A Fine Black Sky
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Kid distractedly poked at the greenery upon his plate, subsidised by the harvesting of the vegetation that grew within the Towers - a formless, tasteless conglomeration of carefully weighted protein and carbohydrate, from the edible plants that had been cultivated and blended together expertly by the Cooks in their domain - the smoky, odourful kitchens set aside purposefully for the Apprentices. The dosage was calculated for optimum effect, but taste was traded away for sustenance, something problematic to Kid in all its forms. He detested it, yet ate his portion, well knowing that without it he would neither function on a physiological level, nor a psychological one, and both were very much in demand for a young boy. His thoughts fell to his studies so far, how it had felt when he first arrived. He had come with an inherent strength, certainly, but also with an all encompassing, gripping fear, and the unwitting sense of loss for something he never really had, being his childhood in the North Tower. But then what he had never had, he could never miss.
He was developing as an entity, he could see this, as coming from nothing drew more attention to the individual when something occupied the empty spaces where once was a longing for something more. That something had been knowledge, but there also remained a desire, an envy for those who understood, instinctually perhaps, the practical simplicities and the intricacies of interaction with others - the non verbal cues and the intonation of voice. Largely, and with candour, it did not contradict Kid’s natural demeanour and daily vision, but it kept him often isolated from others, much as he found himself this day, eating on his own.
There was a compulsion to integrate, a naturally developed tincture of spirit from the imperative to belong, which played about gently with Kid’s mind, drawing him ironically to an inward reflection - seeking that which the shadow, the idea which still followed him and held onto his shoulders, never revealing, but always tempting, pulling him out of seclusion and accompanying him through the darkness, forward to the rest of his life.
But a different kind of shadow fell over Kid as he sat there. The shadow contained lightness, and the vision was of three young girls. The two outer girls simply linked arms with the middle one, as though to support her in all her endeavours, but principally to provide a bracketing punctuation to her privileged and well tailored voice, much in the intonation of the Noble born.
She spoke firmly, but with a lightness interred into the generational and genetic details that made up her quintessential structure, “Hey! You look lonely. Are you alright?”
This was not Kid’s usual occurrence, and hence he examined his memory for a common reply, when all he was met with was indifferent ignorance and a sensation of being present in a space he only occupied in his intent, but not his spirit. His spirit was elsewhere, as it usually was, lost to the happier, or at least more contented places of home, of the North Tower.
He had to stop thinking of it as home now. This was his home, for the meantime. The North Tower was merely a symbol of ambition now - an end goal much maligned and tarnished by what was to be at least a decade or more of Apprenticeship, so that even though the old places he used to frequent in the North Tower would still be there, a permanency of tradition, they would be smaller and inaccessible to the age-changed Kid. The desire would remain, perhaps, but the ability would be lacking. Much as he grew and he left his childhood behind, so did he leave his home behind, his happy memories and his innocence. Mumbling though it was, he did find a reply, “Yes, fine. Just - getting used to the way things are now, I suppose.”
She smiled, “I didn't want to see you alone, and anxious. May I sit?”
“Of course.”
The girl sat, though her companions remained standing, in waiting, “I know it is difficult, but you really should ingratiate yourself into the group? We of the Nobility must be united. And more than that, we must remain a part of all things. This we can only truly do by socialising. I know it’s difficult when we have so many happy memories of home, but - look, it’s not for that long, is it? And you are the Son of a Lord? Should that not give certain inalienable rights to one of your standing?”
“I don’t know. People call me Kid, by the way.”
“And people call me Ryla. This is Keterina and Gustina, Sisters of the House of Straw, in this Tower. Kid? Don’t you find that moniker limiting?”
“Not really. It is the one I am called, and the one I am used to. Fuscus is the name given to me, but it is so infrequently used I find it hard to respond to. Ryla? Is that of -”
“Yes, of the Featherheart House within the West Tower. So you see, we are in similar circumstances?” Kid couldn't help but think that it was certainly true they were separated from all they knew for their developing years as infants, but this Ryla remained vast ceilings above Kid in terms of socialisation. She had more than likely attended much as a young girl, having seen most of Unity and perhaps its Towers, its City and its quirks, three aspects that Kid had lacked, save for the knowledge only retold within the precious parchment pages of the vast books about the Towers that he had poured over. He knew, as it were, the mechanics and the technique to perform all of the tasks that came so easily to his peers, but lacked any real practical experience, nor the empirical determinations that the hypotheses he held were in any way truthful. In fact, this had been the most meaningful conversation he had been a participant of since his departure from the North Tower and his entry into the South. It was certainly true that he had partaken in the occasional smalltalk over his time, but it had been mostly formal, with no real care behind it’s intentions. Kid wasn't even entirely sure that this current conversation was anything other than pity, which he couldn't bear, or genuine acknowledgement of his existence in any real sense other than the function of breathing and standing somewhere close to another performing much the same act. Reading the faces of others merely brought to Kid that they had similarities in positioning of facial features - two eyes, two ears, a mouth and a nose - even if their arrangement was closer to symmetrical, while his was cracked and broken, slipping from his skull in angry long scars that grew even as his skin did, stretching to fearful thick cobweb-like patches on the left side of his face. For some, the glance lasted momentarily, or they would pick a place just above Kid’s eyes to talk to him. It was disconcerting and insulting, but at least they were talking. And that was the way Kid decided to interpret it. But this girl, Ryla of House Featherheart, and of the West Tower, she looked at him deeply, almost penetratingly into his eyes, ne’er a flicker from within.
“You may be right.” replied Kid.
“I am. I am right. You see, we are the next generation, Kid. We should keep watchful upon each other, for it is we that wield the wisdom that feeds the wielder of the power - our Brothers. Remember who you are, Kid. Remember what you are. I’ve seen how you are, in the Tutor Halls, and in the Whispered Havens, amongst the vegetation like you belonged in the shadows, but you have a strong will, a determination within your Lord-bourn eyes. You are truly your Father’s Son, and for this reason you must expand your societal senses, for the networking you do now will pay dividends later, perhaps when you need it most. You have me, Fuscus Praefuscus - sorry, Kid - and one day you will see just how useful a connection that is. I simply wish you well in your studies, and beseech you to believe in yourself. I will pray to the MonoGod that you will be fine, being well disposed by nature.” As though as an ephemeral guiding spirit, Ryla stood, smiled and returned to the world in which she did inhabit, akin to a spider and its web, ultimately blending into the whole, leaving Kid alone once more with his thoughts, which were vast and now partially confused.
Yet the words of Ryla entered Kid’s subconscious and temporarily rerouted previously docile synapses into action, making him feel a little better, knowing that, opposed to previous interpretation of his environment and the objects within it, he was now not completely alone and that there were nice people out there, if he chose to look for them.
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