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June 29 - July 4, 2021
He’d once asked his mother if that was the truth, if his father was really dead. He will be, she’d said. Before you can blink your eye. You’ll outlive him by a hundred years, maybe a thousand, maybe more. He’s only dust to you.
“They call themselves elders,” she said with a laugh. “Old men stroking their beards and congratulating one another on their wisdom.”
“Honesty is always best, Ulle. That way I know just how many fools I need to work to convince.”
It’s a balance, his mother always said. Fear is a powerful ally, but feed it too often, make it too strong, and it will turn on you.
“The first men to see bears thought they were monsters. My power is unfamiliar, not unnatural.”
That was how they always found Grisha. He and his mother followed legends, whispers, tales of sorcerers and witches, of demons in the forests. Stories like that had led them to a tribe of Squallers camped along the western shore, to Baba Anezka and her cave of mirrors, to Petyr of Brevno and Magda of the black woods.
“You read the flow of power the way others chart tides,” she marveled. “It will make you a great leader.”
And remember you’re—” “Eryk,” he said. “I know. It’s my own name I’m afraid of forgetting.”
“What’s your favorite color?” asked Sylvi. “I don’t have one.” “How can you not have one?” Deep blue like the True Sea. Red like the roofs of the Shu temples. The pure, buttery color of sunlight—not really yellow or gold, what would you call it? All the colors you couldn’t see in the dark. “I never really thought about it.”
“Did your father die in battle?” My father is dust. You all are. “Yes.”
He remembered the feeling of her hand in his. For the next few months, he could be Eryk. He could belong to this place. He could have a home, maybe even friends. And friends went on adventures. They broke rules together.
Never let them touch you. Because one touch was enough to reveal it, this gift lurking inside him. It was enough to make him less a boy than a prize.
I’m going to die here. They’ll wear my bones.
Let me make a mark on this world before I leave it.
“Help me,” she croaked. “Please, Eryk.” “That’s not my name.” He didn’t move. He sat and watched as her eyes went glassy, as her hand dropped away, as at last she slumped backward, her empty gaze fastened on the moon. He watched the remaining chunks of ice bobbing on the surface slowly melt away.
The Grisha lived as shadows did, passing over the surface of the world, touching nothing, forced to change their shapes and hide in corners, driven by fear as shadows were driven by the sun. No safe place. No haven.
