Chapter 2: Sunlight

The girl plodded up the side of a mountain. Her legs trembled with each step. A large backpack hung from her back, filled to overflowing with supplies for a long journey. She had been hiking for the better part of a week – eating dried fish and sleeping in snow caves – and she was exhausted. She did not look like a hero, even though that is exactly what everyone in her hometown of Jasber thought her to be.

Marta could have transformed herself physically into an adult. Despite the fact that she was just nine years old, Marta was a Seer of Jasber, which meant she had been allowed to rub some of the green ash into her eyes. Upon doing this, Marta entered a year-long coma. When she returned to consciousness, she emerged as an ageling, which meant she now had the ability to transform so that one minute she could be a toddler and the next she could be an old lady or an able-bodied young woman in her mid-twenties. Although Marta had gotten quite good at shifting, it was mentally trying to do so. That was too risky. She would need all her wits about her in the coming days.

The mountain that Marta was climbing was jagged and quite high and the peak disappeared into the clouds. Marta looked up at the sky and hoped for a small glint of sunlight. The sun rarely made an appearance at the Sea of Clouds or any of the mountains that surrounded it. The sea was aptly named, given that it was perpetually shrouded in fog and mist.

Marta’s goal was to see the sun. This was slightly problematic because Marta had never actually seen the sun before and so she was afraid she’d miss it. Of course, she had seen pictures and drawings of the sun, but she had spent virtually her entire life in Jasber – a city that existed underground, beneath a lake – and so she never had an opportunity to see the sky let alone the sun. Her only hope of doing so was to press onward, ascending one of the nearby peeks, which pierced the clouds and presumably was exposed to the rays of the sun.

After climbing for several hours, Marta stopped to catch her breath. She placed her pack on the ground very gently, as if the contents were extraordinarily fragile. She reached into her coat pocket and took out a piece of dried fish which she nibbled on sparingly. A minute later, she reached into her other pocket and pulled out a tightly rolled piece of canvas that she proceeded to study closely. On the canvas was a painting of a woman, sleepwalking along a narrow ledge on the side of a magnificent stone building, the walls of which were painted iridescent silver. In the background were mountains and a darkened night sky.

The painting had been a gift. It was given to Marta by the Abbot of the monastery where she had lived after being selected as seer. The name of the painting was “Roya’s Dream” and it had been painted by a Jasberinian seer named Roya. Roya was an extraordinary young woman – both a poet, a beauty, and an athlete – and the city rejoiced when she was chosen to become its seer. When it came time for Roya to assume her duties as seer, the abbot of the monastery gave her a pinch of green ash to rub into her eyes, as the ancient tradition required. The abbot, however, was quite old and almost blind as well – it was said the he could not recognize his own reflection in the mirror – and he inadvertently gave Roya too much ash. Roya went into a deep coma from which she never recovered; indeed, she spent the rest of her days sitting idly in a chair, staring off into space. From time to time, she would talk in her sleep and beg to be brought to the window at once. She was most passionate about this request and the monks would always carry her over to nearest window as quickly as they could. Once, just once, she asked for a canvass and brush and on this occasion she produced the painting that Marta was studying.

“What a fine image,” remarked a monk, when Roya had completed it.

“It’s all I ever dream of,” replied Roya quietly.

The monk was startled to hear Roya speak. It had been years since she had last uttered a word.

“It’s a... very... lovely...” stammered the monk. “What is it?”

“It’s a doorway,” hissed Roya, desperately.

“No my dear,” replied the monk, trying very hard to keep his calm, “You’ve painted a window.”

“No you fool!” screamed Roya, “This is a doorway!”

“Yes fine,” said the monk, whose voice was now trembling. “As you say – it is a doorway.”

“Please,” begged Roya, “You must take me here or I shall never wake up. It is my wyjście.”

This was all that Marta knew about the painting for, unfortunately, this was all the Abbot had been able to tell her. “The truth is,” explained the Abbot sadly, “We know very little about what happens to people when they rub too much ash into their eyes. They need sunlight – that much is certain. The rays of the sun seem to draw the toxins from their blood. That is how they kept Roya alive. Once a year, they took her up to the surface. But we never managed to get her any direct sunlight. It is simply too overcast in the Sea of Clouds. To get proper sunlight you must go all the way to the foothills of the Urals.” Marta asked the Abbot what the word wyjście meant. “It’s an ancient word meaning an exit. It seems that Roya had it in her head that this place – from her painting – was her way out of her coma. Gibberish, most likely. The girl had plainly gone mad.”

Marta studied the painting for some time. She wasn’t exactly certain why she had bothered to take it with her; as it was, she had brought too much. It was the Abbot who had insisted that she bring it along. He didn’t like the idea of her leaving Jasber. “The whole city of Jasber has nearly just burned to the ground and our vault has been robbed,” lamented the Abbot. “This is no time for our seer to be traipsing off into the wilderness.”

Truth be told, Marta wasn’t even certain that she wanted to be a seer any longer. She missed her family – her parents and her two brothers, Lukos and Danyel. She pictured her younger brother, Danyel, whose hair always stood on-end like the fine quills of a porcupine. He used to catch baby toads, place them in his mouth, and then pretend to vomit them up at the dinner table. The toads would hop away in every which direction. It was disgusting, but less so through memory’s haze.

Fortunately, her entire family had all survived the fire that destroyed their townhouse and which had ravaged much of Jasber. This was all thanks to Alfonso, who had levitated into the air, and rescued them one-by-one. But what would her mom and dad do now – with no home? Where would they live? What would they eat? Marta could have stayed and tried to help them, but she didn’t. She had left them all to fend for themselves. The thought of this made her feel very low, but she had made up her mind, and no one – not even the Abbot of Jasber – could dissuade her.

After some time, Marta rolled up the painting and placed it back into her coat as well. She then turned her attention to her backpack. She opened the top flap of the pack and there, nestled safely inside amidst a profusion of downy blankets, was her most important cargo: a newborn baby.

“Don’t worry baby Alfonso,” said Marta softly, “We’ll find you some sunlight soon enough.” She smiled. “Now that we’re above ground, you’re looking better already.”

The baby’s eyelids fluttered and he yawned tiredly. Alfonso was waking up.