A Thread of Time: Firesetter, Book 1 (5 page)

In truth, I hated playing chess with
Amyr.  Despite my best efforts, he always won.  Occasionally, he would let me
get close by capturing a rook, a knight, and several pawns.  Once or twice, he
even let me capture his queen, giving me false hope, making me believe that I
might survive.  Then, in a blink of an eye, he had my king locked in a deadly
trap. 

Amyr smiled and shrugged a little, just as
thunder clapped overhead.  Giant splatters of rain pinged against the filthy
window. 

“You see?  It is a poor day to be out in a
boat.”

“I promised my mother I would clean the
house.  She has taken to her bed in sorrow over Taul’s departure.  I’m sorry,
Amyr.  Perhaps, we can play another time?”

“Perhaps.”  He yawned and closed his eyes,
absolving my guilty conscience for he was tired.

“Embo is acting ridiculous,” Aunt Ailana
declared.  “Your mother's theatrics are exactly that.  But, go on, Jan.  Amyr
doesn't need you.  He can play chess against himself just as well.  It's a pity
his eyesight is too poor to stitch, else he could sit here and earn a coin the
same as me.”

“Now, you know why my eyesight is poor,”
my cousin teased lightly, in between another yawn.  His eyes closed, and his
long dark lashes created a fan across his cheek.  “When the angels asked if I
should like to see, but in exchange I must stitch and sew, I promptly refused
their generous offer, and chose to be helpless instead.”

“Oh Amyr,” my auntie sighed, “what will I
do with you?”

“You will kill me,” he joked as I shut the
door.

Now, weeks later, I found myself again
outside their door with the little street urchin, Dov, who had nowhere to go.

“That soup was really delicious.  Do you
think they might give me some more?”

I shook my head.  Both Mother and Auntie
would blame me for encouraging him.

“I'm sorry.” 

He shrugged again.  “That’s okay.  Thanks
for sharing it with me.”

“Thank my cousin if you ever get to meet
him.  You should hide beneath our porch, or behind that large shrub next to the
house.  If the Korelesk army comes, they probably won't look over there.”

Dov shook his head and jumped off the
porch, landing on both feet.  He smiled as if that was great fun.

“Goodbye Jan.”  He skipped to the street,
and were it not for the wind, I would have heard him singing a silly, childish
song, his torn, sleeveless shirt bouncing up and down, dancing in the rain.

Chapter 6

Pellen

“They say there is fighting in the
streets, Papa.  Did you see it?” Amyr called to me as soon as I opened the
door. 

I was tired and my back aching from far
too many hours of standing on the cement floor.  My heart, too, was aching from
far too many hours of standing with only a few coins to show for my efforts. 
Three coins were not enough to feed my wife and myself, let alone the boy whose
medicine cost twice as much each week.

“No.”  I spoke truthfully for my journey
home had been uneventful. 

However, there had been whispers on the
street, although I tried not to listen.  Purposefully, I had walked with my
head down and my eyes unfocused, so as not to call attention to myself.  Yet, I
heard wisps of strangers' conversations unmistakable in their meaning.  Everyone
was speaking the same.  The same words were repeated from corner to corner,
doorstep to doorstep.  Evil had come to us and no longer were we safe.

“Are you certain?” my son asked.  “I
thought I heard the sounds of guns.”

“Hush,” Ailana snapped, putting her hand
on the boy.  “It was only your imagination, or the thunder in the hills.  I
heard nothing.  There is no reason to worry.  Don't overly excite yourself,
child.  Sit back down and calm your heart.”

“Are you sure you didn’t see anything,
Papa?” the child persisted as I lay down upon the floor. 

I was too worn even to remove my boots, as
my heart was now beating double time worrying after his.  Would that I could
give my son my own strong organ in exchange for the one that beat so weak.  If
not, would that I could take this child away from this poor, sad village where
he could not be cured.

“I saw nothing.”  I forced a smile into my
voice, while keeping it calm and low, lest the child or my wife hear my fear. 
“I saw only the jagged cracks in the pavement.  If I did not watch for them, I
might have fallen through, and ended up in the motherland on the other side of
the planet.”

Amyr laughed, but Ailana only rolled her
eyes.

“Take off your coat, Pellen.  You are
dripping water on the floor.”

“Jan saw something,” Amyr reported as I
hung my coat upon its peg.  “She said they made a tremendous noise.”  This
filled my son with excitement, for he began to bounce as he lay upon the worn
couch.

“Hush Amyr,” my wife said again, for the
boy's exertion might lead to a fit.  Sometimes, the medicines helped to control
the spasms, while other times, we could do nothing but stand helplessly and
watch.

“Your niece has a tendency to exaggerate,”
I reminded Ailana.  “The trucks might have merely been provisions from the
government.”

“No.”  Amyr held himself upright to look
at me. 

I turned to face my boy, never failing to
appreciate the beauty of his appearance.  Where and from whom his unique looks
descended, I could only guess.  Certainly, it wasn't me, for my hair was a
plain, ordinary brown, my nose overly large, and my dark eyes too closely set.

While I appreciated Ailana's looks, she,
too, paled in comparison to the boy.  Neither was her golden beauty passed on
to him.  Instead, he eclipsed her with his shiny black hair, pale skin as fine
as porcelain, and eyes that could only be described as singularly unique.

On cold winter days, Amyr's eyes echoed
the snow.  When thunder raged overhead, they were as dark and foreboding as the
rain.  During the spring, they glistened with color, and in the summer, they
shone as golden as the sun.  On the rare occasions when he grew angry, they
flamed as if filled with fire burning red.  Yet, for such unique and
exceptionally beautiful organs, they were surprisingly poor when it came to
performing their task. 

My son was born sickly.  Since his
arrival, several months earlier than he should have appeared, his growth had
been marred by the advancement of his poor condition. 

“We haven't the facilities to treat him
anymore,” the doctor had said, shortly after his birth.  “Years ago, during the
reign of the Empress Sara, we could have helped him.  Now, I can only give you
a medicine to alleviate his pain.”

“What will become of him?” Ailana had
gasped, clutching the baby to her chest, fearing the loss of someone we had
only just come to know.

The doctor didn't respond.  My son's list
of ailments was far too long to recite.  Her time was better spent with
patients, some whom might not only pay her, but be cured. 

Amyr was still alive now, and every day
was a joy and a reason to give thanks.  He was an exceptionally bright and
cheerful child, his wit as sharp as his intelligence was cunning.  But, he was
weak and so each day ended with the fear that this one might be his last. 
Tonight, his heart might cease to beat.  If not, tomorrow, his brain might
seize and grow silent. 

I loved the child with everything that was
within me and would have given him my healthy body in an instant if I could. 
Yet, there were nights when I wished for it all to be done, to wake up and
discover this nightmare had finally ended.  I told myself he would be at
peace. 

In the mornings, I would chastise myself
and fall prostrate upon the floor in prayer.  I would expunge those evil
thoughts from my soul, for God had given me this child for a reason.  Although
my son’s purpose amongst us was not apparent now, I knew that someday I would
understand it all, and so I went about my daily tasks with my son forever on
the tip of my mind.

Foregoing breakfast, I would depart early
to walk to my shop, whereupon I would stand for twelve hours on the cement.  My
aching back and my worn heart were just penance for the evil thoughts about
someone who I so dearly loved. 

Again, the next night, in the darkest and
coldest hours, when the last of the heat had gone from the hearth, those black
thoughts would creep into my mind.  How many coins would we have without his
medicine?  What food could I give to Ailana, who like her cousin was now as
slim as stick?  Without this child and his burdens, might we leave this place
and return to the motherland, for it was only Amyr and his medicines who kept
us here.  

“Jan brought a child home with her,”
Ailana said, removing the worn boots from my feet, which briefly celebrated the
joy of being set free.  I moved closer to the fire, letting the flames warm my
toes and soles, as Ailana headed to the kitchen to fetch a needle and thread. 
Her skirts swished behind her, hanging loosely from her thin frame.  If I
looked closely, I would see bones jutting from beneath her blouse.  “I see you
have another hole in the left one.”  Her voice scolded wearily.  “I should
repair it now while the leather is still wet and supple.” 

“Don't.  Leave it be.”  Her fingers would
be sore and blistered, aching more so than my back and feet, for she spent the
same hours stitching in exchange for a coin or a cup of flour.  “Another day, I
can manage.  Another week, I can walk.  There is no hurry, Ailana.  Come sit by
the fire and warm yourself with me.”

“Don't tell me what to do,” she snapped,
returning with both her sewing implements and a cup of lukewarm broth.  A tiny
cloud of fat floated at the top.  A single dumpling of dough formed like a lump
in the very center. 

“Amyr, have you supped?” I asked, offering
my cup firstly to the boy.

My son shook his head. 

“I'm not hungry, Papa.  I gave my cup to
Jan for her friend.  He needed it more than I.  He was very hungry.”

“A waste,” Ailana spat, her hands already
busily filling my boot's hole.  “Feeding a child off the street when we haven't
enough to fill our own bellies.”

I glanced back at my son, while drinking
my broth with relish.  Despite its weak contents, it tasted it good, especially
since this day, I had eaten only a single egg and a crust of hard bread.  Amyr
was smiling, his odd eyes shining with color, reflecting the flames in the
hearth despite the darkness surrounding him. 

Ailana sniffed loudly and shrugged a cold
shoulder in Amyr's direction.  “A little boy,” she muttered under breath. 

“A little boy,” I echoed with a chuckle. 
“Tell me about your friend, my son.  Did Mama let you invite him in?”

Setting my empty cup down on the floor
beside me, I lay flat, the only position comfortable for my back, and stared at
the vein like cracks crisscrossing the ceiling.  Were they getting worse? 
Wasn't that large one down the center a little less only yesterday?  Someday,
this ceiling would collapse upon us and I would be powerless to put it back. 
Someday the world would collapse around us, and I, Shopkeeper Pellen would be
powerless to provide for my family.

“Jan found him by the boat.  Then, the
trucks came and shot up everything on the street.  Jan and her friend ran home
as fast as they could, but neither Mama nor Aunt Embo wouldn't let the boy come
in their house.”

“Calm down, Amyr!” Ailana cried.  “That's
enough of this tale.  If we let every lost child inside, there would be no
space or food for you.”

My wife was correct, as unfortunate as it
was.  There were more lost children on the street than we could ever feed.  My
heart broke as I passed them, begging, stealing, or too weak to even try.  That
was the way of it now, not only in our village, but throughout the land.  Who
could help them?  Not I.  I had not enough bread to feed my own sickly son.

“We should go to the motherland,” I
whispered to Ailana later that night as the two of us huddled beneath our
blanket.  Neither of us slept, but instead we both listened for the steady
sound of Amyr's breath. 

In and out, he gasped, occasionally marked
by a cough, or an unintelligible murmuring that almost sounded like another
tongue.

“There are no medicines there,” my wife
scoffed, repeating what we both knew.  “Wishes and prayers, smoke and incense,
dances and songs will not stave off the spells or keep his heart beating.”

“If the army has come for us, the hospital
will refuse us entrance.  The doctors will act as if we are not there.  No
longer will they give us the medicines that he needs.”

“We don't even speak the language,
Pellen.  We have no memories, no ties to that place.”

“It is in our blood and in our souls,” I
insisted.  “We can learn to speak and grow our roots again, just as our
grandparents did when they came here.  If the army has truly come, if it is as
the whisperings suggest, the motherland is the only place where we will be
safe.”

My wife said nothing more, for she knew
that I spoke the truth, yet she would not admit to it, nor even consider my
request.  She turned her back to me and soon, I could hear the steady rhythm of
her slumbers intertwined with Amyr’s breathing in and out.