The Weight of Fire

After the fawn died, Aru burned it—with real effort. It was incredibly difficult to dig the soil without a shovel, and she wasn’t sure burning it was even a good idea in the woods, but she had no choice. She grabbed its rear leg and dragged it out of the forest until she reached an open clearing. By doing so, she hoped to prevent the fire from spreading through the forest. The little fawn’s cold body was heavier than she expected. Still, she managed to drag it, sweating and breathing raggedly, but without complaint.

When she reached the creek that flowed through the woods, she noticed that both banks were clear enough to burn the fawn without starting a forest fire. She collected as many branches and dry leaves as she could and piled them on top of the fawn. It was her first time burning a body, but she’d seen illustrations of it in books countless times. She knew she had to start the fire the old way—with wood.

She picked up a small stick from the pile, placed its tip against the dry leaves, and began spinning it between her palms, just as she had been taught. The friction between the stick and leaves began producing a faint smolder. Aru quickened her movements. Finally, a small spark flickered on the leaves. She blew gently to help it catch. It worked. A small flame began burning slowly within the pile. She stepped back and waited.

As if the wind conspired to help her, it blew softly, feeding the flame. In no time, the fire devoured the fawn’s body. She stood still and watched the flames reach toward the sky, surrounding the creature’s remains hungrily. She watched its fur lose color, its flesh peel away from bone, and its form turn to ash and charred wood.

She remained until the fire lost its fury and no longer threatened the forest. The sun had fully sunk beyond the horizon, and darkness cloaked everything. She knew she should’ve left earlier, but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to leave the fawn alone. She was ready to face whatever punishment the nuns decided upon. Maybe the boys had already tattled on her. It was possible, though unlikely—they’d have to admit their own wrongdoing first. But they were many, and Aru was just one. They could lie, and she had no one to defend her.

Still, she didn’t care. She trudged back toward the wall, as if walking in a dream. The forest now looked darker, more menacing. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to care—not even if a koncolos or red-wife leapt from a bush to attack her.

She ignored the darkness. Ignored the pressing, smothering feeling that surrounded her. Ignored the sounds of the night. Her only focus: keep walking. Just remembering to take one step after the next was challenge enough. Something rustled behind her. The raven cawed again. Another rustle in the bushes—something was following her, drawing nearer. She didn’t turn her head. She didn’t stop. Just keep walking.

Finally, she reached the wall. Then—

A loud thud. A howl of something—something not of this world. As if snapped from her trance, she turned to look behind her. The bushes shuddered and writhed. Something in there groaned in pain. A roar pierced the air. Two unseen creatures were fighting behind the thicket. Only then did Aru feel her blood begin to race. Every muscle tensed, screaming one command: **Run!**

And she ran. As fast as she could.

She didn’t look back. Didn’t dare.

When she reached the wall, panting, she slammed her shoulder into the loose stone, knocked it free, squeezed through, and quickly pulled it back into place. She pressed her hand against it, ensuring nothing tried to push through. Then she focused on steadying her breath. When she finally calmed herself and realized the stone wasn’t being disturbed, she took off again.

She crept back along the path behind the settlement. The night was dark enough, and the path nearly hidden among trees, so she made it back to the dormitory unnoticed. Still, she knew she was in trouble. They must’ve realized she was gone by now.

When she reached the dormitory, she didn’t go in directly. She hid behind a tree, waiting for an opening. If there was even a small chance no one had noticed her absence, she wouldn’t risk blowing it now.

She watched the guards. They stood on either side of the front entrance. She needed to distract them.

She searched the ground and found a large rock. If she could throw it far enough into the trees to make a noise, they might investigate—and she could slip in.

She threw the rock with all her might. It hit a branch with a loud thud, shaking it as though someone were lurking there. The guards’ trained eyes immediately turned.

“Who’s there?” one called. When no answer came, they exchanged glances. The shorter one stepped forward. The other nodded and let him go investigate.

But one wasn’t enough. She needed both distracted.

She picked up another rock and tossed it again, aiming farther. What happened next, she hadn’t expected.

“AHH!”

A loud cry echoed from the trees.

She’d hit the first guard. In the head.

Aru gasped. She felt terrible—but at least it worked. The second guard rushed after his injured comrade.

She didn’t wait. She sprinted to the main gate, keeping her steps as quiet as possible.

Once inside, she turned left toward the nuns’ and virgins’ wing. She padded silently through the corridor, passing no one. The dormitory interior was simple, elegant. White marble floors gleamed from excessive cleaning. Doors lined the hall—some opening to modest rooms with small bathrooms, others leading to lavish chambers with private baths, dining areas, or studies. Every third door stood between carved columns, their surfaces etched with scenes of Ulghan’s celestial battles. The ceilings stretched high above, crowned with candlelit chandeliers.

She ascended the stairs to the second floor where her room was. As she walked the hallway, footsteps approached. She ducked behind a column, hoping the shadows would hide her. The figures passed. She exhaled deeply and darted the rest of the way.

Reaching her room, she pushed the door open, slipped inside, and shut it behind her. She leaned against it, eyes closed, chest still heaving.

Then—

“Aru! Is that you?”

Manday’s voice, panicked.

Manday sat on her bed opposite Aru’s, her face illuminated by a faint candle. Her eyes radiated worry.

“Where were you, honey? I was about to lose my mind!”

Aru exhaled. She had worried her. She stepped closer and took Manday’s hands.

“I’m sorry, Manday. It’s been... a rough day.”

Manday examined her face.

“Oh, Ulghan! What happened to you?”

Aru must’ve looked awful. She touched her cheek, remembering the paint.

“No one touched me. I swear.”

“You look like you’ve been crying.”

Aru didn’t respond.

“What happened, my child? You can tell me.”

Aru wanted to. She wanted to explain how horrible the day had been, how much she cried. But if she told Manday everything, she’d also reveal the secret she’d kept for months: sneaking out. She couldn’t lose that freedom.

So she stayed silent and sobbed.

Manday watched her quietly. Her eyes spoke volumes. She stood, walked over, and hugged Aru tightly.

And Aru let go. Her shoulders trembled. Her chest convulsed with silent sobs.

Manday didn’t ask more. She led her to the bath. She undressed her gently, as she’d done since Aru was nine. Aru didn’t mind. Manday washed her face, neck, arms—removing paint, dust, and ash. Each stroke of the sponge lifted the weight from Aru’s soul.

When they finished, and Aru was wrapped in warm towels, she looked into Manday’s eyes.

“I won’t ask anything you’re not ready to tell,” Manday said. “But I’m here. Always.”

“I know\...” Aru whispered.

“Did anyone notice you were gone?”

“No. I didn’t tell anyone. But if you hadn’t returned in five more minutes, I would’ve gone to the guards. And Temene... she wouldn’t like hearing her favorite virgin was outside the walls.”

Aru’s eyes widened.

“You knew?”

“I grew up here too, remember?” Manday chuckled.

Aru’s guilt tightened.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t want to seem like I didn’t trust you. But if you knew, I thought you might forbid it. And it’s the only thing that makes me feel free.”

“I understand. No one understands that better than me. These walls—they’re safety. You’ll see it someday. But outside isn’t forbidden. Just... be wise. That forest is ancient. Some say it’s older than the world itself. Others say the Beech Tree grows there. You know what that means?”

“It may harbor all kinds of creatures.”

“It does. I’ve known people who learned that the hard way. Please don’t be one of them.”

“I won’t...”

Manday smiled gently.

“Now, will you tell me what happened?”

Aru hesitated—but the warmth in Manday’s eyes made her feel safe. She told her everything. The boys. The fawn. The ritual. The fire.

Manday listened calmly. At times, tears welled again, and Manday rubbed her shoulder.

When Aru finished, she waited—hoping for a response.

Manday stared at the dwindling candle, then spoke.

“You hate being called gifted. But you are, Aru. I don’t know anyone else who could complete a passing ritual and summon more than a gatekeeper.”

Aru blinked. “What?”

“Gatekeepers are light. They have no shape—only light. If someone goes to the heavens, we see warm white light. If not... a shadow. But you saw hands. A body. Eyes. Only higher beings have form. Only the mighty can summon them.”

Aru frowned. She didn’t want to be compared to Temene, though Temene always declared her as a successor.

Manday, as if reading her, said:

“Don’t worry—I won’t tell anyone. But denying what you are won’t help you. You work so hard to seem average. But you shine too bright. Even the blind could see it. Instead of hiding... why not push yourself? Not down—but up?”

Aru swallowed. Manday was right. Maybe it was time.

“I’ll try,” Aru whispered. “And I won’t feel guilty for it.”

Manday stroked her hair.

“That’s my girl.”

...