The Exiles

5. From flame to fire

The child trod heavily through the snow, at their feet and falling against their body. The wind had picked up and snow flurries whipped about their head as if their rampant thought brought alive—visible for all to see. Thoughts that wouldn't leave them alone.

Nessie isn't one of us? But why? And what did Amer mean, Nessie is dying? Why is Nessie dying? Mama said it was just a cough...

What does Granny's story have to do with Nessie? Or even Amer? Why did Mama say Amer called the Ferry Boy once? Is he real?

As the child's legs tired from the walk—for they were putting distance between them and their house so no one could catch them "being up to no good" as Granny would say—thoughts ran amuck in their mind.

... if Maan is real then... then surely, the land of peace is real. The land of no pain...

They eyed the dark horizon before them, nothing but shadowy woods to their left and open and equally shadowy fields to their right. The visibility worsened with each moment, and soon, as their most ambitious thoughts ran through their mind, the child was truly lost, for they could not tell their North from the South, nor their woods from their fields. Caught in the middle of a wild blizzard and equally disturbed mind, the child could only but say, as if whispering against the wind, "I know what to do! I'll summon the boy. I'll summon the boy so he can save Nessie from her pain."

So they tried. They tried their darndest to weave Maan into existence. After all, if what Mama said was true, Amer did it once, so surely they could too. Thus, lost in a blizzard, but not in hope, the child tried to weave.

"Once upon a time there was a ferry boy named Maan," they began, yelling as if mute against the roaring wind and snow. As time ticked by, a flicker of gold appeared before them.

The child smiled broadly, a smile on their lips and a swell of hope and warmth in the chest. They thought for once, I can do this! So they wove more. More words and more hope, against the darkness that was swallowing them whole, both literal and imagined.

But what if I can't do it, just like Amer couldn't? What if I too fail?

"What in the blasted Earth are you doing, Vanylla Chymer? If mother or brother see you now, there will be no weaving for the rest of your natural life!" Attin bellowed over the wind when he came upon the girl. He shivered against the cold, clad only in a cloak that belonged to his mother. Its green, rich velvet looked deeper than the shadows about him.

Naturally, the child—Vanylla—startled at the voice. She was not expecting to hear a voice out in the wilderness, especially one of her family! She was busted, busted like a cookie thief caught red-handed, with her eager hand still in the forbidden cookie jar.

"Attin." She swallowed her fear, partly glad of being found, yet sad that she'd been caught. "I—I... got lost..."

Attin's eyes narrowed savagely. Not that Vanylla was close enough to see. He did not believe her lie. Of course, he did not believe her lie, for he'd seen her leave home with a purpose. He asked again over the wind as he eyed her hand, her flickering weave laying dark and lifeless, "What are you doing here? Lucky I woke when I did and saw you slip out."

Vanylla swallowed again and wrapped the large jacket about her as if gathering her wits. What could she say to Attin without giving herself away?

"Vin!" Attin moved closer, shivering against the chilly night. "What are you up to? What would mother think if we had lost you tonight? In fact, what do you think she'll go through should she wake to find our beds empty right now and us gone?"

"I—" Vanylla was stumped for words. She hadn't thought about all that, had she? She hadn't thought about the blizzard or being lost. She'd only thought about getting far away from home where she could safely call forth Maan, just as Amer had once done, somehow.