The Colorless Land

Chapter 3: The Color of the Sky

"Edmian?" the boy repeated slowly, almost stumbling over the syllables, his eyes wide and incredulous. "My name...for me?"

"Sure! If you don't mind," Jolette declared, half proud, half embarrassed. "It's just, you're not telling us your name, and we've got to call you something. If you don't like it, tell me your real name!"

He slowly shook his head, confused and a little distraught. "I have no name," he said quietly.

"You keep saying that! But the people at home must've called you something, right?"

He shrank back, glancing right and left and listening closely as if searching for dangers, and Jolette instantly realized she had made a mistake. "Hold on," she burst out, "if you don't want to talk about it–"

"None of us had names," Edmian interrupted her, his voice quiet and almost frighteningly calm. "We never needed them."

Jolette stared blankly. She wanted to say something, make some sort of exclamation of disbelief; but her instincts told her that it was best to stay quiet and listen to what he had to say. Edmian had never spoken about himself before. Much less about the place and life that he had come from.

"We only had roles," he went on, his tone still unchanging. "That was enough."

His eyes flitted to Jolette's face at that last sentence, as if searching for affirmation or an explanation, unsure and questioning. Jolette, however, only tilted her head. "So what role did you have?"

Edmian looked at his feet. "None yet. You get your path decided after you finish education, at fifteen."

Jolette said nothing. There was too much in his words that made her think, wonder, too much about his calm, natural tone that made her shudder. This had been his reality, his normality. He did not see anything wrong about what he was saying.

Edmian had grown up a puppet, she thought, without individuality, without freedom. Just one face out of many that others had decided over.

How had he broken out of it, she wondered? After a lifetime of doing nothing but following orders, who or what had brought him here?

"Well," she said at last when she noticed his eyes resting on her again, "that's not how we do things here. Here everybody gets their own name when they're born. We don't call most people by their roles. Only kings and stuff."

Edmian gazed at her with wide eyes, taking in her words like a child eagerly listening to a story. "I see," he said quietly.

"So," Jolette tried again, encouraged by his fascination, "d'you mind if I call you Edmian?"

He fidgeted, averting his eyes, and the fascination on his face warred with a look of shame. "It's all right," he muttered. "You don't need to trouble yourself–"

"That's not the point!" Jolette planted her hands on her hips, glaring. "D'you like it or not? It's just," she added a little embarrassedly, "it's from this nursery rhyme about the child on the moon, and I thought it fits you." She scratched the back of her head, her demanding tone returning with a vengeance. "So, do you like it?"

Edmian did not look at her. Still he looked ashamed, guilty even, but beyond that shame and guilt his face glimmered with joy. "Edmian," he said softly, as if to test its feel on his tongue. "I...think I like it."

A grin crossed Jolette's face, and very quietly Edmian muttered another sentence, so quiet she almost did not catch it. "Thank you."

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