Chapter 9 – Aftermath

Night came to the orphanage. The envoy of carriages had long departed at dusk. They left rumours and theory crafting in their wake. With stark acknowledgement that many would not sleep tonight, the headmistress organised a late supper to be held in the dining hall.

The hubbub of people being Chosen was of a different nature to that of the Choosing Ceremony. While there was some celebration, most of Castoria’s wards were left with questions. With a magick garden drifting in a fake breeze above their heads, the young wards of Castoria talked. A cacophony of whispers Willam could not handle tonight.

“The Hierarch and Grand Vizier, here!”

“Travelling in Castoria of all places.”

“I wonder why they were here? Is the Archon in trouble again?”

“Why come to the orphanage?”

“How come they were Chosen tonight?”

“Good for them…”

“I envy them…”

“I pity them, did you hear about…”

“What makes them so special?”

“Why wasn’t it me?”

“Will we ever see them again?”

“It doesn’t matter, the ceremony is next week.”

Friends hugged one another. Peers joked and laughed about the absurdity of the day. Memories were shared of those who were Chosen. The children would describe the night as a sending off of adventurers; Willam would term it a wake. The Carers removed themselves from the rumour mill. Yet, it did not stop them keeping an ear close by to the louder gossips. Georgy tried to approach Willam, but he signalled to help Melia. For as much as Willam felt like a he’d been draped in a drenched blanket, Melia looked like she’d fallen into the abyss of numbness. She had not been able to say goodbye.

Willam drank the night draught of spiced milk. He did not speak besides a meek thank you to the server. Mattias at one point emerged, the smell and hair of horse trapped in his bushy black beard. He wordlessly sat with Willam for a moment. It had been months since they last spoke. He toasted Julia and Evelyn, the last of the Federation orphans. Willam downed his cup, and thanked Mattias with a nod. Without any more attempts to converse, as Willam was mute, Mattias departed. Willam decided then to return his cup, refusing to meet Delilah’s eyes at the washing trays.

“Hey lad. I heard about you and Julia. Tough that, ay. At least she’ll be well cared for.”

Willam tried to swallow the pressure in his throat. He opened his mouth only to close it. He had nothing to say.

“I-ah… I’m sure she’ll try stay in touch, lad. She knows where we are. And, you know, the kitchen is always open if you want to make something to send her way. Okay, lad?”

Willam nodded, eyes downcast.

He dropped off his cup and returned to his room. He’d walked the orphanages halls for season after season, for seventeen cycles, but never had the walls closed in on him as they did tonight. He tripped over his own feet a couple times, but besides some scuffs to his knees he returned to his room physically intact.

Mentally, Willam was tired. So very very tired. It was a fatigue of the soul, if he waxed poetic. He didn’t. He crumpled into a ball on his bed. He lay there in his closet of a room, listening to the whistling of the wind as it kept time with the metronome regularity of his tears.

Willam woke from his sleep tired. He laid in bed. His arm was over his eyes. It was another day, even if the world had changed.

He got dressed, tried brushing back his unruly hair and sighed as it remained the same as always; unruly. He meandered to his desk, checking that, yes, his plant was still dead, yes there were books he needed to return to the Librarium, and, yes, the window still did not exist. He almost chuckled. Maybe things were the same as always.

He missed breakfast, but managed to snag some tea and some fruit. He was allocated to the Librarium this afternoon. He felt in a haze, a rut, trapped in a spiral of damp emotions and pointless tasks. It was what it was.

He munched on the crunchy fruit, sour syrup gushing from it. Besides a pursing of his lips it failed to liven him up. It was one of those days. His body tired, his mind fatigued. The flowers on the ceiling or outside in the real garden existed in much the same way he did; blowing along to the wind of the world yet remaining perpetually in place. He grimaced. He’d bitten into the core of his haphazard meal. It was bitter.

He drank his tea and returned his cup to the kitchen. He left it on the window sill that looked into the courtyard. Inside He could see the cooks getting on with their preparations for the next meal. Closest to Willam was Delilah, at a bench with a knife and chopping board.

“Hullo Willam.” Delilah called out from her station. She was busy dicing spuds for the evening meal. “What are you up to?”

Willam muttered. “Nothing much. I’ll be in the Librarium this afternoon.”

“Ah, your duties. I might swing round if I can catch a break.” She indicated to the bucket of spuds next to her. “At least I can see my work load decreasing, paper-pushing was never a job I envied.”

Willam nodded.

Delilah looked up from her board. She squinted at the young man. She opened her mouth only to bite her lip. She was hesitant to say what was on her mind. Willam was not in the mood to care.

“Bye.” He left.

He wandered the halls of the orphanage. The stonework was intricate by design. When Willam was younger he impressed Julia with his knowledge of how Castorian stone insulated and warded the homes built from it. She’d laughed when he suggested it was a prized material in the construction of magickal apparatus’ and warding off the Daomine-Fay. She called his claims lies but he had read them in a tome on Aylorian Folktales; their common history with Castoria led to each state gossipping about the other in fascinating ways.

However, he was not captivated by stonework as he walked. He shoved past some labourers fixing a leak in the corridor, not even bothering to ask about the damages and how they’ll fix it. He was as sour as his fruit.

Willam felt he was knowledgeable, by the Father he knew multitudes of facts for flora and fauna and minerals and a host of other things. His knowledge was sprawling but his curiosity had dwindled today.

I need to check on Melia. I owe her and Lain as much. Get it together Willam, she lost a brother; be better.

The wandering became a journey as Willam walked to Melia’s dorm.

She did not speak. Willam was allowed in by the Carer of the dorm. He sat down on Melia’s bed and listened. There were no tears, but he could hear her sob. He lifted his hand as if to pat her on the back. He didn’t think. Instead he sat silent. His jaw working up the courage to open.

“He’s not gone, is he Klutzy?” Willam didn’t know how to respond. He’d watched Julia do it countless times with countless people. Everyone lost and missed old friends at the orphanage. Willam had needed comforting when he was younger, but it wasn’t the same.

How do you tell a girl she may have lost her brother forever? How do you tell anyone?

“He’ll come back. He has to doesn’t he, klutzy? He never-he-” The tears started then. She choked on her memories, because it was memories that broke a person. Willam cradled her in his arms, her warm tears staining his tunic. He didn’t speak, but did grunt and nod to affirm he was listening.

Melia recounted when Lain had last pulled a stunt this horrible. He’d tricked Melia into swimming and made her feel alone, he had been hiding. She’d panicked, barely knowing how to swim herself but scared Lain had gone under and she couldn’t do anything to help. It turned out the devil had just thrown in a large stone, having recently learnt to throw his voice to sell the deception.

“Lain was always trouble you know. The Carers watched me, no matter if I was sneezing or farting, but it was always Lain. He’s so smart, Klutzy, but that man who stole him… I’ll see him again, I know I will. It won’t be like Big Sis, it can’t be…”

Willam sat with Melia for a couple hours. The sun was past its zenith as he departed her dorm. He had listened to her story about “Big Sis” the girl who had cared for them before dropping them off at the orphanage. Supposedly she’d gone to Ayloria, and that Lain and her had promised to find her once they were old enough. Willam didn’t have the heart to ask why she had to leave them, and instead offered paltry reasons as to why it may take Lain some time to visit them. He was useless. He was also late for his duty.

He did not run to the Librarium, there was no point. He was late and it happened. He felt as if an icicle dangled precariously above his heart ready to pierce him and numb him further to reality. The overload of his thoughts had left him brainless, focused on finishing the remainder of his shift and getting to dinner before bed. The thought of the full dining hall sent a shiver through his core.

He arrived and entered the musky reception of the Librarium. However, at the desk wasn’t an angry or annoyed orphan but Georgy.

“’Ullo Lad. It’s all arranged for you.” Willam walked behind the desk and found the reception area was pristine. From the return box being epmty, to the live record of loans and purchases all appeared in order. Georgy had even wiped away the dust and grime that had built up on the spare desk. Willam had long stopped caring for it as did the tutors and other fill-ins.

“Thank you, Georgy.” Willam for as much as he was grateful had a fist clenched by his side.

“Least I could do for you, lad.” He reached over and gave the boy a hug. “I understand things are tough for you right now, do you need a chat?”

Willam broke the embrace. He shook his head. His lips pulled taut over his teeth. “I’ll be ok.”

“We’ll all be okay in the end. But I’m ‘ere to Care when you aren’t, ‘ear me?” Georgy smiled, his bushy beard accentuating it. “I ‘eard you were visiting Melia… I thought I would cover, a precaution you know. No one deserves to be punished for caring is all.”

Yet, fate and destiny make it so. I care, I fail, I care, I succeed, then fail even harder.

Georgy was not a dull man. His large presence made itself known in many ways. He was a Carer but more than that he seemed to truly care for his wards. Willam knew that, a few nights ago in the rain he knew it intimately. Somehow despite the knowledge and the rational thoughts, Willam was mad at Georgy. It was stupid. It was childish. It was an emotion that brought him shame. Still, it lingered.

“I’ll see you at dinner then.” Georgy tried to pat Willam on the back as he left but he moved out of the way. He did not look up from the desk until he’d heard the Librarium door shut.

Alone in the dim room, the scent of weathered tomes and old candles surrounding him, Willam sat down. On the floor of a place he used to fuel his wonder and curiosity Willam felt lost.

He sat on the grimy stone floor with his head in his hands. He didn’t think. He just felt.