Page 5 of Null & Void

I stop, grab a file and flip it open. It’s for an Erduborn man named Niko and he’s an Oflaguz fish catcher. The bill of sale says he was purchased on his coming-of-age with no contest, around two revs past. Putting that file away, I pick up one from the same set of shelves but from the top. It’s from the same coming-of-age season, this time a Mievaborn woman named Annikasia.

Testing a theory, I grab another file. Another name that begins with A, but their coming-of-age season was the one prior to the two other files I read. It’s definitely in date order, and then alphabetical.

Leaving this row, I move deeper into the record field until I find it.

The season I came-of-age.

CHAPTER THREE

Deep in the bowels of the records room, a shiver overtakes me. I've never had a desire to know my parents or family. We’re brought up knowing they don’t matter, and we will never know who they are. There is no need to make the records public for fear of children born from incest, because Patrons of the Divine cannot procreate anyway; they make sure of it.

I eventually find my file. My bill of sale is not yet in here, perhaps it isn’t fully finalized until I leave. I smirk when I see the words Null & Void stamped at the top where a Patron’s Gift is supposed to be written.

Eye color: “of the mountain” gray, just like baby Ketia.

I freeze, and my heart immediately starts slamming into my throat. Kneeling shakily on the ground, I reread the dates multiple times. My birthdate on my paperwork is correct, but the intake date is more than a revolution after that. Even if someone wrote the wrong revolution accidentally, it’d still be far too many moons after my birth.

Children’s eyes change to violet within their first day or two of life and parents have one moon to give them over as a Patron of the Divine in Osraed. They forfeit all rights to the child—it is essentially as if they had never been born—parents can’t even name them.

But I was almost a rev and a half before I was brought to Osraed…

I keep reading. My mother’s name is Sehna Ziemia Ofmieva, a Mievaborn woman the age of twenty-six. The same age I am right now.

Did she hide me away?

It doesn’t say anything more about my mother. If she kept me a secret for that long, she would’ve surely ended up in prison…I wrack my brain as to whether they still executed parents for this back then and cannot remember. Rage rises dangerously in my throat. The section for “father’s name” is blank. The box for “unknown/unclaimed” has been ticked next to it.

This is worse than not knowing. I shouldn’t have come here.

I pack the file back up and put it away, not wanting to look any further. Running down the aisles and back to the exit, the lantern flame flickers wildly. I’m halfway up the stairs before I remember I need to relock the door and have to go back.

I don’t remember getting home or getting out of my sneaksuit. I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, replaying everything I read over and over.

Null & Void. Intake date. Unknown/Unclaimed father.

I have the frosty morning to myself, so I hire a horse to visit the markets on the east coast, the ones closest to Laguz waters. I need to forget last night. I need to do something—anything—to take my mind off what I’ve read. I need new underwear, so that’s the goal today.

Being the last day of the moon, the markets are exceptionally busy. I enjoy the markets on the border of Laguz because of entertainment like carnival games to test your skills, though cheating is far too easy among the Gifted.

Singers, dancers, and acrobats are performing on stages. A Gifted Nemorisborn woman is shifting her body into various animals while keeping her own head, which is mildly entertaining, if not a little disturbing.

A man selling firecat kittens is arguing with peacekeepers as he doesn’t have a permit. Only Erdu can issue permits, as this is where the creatures originate from, and the country is very protective of them. With their distraction, I poke my head into the pen. Long, sleek tails on short, stumpy bodies and excessively large whiskers. A light fawny color, shining gold in the sun, with their points slightly darker. Their stupidly wide heads and overly large ears with dark tufts on the end are adorable.

The kittens can’t make fire, which is usually why they’re sold at such a young age. I cannot get close enough to see if these kittens have already been defired, but I hope not. It’s a barbaric procedure to remove the fire-producing glands, and it causes chronic pain and drooling for the rest of their lives. Despite being banned, it continues to happen. I watch them for a little while, pouncing and tumbling over each other, making small chirps.

Next, I buy a steamed bun filled with…I’m not sure what, but it’s not fish, thankfully. I meander through the market stalls looking at things I definitely don’t need. Eventually, I find somewhere to buy new underwear and the fabric I use to bind my chest when I travel. It’s easier to ride a horse or fight when your breasts aren’t jiggling about. Not that there’s much to jiggle on me.

A group of acolytes are harassing passers-by, handing out fliers for their Order of the Divine. They’re a religious sect that thinks Patrons are an abomination and the Divine’s way to punish those who do not follow their teachings. They’re all Mievaborn women, as is most of the Order of the Divine. They don’t offer me a flier.

A Laguzborn woman standing beside me in line for some fresh produce threatens her kids with hiring the Silent Assassin if they don’t stop misbehaving. I choke on my swallow at the unexpected mention, and she raises her eyebrow at me.

“You okay, love?” she asks, reaching for me.

Assuming she’s about to clap my back in an attempt to help me stop choking, I wave her off with a smile as I compose myself. “I thought the Silent Assassin retired?” I ask, hoping I hide my small, knowing smile.

Before she can answer, a procession of snowolves passes by noisily and we both turn to stare. Almost as big as a horse but ten times as dumb, the creatures are hard workers and only wish to please their owners. Their shaggy black and white coats flap in the breeze as they carry their carts of people and property.

I had a snowolf as a pet once. She was only a puppy, and I named her Anerea. She was mine, for a whole moon. Until she…died. Maybe leaving Osraed isn’t a bad thing if I can leave all the memories behind and start afresh.

---