Curse of the New Age no. 1
“The word is discreet d-i-s-c-r-e-e-t, not discrete,” I explained, pointing at the paper with a long wooden baton.
“Are you sure?” he asked, clenching his jaw and setting his pen down on the desk. “I’m going to have to write it all over again?! Maybe nobody will notice.”
“They’ll notice,” I replied bluntly, trying to find his eyes from the other side of the desk. I had gotten accustomed to reading upside-down.
He finally looked up at me.
“Tutor. You are too cruel.”
“They will be unforgiving, so I must be, too,” I explained.
He stared down again. His face contorted. His tears fell into the wet ink that he had painstakingly and meticulously placed on the page during the good part of a day, creating blueish snowflake-like splatters where they landed.
“Please don’t be discouraged,” I said flatly.
“Don’t be discouraged?! That’s easy for you to say!” He grabbed the paper violently and squeezed it into a tiny ball. “All you do is sit there and tell me what I’ve done wrong. The only reason you were hired is because…because…”
“Because I’m the only one willing to be this close to you.”
“Get out!”
“Young master…” I started to protest.
“Get out!”
I stood up with a deep sigh, put the baton in the leather holder that hung on the back of his desk, bowed slightly, and left.
When he acted like this, I had to remind myself of why I had taken the job. It was a risk, but I was tired of being cold and hungry. I couldn’t find work. I no longer belonged. It was a new age. The empire saw me as a throwback to an earlier, less civilized, time.
The only reason I wasn’t met with open hostility was to avoid upsetting the locals, but even my own people were uncomfortable around me now. They didn’t hate me. They were simply ashamed.
They had failed me.
The new guard was not more civilized, of course. They simply had more gadgets and a few clever tricks. We didn’t stand a chance against their military, so we chose our lives over our pride. But more civilized? No, not one bit. Would a civilized people declare a human being a demon for simply being born on a particular day, under a particular confluence of stars? Would they blame a baby for killing his brother in the womb?
My life is comfortable now. I insisted on my own room and adequate privacy. I was provided clothes, food, and shelter. How could I complain?
I knew that the young master would sulk for the rest of the day. I delivered his evening meal at the scheduled time. I set the tray of food on his dining table that only seated one. I announced that his meal had arrived, and then promptly left.
I retrieved my own meal and retired to my room. I closed the door and locked it. I ate my food. I read a book. Then, I checked the window coverings, to make sure it was impossible for the other servants to take a peek. I changed into my sleeping clothes and crawled into my warm, soft bed.
And, just as I did every night, I unlocked my nightstand drawer with a key I hid in one of my books, and took out the letter, opened it, and silently read it.
“Our beautiful child, all we ask is that you live. We will be gone soon. We will not find justice in this life. Do not risk yourself in your anger. Hide. We beg you. Choose to live. Find peace in the new world, but don’t forget who you are.”
I folded it back up, put it in the drawer, locked it, and hid the key. Then, I reset the alarm mechanism on the clock at my bedside. At least, that’s what I thought I did. That’s what I did every night.
Instead of the horrible rattling of a tiny hammer being beaten against the inside of a metal bell on top of the hideous contraption I was forced to use to wake me up, I could hear Young Master yelling at me.
Was I dreaming?
“Tutor! Get up!”
I woke up startled. I sat up in my bed, holding my blankets up to my body. The letter fell onto the floor. My eyes grew wide as I slowly began to understand what was happening.
“I fell asleep…” I muttered.
I fell asleep while I was reading the letter. I never put it away. I never checked the clock to make sure it was reset.
“What are you doing in my room? How did you get in? Please leave,” I pleaded. “Please. This is inappropriate.”
“Did you forget whose house this is? I’ve been waiting for my food for hours. Don’t you understand? Nobody will bring it to me except you! I’m starving.”
“I’m sorry,” I said desperately. “I’ll bring you your breakfast as soon as I can. Now, please leave.”
And despite myself and to my deep regret, I looked down at the letter that had fallen off the bed. When I did, the young master noticed and bent over to pick it up.
“That’s private!” I yelled at him, finding my resolve. “Put it down and leave! Now!”
“You’re full of secrets, aren’t you,” he said as he stepped back so that I couldn’t reach him.
My nightclothes were much too revealing. He had me trapped, unable to move without the risk of him seeing my body.
“What is this?” he asked me, with an oddly soft tone, after reading it. “Were your parents killed during annexation? They called you a beautiful child?”
“Please, Young Master. As I said, that’s private,” I replied, still holding the blankets close to my body and starting to shake. “It’s none of your concern.”
He dropped the arm that was holding the letter, to reveal his face.
“My parents are alive, and they hate me. I have brothers and sisters. They all fear me. You’re the only one I’ve talked to in years, and I know nothing about you. All you do is point out my mistakes.”
I felt a certain amount of relief. Maybe he was too young or simply not quick enough to understand what that letter meant.
“This is inappropriate, Young Master, please. I promised your parents…”
“You promised what?” he asked angrily. “Why do they even care?”
“I promised to teach you so that you would learn skills appropriate to your station. They promised me privacy,” I answered matter-of-factly. “If they fire me or I quit, who is going to bring you your food?”
“Would you really leave me?” he asked, looking hurt and worried. “When I don’t have a tutor, they deliver the food without opening the door. I have to wait until they are far enough away to go get it. Even then, they have a difficult time finding someone willing. I don’t understand why they didn’t just kill me when I was born.”
He let the letter fall from his hand and onto the floor.
“Please, don’t hide from me,” he pleaded. “I want to know you.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant. He wouldn’t be the first one to attempt to use force to see my body. I instinctively moved slightly further away from him and held the blanket close.
“Why are you afraid?” he asked, upset. “Are you afraid of my parents? Are you afraid of me like everyone else?”
Did he really simply not understand?
“You’re in my room. I’m in my sleeping clothes. The situation is uncomfortable for me,” I explained.
Realization swept over his face.
“Oh! I forgot. It’s forbidden for other people to see you, isn’t it? To see your body.”
I nodded.
“They are curious, though, aren’t they? To know if you are a man or a woman.”
“Please don’t say that. I’m Kyn.”
“Kyn? What does that even mean? If you aren’t a man or a woman, can you have children?” he asked. “Do Kyn have children?”
“Please leave. Please, I’m begging you.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, picking the letter off the floor. “I was just hungry, and I waited for you for so long. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He stepped forward as if he was going to put the letter on my nightstand, but then looked perplexed suddenly and examined the letter more closely.
“Your parent’s handwriting looks a lot like yours,” he said. “Did you learn to write from them? Were they scholars, too?”
I froze for a second, but then simply nodded.
He put the letter on the nightstand. He left, closing the door behind him, and I was finally able to breathe.
2a. Burn the letter and leave.
