Nemaris had his nightgown on. With it, and the white moon-light it reflected so plainly, the village elder had the figure of a spirit from the distance, and he’d been a happy one up until the moment Cas approached.
Heretofore, Cas had only met with Nemaris in the most official capacity. Sometimes she ran into him in the village square; but their run-ins there were short and had the air of running into your supervisor at the grocery store: that is, they were quickly escaped from.
Suffice it to say, she’d never seen much of him outside of his position as village chief.
Still, it was surprising how much of a professional mask he could construct while wearing casual clothes as he looked her in the eyes and said: “No.” A note of finality taking his voice.
A small child, barely five years old, sat on Nemaris’ knee, pretending to be occupied by the straw toy in his hands, though his ears perked in a quite obvious fashion as Cas spoke.
“I know better than anyone in this village what the Oasis is capable of supporting, Nemaris.” A challenging note rose up in her voice.
“Yes, you’ve said quite enough about growing the Oasis.” Nemaris stood up and placed down the child, seeming done with this conversation.
Tapping the boy’s shoulder, a few whispered doors prompted the child to leave, who quickly made his way past the fluttering door of the house.
Nemaris bowed before taking his leave. “I thank you for your visit, but I don’t see what your fantasies have to do with my responsibilities as chief.” He moved to follow the child, stopped at the still fluttering entrance by the surprising energy in Cas’ words.
“It’s not a fantasy!” Cas almost yelled. “At least… it’s no more a fantasy than saving the Oasis was in the first place. As I remember it, you were the only one who believed enough to let me try. Why lose faith now?.”
Nemaris shut his eyes painfully, resting a hand against the doorframe. “I… I didn’t believe you’d save the Oasis,” he admitted, as if remembering something terrible.
“Then why?”
“I suppose I was desperate enough to grasp onto your promises.” A sad smile adorned the chief's features.
“But you were right!” Cas spoke a bit more energetically, now, trying to keep the man’s attention. “I’m telling you, I can grow that Oasis and you’ll never have to sacrifice another child again!”
The village elder was never one to show emotion. Still… the long pause that followed shocked Cas with how carefully Nemaris attended to it, as if hesitant to speak.
“I suppose I shouldn’t doubt you," he admitted coldly. "You've done impossible things before.”
“Yes?” Cas interrupted rudely, pushing for a quick answer.
Nemaris let out a sigh. “If… you find a way to increase the Oasis’ waters, then we can speak of saving more children.”
He was trying to be kind, Cas understood, but she couldn’t help the caustic undertone in her voice: “So, we’re just going to let children die until then?”
Nemaris' kindly voice turned sharp. “Cas. I am forever grateful for all that you have done, but I will not have you stealing food from our mouths.”
Nemaris had turned around by now, and he looked knowingly to the crease in the cloth door, where a small figure was attempting to eavesdrop in the amateurish manner of all children. The elder only let out a half embarrassed smirk at the attempt before turning his cold attention back to the Sakkari.
His voice was still cold, but his expression was plaintive, as if begging her to understand. “We’ve been letting them die for generations, Sage. This tradition is older than either you, or I, or anyone still alive in this village. If you’ve truly found a way to subvert it – if you’ve discovered the means to grow the Oasis – then I will bow my head at your feet. However, ideals can not feed a village. Nadia’s time has come, and I will not be handing over the rations to sustain her until your far-flung dreams come to fruition.”
His words had an air of finality that Cas couldn’t accept.
She spoke against them.
Cas knew as the words left her lips that they weren’t rational; she had no rational objections to arm herself with. Instead. she found herself speaking from instinct. The thought of Nadia’s tearful face was painful to her, and like a child flinching back from the hot stove, Cas grasped at anything that could deny the reality.
“We don’t have to sacrifice her.” Cas tried to keep the desperation from her voice. “If we can just hold out until I fix the Oasis-”
Nemaris interrupted her, showing impatience for the first time. “Oh?” he intoned sardonically. “Pray tell, how many seasons will it take for this dream to bear fruit? You said training the Sakkari would grow the Oasis by threefold… how long for that simple task?”
Cas fell silent at that, abashed.
“Well?” Nemaris pressed.
Cas answered with a defeated voice, “It might take five years.”
Nemaris, to his credit, kept any note of triumph out of his: “And for making new Sakkari, for growing the Oasis by a thousand fold, as you’ve promised… how long for that?”
“I don’t know,” Cas admitted, truly showing sadness for the first time. “I just don’t know where to begin yet.”
Nemaris slid his hand softly down the door frame. “There are fourteen children that will leave the village over the next five years. That… will not be a number we can comfortably support, I’m sure you can understand.”
Cas, downcast at the apparent failure of her argument, at saying something so hopeless, couldn’t muster the energy to call him back.
Sighing, and looking over his shoulders for anyone that might hear them, Nemaris spoke with a neutral tone.
“You may find our ways… unpalatable, but we’re not lawless…” he hesitated at this. “What I mean to say is: it is not our custom to harm anyone unless they have broken a law.”
Cas developed a caustic tone as she answered: “The Unari-”
“The Unari are bound by law to walk into the desert, yes, but whether they stand in the village or not, they are always under the protection of our laws.”
“...I don’t understand.” Cas was able to tell that he was handing her a lifeline, but what...
Nemaris only knelt closer. “I’m saying that, by law, the Unari must leave the village border, but –”
“But they don’t have to die,” Cas’s voice expanded with understanding. “My hut is outside the village border, after all,” she continued, growing excited.
Nemaris was quick to temper her expectations. “I can not give you more rations than has been allotted for yourself and for Kari. It will be a hard life, but Kari has yet to grow, and Sakkari have little need for food, so I think you’ll be able to manage… at least until you grow the Oasis.”
Cas could only look on in disbelief as Nemaris continued. “It’ll be your choice whether you still take her in, under those circumstances. But, should you choose to accept her into your house, then I can guarantee she won’t be touched by anyone in the village.”
Cas only looked on in disbelief.
Softly, Nemaris shifted his weight, the sand shifting noisily underneath him.
Unprompted, he stopped at his doorway, looking back after he'd parted the curtain: “Do you know, even at my age, there are nights I wake up disappointed that the world can’t be what it is in my dreams.”
Cas let out a laugh.
She had a hundred thoughts, but could only muster a simple, “thank you, Nemaris.”
“Don’t mention it.”
And the white cloth fell like a curtain behind the man, obscuring his dreadful expression from sight.
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Cas took the long way back to her house, winding between the scattered huts that were organized around the town square like thrown jacks. The town had no roads. Except for a long straightaway of clear land Cas was certain had been formed unintentionally, every other sightline being blocked by a hut that had been placed at some claustrophobic distance from the central well.
Eventually, she breached the last ring of houses, and her hut was in sight.
It was deep into winter, now.
The Oasis, normally abuzz with crickets and night-warblers, fell into dormancy; and with the Oasis silent, and the winds died down, the whole world was left feeling empty.
The sky was crowded with stars; a sight Cas was unused to, having grown up always in proximity to light pollution.
Seeing it now, however, it seemed strange to Cas that such a brilliant display of lights could go on with such silence and coldness.
….
Kari was waiting for her when she finally returned home.
The girl paused in the middle of her pacing once Cas was within view, hurriedly stuffing the half eaten jerky she’d been gripping into her side satchell.
Cas, through proximity to the girl, knew Kari didn’t have an appetite past mid day. She also knew the girl never ate while walking unless it was in service to her nervous eating habit.
Kari stood with a guarded front as Cas approached, arms hanging at her sides and face purposefully blanked of all expression.
Cas was unsure what to say to her.
Kari stabbed straight to the point.
“You’re letting her stay here, aren’t you?” she accused. “I heard what Nemaris told you! He’s not going to give you anymore rations, but you’re letting her stay here anyway!”
Cas was aghast as the forcefulness of the girl’s accusations. She replied automatically, “Eaves dropping again? Kari, I’ve told you-”
“Just answer me!” Kari yelled and pleaded at the same time, tears running down her cheeks. “Yes, I listened in, but it’s because you keep lying! You lied about the Oasis. You lied about the monster! And I never would’ve known if I didn’t listen in!
“We’re supposed to be friends,” Kari cried. “I just want to know what you’re going to do, and you never tell me! And now you’re keeping her here with us even though she can’t stay.”
Cas was stung by the surprising honesty of the proclamation. Cas had lied about the Oasis, and the monster.
But… that hadn’t been important, had it?
Well… It had never seemed that important to Cas, but to Kari – to a girl who’s survival was dependent on Cas’ decisions — Cas was beginning to appreciate what a harrowing experience being lied to could be.
“Kari,” Cas took a formal stance with the girl, speaking in an even tone she hoped would calm the child. “I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you about the monster and the Oasis. It didn’t seem importan-”
Cas stopped herself there, rephrasing. “I was only doing that to keep the villagers calm. I didn’t want to panic them, and I never wanted to panic you. I’d never lie to you about this, though. I’d never lie to you about your own safety.”
Cas cursed herself. The words seemed empty even when they were true. She hurried to bolster herself. “Those lies were just for the villagers. You know I tell you everything I can. You’re the only one who knows everything about me, after all.”
Cas looked around herself, and let the shock of transformation blast through her.
There, she changed into her human form, allowing a genuine expression to run through her face.
Kari took on a more forgiving posture, though it was one that gave no ground to her initial displeasure as she repeated her first phrase. “You’re still going to let her stay, aren’t you? Nemaris wouldn’t have told you that if you didn’t want to.”
“I am,” Cas answered, confused. “Just until we can train the slimes.”
“You said it would take years to grow the Oasis,” Kari spoke.
“So?” Cas said, taking on a more assertive note.
“So?” Kari repeated the word like it was something stupid. “Nadia has to go!” she pointed out into the desert. “We can’t have her staying here!”
Cas disturbed and frightened at the words Kari chose. Apparently, it showed on her face, to tell by the abashed, though resilient, look Kari took.
“Kari…” Cas paused, unsure of how to proceed. “Where is this coming from?”
Kari turtled in on herself, unable to look into Cas’ suddenly human eyes. “I’m saying there’s no point to keeping her around and suffering on half rations for all those years. It doesn’t make sense to save her right now! If you’re going to save the Oasis, we can wait to take people in when you’ve actually done it!”
Cas grew a frown. Kari’s attitude disturbed her, and she lashed out against hearing it. “And what?” she asked sternly. “We should let her die. Do you know that’s what everyone said when I told them to save you? Do you think I should have waited until things ‘made sense’ to start saving people when you were in danger.”
Kari flashed a hurt look at the comparison. “I’m not like… I thought we were friends!”
It was a childish argument that Kari provided, but Kari was a child, and she’d never looked the part more than at this moment, as she struggled and failed to hide her shaking sobs.
“We are friends!” Cas consoled, rushing to take the girl’s hands in her own. “That’s why I asked them to save you! That’s why you’re here! What does that have to do with Nadia, though?”
Kari spoke with surprising venom, pulling her hands away. “It has everything to do with this! If we were friends you wouldn’t… I could be sure you wouldn’t… I’m afraid you’re going to…” Kari cut herself off three times, thinking better of it and growing frustrated at the thought before finally falling back to her reliable accusation. “You’re going to let her stay here!”
“Yes, and what’s the matter with that!?”
Cas was growing frustrated and panicked, tried to keep any hint of anger out of her voice as she addressed the girl.
“Why?” Kari said through her sobs. “Why are you saving her if she’s not your friend?”
“Because I can,” Cas spoke gently, reaching out to take Kari’s hands again, “because It wouldn’t be right to let her die.”
Kari kept herself out of reach, turning away to hide her expression from the girl. “That’s stupid,” she sniffled.
“Kari!” Cas reprimanded, sounding more afraid than angry.
Kari only choked out another sob. “You’re saving her for no reason. And what happens when Doret has his birthday next month, and Sebit after him! Are you going to save them, too? Are you going to keep taking people in until we all starve to death?”
Cas surprised herself with her answer: “I’m not going put anyone at risk if I don’t have to.” She normally wasn’t one to dodge a question like that.
Kari, if she noticed the vaguery of the answer, only replied: “I thought we were friends.”
“We are friends,” Cas replied plainly.
“Then prove it!” Kari turned back around. “Promise that you’ll put me first, before anyone else!”
Cas was confused at the proclamation. “What… Kari, what are you talking about?”
“I mean, if you have to choose to save someone, between me and Nadia, promise me that I’ll be the one you pick!”
Cas had made many mistakes in life. Her dealing with Kari here was the second one she’d remember, because once again, she wanted everything without making any hard decisions. She wanted to answer without looking Kari in the eyes.
If she’d been more empathetic, she might never have lied to Kari in the first place and put the girl under such stress. If she’d been stronger, she might have looked Kari face to face and given an honest answer, and if she’d done that, she might have noticed the desperate, scared, needy expression that begged her for a good answer – that begged her for an answer that made her feel safe.
If she’d been wiser -- Cas thought -- she might have protected Kari like a younger sister, rather than confiding in her as a friend.
Cas answered: “Kari, I know it won’t come to that.”
“But what if it does?” Kari begged.
There was a note in Kari’s voice that was terrified, and pained, and which inflicted Cas with the terror and pain of a responsibility she didn’t want.
She didn’t want to be responsible for choosing which child died. She didn't want to be in the presence of such a rightly terrified girl. She didn’t want to answer, and – in order to avoid the pain of considering such terrible thoughts, Cas reflexively escaped the question.
“I don’t want to think about that right now, Kari." She spoke sternly for the first time, annoyed at being cornered with such intense questioning, "don’t ask me that again.”
Cas looked up at Kari’s face too late, at the truly hurt and betrayed expression. Kari, valiantly disposed herself to masking a neutral expression. Soft freckles reminded Cas of the stars, and Kari was a twin to the night sky, confusing Cas with how much tumultuous emotion could be expressed so coldly.
“Wait,” Cas stepped forward, and Kari stumbled back, staying away.
Cas still didn’t understand Kari’s emotions. She didn’t understand why she was so hurt and why she ran away from her into the village.
However, she would remember this confused emotion for a long time afterwards as her first great mistake in this world.