Chapter 4: Where dreams and ideas burn within

“Do you have any books about Teraganes?” I asked Historia while studying in the library during the winter months.

“The Teragane people? From the mountains?” she asked while looking puzzled, then tapped her narrow chin as she hummed loudly. A sense of curiosity about the mysterious people drove my mind crazy nearly every night now that I wasn’t seeing Sable as often to ask him questions. I wanted to know more, and who was better to ask than my teacher?

“I’ve met one,” I said, feeling free to speak about the matter with Histora. Although I liked being with Sable, considering him my friend, I was afraid of the mistrust my parents had once warned me about his people. There was always some lingering truth to people’s weariness, even if they were completely wrong on the matters of judgment. I needed to know why people mistrusted the Teraganes of the mountains.

“You met a Teragane?” Historia lunged forward, slamming her hands on the table I sat at. Her brown eyes widened exceptionally large behind her thick spectacles and her mouth gaped as her loose chestnut brown hair faltered over her shoulders.

“Yeah! Just this past summer,” I said while sitting up from my bent position at the table in the corner of Historia’s shimmering library. “We meet everyday in a meadow, actually—just outside of the city. His name is Sable. He is my friend.”

“You sweet little child, I can hardly believe he would have stayed to speak with you—now, meeting, everyday?”

“He goes there after hunting. We just kinda hangout—he likes when I bring him food. Always eating whatever I bring him, even if it’s stale bread, or new berries from the forest. Actually, he helps me identify some things, too. He’s pretty informed of what is eatable from the forest. But, I wanted to know more about the ways of his people. My parents tell me they cannot be trusted, and are dangerous kinds of people—practicing witchcraft!”

“Witchcraft? I don’t know about that, but why don’t you speak to Sable yourself, especially since you seem quite friendly with each other?”

“Well, he’s kinda shy and doesn’t talk much. He also doesn’t do much other than his daily Teragane life. It’s quite lonely, actually. He’s lived on his own since he was only ten. Can you believe that? He was left alone by his parents—he’s just a kid, like me!”

“That is rather tragic, to say the least. He really lives on his own? Do all Teragane parents leave their children?”

“Yup! He’s got some other kids around him, but it doesn’t sound like they do much together.” I leaned closer to Historia’s figure still resting against the table as she listened intently with her chin resting on the palm of her hands. “They don’t even eat meals together. They all just live alone, fish alone, and—yeah, from what Sable says.”

“Maybe that’s why he likes to visit you, especially if he doesn’t have family and hardly interacts with others. Sounds to me you know more about Teraganes than most people.”

“What do most people know?” I grabbed the ends of my hair, twisting the strands as I waited to hear from my teacher. Historia straightened up and began adjusting her emerald green waistcoat. She moved away into another section of the library, but quickly returned with an ancient-looking book, flipping through its contents as dust fluttered around while she moved her fingers through the pages.

“In Ciimera, the Teragane, or mountain avians, live near the summits along the mountain ranges that surround the province,” she began telling me, not necessarily reading from the book she held. “It’s hard to know exactly, only been observed for many years, occasionally told through stories of the winged-people living isolated from the Tamarines, not really interacting. To think of it, for there is very little written about them, if anything at all, and, from my understanding, they are rarely seen. Nearly mythical—like gremlins, and demons—scorned by those against witchcraft. They, obviously, have wings like eagles or maybe more like owls? I don’t know exactly.”

“Sable’s wings are black, like a raven,” I told Historia, thinking fondly of the spreading feathers of Sable’s wings.

“Black wings like a raven? Well, isn’t that intriguing.” Historia paused and pondered, closing the book completely, and she began walking around the table. “They are isolated from others, only interacting with their own kind. Once in a while, they do approach farmers in the valleys or lands to trade for clothes, perhaps for other useful items as well. From what I remember from a book I read a long time ago, they specifically seek out sheep farmers. At least, here in Ciimera. In Larcosia, the tale is different. In Riikir—well.”

“Sable wears dark woolen clothes.”

“Then that definitely confirms that they are seeking material from shepherds. I can’t imagine them to be sheep farmers themselves.” Historia chuckled as she adjusted one of the chain earrings along her long, pointed ears. “They are also solitary, correct?”

“Sable told me how he only hunts by himself. He doesn’t eat or live with anyone. He doesn’t even cook his food.” I leaned closer, placing my hand against my cheek to slightly whisper. “He eats the fish completely raw.” I grimaced, shuddering at the idea of any type of meat being consumed raw. The food from the allotment was bad enough—cooking always made it better. Eating animal flesh without cooking caused a sense of disgust to rise within my stomach.

“How extraordinary—quite animalistic, I daresay. What an interesting young boy. Your age, you say? Figures you could make friends with a Teragane. Ever thought about bringing him here? I’d love to meet him.” I narrowed my brows as the Historia’s eyes glistened under the reflective glass hanging over the table, but the very thought of bringing Sable into the city had never occurred to me, especially after hearing about how rigid his lifestyle was.

“Well, uh, I think Sable wouldn’t come. His culture—well.” I looked down at the notebook in which I was practicing my penmanship, and placed the cork onto the open ink bottle. Would Sable ever follow me into the forest and visit the city?

“Ah, for a solitary group of people, I can see why you doubt that ever happening. Actually, you may want to be cautious about your friendship altogether.” My eyes widened and I tilted my chin up.

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, right now, the two of you are young. Maybe friendship is acceptable at a young age. But, if my assumptions are correct, it sounds like Sable may continue to follow the religious beliefs of his people. I can only assume he may choose one day to cut off the friendship, you know, to abide by their culture. They’ve been living this way for hundreds of years. Don’t see him breaking that tradition on accounts of you, no matter how friendly you seem.”

“Oh, you think so?” I hung my head again as I gripped the edge of the notebook, feeling suddenly very aware of the sadness of losing Sable as a friend. Yet, I sensed Hisstoria draw closer to me, and her hand rested upon my shoulder.

“I am by no means necessarily discouraging your friendship, only suggesting to not get too attached,” she said kindly. “Enjoy the time you have while you’re young. Sable seems like a lovely friend for you. I really hope you can only continued and, hey! You could practice your writing by describing him. There are no written historical documentations of the Teragane, why not be the first? Or, at least make a proper assessment for the Library of Historia?”

“Really?” I flung my head up, feeling the sadness disappear as Historia rubbed my shoulder with her thumb. “You think I could do that?”

“Ah, my sweet child, you could do anything you set your mind to,” she replied. “Writing memoirs, personal experiences, or about people around you is an excellent source of content when choosing subjects to write about. I think you could make something spectacular.”

My heart fluttered at the thought of writing a book about Sable and his people, especially as Historia continued to speak about the logistics, and provided the leather-bound notebook suitable for the final book, but encouraged me to use my current notebook to write down my initial draft.

I left the library with a smile on my face, gripping the thin notebook and ink Historia had given me. I loved her idea, and I felt inspired to embark on the endeavor of being the very first of the Tamarines to write about the mysterious Teragane people. Ideas and questions swirled my mind as I trudged along the stone paths of Cedrus City, and I ignored everything else until I had reached my home.

I could already sense my mother’s bad mood as I hurried into my room and shoved the new items under my pillow. After securing my cherished items, I ran to the other side of the house, changing my expression, too afraid to reveal my source of joy welling deep within my heart. Immediately, my mother shouted for me to clean up a disastrous mess, and I scrubbed the pots as she fretted all about some soups she was trying to make. Some food preserves had gone bad in storage, and our winter food supplies were running short, and so was my mother’s temper. She frantically paced around, screaming at me to work faster, while bitting her nails and adjusting her grease-stained apron for the hundredth time.

When my father returned home, he was also ready to partake in the disagreeable atmosphere as he held out his bloodied arm that had been injured during his work. Although my father’s injury was minor, my parents began to bicker about whose day was worse while I continued to wash the dishes, tuning out the sound of them screaming behind me. I allowed the whimsical thoughts for my book about the Teragane people to distract me from the hostility of my home.

I envisioned Sable’s wings, specifically the form of a raven wingspan, and thought about attempting to draw his figure, wondering what he would think if I were to ask him to pose for me, and even allowed the small glimmer of hope of one day bringing Sable to the library, even if I knew it was probably never going to happen.

Unfortunately, the winter only continued to provide a truculent atmosphere within my home, despite my efforts to ease the discomfort with thoughts about Sable and writing a book about his kind.

“You’re nearly a full grown woman now, you need to start preparing for your future,” my father said to me on one of his days off, well after my thirteenth birthday had passed without any real celebration—typical for our low-class family. Birthdays were hardly something to cheer about. Or, as my mother would say, another step closer to the grave.

Although I did not feel like reaching such a status, my body was changing, yet I still felt like a child. My childish endeavors still motivated me, and my understanding of the world was still immature. Yet, I tried to advance for my father’s sake, although the pressure caused my head to ache from confusion.

“Oh, give her a break,” my mother chimed in. “You can’t expect her to carry that burden already. She’s still just a kid.”

“She can’t just sit around and do nothing but household chores, like you!” he shouted with a sneer, causing my mother to only huff further. “She needs to learn a trade.”

“She is learning!” my mother retorted, seemingly in my defense. “She is becoming quite proficient at gathering plants, perhaps she could become a herbalist. Maybe an apprenticeship would be more suitable for Lillie.”

“Fah! An apprenticeship is unpaid, anyway. And a herbalist isn’t a real job!”

“Yes it is! My friend Kassi—“

“Your friends are nothing but dependent on their husbands—like you.” He sneered as he slammed his fist on the wooden kitchen table, causing the dirty cutlery to tremble, and only angering my mother further as she gripped her stained apron while I sat helplessly in between them.

“Oh, so would you rather stay home and cook, mend, and deal with the allotment? Hmm? I might as well leave out your filthy clothes for you to wash up instead, yes? A herbalist is next to a doctor, something valuable in this city, especially for someone as prone to getting themselves hurt—like you.”

“A doctor would be better than a herbalist—it’s not a real livelihood that will keep the taxes paid and food plenty.”

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Next time you come home with a bloody wound, shall I just let you deal with it on your own? Or, will you spend all your hard earned money on the doctor’s fees?”

“Lillie needs to work a real job.”

“Like a doctor?” My father bellowed a horrible laugh as he hit the table again, causing the cutlery to tremble, and I clenched my teeth, and I noticed my mother’s knuckles turn rather white as she gripped her apron, but continued to yell. “You’re impossible!”

I slithered away from their presence, moving into the storage room and grabbed a few slices of bread and meat, and stuffed it all into my skirt pocket as my parents continued to argue.

“You think that silly girl could ever become something as noble as a doctor?” my father’s words echoed from behind as I scurried down the hall and into my room. “She’s nothing in this city—she’s better off working in the mines with me.”

I slipped on my shoes and tossed the winter cloak around my shoulders. The corner of a book showing from its hiding place under my pillow startled me and I pushed it further underneath. My fingers touched the spine of the notebook, and I thought about my documentation of the Teragane people. I grabbed the notebook and a quill, and placed all the items into my basket, deciding to escape to the meadow for the rest of the day, no longer desiring to hear what else my parents would say that would only cut deep like a knife.

I slipped out of the stifling house, removing myself from it all. Although it seemed that my mother was taking my side, encouraging me to pursue something that I really enjoyed, I hardly knew if she were defending me for the sake of my own agenda, or desiring to keep me from leaving the house for the mines like my father.

Maybe I could be like Historia and become a writer—or, librarian—a knowledge keeper?

I followed the trail through the woods towards the meadow. The air had grown warmer, indicating that winter was over and spring had finally come. With my father’s overwhelming pressure to take on a real job, or some type of apprenticeship of his approval, my mind began to swirl with questions and worries. I realized I wouldn’t be able to visit the meadow as often again, especially if I needed to begin working somewhere. I had already agreed to meet with Sable every other day. The new year would be a good opportunity to arrange, again, a new meeting point with Sable.

He’s super kind and understanding. I’m sure he will understand if I can only meet him a few times a month. As long as we stick to a routine; he seems to like routine.

As I approached the clearing, surprisingly, I saw Sable standing on the edge of the cliff, seemingly ready to take off.

“Hey! Happy spring!” I shouted as I ran through the short grass towards him, kicking up small patches of dirt with my shoes.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said as he stepped away from the edge, then towards me. I ran up to him and wrapped my arms around his slim waist, giving him a hug while he simply patted my shoulder.

“Were you waiting long? Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said while looking up. “My parents were fighting, but I snuck out.”

“I just landed here—why were—”

“Oh, nothing, just stupid stuff, hey, I brought some bread.” I spun around, releasing Sable from my embrace, and began to lay out the blanket over the damp grass, and pulled out a few slices of bread. Sable sat on his knees next to me, folding his hands on his lap as he waited for me to serve him a portion of food. His black hair had grown a little longer over the winter, but was quite jagged in form. The wind tossed it around his face as he waited for his share of bread as if he were waiting all winter to eat what I had brought.

“Sorry, the bread isn’t very good,” I said while giving him a slice. “We are running low on flour. Pretty sure my mother was gonna throw this batch out today.”

“It tastes good,” he said immediately after taking a bite, spewing bits of crumbs onto his cloak.

“Oh, you’re too kind, you know?” I said with a laugh. “Oh, hey I need to change our meeting times again. Let’s do—uh, maybe once a fortnight?”

“What is a fortnight?” he asked while his eyes lifted.

“Oh, I guess I didn’t—uh, well, how do Teraganes keep track of time?”

“The positions of the sun—the seasons of weather—the moon phases.”

“Ah! Then! How about the moon? Half moon and full moon we meet at the meadow?”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“Cool! So! I wanted to tell you an idea I had, well Historia did first. But, I wanted to tell you what I’m working on over the winter.” He looked up at me, still crunching on the stale bread, and his unruly hair still bounced around his face that was slightly lighter over the dark days without sun. His crimson eyes stared deeply at me, catching me off guard.

I had almost forgotten how radiant his eyes glowed, similar to a flame, but the color of a ruby. At times, his eyes looked brown in the shadows, but with the sun shining brightly on his face, the depths of the red radiated as he stared intently at me, anticipating what I had to share.

“Yeah, so, I decided to write a book about you,” I said, feeling a warmth to my cheeks as I pulled out my notebook I had worked on during the winter. “Well, mainly about your people, the Teragane. I had some practice lines, and, yeah. Decided I could—“

“No,” Sable jarringly said, causing me to flinch as I held the notebook in my hand. His eyes pierced through me, causing my heart to pound in my chest as his unexpected behavior completely caught me off guard. Then, he reached out his hand, beckoning for the book.

“What?” I asked in a panic, my hands slightly shaking upon the notebook. “What do you mean?”

“That is not the way of my people,” he declared while his thick, black brows narrowed, and his ruby-colored eyes darkened under a new expression that caused my heart to suddenly fear the Teragane boy from the mountain.

“But—I thought maybe—well.”

“Please, can I have the book?” The intensity of his stare and graveness of his voice caused me to hand over my notebook without further questions. He opened it, glanced through the pages, then closed it again. “I’m sorry Lillie. It is forbidden for there to be writings understood about the Teragane people. You must burn this.”

“Burn my book? But why? I worked so hard to describe everything you told me.”

“You can never write anything about me, or what you know about the Teragane people. Never again.” Sable slowly pulled the enclosed, thin notebook to his chest, his expression still one worthy of feeling as if he were capable of burning me with his gaze. “Please, promise me that you will never write anything about me or my people ever again. I must burn this book.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, I just—” Hot tears suddenly began to trickle down my cheeks, and a terrible choking sensation rose within my throat. I leaned down in a bowed position, shaking from the intensity of the moment. The blanket became damp beneath my face as the tears streamed. I mumbled a promise, trying to stop my tears, and for the first time I felt embarrassed while sitting next to Sable—a friend who I suddenly began to fear losing on the sake of my ignorance.

“It’s okay, Lillie,” he said, his voice soft. I felt his hand on my shoulder, but it was cold. “You didn’t know. But, now you do. Would you like to burn the book?”

Through misty eyes, I looked up at him as he held the notebook out to me. He no longer glared, his eyes were soft, and his smile had returned to a familiar expression I knew well, allowing the overwhelming sensation of doing something against another’s culture to pass over.

“No, you burn it,” I said, and pushed the book towards him. I wiped my face with my hands and used my cloak to dry the tears. I sniffed and felt utterly embarrassed and we sat in unsettling silence while Sable held the book close to his chest, and looked into the distance. The snow had melted, but the icy winds still blew through the grass, upturning our hair in different directions. The cold wind cooled my blushing face, but the pain from my hurt pride ached in my chest. I grabbed the end of my hair and began twisting nervously.

I wish I had never written that book.

“I cannot read it,” Sable finally said as he flipped through the pages, then quickly closed it again. “But, I’m sure it is well made. Maybe you can find another person or subject to write about. I don’t want to discourage you from your writing lessons on account of my culture’s practice.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said while jerking my head away.

Why? So, someone else can shame me for writing a book?

I didn’t stay long in the meadow, feeling ever so uncomfortable being next to someone who I had only offended and caused the need to destroy something I had spent extensive amount of time putting together. I returned to the city within the forest, vowing to never write a book again, afraid to feel such horrible disappointment deep within my aching heart ever again.

I didn’t tell the truth to Historia when she had asked me how my writing of the Teragane people was progressing. I could not bring myself to recount that awful feeling of disappointing Sable, or relive the intensity of his eyes piercing through my heart as he told me what I had done was forbidden in his culture. I was afraid this was as Historia had warned me about before. I dreaded the concept that Sable, as a mysterious and a religious Teragane, would abandon our friendship, and I would never see him again.

I was too afraid to even ask Sable if this was a possibility.

Instead, I informed Historia that I decided against writing any book altogether, desiring to focus more on reading itself. She pried for more details, more reasoning, but I refused to tell her. I knew that she would ask more questions, or try to encourage me to ask Sable for more information. I feared this would only lead to pushing him away, and I did not want to lose him if there was still a chance of seeing him continuously. I was afraid that he was offended, or that, since I did something against his culture, he would quickly decide to never see me again. I was nervous that by changing our meeting times would also cause him to neglect our arrangements.

I know Historia said it was unlikely for us to have a long friendship, but I really would be sad if I lost Sable as my friend.

I felt confused and alone. I felt like I couldn’t talk to Historia about Sable anymore. She would only press me for more information. I wanted to respect him and his culture. If I couldn’t write about him in a book, then he probably also didn’t want me talking to other people about him. I realized he chose me as a friend, therefore, I needed to also respect his wishes and ways of life. Sable accepted me exactly how I was, so I should accept him as he was.

I had very little inspiration for my studies after the book-incident with Sable. I was afraid of inspiration, or chasing after other ideas that came to my mind. Perhaps, if I busied myself with learning more about plants, then I could focus on building my trade, like my father wanted me to in the first place. I returned to Historia asking for educational books about plants, but she unfortunately had already given me everything she had.

“Not a lot of people write books about plants,” she said to me while I followed her around in the library. “Hey, there’s another idea for a book.”

“No thanks, Historia,” I stopped her while holding my hand up. “I’m only interested in learning, not being a writer.”

“Well, mostly, knowledge is passed through a mentor or from person to person after years of experience. You could look for an apprenticeship with a herbalist, a healer, or maybe look into seeking out some farms if you desire to move out of the city, but that would make me rather sad. Maybe some butchers have some positions if your goals are mainly food.”

“Well, I like plants—especially flowers and roots—and for medicine. It helps my family.”

“Do you know of any herbalists?” Historia began climbing a ladder, and reached her hand out to one of the books at the top shelf, and I leaned against the shelf, bending my neck backwards just to see her more clearer, realizing that if she were wearing a skirt, anyone could look right under.

“I think my mother does, I can ask her,” I replied, suddenly realizing the reason why Historia most likely chose to wear trousers instead of skirts, like most women.

“My grandfather is something of the sort.” She pulled out one of the books and opened it, slightly mumbling to herself.

“Really?” I said while creaking my neck to the side, wondering what book she was looking at.

“Yeah, well, actually, he’s an alchemist, but I’m sure he could teach you some stuff. At least, whenever he decides to return from his journey.”

“Alchemy?”

“Yeah, he works with liquids, plants, sediment and studies new technology. He’s an inventor, mostly, world traveler, and quite an interesting man. Used to teach. His works are far from published, though. I’d like to get it together, but he would rather bite my head off before I can put his work into such a format. Someday, I’ll get his inventions in order, then maybe others can take after him. He doesn’t do well with apprentices, though.”

“Really? That sounds cool!”

“Yeah, but in the last few years his health has significantly declined. His mind is going a bit south. Probably from spending his whole life being told he’s crazy—to be fair he is a bit crazy. But! He always encourages me to pursue my passions, and that is how I became the person who I am today. I traveled around, gathering books and information wherever I went. Even learned cartography from the ol’ man. He helped me put together the library, although it’s more like a guise for his illegal laboratory. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.” I shook my head, not even knowing what that meant, but Historia grunted with approval.

“I plan to do another tour around the province—heard about some new paper-making techniques. A friend offered a place—and, hey, want to come?” Historia peered from above, her brown eyes widening behind her glasses, and I felt my heart race as her offer was rather enticing, and I could for a moment imagine the concept of traveling out of the city with her to a far off land where she were obviously knowledgeable about.

But the thought of my parents’ immediate disapproval quickly snapped me back to reality.

“Yeah, I think I’m too young for traveling,” I replied while looking away from Historia. She clambered back down from the ladder, jumping off the last few steps with a loud thump, and the hanging glass from the ceiling chimed a clinking sound.

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed, and patted the top of my head as she glided pass me. “I was traveling with my grandfather when I was a baby. Grew up on the road. One is never too young when around those who know where to go.”

“Yeah, but that is your life. I don’t think I could ever do something like that.” I crossed my arms, and pouted my lips as I leaned my back against the shelf. Historia moved back towards me, and bent down to face me directly, but I tilted my chin further down, avoiding her eyes.

“Oh, come on Lillie. Don’t give up on your dreams,” she said, then slightly pinched my cheek. The front door opened and a man with a confused expression walked in, looking around the library.

“Don’t give up,” she whispered, then moved away to help the man. I watched her become animated as the older Tamarine asked several questions about methods of masonry, and she glided towards a shelf, her hair swirling with her smooth movements. I didn’t quite understand how the library functioned, how she made enough money to provide for the public, or how she called the library a guise for a laboratory for a crazy man practicing something called alchemy.

But I appreciated Historia for all the efforts she made for me. I didn’t fully comprehend how she came to live in the city, or how she was so kind to me, or even why—she seemed way too important to waste her days teaching me. I was not always honest with her and often hid my problems, but I noticed that she always saw right through my efforts to hide the truth.

Am I giving up? Do I even have dreams to give up on?