Archive of Our Own ^beta

Before you were born, says the teacher to the boy, there was sun.

She is old and wrinkled and tells stories and nobody believes her except the children. What is the sun, says the boy, is it like the Dainichi Mikoshi on the tower, does it turn on and off like a switch, is it bright like paper or clean teeth?

The teacher does not smile, because she is not allowed to.

It is yellow, she says, and it is warm.

—

When a new child was chosen, the people watched with little interest. He will be like all the last, one man says to another. Yes, yes, the listener agrees, the crowd agrees, all the same.

They crown the boy in gold, hand him the divine bridle to hold. He does not smile. He is the picture of elegance, trapped within the crooked body of a small, unfinished child-creature, and his head wobbles under the weight of the metal on his scalp.

Poor thing, says a woman, and her friend laughs. What do you mean? she says. It is the greatest honor. He is lucky.

Would you put your son up there, the first woman returns, and the second stops laughing.

—

The advisor is new. He is young, and strange, and his fingernails are long and the boy does not like him. Who are you, the boy says, and the advisor listens because his voice is important.

I am your advisor, he says.

I don’t need an advisor. I am the Sunchild.

Yes, yes. Perhaps you do not need me, but still I am at your service, your highness.

Where is the old teacher? I want the old teacher.

She is gone and she is not welcome here.

The boy frowns. But I am the Sunchild, he says. And I say she is welcome here.

Yes, yes, of course. Your word is law, your highness.

So where is she.

Gone. Still gone. Your highness.

The boy doesn’t understand. He is frustrated and he doesn’t understand. I have a name, he says. Use my name.

Of course, the advisor demurs. Of course, your highness.

—

The boy learns to draw, and he is good at it. He draws many things; fish that glow pale and strange in the night, people with arms that are grasping and too long. Men who shout with mouths wide and teeth glinting and a strange small creature who is all alone.

The old teacher sees these things and she says nothing, because many eyes are watching her now.

I heard there was a snake once, the boy says, a great big snake that went around and around. A snake that loved us. And ate its own self.

There is no snake, says the teacher.

The boy does not listen. He pulls chalk across the floor in a long scraggly line with a grating, shrieking noise that the teacher wishes she didn’t have to hear.

Is this what a snake looks like, he asks, when he is done.

No, says the teacher. Go to sleep.

—

They hate me, the boy says. Why do they hate me? You said I was helping them, you said-

You are helping them, the advisor reassures, gentle, caring. They are fools. Pay them no mind, your highness, they have looked at the sun too long and now they are blind, and now they know nothing.

The boy does not look at him. He is growing older. He is learning to distrust.

You are helping, you are doing right, the advisor says, and his eye twitches. Would I lead you astray, your highness. Tell me, would I lead you astray?

And the king, the child of ten, he says:

no.

—

The boy goes to sleep and he dreams of circles. He dreams of great sharp teeth and forked tongues, and a body the length of a mountain, a sea, a sky. There is white light all around, and he stands still and alone, and then the snake’s mouth closes around him and there is nothing, only warm and dark.

I want to go to where it is warm, he writes on the floor in his chalk.

Hundreds of feet below him, an old woman curls up with her back to a stone wall. Her cell is cold and dimly lit with blue lantern light, and she never sleeps. She puts her hands to the wall and she whispers stories, songs of a time long past, and she imagines the currents might carry her words to a young boy all alone, head too soft and uncertain for a golden crown.

—

They are cheering for me, the boy says.

Yes, says the advisor. Hurry along.

I am hurrying, the boy says, but he is not. He is turning, and he is waving to his people. Their voices are louder, now, and the boy smiles.

Come along, come along. The procession is waiting.

They take him up, up, and he is standing up so high; up the tower, up in circles. The light is bright. The light is hot.

This is enough, the boy says, after a time. Send me back now.

But nobody listens to him. Come, your highness, come along, and they usher him from his seat in the carriage, set upon him with gentle hands and impatient pushes and he rises uncertainly, and they chitter and jeer, come along, and the boy says stop. Stop. And he is afraid. And nobody listens to him-

The doors are flung open and before them, there is a magnificent brightness a dream a memory of sun-

I changed my mind, the boy says, I changed my mind, what are you doing, let me go, and the advisor is smiling, he is smiling now and his teeth are white and they are long and he never liked this man, he never liked the advisor. He never needed the advisor. Where is the old teacher, he says, where is the snake.

There is no snake, the advisor says, and it is horrible, horrible, his smile.

It is too hot.

Everything is white.

—

I like this color, says the little girl. She holds up a crown. It is heavy, and her arms are small. I didnt see this color before. What color is it.

You see, the teacher says. You see. Before you were born. There was the sun.