by Ryan Almroth
Then with a huff, she tossed herself onto the stump. “Name this, name that!” she cried out. “I hate names! They’re such a pain in the—”
“Nice to see you too,” came a sudden voice from behind her, and she leaped to her feet with a yelp.
“Don’t do that, gods above,” she gasped, kicking water at the chuckling man before her. “I thought you were late!”
Every time. Every time. One of these days, she’d scare Vincent back. It wouldn’t vindicate the many tumbles she’d taken into the pool over the years, but it sure would make her feel a lot better.
“No, I believe that’s more your domain than mine, dear,” he finally replied, laughter thankfully subsided. Primly, he settled at the edge of the stump. “Now, what’s this about names?”
“They’re terrible,” she groaned. “This village is terrible. Did you know that no less than twenty people stopped me today? Just about my name!”
“That’s terrible. No good suggestions, I’m guessing?”
“None! Honestly, if any one of them could offer me a name I haven’t already tried, I’d be impressed. Maybe enough to even settle for it. Gods know I probably won’t get a real one.”
He frowned. “You’re a little young for such a defeatist attitude, aren’t you?”
She put a hand on his shoulder. “I can assure you,” Lil said, making direct, earnest eye contact. “It’s never too early to be a defeatist.” Then her face twisted in disgust. “Especially when it comes to names.”
The rant was incoming, but she was burning precious moonlight with her vitriol. It wasn’t that important, she told herself. Annoying, but then again, she’d had years to learn to live with her village’s overbearing superstition about names. Sure, it was only recently that they’d really begun pushing her about it, but she should’ve expected it by now.
She took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. “Never mind that,” she finally said. “What did you have planned for today?”
“Well, we could probably hold a master class on repressing your emotions—”
She leveled an unamused stare at him.
“But,” he continued, chuckling, “I thought we could start on something a little more applicable to your day-to-day life.”
“Oh?”
He grinned. “Yes, I knew that’d catch your interest.”
“Anything beats meditating while ankles deep in muddy water.”
“Oh, you’ll be doing that too,” he replied, grin growing impish.
She groaned.
“All right, point taken,” he said with a laugh. “Why don’t I tell you a story first?”
Suspiciously, she squinted down at him. “This isn’t going to be one of those kids’ stories with ham-fisted morals, is it?”
“No, no,” he replied. “It’s relevant, I promise. It starts like this: a long time ago, there was a famous painter, known for his prowess in painting beautiful dragons. Except for one quirk. He never painted in the eyes.”
“Because when he did, the dragons would come to life and fly away,” Lil finished. “I know this one. My dad told it to me. But what does it have to do with anything?”
Slightly taken aback, Vincent said, “Ah, youth. So impatient.” He shook his head. “By dotting the eyes, he gave the dragons their souls. The importance of a final touch, as it were.”
“Okay…?” she said slowly.
He smiled at her befuddlement. “Now, what do you know of the human soul?”
“It… maybe exists?” She searched his expression, but he only nodded at her to continue. “No one’s ever proved it does, but most people believe in it.”
“Very good, Lil,” he said, smile growing wider. “Now, why do you think he refused to paint the eyes?”
“They’re dots,” she pointed out. “It’s less noticeable when they’re missing.”
“Thinking practically, yes. But why else?”
Lil frowned, putting a hand up to her chin. “The eyes are… windows to the soul?”
She didn’t think it was possible, but Vincent’s smile widened even farther as he clapped and pointed toward her. “Exactly. The eyes are the representation of a way to perceive. That’s what I want you to focus on, because I’m going to teach you how to sense and, eventually, see souls.”
This many meetings in, Lil had learned the most important lesson of all: that anything was possible, with a helpful enough mentor. Vincent met around 70 percent of that requirement, so maybe….
“But for now, we’re going to meditate,” he finished.
Groaning again, Lil gave him a long-suffering look before flicking a few droplets of water at him. “Fiiiine,” she drew out petulantly. “I really hope this is worth it, though.”
SHE COULDN’T help but yawn as she slouched to the bookstore. By the time she’d gotten back from the spirit pool, it had been too late to go to sleep—or too early, depending on your perspective. She’d made it back just before dawn, when the sky began to go purple-pink at the horizon.
“Still nothing?” called Auntie Wu as she passed.
“It’s been a day,” she replied, fighting the urge to throw her hands up. “I’m not a miracle worker.”
“You’re well past the age, child. At least pick one for now—you can change it later, you know.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Auntie Wu shook her head. “Such a flighty child,” she muttered, and Lil rolled her eyes.
“You’re very much like your mother,” Uncle Chen said, laughing.
Lil raised a tired eyebrow. “Yeah?”
“Oh, she didn’t choose her name for years,” he said. “Longer than you, even. Then she did, and then she… well.”
Disappeared.
Officially, she died of exposure while lost in the woods, and her body was never found. But Lil wasn’t dumb. She’d heard the rumors. Spirit-touched, some had said. Best that she’s gone now.
Most of the village looked to Lil and expected her to disappear too.
Uncle Chen cleared his throat. “Hopefully not so similar, after all,” he finished gruffly.
If only you knew where I was last night, she mused.
She’d never leave her father behind, though. He acted superstitious, but it was all performative. If she explained it all to him, his first instinct would probably be to take notes.
Vincent would probably like him a lot better than me, she thought ruefully. He’s a much better student.
“I’m… going to go now,” Lil finally said, and both shopkeepers shuffled awkwardly and waved her off.
A small perk to having a missing mom.
THE NEXT month passed with little fanfare, though after that first day, Lil found it near impossible to pass through the market without some errant name being tossed her way. It grated just a little bit, but Vincent always listened patiently when she summoned him, his reflection pensive in the pools and mirrors she called him to.
The full moon can’t come soon enough, she thought, crossing each day off her calendar painstakingly.
“You’ll be glad to hear we’re actually doing something today,” Vincent said without preamble, when she finally made it to the moonlit clearing.
“Meditation doesn’t count as doing, right?” she asked cautiously.
“You and meditation, I swear. What has it ever done to you?”
“Historically? Bored the daylights out of me.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, looking around pointedly. “Daylight.”
“You know what I mean,” she replied, exasperated.
“I do, yes, though your criticism on meditation has been noted. I promise I’ll make it fun today, though.”
“I am somehow filled with doubt, but count me intrigued.”
Vincent laughed. “Ye of little faith. Now, remember our last talk about souls?”
“Yes…?” she replied, trying not to look like she’d forgotten most of it over the past month.
“You’re lying, dear,” he said indulgently, “but that’s all right. We�
��re going to build on that knowledge today. Just close your eyes and center yourself. Then reach for that point beyond your mind and draw it toward you, over your eyes.”
Pretty vague instructions, she thought, though it was simple enough to reach forward, once she took a deep breath.
Her face felt warm. “Is it working?” she whispered, eyes squeezed tight.
“Take a look for yourself, my dear child.”
She squinted one eye open, then the other, then blinked off to the side before she could catch a glimpse, latching on to Vincent’s reflection. It looked the same, and for a second, she felt her heart sink.
And then her eyes caught on the trees. They swayed in the vicious winter wind outside the spirit pool’s bubble, but shifting all around them, all through them, were almost heat haze-like copies. Like a misprint, when two lines overlap incorrectly, she thought, and gawped.
“This is—” she began, twisting to look at Vincent. “Is that?”
“Surprise,” he said, grinning, as his own copy pulled away from his body. He—the copy—smiled and crossed his arms proudly.
“That’s your soul,” she said faintly. “I am looking at your soul.”
“Yes, you are, dear,” he replied. “And if you look down, you can see your own, if you like.”
And with that, Lil’s awe faded. Quietly, she asked, “What if it’s not what I expected? What if I don’t like what I see?”
His expression softened, while his soul’s proud smile grew sad. “You learn to live with it,” he said finally. “Love it, if you can.”
Lil gulped. Before she could change her mind, she let her eyes snap forward, at…
…him.
For a second she thought it was some sort of illusion Vincent had created. It certainly looked enough like him. But then her eyes caught on the strong jawline, the scraggly mustache, the short hair that she’d always wanted but could never get to look right….
It was everything she expected to see in her reflection, and everything she knew she could never be.
The image shattered into a thousand droplets beneath her hand.
“What kind of joke is this?” she hissed at him.
He stood, startled and soaked. “It’s not—” he began, but before he could finish, she stumbled back and ran.
It wasn’t until later, buried deep beneath her covers, that she considered whether that might’ve been the last straw in their odd friendship. Vincent seemed to be… genuinely trying to teach her, and she’d (indirectly) slapped him through his reflection, and had quite literally tossed his teachings back in his face. Not her finest hour, but then again, not his finest prank.
Because it had to be a prank. It had to be. There was no way her soul was…
Was….
But it finally looked right, said a tiny, traitorous voice in her mind.
She shook the voice away. “It didn’t look like anything, because it never happened. As far as I’m concerned, nothing happened last night.”
It was a phrase she repeated throughout the day.
Nothing happened, she reminded herself as she passed by a darkened window, head tilted carefully away from her reflection.
Everything’s fine, she stressed, raking soap across the laundry board and staring emptily at the faded floral pattern of her dress.
Stop thinking about it, she ordered, and viciously stretched a piece of paper across the table.
“You appear to be, ah… troubled. Penny for your thoughts?”
Lil blinked down at her basin of ink. From the pool of black, Vincent smiled back awkwardly and waved.
Her eyebrows furrowed into a glare. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, glancing around furtively.
“Well, you seemed a tad upset when we last met—”
Nothing happened, Lil thought forcefully.
“—so I just wanted to check in. And I….”
She glared away from the ink. Even if the basin wasn’t big enough for both their reflections, she wasn’t going to risk it.
But then his silence drew on, far longer than his usual dramatic pauses. Curious, her gaze flickered back to the side.
Vincent was looking at her, but he wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were unfocused and distant, and for just a moment, his usual, confident veneer fell away, leaving behind something forlorn. Lost.
“I understand that it can difficult,” he finished softly, eyes refocusing.
She looked away. “I’m doing fine,” she said, and pressed her brush into the ink. The ripples shook his reflection into an indiscernible wobble, though she could tell he was still there by his tired sigh.
Stroke by silent stroke, she copied characters onto the page. Happy New Year! they screamed, though to Lil, it felt anything but.
“Nothing happened,” she said, her voice surprisingly even.
He sighed again. “At least let me teach you—”
“No.”
“Let me finish, dear. I can teach you—”
“No! Haven’t you done enough?” Her hands shook around the brush, tiny specks of black peppering the page. “Just admit that it was a joke! Or some… some twisted spirit thing, or whatever, so I don’t have to—”
“To what?” he said sharply. “To admit the truth to yourself?”
She froze. Her brush dripped black against the paper, ruining her work. She let it clack to the table, then crumpled up the paper up loudly—anything to fill the silence.
“You can’t just avoid all your problems, Lil,” Vincent continued, voice softening. He sounded far older than she’d ever heard before, and unbidden, her eyes flickered over once more. The light streak of graying hair at his temples seeming all the more visible against the basin of black ink. “It won’t help you in the long run.”
“But I don’t know what else to do,” she finally admitted. “How am I going to explain this to Dad? To the rest of the village? I don’t even know how to explain it to myself!”
“What do you feel when they call you a young woman?”
“Bad,” Lil replied quietly.
“And if I were to call you son? Boy? A fine, strapping, young lad?”
With every word, he could feel the smile on his face growing with the sense of rightness in his chest. “I like those a lot better,” he admitted.
“Then, my dear, it can be that simple.” His eyes softened. “You can finally be yourself now, Lil.”
Being… himself.
It was a novel concept. Lil had spent so long trying to tuck himself away in a deep, unnoticed corner that he wasn’t even sure if “himself” even existed anymore.
But the idea thrilled him, just as much as it made him nervous.
“Speaking of which,” Vincent added lightly, “this does explain why finding a name has been so difficult.”
“I’ve been looking in the wrong section all along,” he realized, before gasping, “I might even be able to find something, now!”
“That’s the spirit,” Vincent said with an impish grin, which quickly turned to something warmer. “Why don’t we start small? Let’s go through one of your name books. I bet we can find something fitting.”
Four hours later, if it hadn’t been for the announcement bells chiming across the village, Lil suspected that they never would’ve stopped. As it was, he tore himself away just slightly too late. By the time he arrived, the announcement was already over, though people still milled around the town center.
“What’s all this kerfuffle?” Lil asked.
“The hunters said they found something,” he heard someone say, off to his left, and his breath caught in his throat. A few well-placed elbows helped him find his way toward the conversation, and he tried not to look like he was obviously eavesdropping.
“Was it a spirit? Did they catch it?”
“No, no, just footprints, they said. Only one set. None going back.”
Lil felt a chill go up his spine. He hadn’t cleared his footsteps behind him as he ran. He didn’t even think of it. And no
w, from the sounds of discontent and fear rumbling through the crowd, he might never get to think of it again.
HE GOT complacent. That was all it took.
Almost a month had come and gone, taking with it most of the village’s simmering anxiety. Deep in his room in the middle of the night, Lil still kept up his meetings with Vincent through a little hand mirror. But while the village’s tension had slowly faded, Vincent’s still remained. They had gone back to the theoretical lessons from before—if they even did lessons at all. Half the time, they just went through names, the other half, meditation.
Only one lesson came remotely close to their meetings from before, where Vincent taught him how to pull his soul over his body like a cloak, making it look real even to outsiders. They only managed to practice it once before he chided Lil to bed, and the next night—and the night after that, and so on and so forth—they’d gone right back to names.
Really, it was sort of a wonder Lil managed to hold it together this long. After seeing his reflected soul, seeing the version of himself he’d always envisioned in his mind out in reality, it ached to hide it all away. He both longed for and shied away from mirrors now, initial hope balanced out by inevitable dissonance.
But he practiced. Alone, in secret, then slowly out in public, for minutes, then dozens of them, then even hours. All this without Vincent knowing, because Lil knew that he wouldn’t approve, so preoccupied was he with caution.
In the end, all it took was just one slip-up.
All he wanted was to see New Year’s Eve as himself, instead of hiding in the house like every year before. So he’d drawn the cloak around him and ventured out, secure in his own abilities and too excited to reconsider.
With the revelry in full swing, the market was a riot of noise and color. Red paper lanterns strung up overhead cast the entire street in a warm light, and all around him were people, dressed to the nines in festive finery. Lil almost felt out of place in his regular clothes, but the people around him barely batted an eye. Barely even noticed him, in fact; they were too wrapped up in the whirlwind celebration. A lion danced past, mouth flapping open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of Uncle Chen.
