Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 39
carefully ordered lives paralyzed them utterly--and it always
had.
He hurriedly dressed, not caring how much noise he
made, and thudded down the steps. Candles lit the kitchen,
where his parents knelt on the gritty wooden floor. Both
looked up as Jordan appeared.
His father opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He
met Jordan's eye for only a moment, then looked down. His
mother nervously fiddled with the bow of her night dress.
Some spell had lifted, and Jordan walked past them with
no feeling of compulsion to stop, obey or even heed what they
might say. He stepped into the cool August night, and turned
toward the forest.
He took the lantern that always hung outside the door,
fumbled for the matches that were stuffed in a crack nearby.
Frowning, he lit the lantern as he walked. Behind him he heard
a shout, but he ignored it. Somehow, the action of lighting the
lantern, of picking the likely path his sister had taken, absorbed
his attention and he felt no emotion as he walked. No emotion
at all.
Once he was under the trees, the lantern seemed to create
a miniature world for him. This little universe was made of
leaf-outlines, upstanding lines of grass, and grey slabs of trunk,
all stuck in the pitch of night. Without the light, he would be
stuck here too. It was inconceivable that Emmy could go any
distance in here; but he had to admit she knew the paths. He
had once asked Allegri what he would do if he lost his light in
here, and the priest had said, "It happens now and then. But the
trees are cleared near the path, so if you look straight up, rather
than ahead, and sweep your feet ahead of you as you walk, you
can do it." It was like walking backward using a mirror. Emmy
knew this.