Claritas

Clara sits down by the shore, pushing her toes into the sand, listening to the waves crash over the rocks and watching their spray become momentarily illuminated by the glow of the moon. She hears a bell from the hills above, the second bell of the night, and knows it is time to return for prayer. Every night, those that remain in Ingquea gather at the altar that graces the highest point in the village to pray humanity will one day walk in the light again. Nobody that Clara knows has ever been able to walk under the sun. Almost three centuries ago, humans were banished to the shadows. It started out with people getting blisters from direct sunlight, and then swelling, until one day nobody was able to venture outside during the day and live to tell the tale. Clara hears her mother calling her as she runs up the stone steps leading home, taking in large breaths of salty ocean air as she reaches the top.

“We’re going to be late,” Clara’s mom says as she hurries along Clara and her sister while trying to rub dirt off Clara’s face with her spit.

They settle down somewhere near the back of the crowd just as the senior Gaian begins to speak.

“Hello Earth’s children,” he says while raising his hands above his head to command attention.

The senior Gaian is one of the oldest members of Ingquea. His skin porcelain yet wrinkled, and his long grey beard is always styled in a braid. The senior Gaian is the senior “child of the Earth” whose job it is to guide everyone through nightly prayer and help them spiritually so that they may never repeat the sins of the past.

“We come together this evening to pray,” he says in a somber tone while lowering his arms to his robe-clad waist. “Long ago, humans were greedy and disrespectful. We got so wrapped up in our own lives that we forgot about the intricate bond we share with Mother Earth. We filled her water with our filth, suffocated her by dirtying her air, and we tore down the beautiful home that she created for us. As punishment, humanity must live in darkness to atone for our sins against our Mother.”

There was a long pause.

“BUT THERE IS HOPE!” the senior Gaian said so loudly that Clara jumped. “One day, when Mother decides that we are once again worthy of her love, one of us will be able to walk in the sunlight, and usher in the new era of humanity. Let us pray,” he says as he motions for everyone to bow their heads.

Clara bows her head with everyone, but instead of closing her eyes and humming the prayer song with everyone else, she stares at the stones below her. Clara’s mind is elsewhere. Clara has always dreamed of being a bird. That way she could feel the sun on her skin, she could soar above Ingquea and see everything there is to see in the light of day. She has only seen pictures.

After prayer commences Clara fills the rest of her night cleaning the horse’s pen and replenishing food and water before her father returns from the market in Radris. Her father journeys to Radris twice weekly to trade fish for the goods they need. It is about an hour each way, so if he cannot catch enough fresh fish right after sundown, he cannot go to market and risk getting back after the sunrise.

The third bell of the night rings, the one that signals everyone must return to their homes, and Clara’s family goes inside. They live in a small stone building just above the edge of the hill that leads down to the sea. They close the door behind them and patch any holes to the outside with cloth. Clara and her younger sister Sylvie share a single mattress in the corner farthest from the woodstove. There are no windows, only vents in the roof that do not allow sunlight to enter but allow air to flow. Clara doesn’t mind the darkness most of the time since they spend much of the day sleeping, and the evenings before sunset are spent by candlelight. They have a small table with a chair for each of them, and there is a slightly bigger mattress that Clara’s parents share. There is a small bookcase that is mostly empty, but on good fish days sometimes Clara’s dad can bring home a new book. Clara loves listening to her mother read.

The next night after sunset, Clara is tasked with collecting berries before prayer. Her mother started teaching her which berries were edible and which ones to stay away from when she was only two. “The black and blue ones here are safe, but never touch the white ones,” she would always remind her.

The bushes in the areas Clara usually foraged from were picked clean. “Probably deer,” she thought to herself. As Clara was carefully inspecting the plants for any leftover berries using the light of her lantern, she heard what sounded like children giggling and playing. There weren’t many children in Ingquea, and even less that were as young as her sister, Sylvie. Clara followed the sound of the children over the hilltop to the side farthest from home. She couldn’t see anyone, but the laughing was getting louder. She didn’t want to venture any farther because that would take her too close to the forest’s edge. Nobody was to enter the Nilaruhm forest. “Nilaruhm” is part of the language of Clara’s people meaning “lost souls.” Clara was just about to turn back when the children started to call her name.

“Clara, come play with us! Clara! Clara!”

Clara looked back over the hill from which she came, and then back at the forest when she saw a small yellow light. As she approached the edge of the forest, she saw that the light that now flitted around her was a lightning bug, and more were coming into focus, lighting a path.

Stunned by what she was seeing, she felt compelled to follow these lights into the forest of the lost souls she had been told her whole life to stay away from. She sat down her basket that only had three berries in it and ducked under the branch of a knotted and curling tree. The lightning bugs ushered her along while giggling and saying her name until at once they disappeared and everything went silent. Up ahead Clara could see a small cottage with smoke coming from the chimney on the side. It was the strangest thing, there were no coverings on any of the windows.

Despite her nerves, she slowly approached the red front door. She held her breath as she knocked, and then spoke. “Hello? Is anyone there? I think I’m lost,” she said as she looked around and there was not a single lightning bug in sight to light the way she came.

The door swung open and the woman standing there smiled as if she was expecting Clara. She was young-looking, but her hair was grey and white, and she carried herself like someone much older than she was. “Ahh Claritas, I knew you would be knocking on my door sooner or later,” she said in a cheery voice as if they were old friends.

Clara’s blood ran cold. “H-how do you know my name?” she stuttered as she reflexively backed up.

“Don’t fret my child, come in and have a cup of tea, won’t you?”

Clara obliged and warily entered this woman’s home, mainly because she felt she was being given no other choice. She was sat at a small wooden table covered with corked bottles containing peculiar things Clara had never seen before. One of them was glowing blue. Clara was handed a steaming mug of tea, and she accepted with a smile, but had no intention of drinking it.

“Do you have children?” Clara asked. “I heard them playing and I tried to follow them but then I think I got lost.”

“No dear, that was the forest calling you,” she said casually, while adding sugar to her tea, as if what she was saying wasn’t absolutely absurd. “The forest only calls to those that can hear it, and you, Claritas, have something special in you that has been bestowed upon you by Mother Nature herself.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Clara said politely, only really entertaining the conversation long enough to plan her escape.

“Long ago,” she began, “when humans started reacting to the sun, they started hunting those like myself looking for a cure, and when we couldn’t provide, we were slaughtered because they thought we were choosing not to help. It got so bad I had to run away, and I have been here ever since. I have seen countless people wander into this wood, and if they don’t possess a certain character, they go mad. Some find their way out, but they are never the same. None ever accepted my help because of what I am, so I stopped trying. I retreated into myself and saw no other soul for many years.” She took a sip of her tea and stared out the window for a moment before continuing. “That was until your mother showed up on my doorstep in labour with you. She knew something was wrong, and the forest called out to her, just like it did to you tonight. She begged me for help, but I’m afraid after all the years of prejudice against me, I had turned cold. I wanted to turn her away, but something compelled me not to. I agreed to help her deliver the child if I was to name it. She agreed, and I helped her give birth to you.”

Clara took a second to take in all of what she was just told, still not daring to drink her tea. After a pause, all she managed to ask is “What exactly are you?”

“I’m a warlock, surely your mother has told you something about warlocks,” she said, for the first time her tone changing from warm and welcoming to hostile and offended as if Clara was supposed to know all about her. Her tone changed once again as she asked curiously, now realizing that Clara knew nothing of her gift, “Do you know where your name comes from, Claritas?”

“Everyone calls me Clara,” Clara said, almost annoyed at this woman for thinking she knew more about Clara than herself.

“Well, your full name, Claritas, means brightness. I have the ability to see things in people that others cannot, and when you were born, I knew by looking into your eyes when you opened them, that you would one day be the first to walk in the sun.”

“That’s a myth, just like warlocks.” Clara, feeling like the walls were closing in on her and like she couldn’t breathe, pushed back her chair and stood up. “I don’t know how you know my name,” she continued, “but I don’t appreciate being lied to.” Except something told Clara that she wasn’t being lied to.

In the distance she could hear the bell from Ingquea. She didn’t know how much time had passed and wasn’t sure if it was the second or third bell of the night. The lightning bugs lit the way out of the forest for her as she ran as fast as she could, lunging over roots and ducking under branches until she burst out of the forest into the grassy hillside. Clara abandoned her fruit basket and hurried home as fast as her legs would carry her. Her mom was waiting outside the front door and Clara could see the relief in her worried eyes as she crested the final hill home.

“Where were you?” her mother barked in what was supposed to be a reprimanding tone, but Clara could tell that her mom was really just happy to see her. “You missed prayer, I thought something horrible happened to you.”

“I’m sorry mom, I just got caught up trying to find berries, the deer got to my regular spot.”

After patching the holes around the door, Clara cuddled up with Sylvie and fell into a deep sleep.

Once again Clara dreamt that she was a bird. She soared above and away from Ingquea, taking in all the colours in all their beauty. She felt like she could go anywhere, like she wasn’t bound within stone walls or by three bells a night.

The next few nights, Clara was the perfect daughter. She helped with everything around the house and even hummed a little louder at prayer. She was hoping to soften up her mother for what she was about to ask her. She waited until prayer was over on the third night, and Sylvie had run off to play, to get her mother alone.

“Mom,” she said, “why did you never tell me about the warlock woman who helped you give birth to me?”

Her mother stopped walking and froze. She turned to her with a look in her eyes that Clara couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear. “What are you talking about?” she hissed. “Who has been telling you stupid stories like that?”

“The forest called to me, just like it did to you that night.”

“Are you telling me that you went in the Nilaruhm forest? Is this why you missed prayer the other day? Answer me Claritas.”

Clara was surprised this is how her mother reacted. She knew she would be upset, but Clara didn’t understand why she was denying the whole thing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Clara pushed.

“I didn’t want you getting silly ideas into your head. Forget anything that woman told you, she cannot be trusted. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Clara said. Clara hadn’t seen her mother that mad since she tried to take Sylvie swimming without telling her, and Sylvie had almost drowned.

Clara went to sleep after sunrise with a feeling of defeat. When she woke, she asked her mother if she could go to the market with her father. Usually, this would be reserved as a reward, but Clara’s mother just needed a moment away from her, so she agreed.

The ride to Radris was a quiet one. Clara had a feeling her father did not want to get involved in the family drama. Once they arrived at the market, Clara was given specific instructions to be back to the cart in an hour, and was handed the tarnished silver pocket watch her father always carried around. It wasn’t a good fish day, so Clara knew she couldn’t get anything for herself, but she still went to look at the books. She felt the steam of people cooking fresh fish and clams at their stands as she walked by. The vegetables were few and far in between, and the candle vendor was busy as always.

“Hi Arkin,” Clara said as she walked up to his book collection. Clara had been coming to the market with her father for as long as she could remember, and Arkin was always her favourite. To an outsider he has a rough exterior, and his gruff voice might scare some people away, but Clara knew that Arkin was really a big softie.

“Hey kid, how’s your mom?” he asked.

“She’s really good,” Clara replied, leaving out the huge fight they just had.

Immediately Clara was drawn to a bright green hardcover. Its spine was worn, but the pages were perfect. She flipped it open and immediately landed on a story of the first sun-walker. The photo showed someone, completely illuminated by daylight walking amongst those condemned to the shadows and leading them into the light. Clara remained transfixed by this photo until her pocket watch told her it was time to head back.

They were halfway home from Radris when Clara broke the silence. “Dad, do you believe in the sun-walker?”

There was so long of a pause before he spoke, Clara was starting to wonder if he was going to reply at all. “I think that it is always a good thing to have hope,” was all he said before they returned to silence for the remainder of the ride back to Ingquea.

The next evening Clara’s family decided to stay with her grandmother in nearby Taltu. Clara elected to stay home but was only allowed to under the condition she stayed with her aunt all night so she couldn’t sneak off. Clara agreed, but her plans were not taking place until sunrise. She waited until the third bell to say goodbye to her aunt and go back home. Instead of going to sleep, Clara sat and waited until she could see sunlight creeping in under the door. Her heart was racing as she pushed the door slowly open. With all of her courage, she stepped out into the sun.

The light burned her eyes so much at first she thought she was reacting to the sun and almost retreated indoors, but after a few seconds she could squint and see down the hill to the beach. She stepped further outside, and the warmth embraced her whole body like nothing she had ever experienced before. It was the kind of warmth that went right down to your bones and held you tight, unlike anything she had ever felt sitting by a fire. Clara couldn’t believe how vivid the colours around her were. The sky, which had always been an inky black to her was now shining the most brilliant blue. Clara spread her arms to feel the warm salty breeze tickle her skin.

Standing there on top of that hill, under the sun, arms spread and looking out at the sea, Clara was finally a bird.