by Sky Corbelli
of their own accord. “Well, you know, it's my brother. I worry–”
Lena pressed her mouth to his, slow and soft and sensuous, cutting him off. He was left breathless as she broke the kiss. “Maybe,” she whispered, her lips hovering close to his, “you should go back to telling me about the stars. Or better yet, maybe you should just stop talking altogether.”
Marcus was only too happy to oblige.
In Blessing
Marcus Garcia trudged into town the next morning, the sun rising behind him. The snow had only just let up, and though the heat from the ember lilies had dried his boots and trousers, his shoulders and hair remained uncomfortably damp. It's only every seventh day, he thought to himself glumly. Although it's not like anyone has ever tried anything with the lilies. He stopped in the shadow of the Heart of Fire, gazing up at the monument where it sat upon its raised platform, majestic and intimidating.
It was huge, all rough-cut timbers forming a sort of cage. Every year, to celebrate the end of winter, each person in the town of Blessing would cut a single ember lily. They would lay the flowers down inside the Heart of Fire, one by one. And when the last lily had been placed, they would gather around and watch as the whole construction gradually heated from within, glowing and smoldering before it burst into flame. It would burn for days, warming the center of town with its cheery light, heralding in a new season.
“Mister Garcia!” A voice boomed out. Marcus stumbled forward in surprise, whirling around to see a portly man behind him, grinning broadly.
Marcus gulped, throat going dry. “Mayor Ortega.” He cleared his throat. “Is, um, something the matter, sir?” Please Mother, don't let him know about Lena and me last night, he prayed in desperation.
“Easy there, my boy,” the big man laughed, clapping Marcus on the shoulder. “Long night in the fields?”
“Yes, sir. I mean, no more than usual, that is.”
“Good, that's good. It's nice to see a young man who minds his duties. I missed your brother last night,” the mayor continued. “I would’ve thought he'd be keen to see some of the trinkets the travelers brought. Did you get a chance to see that knife they had? Strangest thing I've ever seen... glowed all blue, cut straight through the best iron in the village like it was butter. Sorry you boys had to miss that; it was quite a show. I could have sworn I told the whole town to come...”
Marcus flushed, dropping his gaze to the cobblestones and rubbing a hand through his hair. Leave it to Anthony to make things difficult. “Sorry sir, but you know how he can be when he's got something new on his mind. I'll have a talk with him.”
“I know you will, son.” The mayor peered off into the distance, toward the field of lilies. “By the by, I didn't see my daughter last night either. You wouldn't happen to know what she was up to, would you lad?”
Marcus froze, trying to think non-incriminating thoughts. Lena's father burst out laughing. “Oh, don't you worry, I seem to remember the kinds of things a boy and girl can get up to on a nice night out in the field.” He looked directly at Marcus, his laughter dying. “But if you ever do anything to hurt my little girl, I will personally see you clapped in stocks and gelded with a fresh lily. Do you understand me, Mister Garcia?” Marcus gulped again and nodded. The portly man clapped him on the shoulder once more. “Good man. Town meeting in an hour, make sure you and your brother show up for this one, eh?”
“Yes sir,” Marcus croaked, trying to shift safely out of the man's reach. He retreated toward home as fast as he thought he could get away with, the mayor's booming laughter following him across the town square.
==
“I know who they are!”
Marcus reeled back, heart racing as the door flew open, narrowly missing his nose. “Anthony! Holy Mother, are you trying to kill me?” He reached out to steady himself against the door frame as his little brother gave him a quizzical look.
Anthony shared Marcus's features, but where Marcus was broad of shoulder and tanned from days spent in the fields, his brother was thin and pale, like a poorly made copy, hair dirty blonde to Marcus's deep brown.
“Oh,” Anthony said, as if it had just occurred to him, “I didn't mean to startle you.” He absently brushed a few stray locks of hair from his eyes and turned back to the room behind him, gesturing emphatically. “But where have you been?! You need to see this, Marcus, it tells us everything! Everything!”
Marcus took a shaky step into the room and groaned at the sight of their little kitchen. Nearly every inch of it was covered in books or scrolls, often several piled on top of each other, his brother's practically illegible handwriting scribbled in margins.
“It was Sunday night, little brother, the night I watch the fields.” He trudged to the table, flipping a book closed and glaring at the notes beneath it. “All I want is a little space to sit and eat before I collapse, is that too much to ask?”
“Yes! Space! That's how they did it!” Anthony picked out a volume and started scanning a page. “You see, right here, Masukawa clearly states, 'And they were bound up within a ring of stone and fire, shrouded in mist and guarded by air and lightning.' Now, I know what you're thinking. There's no way it could be them, after all this time. But there's this text from the third century...” The young man frowned and began digging through books, glancing at a page here and there, and generally making more of a mess.
Marcus found a plate of untouched food sitting on the floor. Probably something Lena brought, to make sure he ate, he mused to himself. “The mayor says he missed you at the meeting last night, Anthony.” He sniffed the hard roll and shrugged, taking a bite
“Ha! I bet he did, groveling before them like that, while I was... I was...” The pale young man scanned a passage and grabbed another book, seemingly at random. “Yes! Here it is, the author describes something that he calls 'space.' Apparently it surrounds the whole world... but isn't actually a part of it. And so I was thinking, what it they somehow went out into this 'space' and then went over the ring? That must be it...” He trailed off, eyes searching the page. Marcus continued to gnaw his way through the little loaf, picking at the cold slab of pork congealing in its own fat. Anthony looked up from the book abruptly. “The travelers. I know who they are. You probably aren't going to believe this, but I think that they're–”
“From the Forbidden City,” Marcus finished for him, working up the courage to take a bite of the meat. He grimaced at the taste. “This is terrible,” he commented, swallowing and taking another mouthful.
Anthony stared at Marcus, mouth hanging open. “How... but I... and you weren't even...” He glanced desperately at the books scattered across the table and counter tops. “When did you figure it out?”
Marcus choked down his second bite and set the plate aside. “Lena came out to the field last night, little brother. You haven't been spreading this around, have you?”
“Oh,” Anthony said in obvious relief, “Lena, of course. No, no, you're the only ones I've told, I swear it by the Mother and all her children.” He gave his brother an earnest look. “So you'll stand with me then? When I go to the mayor, that is, to warn him about it all. Masukawa is very, very clear on this, you see, and we can't just go about expecting–”
“Masukawa? Isn't he that loony from four hundred years ago or something?”
Anthony bristled at this. “Three hundred, from the second century after the Fall of Man. His writings are the only known works that contain actual sources with first-hand knowledge of the time before the War of the Elements. And he wasn't a 'loony.' He was a great man, the last Scribe, tasked with keeping the true history against the day when–”
“Yes, yes,” Marcus waved his hand impatiently, “when the Forbidden City comes back or the demons of Fire and Wind carry us off into the night for their evil rituals. It's all just a bunch of fairy tales. You need to grow up.”
“No, it would be the demons of Lightning and Wind. And you need to take this seriously.” Anthony slammed the book shut. “We're in real dan
ger here from an ancient enemy that has been plotting this day for over five hundred years! And you're, what, rolling around with the mayor's daughter in the lilies?” He glared up at his older brother.
Marcus gave his little brother an appraising look. “I think that's serious enough. Pretty girl on a pretty night, what more could you want? Instead of being,” he gestured out toward the town, “awed by a few trinkets from some traders we've never seen before, or,” he took the tome from Anthony's hand, looking it over critically, “sitting inside all night reading bedtime stories that no-one with a lick of sense would believe.” Marcus shook his head, tossing the book on the pile with a muffled thump. “I think I'm just about the most serious person in town.”
Anthony snatched the tome up, checking it over curtly. “How can you say that? We're part of these stories, you know. The town of Blessing,” he started flipping through the pages, mumbling as he went. “Blessed by Fire and given the first ember lily by her own hand...”
Marcus rolled his eyes and grabbed the book back, setting it down on the table. “No-one believes in that stuff, Anthony. Some old timer walked through here and thought he was seeing magic everywhere.”
“But how else can you possibly explain–”
“It's always been like this,” Marcus interjected. “From back before
