My Lost Home of Khalora

Every night I dream of the day I lost my home. I was only a small child when my father gave me up, but I still remember the distinct color of Khalora’s sky as golems of metal and earth tried to take my brother and I through the Crossroads. I remember screaming as they tried pulling me through the portal, my brother wailing as one effortlessly carried his writhing infant form out of sight. I felt the golems rough, metal hands gripping my shoulders like a vice as I dug my nails into my father’s shoulders. I promised him I would never leave. The promise of a child, but a promise nonetheless. I could hear the Golem Master calling out for my father to move along; there were many others waiting behind him with their own children, and time was running short. I refused to let go, however, too young to recognize how dire the situation was and too young to understand why we were even running in the first place. I just knew that I didn’t want to lose my father. My ears rang with the wails of children torn from their parents, their cries joining the cacophony as their parents begged for their children’s salvation amidst the cracking of thunder. That was why I refused to let go, why I only dug my fingers deeper and deeper into his shoulders.

His strong, strong shoulders. Before he gave me away, he would often carry me on those shoulders, talking about the grand expanse of the cosmos. He taught me of the planets connected to ours through the Crossroads, and how one day he would take me through it. He had only gone through it once himself, years ago when he was studying to become a junior astronomer and before he settled down with my mother. He would often joke that I only ever wanted to hear about his study abroad, but it was because it was by far my favorite story. I would beg him to tell me of his adventures over and over again as he pointed out each and every planet in the skies above. His professor was a native of Opulence, the land of the golems and their creator, the Golem Master, and my father would regale me of crystalline peaks, skies that glimmered like diamonds during the day, and glistening stars he studied at night; he then went to Falmor, ruled by the Monarchy of Teal, sprawling with flowers colored in hues he had never seen before; and after that Critchion, following the stars charts of the sea-nomads, learning the legends behind each one amongst the wandering desert tribes. There were so many more adventures to have, my father promised, when I was older. He would often say that no matter how brightly the stars glistened, my brother and I would be the brightest stars in his life, and that is why he stayed in Khalora. There would always be time for more adventures, and we would have them together, he promised. Together. It was then I promised him that I would never leave his side.

The golem’s pull grew stronger, and, thinking back, I realized that it was still holding back. They could have easily torn me away with only broken arms, but there was a gentleness to them. Even in the darkest moments, they recognized I was just a child unable to understand the full situation. There were many children like me, crying into the shoulders and chests of their parents, clinging for dear life. Regardless of age, we all knew that our parents were giving us away. Those older than me cried into the open air, walking beside their parents with hands gripping as tight as a child can, somehow knowing it would be the last time they ever would. Those younger than me whined like my brother, their infant brains not conscious enough to form a coherent thought. They were noisy, we were all noisy, but I focused on nothing but my father as my eyes drilled into his. I refused to look at anything but his face as I shouted over and over again that I would never leave, that I would go with him. We promised to have adventures together, I screamed. How could he leave me without taking me on an adventure? He didn’t say a thing in response. He just stared, hands limp at his sides, unable to even look me in the eyes. Now that I’m older, I understand the position my father was in; my father knew what he needed to do, but just like me he desperately wanted otherwise. If he had any choice in the matter, he would never have given me away. That was why he didn’t move as the golem finally pulled me away, that was why he simply stared with the expression of a broken man, and that was why as the golem carried me away, my fingers dislodged from their holds, I saw a single tear move down his pale purple cheeks.

His cheeks were typically dry. My father wasn’t a man who cried easily. In fact, he was more likely to smile than frown. There wasn’t much that I saw when I was younger that truly ever saddened him. Every failure was simply a chance to improve, to learn, and to rethink the way things worked. When a mid-year storm sent a thick branch through our house, he just smiled. I remember how his tusks would jut out his jaw when he smiled, curving past his lips and then straight up as though they were studying the stars when my father’s eyes were elsewhere. Every part of his face seemed to point upwards. His ears were heavily pointed, his eyebrows likewise shot upwards, and even his topknot seemed directed towards the sky. Nothing in his face or his demeanor stood out of place in their single-minded desire to look up. He said I would have tusks like his when I was older, probably around the time we would go on adventures together, and that I got my ears from my mother since hers also pointed directly behind her head. Great for eavesdropping, I remember him joking, saying that my mother, kind and lovely as she was, couldn’t resist a good rumor or story. She loved listening, he said, and that was how they had originally met. She had listened in on him and a roommate talking about the trip he had just returned from, and instantly found interest in him and eventually asked him to dinner. She loved to hear about the worlds beyond the Crossroads, and that was where my father said she currently was. Living her life, using her skills listening in the land of Opulence, amongst the Monarchy of Teal’s dukes and lords, and acting as the sea and desert’s intermediary in Critchion. Talking about my mother and her important work made him smile, and although as a small child I cared not for a woman who I barely remembered, my father’s smile made me smile as we would talk of future adventures in the cosmos above. It never once crossed my mind that I would travel through the Crossroads without him.

I remember my father’s figure shrinking rapidly as I was carried away by the golem, the yellow of his simple astronomy robes flashing away as he was roughly shoved aside to receive the next batch of wailing children. I wriggled and roared as the golem carried me away, attempting to bite its hard carapace as I demanded it let me go. My bites were ineffectual, obviously. Even if my tusks were long enough to gore someone, as I had been told some tusks could, the golems of Opulence were amongst the hardiest denizens of the known cosmos. They had a great capacity for gentleness, however, as all sentient races did. They may all single-mindedly serve a man known as the Golem Master and his Golem Apprentices, but that was because of the cultural loyalty to the man who enlightened them and gave them access to the stars. I was handed off to one of the Golem Apprentices as soon as I had tired myself out and stopped struggling, carried again to a small outcropping away from the portal to my home and further separating me from my father. They laid me against a rock, dark and transparent hands placing me in a sitting position and quickly placing my baby brother, now freshly swaddled, into my arms. He too had exhausted himself from crying and was now fast asleep.

“This one is your brother.” a voice echoed through my head. I knew it was one of the Apprentices, and I simply nodded. The figure nodded back at me, then left, their swaying, colorful robe contrasting greatly from the monochromatic woods I now found myself in. My eyes wandered towards the other brightly-dressed Apprentices, their dark, translucent bodies revealing other children like me, too tired to cry and slowly being fed from a square tin by these caretakers. The food looked just as bland as the landscape around us, rolling meadows of white and gray, with gray skies and black clouds, and black trees with white leaves surrounding our outcropping beside a shimmering white pond. I didn’t argue with the Apprentices when they came to feed me and my brother, however. At this point, I had no reason to struggle. I could hear them conversing with me in my mind as one attended to me, another to my brother.

“This one has family across the cosmos.”

“This one has a mother.”

“This one shall live with their mother until safe passage is reestablished.”

“This one had a father.”

“This one shall live with their father too once safe passage is reestablished.”

I didn’t open my mouth to respond, but the simple question of why bounced around my head as I took another bite.

The mind-chatter of the Apprentices quieted at my question, and the strange peace of true mental silence filled my head. Even my own intrusive thoughts lay dormant as I stared at their blank faces, these translucent forms draped in rainbow fineries turning to one another as I was fed another piece of monochromatic rations.

“This one will know. But not now.”

“This one will understand. But not now.”

“This one will eat and wait until the path is clear to their mother.”

“This one will eat and wait until they sleep.”

Another spoonful dropped into my stomach. It tasted like nothing, but the weight I felt in my stomach made me feel as full as the time my father treated me to an entire feast. 

Special occasions were a regular occurrence within our household, but they often were something trivial or mundane that my father showed unashamed enjoyment for, making me equally excited. A shooting star, end-season leaves that were heavy with dew in the morning, the merchant coming through town on his beasts. Nothing that required us to pay anything but our time, and his excitement was always contagious. We had enough to survive comfortably, but only just enough. Even on birthdays, we never thought to spend or splurge, we simply would go off into the wilderness together and enjoy each other's company. Then there were the times Mother would send presents for our birthdays. She didn’t send them every year, something about years being different between the planets and the travel of goods through the Crossroads, but the second time I remember meeting her she took us to the city. The lights were blinding, not a place for a small, easily agitated child and an astronomer, the night sky above us dreadfully dull and formless. The feast, however, was good. So much food I had never before eaten, flavors I had never experienced, grandeur I had never before witnessed. The entire meal had stunned me into silence. No food, however, could distract from the fact that the stars were missing. Mother let us eat as much as we could, herself included, saying she expected to begin eating for two and wanted to get a headstart. I likewise ate for two, or so it felt like, not catching my mother’s joke at such a tender age. 

That food sank to my stomach and weighed me down due to the quantity of it. These rations sank my entire body because of their construction. Then, just like that feast with my mother, the sinking feeling spread throughout the rest of my body, my arms drooping until my brother lay motionless in my lap, my head lulling to one side, and my eyelids drooping as exhaustion encompassed my tiny, tiny form.

“This one will sleep in safe hands.” The voices again bounced through my mind.

“This one will awake with their brother.”

“This one will awake with their mother.”

“This one will be safe.”

Their mental voices grew quieter and softer as I felt my body drifting to sleep, but before everything disappeared behind my eyelids, one last thought bounced within my mind:

“What color is the sky?”

“This one will see skies of endless stars.” Said one.

“This one will see lavender clouds.” Said the other.

And as everything finally went dark, the connection of my brain to all my senses cutting off as my subconscious came to the forefront, I dreamed of the distinct color of Khalora’s skies. The stars were endless on every planet, my father promised. No matter where I went, I could find the stars if I tried. Skies of endless stars brought me peace, but I didn’t want my mother and lavender clouds. 

What I truly yearned for were the stars of my father and skies the color of blood.