Cobs and Figs

Gray Cobs are all the same. They think their magic makes them so superior. 

I mean, well, it does. By law. But only by law. In terms of, like, the world and humanity and whatever, no human being is actually superior to any other. Right?

But that doesn’t mean they’re better than us “lowly” Figs. And yes, I’m saying lowly with air quotes even as I think this to myself. 

We’re not lowly. Gray Cobs forget that Figs have magic, too. Just because, back in the day, back when whoever was deciding these things, they decided that Gray Cob magic is better than Fig magic, that doesn’t make it true.

I mean, sure, Gray Cob magic is more powerful and does seem cooler on the surface. I’m not helping my own case here, am I?

I think, it’s just… it’s because Gray Cob magic can control Figs. That’s what it is. Because they have the magical power to control us and make us do whatever they want, that makes them seem superior. 

They’re not though. Fig magic is good. It can do stuff. Lots of stuff, really, if you think about it. Which clearly I am, at the moment.

How did I even get onto this train of thought?

Ugh. That’s right. Heading into town, away from my family, away from all my fellow Figs. Into the belly of the beast, as they say. Into town to work for what's-his-name.

Wait. What is his name? I can’t not know his name. I can’t march into some Gray Cob’s house for my first day of work there and not know his name.

Think. Think. It’s something obvious. Something Cob-esque… What is it?!?

—

Figs are all the same. Always acting meek, so modest. It’s like they forget they have magic.

I never understood why the Order designated classes. It makes no sense. All magic is powerful and useful and important. Especially when everyone can work together. This whole Cobs vs Figs, town vs fields mentality is making our society breakdown far quicker than it should. 

My parents would say I’m kidding myself. They’d say whether the Order had ruled things be this way or not, it would have ended up this way. They’d say I’m idealizing.

But isn’t that what being a kid is all about? Isn’t this my time to imagine what could be before I get weighed down with too much adult reality? My time to try something new, to learn from my own mistakes?

They’d say, no, that’s what history is for, so we can learn from the mistakes of others.

Why do parents always have an answer for everything?

Well, guess what? They left me alone to greet our new Fig today, so I’m doing this my way. No magic from me. Only welcoming and kindness. I’ll show this Fig that not all Gray Cobs are the same.

Starting with not calling her a Fig. Finowa. That’s her name, that’s what I’ll call her.

—

Ok. Deep breath. Head high.

I am not a lowly Fig. I am proud of who I am. I am capable of being myself.

Speaking of, what do I want to look like today? Probably should have thought of that before leaving this morning but I was in such a rush. Plus Mom and Dad were giving me all their lame Fig reminders, slowing me down more.

Well, nope to their Fig-ness! I will use my magic with pride when I need to, not averting my eyes to any Gray Cobs.

Right, so. Using my magic. I guess I should consider what Mom and Dad said and look the part of a Fig, at least somewhat. So, no more funky overalls, braids and sandals. Plain brown dress, apron, sensible shoes, low bun. The perfect disguise is one that no one realizes is a disguise.

Alright, time to get a move on so I’m not late. I know the house is on the edge of town, closest to our field. That means I’m almost there. 

I really need to remember this guy’s name.

Cornwall? Conrad? Cornelius? What is it?

Ugh! How can I be on this Cob’s doorstep and not remember his stupid Cob-y name?

—

Finowa raises her hand to knock on the door just as it swings open.

“Finowa?” She’s greeted by a boy, someone about her own age. A win for Finowa as she couldn’t remember the name of the master of the house. This gives her an easy out.

“Yes. Good morning,” she says, looking the boy directly in the eye. He doesn’t look away. Neither does she. But he doesn’t look upset about that. His eyes are kind, his gaze soft. “Is the gentleman of the house at home? I begin work here today.”

“You mean my dad, Corbin,” the boy says. Finowa looks away for just a moment, muttering to herself. “What was that?” he asks.

“No, nothing,” Finowa returns her eyes to the boy’s. “Will you please show me to Mr. Corbin?”

Finowa was polite, but her voice was strong, firm. Not what the boy had expected. He gave a little smile.

“What?” Finowa asked, her tone edging away from respect towards annoyance. “Why are you smiling at me?”

“I’m Bert. Cmon in,” the boy said by way of response. He took a step back into the house, making space for Finowa to enter.

“Bert? Not something with a C? Isn’t that the rule? C’s for Cobs, F’s for Figs?” Finowa remained on the doorstep, unsure what to make of this Cob who was meeting none of her expectations for how this day would go.

“It’s really Cobert, but I hate that. My parents hate that I prefer to go by Bert. So, it works out for everyone,” Bert said, the smile returning. Finowa couldn’t help but smile back.

“You can come in though,” Bert said again. “My dad left me in charge for the day, so I can help you get started.”

Finowa peered into the house but felt reluctant.

“Ok, well, when you’re ready,” Bert said. He walked away from the door, leaving it open.

Finowa looked over her shoulder. Was this a game? A trick? What was this Cob up to?

“Why don’t you just make me come in? You could, couldn’t you?” she asked.

Bert turned back toward the door but didn’t come any closer. “Yeah, I could. I won’t though.”

Finowa stared. Her mouth open. Any semblance of manners gone.

Bert smiled again. “Not all Cobs are what you think,” he said. “And it seems not all Figs are what I think.”