A Night Candle Burning

When at last Rudao returned to his family, the sun outside had begun its long descent below the hills. An unusual quiet had settled over the home, for Hila had taken Apyang to seek the company of friends. Nawi slept still. As Sayun beheld her father, she saw on him a weight that had certainly not marred his features in the hours since she had seen him last. She could not recall to mind a time that she had seen on him so powerless an air, and the sight of it filled her with dread. She went to his side as he sank into a chair at the table, eyes closed as if to shut out the world.

Her small hand reached out with a desire to meet with his, wizened with age and care. She longed to lay hers upon it, and it struck her that she had not known him as an aging man until that day. In this moment she realized suddenly how little she knew of him. Yet even without the use of her gift, she felt she could unravel the thoughts that seemed so near to her own. Words between them were of little importance, and even had she the eloquence of those greater than her, she would not know how to speak of the understanding they shared.

Instead, she donned her gloves and set her hand upon his, guarding his heart by a layer of worn cloth. A small smile teased Rudao’s lips and he rested his other hand on hers with a gentle pressure. In that manner they sat together for a time until Rudao broke the silence at last.

“Today I have learned that fear makes fools of even the wisest of men. I will not conceal from you that I am weary in spirit,” he said. “The Council has not yet formed a decision, but from their discourse I fear that whatever course they choose bodes ill for the Lyos family.”

“Why can they not help them?” Sayun asked.

“They are afraid. And fear is too often the quencher of actions, even those born of even good intentions. It keeps good men in their beds and allows wickedness to grow untempered. Unhappily for the outsiders, our people have grown in timidity yet lesser in goodness, and there is none to speak for them. One voice against the many is too easily drowned.”

Sayun dwelt upon these words, and unbidden they sparked a flicker of a flame. “Then what is their thought? Surely the Council cannot think to drive them away when their home is ashes.”

“Their intent is worse still than that, I fear.” 

“How can it possibly be worse?”

Rudao sighed heavily and gave her hand a squeeze that came nearer to hurt than comfort. “To their minds, the village cannot keep them, for our resources are few. Neither can they let them free, for fear they would unwittingly bring others to our door.”

“Then..?”

“Come, Sayun, what choice is left them?”

Sayun stared with wide-eyed disbelief. “Surely not!” she cried. “Surely such cruelty is outside the realm of even the council’s thought.”

“Yet so it is.” Rudao drew her to himself and gave yet another sigh. The sound was to Sayun one of deepest sorrow, and she did not know how to comfort. Words now seemed ever more futile, yet some must still be said. Anger grew in her chest, setting ablaze the flicker of before.

“To bring to death those that have come before us for aid is too great an injustice. Surely they must know that such fear cannot always keep us safe, and by clinging to safety they bring evil to our very doorstep; nay, they court it in their own midst,” she said warmly.

“They will not let them leave alive, Sayun. Indeed, you see clearly, yet even so, I do not know if I should fault them for their intent. As every child knows, it was through over-kindliness that our people came to a bitter end. Our Festival each year braids this knowledge into our minds such that it has become a part of our existence. And indeed it seems too easy a thing to be named ‘coincidence,’ that this should come upon us at such a time as this, on the eve of our celebration.” Rudao sighed once more.

Sayun could grasp but a little of what he spoke and said only what surfaced to her mind past the horror. “Understanding is one thing, compassion another. What purpose does it serve if we understand only and do not act?”

“We protect our own; that is the tenet of our society, and we cannot in a day change the thought of generations.” Rudao turned grey eyes on her and smiled sadly. “There is little hope to change the council’s mind. We can only do what we ourselves must do.”

They said no more, though Sayun pondered her father’s last words in her mind and wondered if with them he had layered some deeper meaning.

In the night she lay in bed, thoughts coursing through her mind as sleep eluded her. Nawi slept beside her, his little fingers curled around hers. Apyang’s soft snores broke through the quiet of the dark, while Sayun could find no relief from Carlin’s memories. 

Again she heard the screams of the villagers, the rumble of running feet, shouts of the soldiers.. She found her longing for the outside world waning against the backdrop what she had seen, and the dreaded fear that her father had spoken of with such disdain and pity crept into her heart. If below the mountain lay such a place, perhaps their ancestors’ choice to hide beneath the earth was not so cowardly in the end, but a necessary deed to preserve their people. The Outside seemed no longer a place of adventure, of freedom and goodness, and the thought sobered her tremendously. The desire to see it had not quite fully abated, but her Sight had taught her some truth that all children must learn in the course of their lives: that dreams are always more beautiful than reality. Even as this reflection came unbidden and unwelcome, she wondered then if, should the opportunity be given her, she would choose to venture forth into the world still.

As she lay in the comfort of her bed and looked about the room — small, unexceptional, yes, all these things she knew and had often thought concerning it — she thought then that she had never loved them so well as now.

And yet, and yet as Sayun turned her thought to the young girl who so reminded her of her own sister, she remembered the feeling of helplessness that permeated that her body as she watched her home turn to ashes, felt the fear as if it was her own. How greatly it contrasted with the home in which she now dwelt, in safety. Imperfect it was; her mother’s pervasive anxiety often felt to her too stifling, until she thought she would go mad. Apyang resembled Hilda far too much, and since she had come to maturity seemed intent to spend her days bickering. And yet, Sayun thought, she loved them still.

 She could not strike the image of Carlin’s haunted face from her mind. For them, no comfort remained, to no place of belonging could they return. The path they must tread seemed laden with suffering, as those they sought for refuge must soon turn against them, though they did not yet know it.

The night wore on, and it seemed to Sayun her course was bound with that family’s, whether she willed it or not. Her father’s words had set a burning brand upon her spirit, restless long before this day, yet as her heart hardened to her resolve, she felt again a trace of resentment that this gift should be hers. Always it had been a part of her, as her parents quickly learned from her infancy when they could not understand why she wept or laughed at a touch. For long she could not learn the feelings that were her own, and great suffering did she endure. The village scorned her, for none could endure their innermost being revealed to another, and she feared to enter another’s mind and read their secret thoughts until at last she was given her first pair of gloves and henceforth was torn asunder from human touch.

She no longer minded, she thought, for now she found safety in separation, and in so doing wrapped herself in a cocoon from all. At times a hint of longing entered her heart, to know others as she once did, for the protection she cast about herself served also as a vessel for loneliness. She realized suddenly that until Carlin, her hands had not touched another mortal’s skin for a great many years. The brief bond they shared had both invigorated her and wrenched at her heart, and for Carlin she now felt a burden that far exceeded any other.

She glanced around the room she had known all her years, looked to her young brother sleeping beside her, and loved him. If her father spoke true, and the appearance of the strangers indeed signaled the end of their way of life, then to remain could no longer be deemed wisdom. And if she could, she would have Nawi grow in safety and joy for all his life. 

The night candle that Nawi could never fall asleep without cast flickering shadows upon the ceiling. In all the years, Sayun had never thought to ask where the little candle had come from—a candle that burned all the night long without faltering. She only knew that when daylight approached, the flame quenched itself as by some invisible hand. Before this night, Sayun had only seen it as a mild annoyance to be tolerated. As her eyes wandered to the small flame upon the armoire she shared with her sister, it seemed to lean toward her as though a drift had entered the room. She could think only of the destruction such a small thing had wrought upon Carlin’s people. Even as she closed her eyes, she felt as though her tongue still ran over the taste of ash in her mouth. She could not rest by and let suffering fall on Carlin again was the last thought that knitted itself through her mind.