Illumination

Twenty years later...

The boy couldn’t have been more than six, yet there he was, running errands for the most infamous member of the camp.

He dodged the weaving train of people carrying boxes in and out of tents, a bundle of heavy maps tucked under his arm. The long line of tents stretched on for quite a while across the frigid, ice desert. Many who were bumped aside as he hurried past turned to rebuke the unknown figure, then blanching and apologizing as the little boy moved on. They all knew who his mother was, and if she knew they’d been scolding him...well, they’d never hear the end of it.

“Where is my mother?” the boy asked a man who was standing a little distance from the group. This man was different from the others; he normally didn’t join the party on expeditions. In fact, he and his wife were just visiting the boss, who was the little boy’s mother.

“I believe she’s in that tent,” the other informed him, pointing to a smaller, blue tent that was pitched on the other side of the makeshift camp. He had short, caramel hair that was brushed back behind his ears, revealing an eyepatch covering one eye and the words “resident snob” written in white ink on it. He pulled his coat tighter around him and watched the little boy run off before hurrying after his wife, whose figure was rapidly disappearing in the distance.

The boy continued to close the gap at as fast a pace as his stubby legs would let him. He passed another man sitting at a chess board, in the process of checkmating his opponent. The loser, a woman in her thirties with glossy, black hair, stood up and cried out in rage before knocking the pieces into the ice. Then they both bent down together to pick them up, laughing all the while. The boy paid little attention to them.

He stopped in front of the tent and listened. Through the thick, ythafone flap, he could hear snippets of conversation.

“...dangerous! Those are uncharted lands!”

“Oh, please. We’re out here, miles away from the colony.”

“Well, this is different. Don’t blame me if we die.”

“I won’t because I’ll be dead.”

As the conversation continued semi-playfully, the boy put his head down and pushed through the tent flap.

The space was dimly lit by an orange lantern that contained real fire—not Illumination or any other fake light source. The boy’s mother had given up on that a long time ago, but he could still see the fear in her eyes whenever she looked at real flame.

“Mother,” he piped up, halting the conversation between the woman at the desk and the man standing behind her, hand on her shoulder. “I got the maps like you said!”

“Good. Bring them here,” she said, pushing aside a few scrolls from the desk and letting her son approach. The other man stood, arms folded across his chest, watching the two appreciatively.

“I brought the Stolleth Seas map, the Gallenroy’s Gorge one, and a few others that I found in the library. Mr. Griffiths brought a few maps from his library so I got those as well,” the six-year-old said, drumming his fingers on the table, a common habit for him and his mother.

“Do you mind leaving us alone for a moment, dear?” the woman asked the figure behind her, leaning back against the chair.

“Sure. Call me back when you’re done.” The man put his cap back on the scruff of hair on his head and swept past his son, offering a smile as he went. There was a burst of cold air that filled the room as he opened the tent flap, then all was still again.

The boy went around one side of the table and stood next to his mother, looking up at the assortment of maps, globes, and other curiosities on her desk. When she saw that her son was having trouble, she pushed her chair back and pulled him up onto her lap so he could see better. “Take a look, Harlin.” The boy in question reached out a stubby hand and unrolled one of the maps, revealing an expansive wasteland bordering an unfrozen sea. “Where should we go next?”

“Where’s the most dangerous place?” he asked with a characteristic grin.

“That’s my boy.” His mother pulled her son close to her chest and rested her chin on his head, watching his expression morph into a yawn. Harlin was tired after the long day of working for his mom, the leader of the camp. But he loved meeting the new people who came to their little tribe. Sometimes they lived in the colony. Other times, right next to it. Most times, in the icy wilderness or at the top of a cliff. No matter where they were, there was always someone popping in to say hello and experience a day in the “portable colony”, as everyone called it.

“Mother?”

“...yes?” Harlin’s mother set him down on the carpeted floor and looked down at him through long eyelashes.

“Tell Jack hi when she comes in, okay?”

“I will. Now go to bed. It’s been a long day and tomorrow we pack up.” Bailey Katadolo kissed her son’s forehead and brushed back his short, crimson-brown hair, a hybrid of both his father’s and his mother’s locks. He looked up at her through the same eyelashes she had and then exited the tent, his little legs slowed by sleepiness.

As Harlin stumbled back to his tent, the sky above him, black and foggy, opened up. The clouds parted, shining down the tiniest sliver of a broken moon, and for the first time in years, everyone looked up and saw stars.