Heirloom

It’s early evening when the ship descends in a flickering beam of white fire, puncturing the cloudless purple sky to land just out of sight in Town. Normally the kid loves the sight of a landing ship, but today the hour is late. The Daylight has just dipped below the mountains, the Winter Dark is only seven hours away, and the kid has barely finished half their chores. They just know Father will have a word or two when he returns. 

But the wind from the Southern Plains and the warmth from the Lights had been seductive. How could anyone be expected to toil in the fields on a day so lovely? The waters of the Green Lakes had beckoned in the morning, and the kid had whiled away hours in the afternoon riding through fields half unknown to them. At one point a herd of Fairy Dogs joined them, bristly tails wagging  and wispy wings fluttering as they galloped alongside. Presently they had been lying half asleep beneath the Evenlight when the rumble of a landing ship had sent the kid’s heart racing and pulled them to their feet.

When they arrive at the Stead a few hours later, Father’s coche is already beside the door. The kid washes down and recharges their own bike, scrambling to finish as much of their chores as they can before Dark.

Father is waiting for them in the Power Room, on the roof of the Centre Building. The transparent walls open wide to the barren, technicolor landscape around them, but the hum from the Power Machine is overwhelming, ringing unpleasantly in the kid’s ears. Father only ever calls any of them into the Power Room when he wants their conversation to not be overheard.

“Good health, my child.”

“Good health, Father.”

The farmer’s gruff countenance softens at the sight of his eldest child, and they embrace.

“How was your trip, Father?”

“Safe and short, the stars be praised.” His voice sounds hollow and hard as he strains to be heard over the whirring of the Machine below them.

“You know why I was away, don’t you?”

“My Grand is with the stars. You were on Provincia for the Last Rites.”

“That’s right, my child. May their soul travel far.”

The kid searches Father’s face. This is not the stern guardian they had expected. He seems different somehow, almost tender. “Did you finish your chores for the day?” 

The kid looks down at their feet. They can feel their ears burning.

Father takes a deep breath. The kid can feel his temper rising from across the room.

“Where were you all day? In town, with those dusty friends of yours?”

“No, I was here.”

“Doing what? Staring at the fields, waiting for the crops to water themselves?”

The kid turns to study the horizon they had explored that morning. In their head they jump off the roof and fly away on their bike to join the Fairy Dogs and the Grasslings in their aimless rovings through the orange and green hillsides.

“Answer me, child!” The gravel is returning to his voice, all traces of sentiment quickly disappearing. “I asked you a query!”

“I was swimming in the Green Lakes and riding with the Fairy Dogs and sleeping beneath the evenlight!” The kid realizes with shame that tears are coming to their eyes. “Miles and miles away from this Stead.”

From their blurry view of the floor, the kid hears a deep, melancholy sigh. But the anger is falling away. “That’s where you’d like to be, isn’t it? Miles away from here?”

In the distance, the Evenlight is nearing the mountains, drawing the indigo of dusk behind it and unveiling a deep blue sky above them.

“I know you wish to see the verse. And you will. Soon you will travel crossworld to learn the Trades with your Mothers. And your siblings will follow your example. They look up to you.”

“Antares looks down on me now.”

Father chuckles. “Physically, maybe. But you will always be the eldest.”

The kid takes a deep breath. The worst is over, they know. But normally this would be when Father dismisses them for an evening drink. So why are they still here?

Father pauses, swallowing hard. Then he says, “I have a present for you.”

He opens his pack with a tap of his fingers and pulls out a small, round object. Then he places it in the kid’s curious hands. It’s made of some sort of transparent syntic, and heavier than they expected.

They inspect it with awe. Inside is a small sculpture of a funny-looking stead, along with some critters and some tall plants. One critter in the front, the largest of the sculptures, looks like a tall Deer, but with a bright red nose that glints in the Power Room’s fluorescents. It’s unlike anything the kid has ever seen.

But the strangest part about it is the white stuff. Little bits of packing or fluffy syntic that float in the space inside it. Father takes it from their hands and shakes it, sending the white stuff flurrying around inside and obscuring their view of the little sculptures.

“I had it when I was child. And I got it from your Grand, who had it when they were a child. Do you know what it is?”

The kid shakes their head. Father’s face is lit up like the Daylight at noon.

“It’s called a Snowglobe. On some planets, frozen water falls from the sky like rain. It forms fluffy white stuff like that, and it’s called snow.”

The kid stares at the round cosita and tries to imagine living on a planet cold enough that frozen water falls from the sky. It sounds miserable, and yet, in a strange way, wonderful.

“It’s beautiful.”

Father looks away, staring into the distance as if he can see past the stars and into the snow-filled planets beyond. “A lot of Charlatans and Prevaricators will try to sell their wares by claiming an ancient history that doesn’t truly belong to the items they’re selling. But your Grand was smarter than that. And they always said that this snowglobe goes back generations, from the Family that came to this system from Lightyears away…”

The kid’s eyes widen. Is Father telling true? Is this weird little cosita really what he thinks it is?

He shakes his head, coming back to the ground. “Well, your Grand said this snowglobe comes from Earth.”