Stolen Suns

The Vigil

At midnight, the city shimmered with candlelight.

Every citizen of Woondaly dressed in solemn black and ventured into the cobbled streets, where they joined the procession toward the clock tower square. Candles passed to each hand, then a flame from a match that the empress had struck. Cold wicks tipped into the fire, passed the light to the next, and the darkness succumbed to their glow.

With hands entwined and haunted faces-- their strong voices trembling as one --they sang a lullaby to the ones who were lost:

Sleep, my little love,
For the sun has closed her eyes
And wrapped herself in the shining dark.
Dream of the light
Warm and safe, little love,
And you will find her
Beneath the night.

The refrain faded into the breeze, and they shielded their candles with cupped hands. At each burning wick the wax pooled shimmering, then brimmed and spilled like hot tears--

Runa dropped her candle with a hiss, scratched at a drip of melted wax on her finger, and shoved the wound in her mouth.

A kick at the back of her shoe made her jump. She turned to apologize for standing in the way-- for dropping her candle, for making noise, for not paying enough attention --but a familiar voice interfered.

"Let's go," Briony mumbled through a cheekful of gummy bears. She gestured with her elbow-- hands stuffed in jacket pockets, slender eyes unfocused, her yellow headphones blaring heavy metal -- then handed Runa the half-eaten bag of candy and clomped away into the shadows of a side street, confident that her friend would be close behind.

Runa shifted her weight to one foot, then another. She bit her lip, eyes darting between the candlelit crowd and Briony's retreating swagger, before she followed stumbling after her friend.

"We should stay until the bonfire," Runa whispered, shoving the candy in her pocket. She cast a quick glance behind, but no one was watching.

"D'you want to stay for the bonfire?" Briony asked lazily. She clicked off the cassette player and draped the headphones behind her neck.

Runa shrugged.

"Don't just do things because people expect you to do them," Briony snarled at the sky. "Nobody can tell you what to feel."

"You expect me to follow you," Runa challenged. "And you tell me what to feel about things."

"Don't listen to me, then." Briony waved goodbye without turning around. "But if you actually don't listen to me like I told you, then that means you are listening. But if you do listen--"

"You're such a goober!" Runa laughed and shoved Briony stumbling out of the middle of the street.

Briony caught her balance against a spire, then turned a ferocious grin on Runa. With a spring and a leap she pounced on her shrieking friend and locked her in a chokehold.

"You're the goober, Goober!" Briony crowed and dragged Runa along like a trophy.

Runa laughed and hiccuped so hard that her eyes watered and her smile hurt her cheeks. She clung to Briony's arm while she pedaled backwards to keep up, but with every fumble on the uneven street she only laughed harder.

"You're so weird." Briony stopped, smirking fondly, and waited for Runa to compose herself.

Runa leaned on her knees while she dragged air into aching lungs. She wiped her face on a sleeve, brushed crinkled twists of black hair from her eyes, and stared up into the glowing glass box of a streetlamp overhead.

The lantern-moths inside folded luminescent wings and shivered furry antennae. They fluttered and bumped with sparks and flashes of light that made Runa blink.

Briony was walking away again. Runa galloped after her. "Where are we going?" she asked.

Briony tossed an impish grin over her shoulder. "The lampcatcher painted over his windmill."

They stopped along the way to retrieve Briony's stash from under her grandmother's porch, then they took a shortcut through the graveyard and hiked up the grassy hill where the breeze blew salty and the ocean rushed in the distance below.

Halfway up the hill, Runa stopped to draw a fresh deep breath and let it out with the wind. She turned around, hugging herself against the billowing cold, to look out over Woondaly: the pincushion of metal spires that poked high over the rooftops, the dim breathing glow of the streetlamps, the glitter of candlelight that flooded the square, the bright shine of a bonfire burning at the heart of the city, the sugar-crust of stars that blazed forever across the clear night sky.

She heard Briony's call, and Runa sprinted away through the salt-swept grass.

The lampcatcher's windmill creaked and shuddered on the empty yard before the cliffs. The old sails paddled at the stars with a mechanical groan and pop. The spaces around the shuttered windows and beneath the locked door shimmered with bright bursting light, as if a tiny sun were trapped inside.

The stone walls of the windmill were centuries old and layered with dozens of coats of paint, most recently with a fresh wash of white that gleamed like a beacon in the starlight. But there was still a trace of strange color underneath: sweeping suggestions of lines and shading and artistic visions destroyed.

Briony dropped the box of spray paint with a thunk in the dirt.

"Alright!" Briony cracked her knuckles and tossed a purple can to Runa. "We've got a long night ahead of us."

"Can we make it pretty this time?" Runa asked, shaking the clicking can as hard as she could.

Briony studied the white side of the windmill like an artist surveys the blank canvas. "Pretty like a flower or pretty like Empress Isobel?"

A flash of iridescent violet caught Runa's eye. She looked quick down the hill toward the graveyard, a shadowy spot between the crooked elm and a row of crumbling graves.

But the longer she watched the headstones, the more certain she was that it had been a trick of a distant streetlamp. She exhaled and smiled.

"Pretty like birds in sunlight," she answered softly.

Briony chose a can of orange paint and flipped it like a weapon. "Prettiest birds in the sky," she agreed.