Every Glistening Night

Chapter One

A pale glow dances in a bush, looping and diving between the tangled branches. To the average eye, the faint glow peeking behind the leaves would be imperceptible. But mine had been trained over the course of many years to detect it.

I remember the first time I wielded it. The moment filled me with more awe and prickling terror than I'd ever felt, than I ever thought I would feel.

Ordinarily, I would've rushed to collect the scarce ray, which the sun so graciously dropped on earth. Instead, I remain crouched among the leaves and tufts of forest grass, settling to watch it. Mother once said that watching the beams of light was useful for collecting it since a person can learn the light's behavior, the way it swirls through the air, and more importantly, the way that it's destroyed.

Childrens' squeals interrupt my concentration. Two girls run past in a blur of fur dresses and flying braids. They tear through the thicket, and the bush shudders, releasing leaves to the forest floor. Oblivious laughter rings in their wake. They don't see the sun's gift dissipating among the broken twigs, like a candle snuffed out.

I sigh. It's not like I would have been able to collect the light, anyway. That's the trouble with light. It typically rests in solitary places, high in the mountains and trees, away from the tribe's daily activity. It makes the light more difficult to collect, but it's worth the trouble.

A shadow falls over me, and I glance up at Audrel. The few crows feet around her eyes deepen as she smiles down at me. "Almost done, Celisae? The other women have already returned to camp."

I blink at her, then down at my basket. Tiny fairygold and crimson pine flowers fill my basket to the brim, yet I still prefer to linger in the forest longer than the others. Audrel knows it, too. She never presses me as to why, I'm sure she can guess the reason.

"It's past noon," Audrel reminds me, tilting her head to the sky, where sunlight filters in from directly above us.

"Alright." I push myself up, not before grabbing a final flower, and follow her toward camp. Though the trees may appear the same, all rich brown and reaching for the sky, there's still a familiarity to the route Audrel and I take. Some branches I must duck under since they hang in my path. Other trees have leaves that are a slightly darker or lighter shade of green, or a slightly more rounded shape versus ones more pointy. Some trees are more squished together, their trunks leaning together, whereas others keep their distance.

My eyes hitch on the trunk of a particularly robust tree. Grooves trace the bark in jagged lines. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was the symbol for "Na," or thunder. I hurry to catch up with Audrel before she notices I'm lagging. One of the children must've decided to practice writing The head matriarch's name, Nal m'se. Her name reflects her rule over the tribe: she holds enough power to make the mountains tremble.

The buzz of conversation greets us going into camp. People crowd the fractured cliff, a stony plateau that functions as our central gathering place. The smell of soup warms the air, full of aromatic spices and herbs. I step in the waning line of people in the middle of the clearing. Two women and men ladle broth, meet, and vegetables into stone bowls, placing a savory bun atop the mound. It warms my palms when I receive it, and my stomach grumbles.

Tribespeople dot the ground in clusters, a mixture of old, young, and somewhere in between. I weave my way to the edge, where the forest meets the cliffs. There, I sit on the same rock I always do. It's like the curve on its surface was made for me. I slip easily inside it, a piece in nature's puzzle. I tip the bowl back, letting savory soup flood my tongue and heat saturate my bones. It's late in the summer, and the days are hottest this time of year. But our high elevation preserves a nip in the air that only soup and furry clothes can remove.