Portraits and Stars

Cenn raised me amongst the ruins of a forgotten civilization. The worn stone shambles of what may have once been a massive building echoed my giggles back to me as I hid behind the ruins of a stone pillar. Now, the place was scattered in pieces, the only four walls made of canvas, stretched across a corner to shield us from the elements.

“Sprog?”

Their slightly accented syllables wound around my head as they called out to me, wooden staff pushing aside rocks in an attempt to ferret out my hiding place. Any reply I may have had was stifled behind my chubby baby hands clasped over my mouth.

Cenn’s footsteps were light as they prowled across the moss-covered floor, despite the thick soles of the well-worn boots they wore.

Their pale head popped around the corner, startling a laugh out of me. Their black eyes were light with mirth and the dark tattoos that tracked down their cheeks looked even darker in the dim light.

They snatched me by the ankle, shaking me upside down, a low giggle escaping them as I was dragged, shrieking, back towards our fire.

I sat secure on Cenn’s lap, cradled by the strong corded muscles of their thighs, delightedly shoveling our meal out of my small worn bowl into my mouth with flat dark bread. No fires could not stay lit for long, for fear of discovery by the dark creatures who prowled in the night, but I treasured those moments when my Cenn’s face was lit by the faint orange glow, cheekbones and nose sharp and dangerous.

Their eyes always shone with life, looking down at me with mirth even as we ate our meager meal and I pestered them left and right with meaningless questions.

Tonight, the slowly smoldering remains of our small fire sat in front of me, our one small and worn iron pot hung over it. Inside, Cenn had combined a small parcel of who knows what kind of meat, the wild rice and onions we had found in what Cenn fondly referred to as our “foraging adventures.”

“Tell me a story, Cenn?” My question came out garbled, mouth completely full of our dinner. Recognition slowly dawned on their face as they puzzled through what I had mumbled out. They knew exactly what I wanted.

Shifting slightly, they set aside their bowl and rummaged in their loose tan pants to find a small black book. It creaked as it opened, pages worn and yellowing with age, smelling faintly of mold. The writing inside was cramped and loopy, clearly the product of love and hundreds of hours of work.

I never knew much, but I did know that this book was rare, the only example of something called paper I had ever seen. Cenn took meticulous care of it each and every day had time dedicated to oiling the cover and ensuring the paper never got wet.

Where they had gotten it, they had never told me. I had never asked, somehow sensing that it was a sore topic. But, I always suspected that it hadn’t originated from Cenn. It was something that belonged to someone they had loved. The delicacy it was handled with, and the clear love in their eyes when they looked at it, was a kind of love I had only ever seen elsewhere when they looked at me.

All this pointed to some other someone; a faceless figure I had never even heard about, someone deeply loved and valued.

“Long ago,” their voice was soft and soothing in the dark, warming me up from my chest. “There were people all across this landscape.”

“People like us?” I interrupted, just as I always did, pushing my long brown hair out of my face and setting my now empty bowl aside.

“People very similar to us,” they replied, just as they always did. “They had two arms, two legs, two ears, and two eyes.”

I giggled as they poked me in the named body parts, tickling with their long fingers.

“These people lived in tall castles made of clear shimmering glass, hundreds all standing next to each other,” I could practically see the endless beauty now. I had seen glass only a few times and it had always been cracked and yellowing with age, but Cenn’s voice painted a clear picture of glory. “Hundreds of them all shared the castles.”

“How many is a hundred?” I interrupted, just as I always did.

“Many more than people you have ever met,” they replied, just as they always did. “But not as many as stars in the sky.”

I could feel my eyes growing bigger, as round as the circles of metal I sometimes found on the ground. Cenn laughed at my expression, full-bellied and slightly raspy.

“And instead of trading, or favors, these hundreds of castle-dwellers used the faces of their ancestors inked onto paper to get what they needed. Their whole livelihood and everything they owned depended on it.”

It was almost incomprehensible to me. Everything in our meager lives Cenn had managed to give to me, through the goodness of their heart and so much sacrifice, had been the product of trading, scavenging, or favors. Even my small stocking cap, a grayish knit thing and possibly the nicest clothing I owned, had been the product of a meaningful trade with a woman with hair the color of fire who lived nearby, one of the few examples of humans I had met in my short life.

“How did they get those papers?” I asked, just as I always did.

“Well,” here Cenn’s voice became contemplative, just as it always did. “Sometimes they did jobs for other castle dwellers, and sometimes they were just given the pictures.”

“For free?”

“Yes, for free. No trades or barters necessary. These pictures sometimes even came as a surprise.”

“How many pictures are there in a surprise?” Cenn laughed at this, just as they always did.

“It changes,” Cenn ran their hand through their short, choppy black hair. “In the story my mother told me when I was a baby, someone got twenty-thousand portraits.”

“How many is twenty-thousand?” I asked my final questions, just as I always had. “What did they do with them?”

“As many as stars in the sky,” Cenn’s dark eyes were wide as they directed their gaze to the sky stretched above us, gazing into the endless, yawning abyss. “And whatever they wanted.”