Still the Sun

by Charlie N. Holmberg

Lore—some might call it scripture—claims that Tampere exists as one land among many, created by the World Serpent, whose discarded skin coils into entire planets, far beyond what our mortal eyes can see. But when the Serpent shed the skin we call home, Tampere kept all its water deep inside, so we have to dig for it.

“We are named for our animus,” Moseus supplies. When I cock my head, he adds, “Our intendment. Our . . . initial purposes.”

I wonder if mothers feel this way with disobedient children, drowning in frustration while loving every moment of it.

I wonder what shapes his thoughts take, that he’s so comfortable sitting with them.

“Many fill their lives with anything they can grasp, and their minds with anything they can think. They disconnect from others, from the world, from the cosmos. The things they grasp, ultimately, hold no meaning. I seek the darkness to strip away meaninglessness. To remember myself and my mission.”

It’s not until I’ve finished my calculations that I realize they’d been speaking in another tongue, and yet somehow, I understood every word.

“I broke it,” he hisses, “because it took you away from me.” He releases me all at once, and I gasp in air like I’ve forgotten how to breathe. Heartwood’s sharp eyes peel away from me, and he vanishes down the hole in the floor, never once touching the ladder.