Cunning Fish of the Forest - Chapter 6

“Miss?”

“Yes.”

Expecting the sorcerer to leave after his task, I was surprised when he set aside his lantern and made space for himself. I felt uneasy about letting the elderly man sit on the cold ground, but the sorcerer seemed unconcerned. To offer him more room, I pulled the edge of my skirt.

“How can I ease your anger, Miss?”

“Why would the sorcerer care?”

Not even my mother, who gave birth to me, asked about the reasons behind my anger, she merely insisted that I calm down. I wondered why the sorcerer felt the need to involve himself in my anger that no one asked about.

“It is my duty to help the Ludig family members be safe and happy.”

“Duty?”

My duty was predetermined to marry the heir of the Leigro family and bear a son. Speaking this duty aloud was dreadful, and the duty of wishing for others’ happiness and safety seemed equally exhausting.

“Why choose that duty among many? You could have chosen, being a man.”

“Miss, I am content with my duty.”

As the wind threatened to extinguish the lantern, the sorcerer placed his hand above its weakening light. I watched, disinterested, resting my chin on my hand.

Suddenly feeling a warmth near my waist, I turned to see the revived light roaring beneath the old, wrinkled hand. The flame stood up fiercely like a wild dog protecting its pups, the heat seemingly tearing through the glass.

“You, too, can choose your duty, Miss.”

After finishing his words, the sorcerer handed me the lantern handle. The twilight-colored light warmly embraced even beneath my fingernails.

“Wow, it’s warm!”

I had learned that the deposed old king, who loathed sorcery and superstition to extremes, ordered sorcerers to be buried alive wherever they were found, for over a dozen years. Even the Janeth religion, a foundation of the Midleshan kingdom, dismissed sorcery as trickery.

But fire does not lie. Fire that stands on its own can extinguish the wind it faces. This was undeniable proof of sorcery’s existence.

“How did you do that? Can you really create fire?”

“A secret technique taught to me by my late father…”

The sorcerer paused, his finger pressed against his lips.

“A secret that could cost me my life. You must keep it safe, Miss.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell a soul.”

“I knew you would say that.”

Atop the mountain, one might mistake the lantern for a celestial star. They might be speculating about a heavy star descending upon the tower. I sat with my back against the wind, watching the red lantern.

“The paths that appear before your brothers may seem abundant… but is that truly the case?”

The ancient tales buried deep in the earth seemed to revive in my hands. Overwhelmed by emotion, I missed some of the sorcerer’s words, a flaw my mother often pointed out—focusing on one thing meant neglecting another.

“A family is like a forest, miss. The trees within it are born and die in the same place.”

“…Are you saying I’m a tree?”

“Maybe. Or perhaps you’re a star.”

The sorcerer spoke in complex terms as he had a long history of learning. Yet his meaning was clear. No one had told me not to fixate solely on the places my brothers occupied.

“My options were limited, miss. Like my father and brothers, I had to choose between death or a life hidden away. That was the life I was given.”

As if on cue, the sorcerer took the cooling lantern to the ground, adding that the maids would soon pass by.

He must have spent many years alone at the top of the tower, lighting and extinguishing the fire.

I understood the loneliness that comes with keeping a secret. When I lied to my mother about not stealing raspberry pie, I felt a solitary pang. The sorcerer stepped over his shadowy solitude to share his guarded secret with me. Risking his long-guarded years, if I just open my mouth.

“Sorcerer.”

“Yes?”

“Can I learn to do that too?”

Becoming a sorcerer could mean scaling walls without my brothers’ help or transforming into a bird to soar the skies. In that brief moment, my imagination took flight, journeying as far as the Luther River.

“That is something only the stars know. This old man is clueless.”

“How do the stars know?”

The sorcerer’s smile, illuminated by the lantern light, was enigmatic yet warm, like that of a grandfather looking at his granddaughter.

“You must first find what you wish to do, miss.”

“…What I wish to do?”

“Then, you can ask the stars.”

I stored his perplexing words deep in my heart. The laughter of the maids, having finished their chores, climbed the vines of the tower. The sorcerer’s timing was impeccable.

My trust in him soared as high as the stars. Finding what I wish to do, and then asking the stars. The idea infused a new hope to my life, which had been withering with the appearance of my fiance.

Though this would surely seem like the sky was falling to my mother, who had instructed me to stay put until our guest arrived.