Under The Sun

i.

☼

DON'T LOOK.

I closed my eyes. Nausea twisted inside me and the tightness in my chest strangled me. Don't look. The low rumbles and crackles of the raging fire echoed in my ears as I stood still, willing to rid of the horror before me. I rather see darkness than death.

"You mustn't look away, my child." A heavy hand squeezed my shoulder.

"Papa." I shook my head, eyes still shut. "I don't want to watch this. Not again."

"I know," Arnon said, his voice low and soft. "No one does. But this is our way, Stella. Keep watch. This is the time to remember him, to honour him."

Heaving a deep sigh, I opened my eyes, my clouded vision taking more than a moment to adjust. A loud crackle rattled my bones and I flinched. There it was. Although we stood afar at a great distance, I recoiled at the radiant heat. The flames burned high, casting a bright glow into the twilight sky. Our entire village engulfed in a sea of orange, red, and yellow. I gasped and my lungs withered, drowned by the stench of smoke and soot. I coughed, waving the smoke and stray ashes away.

Arnon patted my back and surveyed the scene. Surrounding us, our people stood and watched the fire. Everyone remained silent when we die. The death of a Halfling was a bewitching and silent spectacle.

I gritted my teeth. Yet, this was our way—this silent acceptance of our fate.

I shut my eyes. It was only yesterday I walked down the dusty market streets, weaving through the throng of people, ignoring the cacophony of shouting of deals and gossip. The air hung dry, yet flooded with many scents of food, produce and spices so rich I tasted them in my mouth. I licked my lips. The only flavour lodged in my throat was the bitter taste of copper choking my airways.

"He's in there. I can't—"

Arnon's grip tightened as I choked on a sob. His voice grew weary. "Stella. . ."

Nodding, I faced the fire. I must honour him.

Shaking my head, I tried to remember him. Memories of Lamein sitting me on his lap, singing songs of our people whilst teaching the needle and thread filled my mind. When Cassia and I sewn fabric for Eril's window, it took us longer than usual—from dusk till dawn—but we finished the cloth. It was magnificent, vibrant with colours. It matched our streets and its people. Despite our hands being tired and sore and despite Ascher saying it was poor needlework, Lamein loved it. As did Eril. Lamein paraded that cloth all day, strolling through the market streets to the temple gates, showing everyone our work. I remembered how Cassia and I glanced at each other, stifling our giggles and beaming with pride.

"Come, my child." Arnon beckoned me to hurry, his weathered face concreted a grim expression. Move. Now.

As the fire flickered and curled, the flames ripped its way through our village. We built our dwellings from stone, wood, and fabric. We sculpted each stone meticulously, carved the wood slowly, and wove every fabric by hand. With each flare, I watched as the hungry fire consume it all. I watched the inferno burn our home and itself out. Soon, nothing but ashes would remain. I sighed, wrenching my eyes to break free.