Chapter Two Bell Fire

The sun—whistling in birds, refracted in glass—slipped from Theia’s fingers. Sweat had formed in her hairline, warmth flushed throughout her muscles, her bones ached from tireless grinding and crushing. And now, the subtle numb of stillness that followed. Through panelled windows in the distance, parents called to bring their children home. Wood expanded in the cool evening—as if the town were releasing a long held breath.

Theia looked around the shop one final time. She regarded the parcel now emptied of its tarts. Thoin was talented in his art, Shaela had often said so. Her mother had already moved from the laboratory to the home, and so Theia was left to finish up. She wiped her brow, gathered her things, then prepared to step out. Yet she lingered. Theia moved to a small pantry at the back of the store. She pulled out a key from her side and inserted it into a small lockbox. Click. Inside were several tinctures, filled with a ruddy-brown liquid wrapped in ornate labels. She picked one up, gazing into it. Her mother had said the Pyre wanted laudanum, and Theia could not reason why? What use could heavy sedatives serve a guard searching for missing persons? It made little sense, they must have discovered something. Theia placed the tincture back in the box and returned to closing the store.

She locked the door behind her then turned to see golden light across their cozy home. She breathed in the fresh air—salty and evergreen—then strode forth. Her boots crunched across gravel passing through unkempt hedges, creaking open wooden gates and finally ducking beneath a wooden beam covered in pebbleweed. The sprawling view of Mora met her vision: sparse rooftops and a few plumes of smoke encircled by a dense wood. Azirast Wood. Shaela stood under an old oak by a fence post. She held a ceramic mug clasped in both hands, and sipped from it. Theia smelled lavender and lemon balm.

“All done?” Shaela asked.

“Sealed, cleaned and banked.”

“And—”

“Yes, locked as well.”

Shaela faced her and smiled, regarding Theia a moment. Her attention drifted back to the town while she drew a sip from her mug. Theia admired the serenity and poise her mother seemed to infuse into her surroundings. Though she found it difficult to appreciate peace in the same way. Her mind always felt too restless, only feeling calm in the throes of action: in training, brewing and exploring. Or thinking about the next task. When she watched her mother’s slow stride through life, she was reminded of her own wild meandering. Even now, her eyes traced across houses and searched for her next destination.

She spotted it. A place called Amberglow Inn. The Inn had ruddy tiles on a shallow roof, central to the town. It was a hub for visiting sailors and merchants, gilded light running low across it’s heritage tree, a bell fire. Pale bark. Soft. Small red bell-shaped flowers emerging from its twigs and branches. She couldn’t see them now, but she imagined the stippled orange flecks flaring across each flower like ember sparks. The bell fire was just as breathtaking up close as it was from a distance. A rare sight. Most of her life she’d stared at that tree, always finding new ways to appreciate it. And she supposed that was how her mother felt as well, peering out across the town. She knew in her mind she should feel the same about Mora. The people she cared about were here. Friends. Family. And still her thoughts whisked her from here, wandering upon notions of there.

“There’s that look again,” Shaela said.

Theia started. She was thinking about leaving again. She looked down. Why could she not be satisfied with what she had? She wanted to run away, as if that would be some freedom… from what? A calm, safe life? A life where she had people who cared about her, people who relied on her? Those who were in pain and needed her help? No. Elrik, Shari and Lynette—their disappearance wasn’t her fault, but it might as well be. She had done nothing to help them. And now: she gathered herbs, brewed tea to calm the nerves, and clapped her hands together calling it a day.

Theia did not notice her hands balling into fists.

“Do you remember when you used to climb that tree?” Shaela asked, nodding to the bell fire.

Theia looked up, pulled from her thoughts.

“I would watch from all the way up here. You would scamper to the base of it and stare up. Then, one branch at a time you would climb higher. It used to give me such a fright, worrying you’d slip… and I could only watch from a distance as I imagined the worst happening. I remember I would grab Old Yan by his collar and say, ‘if you let my little girl fall… the Thirteen won’t protect you.’”

She smirked.

“And he would nod, and I’d see him watching you as well. And then the day came. The worst happened. On a quiet bleak morning, when most of the town was at rest and you were awake, bright as the sun: you fell. And I felt the air leave my chest. And Old Yan was sleeping. And it was as if all time slowed around me. Leaves falling. Your body still.”

She placed her mug on the fence post.

“And then your head shot up. And it was so quiet I heard your laughter up the hillside. You were actually laughing, like the very resonance of the world had conspired to bring you back to me.”

“Why are you telling me this?“

“Because I see how you stare beyond Mora, your morning trips to the beach. Because I glimpsed then what I know now… that you can survive anything Thie. And I can’t keep holding you back. You have the same look in your eye that I once did.”

Shaela placed a hand on Theia’s back, warm and comforting. She shrugged it off. Stepping toward the town. She could feel her mother’s eyes on her back. The air stagnant.

“Did my father have the same look, before he left?”

Shaela pulled back slightly, her eyes becoming hard.

“You don’t want to see the world, do you? This has never been about traveling. You want to find… him.”

How could she know? How did she always know? Theia let Shaela take her hands, feeling the comforting caress of her mother’s rough thumbs against her skin. She felt her face growing hot, and so pressed it into her shoulder. A comforting hand ran along her back, then stroked her hair. As Theia pulled away, a damp patch was left upon her mother’s apron.

“I can’t leave Mora, not yet. Not with people going missing and you needing me in the shop.”

“I’ve survived in the shop without you for many years, I’m sure I can do so again.” When Theia made to respond Shaela raised a placating hand. “But if you don’t feel you’re ready, I understand. Just something to consider. There’s a whole world out there, and though it frightens me half to death, you ought to see it.”

Theia didn’t realise she had needed to hear the words, as if hearing them out loud had unlocked something within, like she was finally able to give herself permission to move forward. She felt her heart beat at the thought, she’d never been far beyond the town. Where would she go? What could she see?

“Thank you… for everything.”

“You’re my daughter.”

“I know, still… thank you.”

The rest of their time was spent in sight-sweeping reverie, and it was not long before Theia was walking down the path with a bag of her things and a neatly tucked gift that Shaela had given her. Accompanying the gift was a letter and her mother’s instructions to open both in moonlight. Always a flair for the dramatic, that woman. It was at the halfway point of her journey that she considered a first day resolution. She did want to see the world… and… and she also wanted to kiss Remias.