to be an idle body. Being out in the open, walking along the road on his own made him feel very alive, very free, even if the choice that had gotten him here was very stupid. And he could admit when he’d made a stupid decision, like storming out of the only place that legally had to take him in because he was having a bad day. Oh, and stealing from a witch descendant. Apparently that was pretty frowned upon, too. But today was a first. He was dependant only on himself and here there were no judgments, just him and the trees.

  The weather was perfect, not too hot yet, as it would undoubtedly become. A stream was running to his right and up ahead, he could see a town. He dug around in his bag and retrieved his map, unfolding it with careful motions. The thing was old and liable to rip. The town ahead was very small and labeled “Tuckern”. Mathieu had been there before with Rebekah once. At least he thought he had. If he remembered the place correctly, it was a nothing town with a few businesses and picturesque little houses. Not a place he wanted to spend much time.

  He smiled to himself, somewhat proud that he had made it all the way to another town on his own. It wasn’t long until he was upon said town. He made to enter, but he found that he couldn’t; something was bothering him. For so long, he’d been the outcast, the one who was teased. But no more. He was going to find the strength within himself to not cower before others anymore because he was different. That wasn’t to say he wanted to make a spectacle of himself and stand out, but there was no way he was going to be pushed around.

  Mathieu swallowed the lump in his throat and straightened up. With his head held high, he walked into the town as a confident man, not a cowardly child. The few people that were out on the street nodded at him. Some stared at first, but not in the sense of disgust. It was curiosity. He strutted past them all and entered a diner.

  The inside was shiny and clean, the new smell of fresh paint still permeating the place. It was done in a tasteful cherry red and had accents of white here and there. The floor was a collection of shiny tiles. He took a seat at the glass counter, rimmed in chrome, and put his bag on the tall stool next to him. Tucking his ankles one behind the other, he hooked his foot around the leg of the stool.

  “Just a moment,” called a deep voice from the back.

  “Mhm.” Mathieu hummed to himself, looking at the pictures on the wall. There was a father and a son in the pictures doing various activities: fishing, playing in snow, napping.

  It was cute, but made his chest ache. It wasn’t a secret to himself that he’d wished he’d had a father in his life to do things wi
th. But he couldn’t win them all.

  A slender blond man came out from the back, smiling. “Good morning. Well, actually I guess it’s the afternoon.”

  Chuckling, Mathieu leaned on the counter, balancing his chin on his hands. The guy wasn’t overly tall and he only had to look up slightly. “It’s all relative to if you have plans.”

  “True. As long as it isn’t closing time, it’s a mote point. So, what can I get you?” The blond’s name tag identified him as a Geoff.

  “Hm…” Mathieu considered the menu under the glass countertop, tapping his fingers against arm. “Something fruity. And maybe sweet…”

  “If I may be so bold, the waffles are pretty good. They come with sugar and fruit on top.” Geoff pointed to the ‘Breakfast’ portion of the menu. “It is all relative, after all.”

  A smile lit up both of their faces. “That sounds pretty perfect.” Mathieu’s stomach rumbled and he wrinkled his nose in embarrassment.

  Waving off the awkwardness, the man behind the counter pulled out a note pad. “So, one waffle it is…what is your favorite fruit?”