Rumor Hasn't

Into the house, into the rooms of white, her feet carried her, pattering softly on the floors that held no light, the floors that could not bear a reflection. She was afraid, though of what, she could not say. Something was changing, something was different. She called herself all kinds of coward for fleeing, but there was no way for her to rationalize staying there. There was nothing safe out there, in the rooms of black. The rooms of entry, the rooms of beginnings. There was nothing worthwhile in the rooms that signified change, left over from the days of ancestors who had been so savage as to have rejected the status of clan altogether.

They still told the stories of brother killing brother. They remembered, sometimes. Not often, and not loudly, but memories stretched farther back than some could or would believe. There were things that people needed to learn and to trust. There were reasons for everything. What was a world without reason? Nothing. Dangerous.

Running away made her safe. That was all. There was no cowardice in fleeing from something strange, something different and something that could not be explained or understood. She tried to reconcile herself to that. Somehow it seemed incredibly hollow.

Eventually, in her rooms of white, she put her face in her hands and began to cry softly, wondering, and lost for wondering. What was this? And why?



Last night I sat up, staring out the windows. It was raining outside. I ran my fingers across the glass, felt the chill and I wanted to be out there, amidst the torrents of water. I wanted to feel free the way rain is. I closed my hands on the glass and tried to break it, but it resisted. I brought my hands down on it, hard, intending to shatter the glass. But the glass did not shatter. Instead, I woke up.

***

It was slightly cold outside. Arms wrapped around a warm body as the child\'s stumbling steps continued. Forward, forward, onward. There was a pull, directing the child\'s movements, calling the child out into the rain. Slowly body heat depleted. Slowly, the child was becoming chilled, but still the child took steps forward, still moving deeper into the storm, head tilted back to allow the freezing rain to run over skin. Eyes were closed. Mouth was open slightly. With every breath, the child\'s nostrils flared as though a frightened foal. There was nothing else in the rain. There was no one else around.

The child stumbled, then, and fell. Knees hit the ground and the child winced, began to cry. Tear tracks ran down the child\'s face, mixing with the pure water of the rain, this salt water that came from within.

"Who are you?" the child screamed.

There was silence. The child\'s arms were trembling, and the child\'s body was shaking as the child curled up in the rain, head bowed. No one was watching that could be seen. No one… But someone was there.



If there was a magician who made his living by creating illusions, and then he had an accident, lost the use of his hands – was he a failure when he could no longer build illusion? Suppose then, that he learned how to make real magic work – no tricks, no props, just reach into any old hat and pull out a rabbit, a snake, an elephant. Suppose then, that he called his new magic illusion and went back to performing. Would he be cheating? Or would we be at fault for believing such a thing is impossible?

***

He sat by the wall, looking at it as though it were a window, and he could see through it. He was thinking, absorbed in something bigger than himself. The white rooms seemed so empty. He shook his head. Close. The rooms were close, as if they were pressing in. His mind drifted back over the argument he\'d endured. A sigh escaped him, and he lowered his face to his hand, pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes shutting. Had he been wrong? He thought not…but it was so very hard to tell sometimes. One could be wrong in the morning, right in the afternoon and gone come evening.

Silence reigned, but in the silence was an urging to be up and about. Finally, he stood, and walked out of the white rooms, out to the outside world. It was raining. He tilted his head back and let the water run over his face. It was cold, sending sharp chills through him with every drop that hit his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment basking in the freezing sensation. A noise jerked him out of quiet reflection then, and he realized he was soaked through to the bone. His clothing clung to his body, hugging tightly, soft folds of wet fabric hung awkwardly off his frame.

Something caught his eye. Someone. In the middle of the rain, curled up like a small animal, not shivering – dead, maybe? – a tiny body. Wondering, he stepped forward and knelt in the growing water. The chill seemed greater here. His hands went out and one rested on the thing\'s shoulder. Warm. Amidst the ice and the grey, something warm.

"What are you doing out here?" he muttered, rolling the bundle of warmth over and blinking in surprise. A child. "You shouldn’t be out here." He pulled the unresisting body closer, hugging it to himself. He felt warmth against his skin. The tiny body began to quake in his arms. Frozen, poor thing. "What are you doing out here?" he asked again, though the question was mere words, and he did not expect a response. Or receive one, as it turned out. The child\'s tiny hands clenched his shirt, fisting in the soaked material, pulling the small body closer. His arms held the child carefully, protectively. "Where do you belong?"

"Nowhere." The shaking had stopped.

Had the child gone? He looked down, to see bright eyes gazing back up at him, and a small smile on the child\'s face. "What did you say?" he asked, just loud enough to be heard above the rain.

"I belong nowhere," the child repeated, voice stronger this time around. "I belong nowhere."

He shook his head. "No…no, you must belong somewhere." Everyone belonged somewhere. "Tell me, and I\'ll take you back."

The child\'s head shook. "No. I belong nowhere."

He hesitated. "What are you doing out here?"

"Looking."

"For?"

"Something forbidden." The casual way the child said it brought him back to his senses. They shouldn\'t be out in the rain discussing this. But…the rain was stopping. It was still pouring from the sky, but he didn\'t feel wet anymore. And he wasn\'t cold any longer, either. So maybe it was all right to stay here and talk. He didn\'t think the child would want to come back with him, after all. His hand ran through the child\'s hair.

"What, forbidden?" he asked gently.

"A name."

His throat tightened and his arms threatened to drop the child. He knelt, bearing the small body back to the ground and set the child down. "What did you say?" His voice was hoarse with suppressed emotion.

"A name," the child repeated, smiling slightly. "Haven\'t you wanted a name? You must have, otherwise you wouldn’t be here, would you? I\'ve always wanted a name – a real name. I never saw any reason for anything else. A name… Wouldn\'t it be grand?"

The child looked ready to go on, but he reached out and put a hand on the child\'s shoulder. "Shh… You mustn\'t talk like that," he warned. "There are things that are forbidden in this world. Names are one of those. You shouldn\'t be out here. I’m sure you have somewhere you belong, somewhere you should be. If you won\'t tell me where it is, maybe you\'ll go back there now, and take care of yourself. You really should be gone, you know."

The child began to laugh, a high, joyful sound. "But you\'ve been looking too, haven\'t you? All the others just laughed when I told them. They said \'Silly child, there\'s no such thing!\' but I knew that there was. You\'ve heard of them before, haven\'t you? Names – how wonderful to have such a thing, wouldn\'t it be?" The playful exuberance was growing. "Will you come looking with me? Help me find a name, oh, won\'t you?" The child\'s hands seized his, and a happy croon escaped the child\'s throat.

He paused, then shook his head. "No."

The child faltered. "Why not?"

"Names are forbidden." He pulled his hands back. "You must go to where you belong. There is nothing I can do to help you. You must not speak of names again. They are not for such as you and I."

The child glared at him then. "You\'ve no sense of adventure, do you? Have you ever once thought to reach beyond the lot given you? Have you no shame for being no one? Who are you? Who?" the child challenged.

Cerulean.

He nearly gave that as his identity. Something stopped him, though. Earlier, hadn\'t he wanted something as precious? And now he denounced them. Too confusing. Too much. He shook his head. "Rest. I\'ll stay with you."

"In the morning we will look for names," the child said firmly in a tone that booked no argument.

He had little choice, so instead of attempting to dissuade the child, he merely nodded and took the child off out of the streets. The pit of water was no place to fall asleep a second time.

"I\'ll see you in the morning."

"We\'ll see each other."

"Goodnight."

"Fare thee well."



At the middle time of midnight, when all the world shines clear, I sit awake and wonder; and sometimes fight back tears.

***

They woke together on the morrow, tangled around one another. The child was the first to wake. Hands went to the visitor\'s shoulders, and the child shook him into the land of the conscious. "Wake up, wake up," the child crooned. "You promised – you promised we\'d look for names today."

He came awake at the child\'s insistence, and sat up, stretching. The roads were no longer wet, but he could hardly dare believe he had indeed slept out of doors that night. Was it a mere dream? The child\'s face was bright, excited. So not a dream, then. Who was this child? Where did the child belong? He shook his head and stood. His clothing was dry as though the rains of the night before had never happened. Perhaps they hadn\'t. Maybe he\'d dreamed it all.

"Are you sure you don\'t need to go where you belong?" he asked, trying to once more ease the child back into the right path. It was not right for such a young being to be out alone like this. Everyone belonged somewhere; why not this child then? Where did the child belong?

But no matter what he asked, the child denied everything, insisting only that they go seek the names they needed. Eventually, he gave up on trying to convince the child otherwise and bowed his head. "Where you go, I will come with you," he promised.

"Why so solem?" the child inquired, head tilted. "Why not joyous? There\'s a happy time today, you know. Names! Only imagine – can you imagine? Not bound by anything else. You know we could have more than one, if we really wanted. Best not to overindulge, of course, but still – more than one name! It might make up for a lifetime of never being called."

"Only known?"

"You do understand!" the child squealed. "So you have longed as well! Don\'t bother denying it – if you know the way you\'re called, then you know the importance of names. How on earth to find someone called the same as you, yes?"

Though the course of the speech, the child had steadily been guiding him on, pulling him by the hand. The babbling was excited, and pleasing to listen to, if the subject was dangerous. Names! Really.

"I once thought I could make a name for myself, you know," the child continued, turning a corner.

He resisted briefly; the alleyway was foreboding.

"Why are you stopping? Are you afraid? There\'s nothing to be afraid of, I promise! Names won\'t hurt you. They just say that because they want to keep you in check. They\'ve been keeping tabs on all of you, you know. They follow you at night, and they stalk the white rooms." The child shivered, though not from cold. "They put little cameras into the white rooms. They make it warm in the white rooms, and inviting, so you\'ll say there. I suppose they put cameras in the black rooms too, just to keep track of those coming, but mostly in the white. They want to know who you are, you understand."

When the child paused for breath, he pulled his hand from the child\'s. "You mustn\'t say such things," he cautioned, his voice slightly rough. "You shouldn\'t be thinking such things! What would the others think to hear you talk like this?"

"Oh, I expect they\'d think me quite mad," the child answered cheerfully. "I suppose I am, you know. I see things that you can\'t, and I hear them too. There are conspiracies everywhere. They look for you, and then they find you and next thing you know, you\'re gone. Vanished. They like doing things like that, until they had too many of you around, and then they started grouping, I suppose. Yes, that must be it. They started sticking you all in groups. Well, I am not in a group, you can be assured of that. I decided when this all first started that I\'d never been in a group. I like myself the way I am. Now on for those names – "

Eventually he stopped listening the child\'s words. They made little sense, and most was speculation, not fact. The idea that someone was watching though, had him turning his head each time they rounded a corner, peeking, just in case someone should be following. If the child were right – and he didn\'t guess that the child was, but one could never be too careful – then mightn\'t something be done about it? He did not care for the idea of being watched. The white rooms had always been safe to stay in. The notion that perhaps they were not as safe as they seemed was an acutely disquieting one. He shook his head. The prattle of a child; why place store by it?

The child turned another corner, and he paused again to cast a glance over his shoulder. The child sighed exasperatedly. "They\'re not watching us now," the child reprimanded. "I\'d know if they were; I can feel them."

"Can you, now?"

"Yes, yes, of course," the child answered impatiently. "It\'s like waking up because of eyes staring at you. You turn all about and nothing comes into focus, but you know they\'re still there. Discomforting, of course, but ultimately harmless. At least…waking up to it is; actually being watched, I\'m not so sure about." The child shrugged. Another corner.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To the names."

"Where are the names?" He was quite confident he could handle a child, and there was little so far to dispute his claim, but the way the child continued forward, showing little doubt as to where they were going put a slight doubt in his mind. What if this was a trap? What if the child was supposed to find those who were searching for names? He shouldn\'t be here at all, least of all with this young one.

"The wizard has them," the child replied as if it should have been obvious.

"The wizard?" he echoed. The title was not one he knew.

"Yes," the child agreed. "The wizard. Now be quiet – he\'s calling, and I can\'t hear him right if you keep speaking like that."

Bemused, he quieted, waiting while the child tapped impatiently on a stone wall. Moments later they were off again, headed deeper into the maze of alley that he had not even known existed.



"Where exactly are we going?" he asked conversationally.

"I told you, the wizard knows."

"Yes," he said, scooping the scowling child up and smiling, "but where is this wizard of yours? And where exactly is he leading us?"

"To him," the child supplied at once. "Put me down."

He sighed and set the child back down. "Better?"

"Much. Now come on – we haven\'t got all day." Again, the child was off, though he could see that the child was taking smaller steps, and favoring feet that must be sore as anything. "You won\'t catch anything, least of all a name by staying back there!" the child called.

He shook his head and tried to cover the smile that came to his face. Of course. "Coming." It took him a little while to catch up to the darting shadow, but when he did, he scooped the child up once more.

"We already went over this – don\'t pick me up," the child ordered. The child seemed quite annoyed with him, and it made him smile all the more.

"I can\'t carry you?" he teased gently. "Why not?"

"Because," the child protested, wriggling in his arms, "you don\'t have a name yet, and neither do I. Plenty of time for carrying me places once we both have our names."