The Disappearing Sun

Chapter 1

I have always been captivated by morning. As dawn kisses the horizon with her lips of amber and rose, I will be there, enraptured, mesmerized by the soft black shadows the Sun casts during her quiet journey into the sky. Each dusk, she dies to let the Moon live; each daybreak, she emerges from the suffocating depths of night to shine upon the world. It is nearly time now, nearly time to watch as she awakens, bursts away from her prison of darkness, pokes her radiant head above the charcoal silhouette of the trees, and breathes. So I blink awake and prepare myself to meet the day.

On the other side of the bed, someone coughs, and I close my eyes again. If I pretend to sleep, still lost in a palace of dreams, perhaps my sister will bother our mother instead. But my luck amounts to nothing, and a small, cold hand presses into my shoulder. "Akia," she whispers. Another cough, and I imagine her pale face staring woefully at mine. "Akia, I-"

She breaks off, hacking, and I resign myself to waking. "Masega, when will you remember to sleep with both your blankets? You know your lungs ache when you don't," I murmur, rubbing her back, and she sighs.

"I'm sorry I'm sick," she mumbles.

"It's not your fault," I tell her, but still her cognac-brown gaze searches mine, anxious, looking for the slightest trace of reproach in my expression. She finds none and snuggles closer. "Will I still get to see her today?"

It's the Sun she wants to see. While I am charmed by her allure, Masega is obsessed, insisting on this ritual each morning. Come on, Akia, she will say, let's go, the Sun is almost up. I won't refuse. Of course, Masega. And, always, a pause. Mama, we're going outside.

Don't be long, she'll murmur, as if it matters. She won't reprimand us, just as I won't tell Masega no. We can stay out, dazzled at the Sun's beauty, for as long as we want. But I make sure Masega stays safe. Mama knows this. She isn't as hypnotized by morning as we are.

We go through this now, with Masega tugging at my arm. Mama gives her permission as always. As my sister trots through the doorway, I grab a small cover, knowing that the frost in the air will only make that cough worse. She stands barefoot on the peaty soil, toes already flecked with dirt, and whines as I drape the cover over her: "It's not that cold!"

"Cold enough for you to be sniffling," I point out as she inhales. Then I wrap my arms around her and sway, waiting for the sky to lighten. And it does, a pearly luster, turning the invisible wisps of cloud to cadmium shot through with brilliant streaks of tangerine and jujube, and the trees to a smudge of earthy green.

She smiles. "Won't be cold for long," she tells me, a smug, triumphant laze to her tone. I roll my eyes at her. What else can I do? She's right, and she knows it. Stars know how someone like Mama made Masega and I. Mama is gentle and soft-spoken; I'm cunning and wild, longing for the wind in my hair and the mud on my feet, and Masega's witty, courageous - bold, despite the disease that cripples her.

From shivering, however, she's a bit chillier than she'll let on. "Honestly, Akia," she says when I tighten my grip. "I'm fine."

I frown. You're not fine. You also won't stay out without me. "Well, I'm going back inside," I say, twisting around. "I'll make your tea for you, alright?"

Masega nods. "Right. Okay, yeah, I'll-um, I'll go in too." She totters along in my footsteps with one longing glance back at the Sun. I know she'll be bored for a small while with nothing to do other than rest, because most of the chores land on me. She's sick, and Mama's too frail to do the cooking and gathering. So I bustle around the kitchen as Masega slips out of the cover and burrows under Mama's blankets, stuffing red clover into a teabag.