Blinders

It was darker than it had been in months. Most of the others wouldn't be able to tell, even if they did dare to take off their blinders. Normally this would have excited Brok, but after tonight, it wouldn't matter. Nothing would matter any more.

The fireflies in the valley seemed to feel the coming change as well. Instead of slow swoops or lazy spirals they zipped from here to there with great energy. They even seemed to glow brighter, though it was hard to tell for sure.

Without wearing his blinders, his eyes were being exposed to the full array of the electromagnetic spectrum; ultraviolet, "visual" light, and, as with the blinders, infrared. The way all of the other colors mixed in with the infrared light made just looking at things overpowering with equal parts chaos and wonder. Nighttime, at least, was the easiest on his eyes. It was far less confusing, though no less delightful, when the sun had gone down and the only sources of light were the fireflies. Even the pale light of the moon could wash everything in waves of energy that made the valley difficult to look at.

Lately, it seemed, the cloudy nights mimicked his thoughts. After weeks of inner struggle, he had reluctantly come to accept a dark decision. Over those same weeks the sky grew dim as his mind clouded with the weight of what he was about to do. Normally Brok would take walks amongst the flying lights, but the once-intoxicating wonder of the bugs had lost its potency.

His resolution had made him sad and introverted. He found himself snapping at his friends for no apparent reason. He'd lost most of them by now but, oddly, he didn't care anymore. When his parents tried to question him about his behavior he would yell at them and leave the house. He used to get beatings for a thing like that, but now his parents were more likely to look at each other with worried faces.

It's probably all for the best, he thought. When the Midnight Council meets tonight, everything will change. The less people care about me, the less they will end up hurting in the end.

A noise behind him startled Brok, but he gave no outward sign of it. He lazily donned his blinders as a familiar shambling walk and its owner approached him.

"Brok! It's past curfew! Why are you out here so late? Are you trying to get a sick-day tomorrow?" a filthy and chronically upbeat young man asked.

Though no one could see into the mirrored surface of anyone's infra-goggles, Mordell could tell Brok was giving him a cold stare in response to his question. He'd seen this particular stare a lot over the past few weeks. Though it wasn't in his nature to be confrontational, Mordell, too, had made a decision. It was time to carry it out.

"Brok" he said, "I'm tired of this. You're going to get caught."

"You're out here too!" Brok snapped. He was suddenly very angry. He'd grown accustomed to being told what to do by the Elders, but he wasn't going to take it from anyone he didn't have to. What happened to Mordell? He used to be the most passive, easy-going guy he knew. Now he's turning on him, just like Brok's other "friends."

"That's not what I was talking about," Mordell shot back nervously, pointing to Brok's goggles. "Someone besides me is going to find out you've been taking off your infra-goggles. What if it wasn't me coming up the path? What if I was the Chief?"

"If you were the Chief," Brok sneered, "this whole place would have caved in years ago."

Mordell went rigid. Brok knew immediately that he had gone too far. It had been Mordell's dream since he was old enough to walk to become an Elder; maybe even Chief. And mentioning a cave-in...

Without a word, Mordell turned around and started back into the tunnels.

"Mordell!" Brok cried.

Mordell stopped walking.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, it's just that…"

"Brok," Mordell started in a weary tone, "I came out here tonight to tell you that Elder Futhark is looking for you. I also came to let you know that you are my friend."

Brok interrupted, "I know, Mordell, you're my friend too. I never meant…"

"I also wanted to let you know that the next time I see you without your infra-goggles, I am telling your parents. You've changed so much in the past few months that I don't even recognize you anymore. I want you the way you used to be. Before you chased the rest of our friends away. Before you changed." Mordell disappeared down the mouth of the tunnel.

Brok wanted to call after Mordell, tell him to come back. He wanted to threaten him not to tell anyone about taking off his blinders. He wanted to let Mordell know he was sorry. He wanted to let him in on his painful decision. He wanted to hit Mordell. He wanted to cry.

He did none of these things. What he wanted didn't matter anymore. He just stood dumbly beyond the entrance of the tunnel.

"That's enough, Brok," Elder Futhark said finally, "We'll save the rest for tomorrow."

The Elder watched his young acolyte with mixed emotions as Brok put the push broom back in the closet. Brok had always been his favorite pupil. He was smart, helpful, unselfish and very insightful. It was a pleasure to watch him grow into a young man.

Lately, however, Brok had been distant. He used to stop by unannounced to help clean the Outer Chambers of the Great Hall. Now he would only come when he had been requested. This was the first time Elder Futhark had seen Brok in weeks. He had hoped Brok would have recovered from the accident by now, but instead of returning to his old self, he seemed to be slipping into a place of self-pitying isolation. Mordell was much better now and it was Mordell's brother, Misso, who had died in the cave-in. Elder Futhark wondered why Brok wasn't more like Mordell. He thought about that for a second and chuckled out loud.

"Sir?" Brok looked up.

"Oh, something just struck my funny-bone, Brok. Come, have a seat."

Brok sat down on his old seat. It was a simple wooden chair, varnished with the backsides of dozens of youths over many years. The old seat creaked and Elder Futhark's bones seemed to respond in kind when he sat himself down.

"I was just thinking about you and Mordell."

Brok frowned slightly.

"I was just thinking about how I wish you were more like him."

Brok raised his eyebrows.

"Heh, I know. You are the one with good grades. You are the one who is naturally good with a ball. You don't go around tripping over nothing or wetting yourself when you are frightened. But Mordell does have is the ability to move on. He was in the cave-in too, remember. It was his brother who died. He, at least, is trying to go back to the way things were, but without a best friend, it's hard." Elder Futhark paused. He watched Brok's face harden. Brok turned his eyes to the low, tiled ceiling. Elder Futhark said "I know how you must feel."

"You have no idea!" Brok exploded, whipping his eyes back to the Elder's startled face. "You think I hate myself for letting Misso die, don't you? You think I blame myself for his death? You think I can't stop thinking about it, that I see it in my head every time I close my eyes? Or maybe you think my brain just can't cope with the loss of a close friend. Is that it?"

"It is nothing to be ashamed about, Brok, you're not the first person to lose..."

"You have no idea how wrong you are. You have no idea what's going on."

"Then tell me. Let me help you." said the Elder. His weary eyes pleaded with Brok.

Almost it seemed that Brok would tell him. There was a moment where Brok the Pupil almost appeared. Brok the Curious almost pushed through and relieved his burden on his old mentor.

Almost.

"No," Brok whispered.

Elder Futhark sighed. "Very well. If I can't get through to you alone, we will have to meet with your parents."

"When?" asked Brok, apprehensively.

"Tomorrow," replied the Elder, in his most stern voice. "Whether you like it or not, it's for the best. I cannot in good conscience let you continue down the path you have chosen. We will meet tomorrow."

Brok seemed to relax. "Fine. Tomorrow, then."

This threw the Elder off guard. He expected a fight. When he told Brok about the meeting set for the next day, he was prepared for a shouting match that might escalate to physical violence, on Brok's part. There were even guards waiting his call a few chambers down, just in case. Did his advice work? Was Brok reverting back to the young man he once was?

"Can I go now?" Brok asked.

"I can't see any reason to keep you any longer," Elder Futhark said, and it was true. He would have liked keep Brok there to probe, to lecture more, to find out what was going on, but could see no excuse so he let him go. He hadn't needed the guards and Brok had agreed amiably enough. Why did he still feel uneasy?

Fortnight Fiction

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Sunday, August 12

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Fiction: Blinders Pt. 1

Blinders