The sun was rising, although it remained dark in the forest. The shadows gave way by degrees in the canopy, while shafts of light spread their optimism in dapples around the foliage. In the clearing, Kopekchol came down from the tree he hid in the night before and knelt by the stream’s bank. The first occasion, maybe the last, when he lowered himself like that outside the Temple. He thought of the holy water in the fountains, but the idea faded away in the next instant. Too tired to focus, the river distorted his reflection. Feeling dirty, he almost removed his mask to wash his face, but he could not bear his appearance. It was ironic; he still had not seen his own face, but discerning what he looked like proved all too easy for him. It was the Seer’s, but younger, certainly paler, and with the eyes that madman had given up many years before. The jolt of the image woke him. Putting up with Professor Elren’s gaze in the current, at least now, proved to lie beyond his reach, and he looked away.
His feelings overwhelmed him that morning. For the first time in years, he had more to process than what he could handle and nothing to distract himself with. I never felt comfortable in my own skin, as if it weren’t mine. Now I know why. For once, Jordan had told the truth. He carried another’s spells in his body from the day of his birth, so that it may as well have been Mr. Telsiki’s. And that same man not only trained him to search for perfection; the boy realized he had been taught to hate his own frame, for its insuperable limitations. His body was only a means to an end, obstructing the path to victory.
Now he understood why Pahl Telsiki was always hard on him, his very existence sullied in his eyes. And yet, his new reality somehow took what little sense his body once offered to him away. Maybe, he thought fearfully, because it shows me it never really made sense. Maybe I made it all up myself. All of this gave him more reason to hate his so-called father. Hatred. The lightless flame, which sears whoever nurtures it. Immediately, that feeling brought shame and guilt, for his mother taught him to hate no one. Even worse, such a passion made him exactly like Pahl. He wrapped his arms around his shoulders, as though the darkness which welled up inside him, only now subsided, left clinging hoarfrost.
There’s no way out for me anymore. Please save me, God. Please.
Even with so much pain oppressing him, the unfortunate youth had even more to think about, and the more he thought, the more it all tortured him. Bibon filled the remaining space in his mind with confusion, sorrow, and more guilt. I was better when I had you, but I had to break your heart, he told himself; I never wanted to, ever. And now I can’t beg your forgiveness. Every wave of thought and feeling washed over him more intensely than the last. He stared at his reflection in spite of himself, trying in vain to ignore them. His face reddened, and the tensions flooded out his sense of time. At some point, a conflicted climax overtook him, like when a drowning man gulps in the surrounding water, followed by a sense of dubious relief. The feeling of ecstasy —of stepping outside oneself— is often associated with emotional improvement after it ends, something Kopekchol did not experience. He became more disappointed in himself —in some way impure— as if he managed to see himself from the outside and held himself in even lower esteem than before. With that, he rose furtively, looking at his hands and waist.
Instead of an empowering catharsis, Kopekchol could finally enjoy some clarity. Jordan’s safer if I’m gone. Bibon, too. I can’t go back to the Academy, but I don’t have to stay in the woods. It’s time for me to fix myself. I should start by going home.
What say you?