“This world is too dangerous.”

-Love Long Gone

Sylva deeply inhaled the scent of grass and wildflowers. The cool morning air cleansed her lungs from the filth of Repute town, her home. It forever reeked of manure, fish, rotting vegetables, and sometimes damp hay bales. Only the occasional whiff of pleasantness from the bakery made it tolerable. No visitor would be amiss to say the townsfolk had personalities to match. Beneath fake smiles, and pleasantries hid self-serving creatures. Such a lovely place to live.

Yet in these fields Sylva found peace at dawn–the hour of the lacunae drifters. These seemingly giant dandelion seeds, in truth, were lacunae spores. Hungry ink black patches of earth that took people into unknown territory like quicksand— or perhaps lacunae lead nowhere. Drifters helped lacunae spread like a deadly fungus, infecting those it touched. Like sticky tree sap, it spread over the body until it covered you completely; then it’d collapse to the ground as a small lacuna. The only trace that life once stood there.

However, Sylva and her father Dein could touch lacunae and drifters without infection. They did suffer a powerful, electric-like shock upon contact, but otherwise no one knew what made them immune. Dein had his speculations, but when Sylva pestered him to share he always replied with a vague, “Not knowing keeps you safe.”

 The warmth of sunrise covered the sky as drifters passed Sylva, lazily floating on the faintest currents of air. Using only the tips of pale her fingers she outstretched a hand to touch one; beams of sunglight sneaking between her fingers. The drifters' shock felt like an insect crawling along her arm, tickling her. She giggled.

A single drifter held little power, but full size lacuna could debilitate her. At just five years old she touched a full size lacuna and the pain lasted for days. She never wanted to touch a lacuna again, but at age eleven she accidentally discovered that drifters didn’t hurt much; and thus began a year of experiments. Experiments to understand where the lacuna led. Experiments to understand the visions.

Eagerly Sylva put her palm against a drifter stem to receive visions and sounds of a great looming city. The roar of machines carrying people, conversations about sending something called a text, and people pushily holding out colorful papers to passerby that often went ignored. Everyone wore unique clothes, though many wore a similar blue pants. The sky could barely be seen among the cloud reaching buildings. Delicious sweet smells wafted from white cups held by passerby. It was a place so unlike the crude town she lived in. She wished she could prove to her father that this wasn't something of their world.

When she told Dein about the visions, he concluded that she saw the greater cities of their world, and that she shouldn’t breathe a word about it to anyone. They’d think she was crazy. Normal people didn’t have visions. She argued that it was different than the great cities, but he gave her look that meant enough is enough. Although silenced, she decided to find proof her father couldn’t deny before she brought it up again.

A drifter bumped into her open palm and she caught a flash of the city once more. A child looking around, crying—lost. She wanted to help, but it was only a vision. In the next moment a woman came to reassure the child, and the vision disappeared.

Sylva blinked slowly as she returned to her reality, eyes heavy. In her hand was a gently clasped drifter. Gasping, she threw it into the air. She’d never done that before, no wonder the vision lasted longer. Did that make her tired?…Oh well. Maybe she'd just gotten up too early in her excitement to come to the fields. Next!

She caught another vision this time of someone buying what appeared to be a twisted kind of bread from a metal cart. The person burned their tongue after drinking from their white cup, and shared a laugh with their friend. The vision faded.

“Oi, is tha’ Ghos'?” A boy called from across the field. The low, raspy voice could only belong to Quinn, the mayor’s son. A year older than Sylva, and leader among the children.

Gasping Sylva ducked down among the tall grass. The children wouldn’t dare come into the field until the drifters left, but neither would they leave the edge until they caught her. The best time of their day was bullying her. She never saw them so excited for anything else. Not even playing with each other.

They had come up with the nickname Ghost because every part of her, from skin to hair, was pale as could be. Most people around these parts had pigment in their skin and hair— unless the color naturally faded with age.

What did the other children want? To throw mud at her–To add color to her near white skin. Rub grass in her hair to dye it. To make her more... like them. Once, they kicked her to bring some life to her skin, but after Dein found out, it never happened again. If she looked at them with her dead, pale blue eyes, then they got angry. To them, it meant she was cursing them like a nasty witch. Quinn usually lead the torment in the rare chance they caught her to stop the curses from taking effect. Shaking her head free of these imaginings, she crawled through the grass doing her best not to disturb the fronds.

“C’mon! The drif’ers are gone!” Quinn shouted to the others.

Sylva glanced up at the empty blue sky. He was right. The warm peaceful dawn had faded. Her foot hit the cobblestone of a side road. Children’s voices faded as they searched deeper in the fields. No where near her. 

        The smell of town invaded her nostrils like sludge. Sylva gagged as she adjusted to it. Boots rasped over the dirty cobblestones as she scurried down the side road. At the main road she flipped up her hood to greet the next challenge. Adults.

Of course they glared, the entire town considered her some kind of demon living amongst them. When adults saw her they hid their children. When she looked at any of them they glared, spat, or shooed her away. If they could toss her into a lacuna they would. Not that they would dare attempt it with her father around. When Dein was with her they simply slunk into their homes and watched from windows with fiery eyes, like a lions hunting their prey. Yet she was the demon.

        Sylva shuddered while scurrying down the road. She kept her head bowed, moving only her eyes to watch her surroundings. If she had the bad luck to make eye contact, she quickened her pace. 

        The Reputes had no free thinking. They performed an excessive number of rituals to teach people how to be acceptable in town. One for every year of life, even clueless babies underwent rituals. It was no wonder they all acted like they had one mind between them. To not conform meant exile…or worse the hunt. Her father had made sure she didn't undergo any rituals, which didn't help her get along with the other kids any better.

Dein and Sylva lived in the south west part of town. The drifter fields lay north west. Though not the farthest walk, for Sylva it was far enough. She came up to her house. A crude, sad looking stone and wood house-like the rest. She slipped through the wooden door, quietly pulling it shut behind her. Finally. Home. 

She pulled off her sweater and let out a deep sigh of relief. Hanging on a rack near a sunlit window were hand carved spoons that smelled fresh oiled wood. From the kitchen, soothing scents of drying herbs drifted around the house, and drying laundry smelling of soap nuzzled it's way in from the back door. A lazy little fire was going to sleep in the fireplace. The wood floor felt smooth under her boot…Da must have cleaned right after I left.

“I’m back.” Sylva said.

Dein sat at his loom calmly working on a complex pattern. His low humming filled the room with a melody Sylva often heard as lullaby when she was little. All her tension melted away when she heard him.

        In contrast to herself, Dein looked normal. His skin, hair and eyes had more pigment-he wasn’t ghostly. Not to mention he proved himself a useful man. He could perform most of the artisan crafts- and the town needed someone who could help them with making tools, clothes, and dinnerware. Lacunae had taken most of their artisans, and so, for these reasons alone, the town allowed them to stay.

“Did you enjoy the fresh air?” He asked without looking at her. He beat the threads in place.

“Yeah.” She said stepping on the heel of each boot to pull it off, nearly tripping when one boot refused to come off. 

“You haven’t told anyone what you’ve seen have you?” 

“Nope.” Sylva answered lightly. This was the only mention he ever made of her visions. She set her muddy boots to the left of the door.

“Did anyone bother you?” He asked turning a few of his weaving tablets.

“Nuh-uh. People glared, but I just pretended not to notice and walked faster.” Sylva went over to Dein, rising on tip toes to peer over his shoulder, “Oooooh, pretty.”

He barely glanced over his shoulder with a smile, “I have to finish this in three days.”

Sylva felt the memory of the Quinn and the others fade away as she watched her father work, the rhythm of the beating and turning like a lullaby. Shif, shif, shif, tunk, tunk, shif, tunk, tunk, shif, shif, shif.

“Can I try copying the pattern again?”

He patted the stool that he always kept next to him. With a few delighted little taps to his shoulder she bounced over to her tablet weaving. She nearly tangled the threads, but Dein took over. One end hooked over the peg attached to the wall, and the other end attached to the back strap around her hips. He waited for her to take the band for her hips while she put her hair up with a hair pin. She couldn't focus with it down. Now set up she passed the shuttle back and forth, turning her wood cards in an attempt to mimic Dein’s pattern.

She sort of picked up the pattern, but she didn’t have all the colors in the warp to copy it exactly. Unlike her father's, she had many mistakes. When he could spare a moment, Dein showed her how to correct them. Otherwise, they worked in silence, save the sound of the shuttles and beaters whacking threads. This was the time they spent together. The only time besides meals.

Her mind wandered to her father’s thoughts about their lacuna immunity. Why doesn't he just tell me?

“Sylva” Dein’s voice broke her thoughts

She guiltily grinned, “Yes?”

“Something’s on your mind.”

“No.” She tried to keep a poker face.

He arched an eyebrow, “I know that scrunched nose anywhere, what is it?”

“It’s nothing. I was just thinking about… the pattern. See it’s tricky here.” She pointed at a random row while flashing a smile.

He gave her a dubious look before returning to his work. Sylva exhaled the breath she'd unknowingly held. Now she put extra focus on her weaving only to have it quickly broken afwe minutes later by loud knocking. A customer calling for Dein.

“Dein, migh’ I come in?” Mayor Barrett’s gruff voice came through the door barely loud enough to be heard above the beating of threads. The Repute people tended to drop their t’s in many words when speaking, almost randomly. Sylva long ago concluded that not much about this town made sense. From their accents, to their fashion, to their silly rituals.

Sylva glanced at Dein who breathed deeply before answering, “Yes yes, enter.”

The mayor stepped into their home with head held high, looking around their tidy space with a frown. He was man a few years younger than Dein, maybe thirty years old. His fashion, some slapdash ensemble of half garments with a top that was half button down shirt and half loose tunic belted around the waist. His pants looked like a quilt in muted colors, with the traditional boots for the muddy town they lived in. To top it off he wore as much jewelry on his ears and fingers as he could fit. Sylva stared, openly judging his fashion choices.

“Is the robe done yeh?” The mayor asked with a hard stare at Dein’s back. The age robe would be for the coming of age ceremony. Probably for Quinn.

“You gave me a deadline three days from today. It will be done.” Her father said with unyielding patience.

Barrett snorted and crossed his arms. With a sneer he replied, “You beh’er have ih done,” He turned his gaze on Sylva, “and you.”

“Yes?” She said stiffening up under his fixed stare.

“I know you’re plo’ing agains’ us.”

Sylva’s jaw dropped trying to find some words to respond with, “I’m not plotting.”

“I heard you made a whole plan to lure the other children in’oo the drif’er fields this morning.” He strode over to her and leaned down, face inches from her own, “We’re all watching-”

Dein’s hand appeared between them, “Since you’ve taken care of your business, it’s time you left.”

Barrett gave her a final glare over Dein's hand and took his gaudy self out with a grand sneer.

Sylva stuck her tongue out at him as Dein closed the door. 

Gently chastising her Dein said, “Don’t give them reason to believe they’re right.”

“Yes Da.” Sylva turned back to her weaving, beating the threads with extra strength, “I didn’t do anything to them. The kids followed me on their own.”

“I know. They’re just scared of people different from them. I also suspect rumors about me have reached here, which will affect you too.”

“But I’ve never done anything to them!” Sylva said. Her eyes glazed over. She tried to storm off to her room but Dein caught her by the shoulders.

He knelt down to her level saying, “Sylva…” He turned her around so their eyes could meet, “You know why we stayed here?”

“Because other towns kicked you out for something you said,” Sylva looked away, “But what could have been so bad that we’ve had to move five times?”

“If no one wants to hear the truth, then they'll make a bad thing of it.” He said forlornly.

“Can’t you just tell me? I won’t tell anyone.” She tensely balled her hands into fists to stop herself from crying.

“No, now isn't the time for this discussion.”

“Da?” She crossed her arms, darting glances at him, “It’s not fair.”

He gave an unusually heavy sigh, “I know, but not knowing keeps you safe.”

She wriggled free from his grip and plunked herself down at her weaving. TUNK TUNK, SHIF, SHIF, TUNK. Dein placed his hands over hers. She stopped.Hunching over, shoulders up to her ears was her only defense against the tears.

He softly pulled her into a hug and let her cry. She calmed when he stroked her head with the gentlest hand. The scent of pinewood surrounded her. He always smelled like pine from his woodwork. It told her she was home, wherever they went.

“You know,” Dein dried the tears on her face with his sleeve, “I’m always here for you.”

She nodded nose a bit sniffly. Not knowing keeps me safe. Da knows what he’s doing. Not knowing keeps me safe.Da knows what he’s doing.