Chapter Text
The sun shines through the branches of the trees in a weird glimmery way, or at least that is what Velarisse thought as she strolled through the small forest next to the monastery. It was a quiet afternoon on a peculiarly warm day for this season. Usually, autumn came with rain and cloudy skies, not sun and a warm breeze, though this modification in weather was not to complain about. The plants had a few more weeks to stay green and healthy until the steps of winter would start to claim their life for the next months. That meant that it was still time to gather supplies for the cold weather, enough to make one or two big jars of tincture that would surely come in handy for the kids.
At twenty-one years old, Velarisse thought as an old lady when it came to natural remedies. She was already used to making all sorts of fixers for colds, runny noses, scratches and bruises, even tummy aches. She learned most of them from old books found in the monastery library while searching for something to lift the boredom. Truthfully, how to pick and choose leaves and flowers was not what she intended to find, but after the winter when her brother had one of the worst coughs she ever heard, that kind of books became her personal favourite. Then, after her brother got better, another kid had a flu. And then Father Lorcan cut his hand on a rusty nail. Before she knew it, her nights were spent reading about remedies and the power that plants held in restoring the strength of a body. The kids relied on her to heal and soothe their pain, and a couple of more warm days brought the reassuring thought that the cold epidemic would not start just yet.
But that sun was still too intrusive for this time of the year. Maybe it brought with itself something brighter for the poor lives of orphans. Or maybe it just postponed the inevitable darkness.
However it may be, she felt no need to hurry back just yet. The husky smell of the forest and the soft sound of the wind provided a sense of tranquillity Velarisse did not experience often. Not that she disliked the constant bickering of her brother, or the poor attempt at playing the violin from one of the kids. Even the struggling voice of Father Lorcan trying to keep everyone in check was a pleasant disruption of silence. Actually, she enjoyed all the chaos in the monastery. It was a twisted irony that a place so solemn, viewed as a house of peace and prayer, was a nut job of a home.
Home. For the past seven years, this was the only place she could call home. But it wasn't always like that. She remembered how her parents would call her and Mikey inside in the winter, while they were almost frozen from the snow, and hold them in their arms next to the fireplace. The wood would crack in the flames, sending small sparks across the room she and her brother tried to catch with their father's help. Mom would just scold them all for the unrealistic eventuality of burning the house down.
But there was no need for a fire now. Not with this damn sun.
Getting closer to the edge of the forest, she noticed a small feather lost in the grass. It would make the perfect present for Nacht. Another chip of bargain so he would keep an eye on her brother. Time did not make that kid more compliant. Maybe it was even worse now that he had reached a certain age. Being sixteen was no easy feat for the hot-headed teen. She remembered well all the emotions and desires of that age, even as a more shy and reserved character. If she had a hard time finding her place in the monastery at that time, it could only be ten times worse for her brother. She hoped the feather would suffice and that Nacht would still be her eyes in the shadows. Having another boy, closer in age to her brother, looking out for him seemed like the least humiliating approach. Who would want his sister trailing after him? And Velarisse thought of it as the safest option as well. Though she was not sure if that was for her brother or for herself.
Unable to stall her walk any longer, her steps carried her through the door of the church with her basket full of herbs and a small trinket tucked away in her pocket. Entering the main hall, she laid her eyes on the white figure standing in the middle of the kids. Zay had come again for her monthly visit. Being the benefactor of the orphanage here, with a whole church dedicated to her, the presence of the woman became a normality of expectancy among them. She always came once a month, or maybe twice in the winter, chatted with Father Lorcan or healed the diseases Velarisse had no idea how to approach, and left after telling a quick story. Although it was a known fact she saved all the kids from the war that stripped them of their families and their childhood, it sometimes seemed like Zay did not fancy the little ones that much. She never spared much time for them, only when healing, and sometimes it looked like she might even fear the toddlers as they tried to hug and climb her clothes. So now, seeing her sitting down comfortably and telling a story to the kids was something out of the ordinary.
Velarisse placed her basket down and got closer to the rest. Her brother seemed to notice her, giving a well-known expression that wavered between a frown and a smile, quickly directing his attention back to Zay.
The woman noticed a new member entering her squad of listeners.
"Great. We are all here now. Splendid. Then I can begin to tell you the story I prepared for today. Val dear, take a seat," said Zay with her usual theatrical voice.
"Thank you for waiting for me," was all Vel could manage to say, blushing at the sudden realisation that her long walk kept everyone waiting.
Among the kids, Velarisse was a stern, calm but decisive person. She carried herself with ease in all her endeavours that concerned the little ones. She even taught them how to read and write, or at least she tried. Not all the kids enjoyed those kinds of activities—or, for a better depiction of the situation, it is safe to say only Elion was trying to actively participate in the courses. But that was only because of the small crush he had on Vel, a very dear and precious secret. Being only two years younger than her, Elion thought he had a fair shot at capturing her heart, especially in their younger years. Now, that crush was a lingering memory of care and sympathy. Vel always knew she was the object of affection for him but chose to act as if she were completely oblivious. In her mind, it was a form of care and protection. Better to let the normal feelings of teenagers run their course until they dried away than to humiliate a young boy by rejecting his love.
And maybe she was feeling a bit too shy and insecure to have this sort of conversation with a dear friend like Elion. Beneath the motherly figure she presented herself with, there lay a little girl still trying to understand her thoughts and feelings. Being kind and guiding seemed like natural behaviour in the context of the monastery, but whenever it came to her as an individual, as a woman, Vel had no idea how to behave. So, she blushed and shut up and moved herself away from situations that made her anxious. It was easier to boss around her brother or joke with the toddlers.
For sure, Zay intimidated her. Yes, she may have been a known face, but she was not a friend. Nor a stranger. This kind of unclear relationship confused her. Was she supposed to feel love? Gratitude? Perhaps worshipping her would be a good choice—only if Zay would behave piously. Nothing came natural around her but to laugh or, from time to time, cringe. Maybe “auntie” was the proper appellative for her, like all the kids said. But Vel never had an aunt, so that was another relationship she did not know how to manage.
Zay’s story started with the introduction of a couple of heroes set to find an ancient artefact, an hourglass that was stolen by the evil monsters of the tale. Then what followed were different encounters that shaped the image of a magical and adventurous life.
“Is he hot tho?” asked Rosie for the fourth time when Zay mentioned a new character in the story.
“Yes… he is hot,” came the annoyed answer of the woman, trying her best not to snap at the cheeky little girl. These kinds of interruptions were already getting on her nerves, but the same question repeated at almost every new entry was a comical inconvenience.
“But like hotter than the rest?” followed Rosie with little to no awareness.
“Yes. No. I don’t know. Everyone is hot. It’s not the point,” answered the woman as calmly as she could.
“Everyone is hot? That’s mental!” said one of the other kids. It was a small boy with big glasses that covered most of his face. Among the rest, he was known to be quite the poser of an intellectual figure, inserting his opinions or assessments of situations in any dynamic.
Velarisse found the whole situation funny. She was pleased to see that the little ones were obnoxious and lacking manners even in front of such a imposing woman. That meant they were not only disrespecting her at the reading lessons. Or better said, they did not respect anyone.
What was respect anyway for a bunch of lost kids with no family to teach them manners and subtlety? What did she know? Her understanding of proper behaviour came from fleeting memories of her parents, Father Lorcan’s teachings, and some books she read. Sometimes people from the town would come to the monastery and she tried her best to display a pleasant attitude and an eloquent speech. But was it enough? Zay had almost no tact, but everyone respected her—although, behind closed doors, she once heard Father Lorcan scolding Zay for the things she said to the kids.
“Yeah, it is crazy. Everyone is hot, now shut up and listen!”
They all laughed. Everyone except Luca. A strange case he was, even for Vel, who seemed to get along with all the kids, even if through her motherly role. But Luca always rejected her, to the point of making Velarisse doubt herself. Did she do something wrong? Was she not friendly enough? The kid looked extremely sad. And when it wasn’t sadness on his face, fear surfaced in his eyes.
Sadness and fear. The two feelings all of them knew well. The loss. The constant running away from bad dreams, from painful memories. How many of them had seen the suffering inflicted by war? The wounds. The blood. The death. Vel knew death, and so did her brother. The limp body of her mother was still a fresh image in her mind. The coldness of the flesh, the stillness of her eyes, the quiet absence of breath. A bleak reality of what it meant to be an orphan, one that all of them experienced. Maybe Luca had it worse.
Maybe he did not master the art of running from the demons that climb your ribcage until there is no more space to breathe. The same demons that haunt your eyes until tears can no longer wash them away. The grief and heaviness of being alone in a world that never needed you. A world without a place for you in it. Maybe he did not know how to run from the good memories, too. Those were the worst. The seconds of warmth that took your pain away in a flash of a happy day long gone. The warmth that would disappear as quickly and unannounced as it appeared, leaving you frozen. The type of coldness you will never know if you did not experience the sun. And they all did. They all bathed in smiles and hugs and kisses from their parents, only to never have them again.
Vel knew how to run, and she did it hand in hand with Mikey. She focused her mind on him anytime the demon would knock on her heart. Mikey is still here. He needs me here with him.
Mikey is still here. He needs me here with him.
Mikey is still here. He needs me here with him.
Mikey is still here. He needs me here with him.
Like a mantra.
Mikey is still here. I need him here with me.
Zay continued her story with joy, making jokes and changing her voice when something serious was happening. Behind the artistic interpretation and the many, many words she used, the story was about friendship. And love. And sacrifices. And as the end of the tale was rapidly approaching, hinting at the revival of some sort of god by the main heroes, she suddenly stopped.
“…the sky lightened up in a golden aura and… I think that is enough for today.”
“What! You can’t just end it like that! Did they succeed? What happened to the hero who wanted to become the champion of light?” It was the first time Mikey had spoken the whole story.
Vel agreed with him, though she found it funny how Zay managed to capture the attention of the older kids as well. Truthfully, Vel was intrigued herself about the end. Of course, she lacked her brother’s courage to challenge Zay on her choice of not making it clear if the forces of good managed to crush the evil that plagued the world in war and terror. Maybe that was because they did not. Wars are still here; terror is still in their bones like a tattoo of time. Perhaps the older woman didn’t want to lie to them.
“Yeah, you can’t stop here! You didn’t even say if the god comes back as hot as before!” Rosie argued, although for different reasons than her brother.
“Shut it, Rosie,” Mikey protested, feeling his claim to argue with Zay was weakened by the little girl. “Go steal some of Vel’s makeup, you didn’t understand the story anyway.”
“Oh, and you did?” asked another boy by the name of Rowen.
“Of course! Good beats evil, you need to be smart and take people by surprise, brave and strong!”
“Don’t forget about being hot, I’m sure that was important too,” giggled Elion in a way that seemed to mock Rosie, Mikey, and even Zay.
“And Father Lorcan asks why I don’t spend more time with you,” said Zay while picking herself up from the floor and smoothing her clothes. “The story is over. Maybe if I have a fever one day, I’ll come back and finish it,” she added, rolling her eyes to emphasize the sarcasm in her voice.
The kids scrambled fast in all directions. It looked like they needed less than a few words to get over the abrupt end of the story and move on, reenacting the tale in their own games.
“Mikey, I actually have a word with you,” said Zay as the room was getting emptier.
Great! Maybe now you’ll learn to keep your mouth shut, thought Vel, half angry at her brother, half amused at the panicked look in his eyes. She was sure Zay could be brutal, aggressive, and mean if she wanted to, but a woman with such posture—who let Father Lorcan lecture her—would never be violent with a kid.
“Elion, you too. And bring back little Luca as well.”
Vel stood confused in front of the door, wondering what intentions the woman had with the boys. It no longer looked like a private scolding of her brother. Whispering something to another kid, Zay turned her head to Nacht, who was still lazily getting up from the floor, and signalled him to sit himself back down.
Well, whatever was happening, it was rude to intrude and linger in the room. Spying had a nasty allure, she realised in that moment. The idea of being ignored to the extent of blending into a space—or maybe lying your way to the centre of a dialogue you had no business hearing—was an exotic process. And a wrong one. Not that she spied on people or lied to find information. Well, maybe a little bit of both when it came to her brother and Nacht, but that was different. It had a noble purpose: keeping her only sibling safe and away from harm.
The kid Zay had spoken to in a whisper a moment ago returned to the room with Rowen and then ran outside again.
Now the five boys stood in front of Zay in the same position as before, seated on the ground, looking up with an awaiting stare at the woman. Vel realised she was still frozen in place, taking notice of what was happening. She urged herself to leave and avoid the awkwardness of having to be told by Zay that this meeting didn’t concern her.
“You too, Vel. Come here.”
As her steps closed the distance between them, she thought of the sun from earlier. Now it was almost set, and the dark night enveloped the windows.