Tag Archives: Luis Paredes

Mother’s almost done with today’s batch. 

She’s made more than usual—four boys and five girls. Not surprising, since we’re getting close to the winter solstice. I wonder how many of my new siblings will survive the night. 

They all look alike—chubby cheeks, impish smiles, curly locks, and almond-shaped eyes. That won’t do. That will remind her of Father. We don’t speak his name in this house even though most of us, the Keepers, have never met the man.

My fingers tap at my cheeks, nose, and lips. Did I survive because I’m nothing like him or because I’m just—

I flinch as the kiln’s hatch squeaks open. Sharp, orange flames spurt from the square opening and lick the air. Mother sinks a steel shovel into a pile of jet-black coal. The sinewy muscles in her thin arms tense as she lifts the dark mound waist-high. She catches me staring and grins. Her teeth shine like brass. 

With a grunt, she tosses the coal into the hungry hearth, then another, over and over again, until the shovel’s edge is a thin, silver blur barely visible through the cloud of black soot coating the air. 

It’s mesmerizing. The fire’s roar settles into a deep rumble as Mother steps through the curtain of darkness. Despite the grime in the room, her face is a field of unblemished snow framed by waves of auburn hair. The edges of her pale, pink lips curl into a smile as her hands glide into her black apron’s front pockets.

“Daydreaming again, Matthias?” 

I stand at attention and meet her gaze. “No, ma’am.”

Her eyes narrow to thin slits. “Your siblings are ready for inspection. Will you bear witness?”

“Yes, of course.”

Mother pulls a bone-handled dagger from her right pocket. She taps the point against my shoulder. 

“Good, boy. Use those special eyes of yours to let me know which ones are today’s Keepers.”

I nod. 

God, how I wish I didn’t have to do this. I hate being part of Mother’s quest. 

I follow her toward the first row of children. The fire raging inside the kiln casts a bright, orange halo around their small bodies. Beads of sweat bloom on their smooth foreheads and evaporate just as quickly as they appear.

I was standing there just a few years ago. Was I that small? That weak? That vulnerable?  

Mother kneels in front of the first child, a little boy. His eyes light up as he sees his creator for the first time.

“Do you see the young man standing behind me?” She asks.

“Uh huh.” 

The affirmation slithers out the boy’s mouth like gas.

“Good. Very good. Do me a favor and look into his eyes.”

I hate this, but it’s what I’m good at—I can spot another child’s Gift. Almost all of Mother’s children are born with a talent, but only one in a thousand (if we’re lucky) comes to us with the Gift—the ability to see the future.

This is what Mother’s after. It’s the only way she can win the war against Father. But there’s nothing inside this boy, not even a spark. 

“He’s empty,” I say, shaking my head. 

Mother slides the back of her hand down the boy’s cheek and cups his pock-marked chin in her palm. She stares at her prize, eyeing it like a day-old heel of bread; part of me wonders if she’d ever eat one of us.

Then, in a flash, she jerks the boy’s head up and slices his neck with the knife. He crumples to the ground and convulses for a few seconds. None of the other children seem to be aware of their sibling’s passing. Except one. I can see her fidgeting near the back.

All the killing used to trouble me too. It’s rare a child survives this process. Mother even discards Gifted children if she already has one with similar powers. 

“There’s no room for redundancy in this house,” she’s fond of saying.

Mother stands in front of the next child. We repeat the process over and over again until the workshop floor is littered with bodies. 

We step in front of the last child, a little girl. Mother arches her back until it cracks and lets out a low moan. “Matthias, do you think we’ll find a winner here?”

Before I can answer, the little girl steps forward and curtsies.

“Oh, my,” Mother exclaims. “This one comes with manners.” The little girl giggles as Mother leans forward to sniff the top of her head. “You came out well. What’s your name?”

“Celeste. Celeste Morningstar.”

Mother smiles. “Celeste, be a dear and stare into your brother’s eyes.”

I groan. There’s barely anything to look into. Just like my other siblings, there’s only the imitation of human eyes lodged within those deep sockets. But there is a pull that draws me forward. There’s something inside of Celeste that feels… familiar. She’s Gifted, like me. 

My vision clouds over and the world goes black. A flicker of light dances within the void. That spark ignites dozens of other invisible motes and then dozens more. Soon, there’s a fiery outline of Celeste hovering in the air, and in the center of her body, a glowing eye. 

No, she’s nothing like me. She’s a Seer! This is the Gift Mother’s been after for years. 

Mother snaps her fingers. “Well? Is she a Keeper?”

I lick my lips. I try speaking, but my throat’s gone dry. 

“Help… me,” a voice gurgles

One of our brothers is still alive, gasping for air. He’s dragging himself along the floor, one hand holding his neck. 

Mother stands and walks toward him. “This won’t do. You’re stubborn, like your Father.”

She stomps on the boy’s head until it’s flattened against the stone floor. Someone squeezes my hand. It’s Celeste. She’s horrified. 

“Matthias?” Mother growls.

I massage my neck with my free hand and croak, “Yes, she’s a Keeper.”

Mother scrapes chunks of scalp off her shoe with the coal shovel. 

“W-why did she do that?” Celeste asks. 

“Mother makes us and she can unmake us,” I say. It’s a simple explanation and the only one I can give. 

Celeste juts her chin toward the bodies. “It’ll be different for you.”

“What? What do you mean by—”

Mother scrambles forward. “Christ! What did you do to Celeste?” 

I look down and realize that I’ve squeezed my sister’s hand too tightly. 

“Matthias, you know how delicate they are at this stage. Now I have to reshape her,” Mother says. She stomps toward her potter’s wheel. “Come here, girl.”

“It’s ok. It doesn’t hurt,” she says.

Mother’s glare silences Celeste. She takes a lump of wet clay from the table and kneels in front of Celeste. “Hold still.”

Mother massages the grey mud into the stump I mangled, and soon Celeste’s hand is back to normal.

“Good as new,” Mother says. She swats my sister’s bottom and points toward the kiln. “The fire’s ready. In you go.”

Celeste nods and walks into the archway. Mother shuts the door and glares at me. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

I shake my head. “Nothing. She surprised me is all.”

“Surprised you? How?”

“She’s more sensitive than the others.”

A dagger thin smile creeps across Mother’s face. “Sensitive? How?”

“She’s a Seer.”

Mother doesn’t say a word.

“Isn’t she what you wanted?” I point at my dead siblings. “Isn’t that what this is all about?”

“The chances of making someone like Celeste are astronomical. You know that, right?”

I think about all my siblings who have died just so my sister could be baking a few feet away. I see Celeste through the kiln door’s small window. Her skin’s turning golden brown. She’s almost done.

I sigh. “Why do you create, Mother? You don’t even like us.”

“You know why. Your Father has his army and I’m building mine. Besides, there’s more to make,” Mother says.

“What? You need more?”

“I need two more to complete a Triad of Fates.”

My mind reels. God knows how long that’s going to take and how many more deaths I’ll have to witness.

“No,” I whisper. 

Mother steps back and reaches for her knife. “What did you say to me?”

“No.” I can’t believe I say it again, louder this time.  Then I realize why I’m suddenly free to speak my mind. Celeste will be able to predict when others like her will be made. I look up at Mother. “You don’t need me anymore.”

 Mother places her fists on her hips. “I was wondering when you’d figure that out. You were always a clever boy, Matthias.”

Her fist bursts through my head. My face shatters into dozens of pieces. The room spins as a shard with my left eye lands close to the kiln. Mother steps over to open the door. Enough of my ears are intact to hear Mother’s curse as she struggles against the heavy latch.

Then Celeste emerges from the kiln, smelling of oven fresh bread. Steam drifts off her head and shoulders. She’s perfect. Mother wipes away the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Step forward, my sweet homunculus.”

Celeste’s bare feet crunch against what’s left of my head. She looks down at her wriggling toes. I blink quickly and manage to catch her gaze. 

“What happened to Matthias?” She asks.

Mother grunts and reaches for the broom leaning against the wall. The bristles sweep my eye into the far corner. My vision goes black, but I can still hear Mother and Celeste speaking. 

“Wasn’t he my brother?”

“Yes, but there are others, Keepers like you. Besides, you and I are going to create a brighter future.”

“But I liked Matthias.”

Mother sighs. “You’ll soon learn that there’s no room for redundancy in this house.”

“I see,” Celeste says. “You’ll learn that too, Mother.”

photo by Artis Kančs (via unsplash)