Fire of Ennui

by Ivana Skye

  The lighting was kind of shit on the path down, I found. Not in the sense where I couldn’t see well; just in the sense where it didn’t look that good. Twigs blended in with soil and with rocks, and the way shadow fell on all of them gave too little contrast. It was boring. Distasteful, almost. Not that I cared so much about little intricacies of landscape. I had far too many things to think about to focus on that for long.

  Like walking on a steep downhill slope without tripping and falling on my face.

  I was sure I wasn’t doing it right; I was being slow, methodical. Nena, on the other hand, was very nearly leaning forward as she half-ran down the mountain. What she was doing looked terrifying, and although I sometimes liked trying out things that looked terrifying at first glance, I also had limits.

  Maybe I’d ask her about it, I thought. It probably wouldn’t help her think any better of me, but then, I didn’t care.

  I caught up to her around a bend in the path, but only because she’d stopped, because she’d let me catch up. I wasn’t sure what I thought of that.

  “You know,” she ended up saying, “you said a bit ago that you wanted to try cooking out here one of these nights.”

  Some younger version of me might have given some kind of sheepish look at that. But I knew my facial muscles by name and could control them. So I made my expression into something hard, impassive. Only a slight twinge in my eyebrows even made it clear that I’d heard her. “Is that just a way of saying that you want a break from cooking?” I asked.

  Vitalities, I was good at sounding confident.

  “Well, maybe…” she said.

  I tsked, keeping my expression hard, impenetrable. I was sure she was upset at me, of course, but I wasn’t going to let her see that.

  “Alright,” I said. “What was the original plan for dinner tonight?”

  “Noodles,” Nena said with some kind of a shrug, continuing walking, fuck her, she knew I couldn't walk fast enough to stay near her. “With peanut sauce,” she added, already something like ten feet ahead of me, just barely loud enough to hear.

  Fuck it all.

  I almost bit my lip, trying to continue making it down, cursing how Nena somehow seemed to walk as if the ground was flat. And yet I couldn’t bring myself to truly hate her presence. Even if she hated me, something in me was glad for the company.

  It was interesting, at the very least.

  I was glad to sit down, finally, once the sky started to darken.

  I was not quite as glad to suddenly have to attempt to figure out cooking in the middle of nowhere. But Vitalities, I was not going to let that show.

  Nena had already started making the fire itself. That was good, as I had next to no idea how to do it. I had matches with me—I wasn’t a complete idiot—but that didn’t mean I knew how to actually keep one going. I’d tried on the nights before I met Nena, it didn’t go very well.

  I’d done research on how to travel before leaving Immasa. Really.

  “So,” I said, trying to sound very much like I knew what I was doing, “the pot?”

  “Right,” Nena said, and immediately started digging through her stuff. “Oh, and you’re probably going to need the ingredients too…”

  “I would assume so, yes.”

  And so I was handed over a pot, which I put directly on the fire, and a sealed paper bag of noodles, which I considered for a long moment. Should I put those in the pot now, or wait for the water to boil first?

  Oh.

  Wait.

  “Also,” I said, “water.”

  Nena gave me a look. “Don’t you have at least one full water bottle? Sitting right next to you?”

  Okay, I probably should have thought of that. “Yes, of course,” I said, sounding extremely confident.

  I really wanted to grimace. I was starting to think I was going to need to practice my confident smiles in the mirror again in the morning.

  I poured it into the pot, and some steam rose where the water hit the hot metal; I figured this was probably why one usually fills a pot before putting it on heat. In regards to my other decision, I went ahead and put the noodles in immediately.

  Nena didn’t criticize me, although I would later learn that I had in fact done it wrong.

  But something else occurred to me: the peanut sauce. Should I start preparing that now? If so, what ingredients did it even contain? I twitched, the indecision getting to me. Making it worse, I wasn’t quite sure if I should stir the noodles, or wait, or maybe it needed a lid—

  I caught myself right before I made a sound. I was confident. I was strong. There was hardness on my face and armor in my eyes and hands.

  “Yknow,” Nena said all of a sudden, just as I was reaching for what I was pretty sure to be the lid of the pot, which was just sitting on the ground. “I’m trying to think of any way to offer advice here.” Her voice was bright and cheerful. Annoying.

  “Don’t,” I said.

  “See, that’s what I was about to say,” Nena said. “I’m not sure there is any way to offer without being patronizing, which is kind of the issue. But, if you’d like help, I’m here.”

  I nearly grumbled, not sure what to think about this. A fair part of me was at least halfway to believing she didn’t hate me, but at the same time, I honestly didn’t want her help.

  Despite all of those thoughts, I responded the way a confident person would, with something wry: “Unfortunately, there’s already ash in the pot, I’m pretty sure.” A casualty of not having the lid on until now.

  “I think we’ll manage,” Nena said, and left me in silence to continue waiting for that water to boil.

  It turned out, Maràh’s pasta-cooking abilities weren’t bad, and I finished my bowl quickly

  “The thing is,” I started saying. “If you think I know a lot about this stuff, compared to you maybe? Well, that’s only because I had the opportunity to learn. That’s the only difference, really. My coaches encouraged me to try things out, while traveling to tournaments — things like cooking on the road. And when I did try, they gave me as much or as little direction as I wanted.” I sighed, the memory welling within me. “I’m really grateful for that.”

  Maràh only nodded; they probably didn’t really want to talk, yet again. Vitalities, it could be difficult to have a real conversation with them.

  “Guess that’s all over now though,” I said, bitterness seeping into my voice.

  Maràh looked up to me, and I couldn’t tell what was going on in their eyes. “Didn’t you say you won?” They asked.

  “Yup,” I said, “both categories. Youngest ever to.”

  “Now why don’t you sound too happy about that?” They were looking me directly in the face as they said it.

  “Ah, you see,” I said, only the fire lighting either of our faces, the shadows thick among the few trees growing here. “I’m very happy. I got the one thing, the only thing, which I had wanted and prepared for my entire life. I got it, the one thing I’d ever hoped for. Six months ago.”

  A few seconds passed and Maràh turned their head away from me. “Ah,” they said, and I had a good guess that they understood.

  I laughed, except what came of my mouth wasn’t really a laugh, it was far too bitter for that. “Now I’m, uh,” I said. “Going to Mangtena, I guess.”

  “You’re not excited,” Maràh said. “Not really. Not openly. No matter what you present on the surface.”

  “About this?” I asked, almost smiling, however inappropriate that expression was. “About Mangtena?”

  “About anything,” Maràh said, almost smiling too, perhaps as if they’d caught me in something, as if they’d won, or just as if in the back of their mind they were thinking about really good chocolate.

  Well, of course, I could travel. I could even imagine being excited about that, as I once was. I hadn’t yet visited every city on Sifir, and perhaps I could. I could go to every last one, see it all, see everything—

  —and, I asked myself, how long wo
uld that really take? A few years? Sifir wasn’t big; everyone knew that. But though certain Vitalities had long hinted at a much larger landmass somewhere across the ocean, a continent they called it, the oceans were simply too wide to cross, though many had tried.

  My breath caught in my throat and the reason for that catching burned in me: boredom.

  Vitalities, I could not imagine there being things I wanted to do with the rest of my life, with all the rest of it. I might be expected to live to what, eighty, and that was sixty-two years from now, what in every synonymous name was I supposed to do for sixty-two years—

  I almost started shaking, but instead considered Maràh and what they’d already told me. “You’re one to talk,” I ended up saying, although my words came out a little quieter than I’d intended.

  “Yes,” they simply said. “I know.”

  And so there they were and there I was, on opposite sides of a fire, each of our gazes turning vaguely adrift. It seemed for a second like we could be united in the ways we were adrift. Both of us were wavering just like the fire itself, like we’d both need fuel soon before we’d snuff out.

  I wanted to find how to say that to them. I wanted to show them what I’d seen, that there was something we had in common. But then, didn’t they already know that?

  I tried with all my might to ignore the way the future still made me feel so bored that I’d be forgiven for thinking my hands were on fire. I failed, and it twitched in me, the sparks lighting one by one and threatening to consume me all to ash, to leave me as nothing. It was fire, my boredom. It was fire, and I knew that it could destroy me.

  “Sucks, doesn’t it,” I said, aiming for much any conversation. There had been just a few seconds of silence and already I was feeling deprived.

  “Yes,” Maràh said, “but also no.”

  I almost questioned them, but apparently the confusion was so obvious on my face that they responded to it anyway, without me having to say a word.

  “You’re looking for something to care about, right?” They asked.

  I shrugged even though the answer was yes. Far off, I noticed that something smelled just odd enough to bother me. It figured that some sensory detail would annoy me on this particular night, when my thoughts were already so filled of an annoyance of their own.

  “Maybe I am too,” Maràh continued. “But I’m just starting. I’ve had all this life that means nothing”—they gritted their teeth, and I’d never known them to be so forthcoming before, so clear in a display of emotion—“but now I’m starting. I’m finally starting. And that’s the opposite of giving up.”

  “Are you accusing me of giving up?” There was offense in my voice; I knew how to infuse that particular tone into it.

  “Maybe,” Maràh said, flashing something that might have been a smile.

  “I haven’t,” I said, not sure if I believed my words, but also not sure if it mattered if I did. Perhaps even if I did not believe them, saying the words would somehow make them true.

  Maràh pressed their lips together. “You know,” they said. “Whether you have or haven’t, I would guess the first time looking for something to care about feels different from the second. And I’m on the first, and you—”

  The second. “Yeah,” I said.

  “Then again, you have more experience than I do. In passion. Caring. Finding something. Maybe that helps.”

  “Maybe,” I acquiesced, but that strange smell I’d noticed earlier was still there, stronger if anything. “Um,” I said. “Do you smell that?”

  “Way to change the topic—” Maràh started. “Wait. Uh, yeah, I do. Is that something burning?”

  As soon as they said it, I knew they were right. “Fuck,” I said. “Maybe, uh, maybe we put a weird type of plant on the fire, maybe that’s what it is—” But as I said that, my eyes happened to look to my side, where something that most certainly was not our planned fire glowed orange. “Fuck!”

  Maràh followed my gaze and I could have sworn I heard them gulp. “Uh, well, shit, what do we do, oh experienced traveler?”

  In theory I knew what to do, but all I could think of was that there was a fire somehow, a fire. It was probably just on some grasses for now, but there was nothing preventing it from eventually catching on a tree, which would not be good. I was panicking, but when I blinked I noticed that there was snow on the ground. “Snow!” I shouted. “Throw snow on it!”

  “How much is burning-“

  “Doesn’t matter! Snow! Maybe dirt too! Throw things!”

  “Fuck!” Maràh shouted, and I think they stood up. “Aaaaa!”

  I wasn’t entirely certain that this was the prescribed method of dealing with fire, but it seemed good enough, so I stood up and grabbed a nice cold clump in my hand, throwing it in the direction of that glow.

  “Did a spark from our fire cause this!?” I heard Maràh asking.

  “Doesn’t matter! Throw things!”

  Indeed they threw a clump of snow, but they weren’t yet done yelling. “How many plants do you think are burning?”

  “Fuck, I don’t know!” I said and then approached to try and get a good look at it. It was no longer glowing, but some smoke still rose from the ground, backlit by the fire we’d meant to make.

  “Uh, more snow!” I yelled, dumping more on it myself.

  “Raaaaagh!” I heard Maràh yell, right as something that qualified as a snowball hit me in the face.

  “Not at me, at the fire!”

  “Sorry!”

  Well, regardless of that minor debacle, I couldn’t see much of anything glowing anymore, so I stomped at the ground to put out any extra sparks. For good measure, I shook the snow out of my hair right onto where the fire was. “There,” I said. “I think we might be good.”

  I heard a massive sigh from Maràh, and footsteps back to the proper fire. I walked back too, collapsing on the log I’d been sitting on before all of this with a certain amount of relief.

  Before I had a chance to say anything, I noticed that Maràh was laughing, and somewhat hysterically at that.

  It was probably a stress reaction, I reasoned, but then I found myself laughing too.

  “Does that normally happen,” Maràh asked in between giggles, “on travels?”

  “I wouldn’t say so, no,” I said, and chuckled a bit more. “Though, there is a first time for everything.”

  We both laughed for a while, a little quietly, the planned fire burning nice and strong into the night, as if in defiance of what we’d just done to its relative.

  And though that fire blocked Maràh’s face from me, I heard their giggling voice clearly, and couldn’t help but be quite glad to have a companion with me.

  7

  Cijaya

  dotted lines

  So since Zel wasn’t really very helpful at all, it was looking like I was on my own when it came to getting travel supplies. That’s why I found myself in the market on the weekend, trying my best not to get too overwhelmed by all these people around me, everywhere, talking. Grass squished under my feet, the sun shone, and I tried to remember what some sub-components of the general concept of “travel supplies” might be.

  But it was hard to pay attention to my own thoughts. There were people moving around me, way too many, and there were all these booths, and I couldn’t really mentally sort through them, and it was just starting to occur to me that there was a chance that the indoor part of the market would have more of what I needed.

  If I could just figure out what I needed.

  Uh.

  I rubbed my eyes, my focus long lost, and took a few steps in a direction. Maybe it was even the right direction. I had no idea.

  And that’s how I came face to face with a newspaper.

  There were newspaper stands in the market, of course; more than one, even. Sometimes I bought something from them, if I was interested. And I was already starting to guess that today might be one of those days. Because, the headline? “Mangtena’s tech revolution remai
ns mysterious.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what that might mean, so I approached the stand and started skimming the page. It was something about how new solar panels had been appearing around the far-north desert city, and no one knew where they were coming from. Apparently it wasn’t just solar panels either: at least one elevator system had been suddenly fixed in the dead of noon, when everyone in the city was asleep.

  Huh.

  That was weird. And interesting.

  I put a coin down on the stand and grabbed a copy. I still didn’t really know how to get supplies for travel, but I might have just figured out where I was going.

  It turned out the rest of the article was pretty awesome too. No one knows the identity of the vigilante, one sentence said. However, many new installments are identical to city council plans for future improvements. It also mentioned how, although the common colloquial name for whoever was doing this was ‘the vigilante,’ a single person should not logically be able to do this much construction. And neither should a team of people.

  Well, if it was just one person—or if it was a team, actually—I totally wanted to meet them. I flapped one of my hands at the thought while holding onto the newspaper with the other, and almost instantly collided with another person.

  “…Orange?”

  My nickname. The only name much of anyone knew me by.

  Unfortunately, I recognized this person as soon as I looked at them. Gazhri. A former classmate, who’d turned seventeen and graduated last year. I hadn’t seen lir since, but just looking at them now, I could feel lir in a classroom with me, light through the window, me and lir around a desk with Sā, with Sā—

  I jumped back, away from lir.

  I remembered lir laughing. I remembered lir asking, so you think exploration of the sea is pointless, which was an interesting question, given that I’d never said anything like that before, but Sā had—

  —and of course, you see, it was fair enough to assume I was just Sā in miniature. That’s what everyone had been subtly thinking lately. I could tell.