The Flame Without

Landfall +32

Just a month since we landed here. A month since we made this planet our home. We’re here to study this planet, and to study its effects on us. What mutations it gifts. And already I regret it.

My three fellow researchers find this all an idyll. An expedition of endless camping and science. And I can’t blame them. This planet is lush from pole to pole: wild-growing indigo plants, sweeping teal skies, and icy-pure rivers. No animals, though the plants’ branches curl like climbing fingers in the night.

I can’t share their revelry because I’ve already received a gift: my new vision. When I raise my eyes above the campfire, three flames glimmer from each of my colleagues, just around their heads. Flames.

Ashok’s is green, fluffed like a happy cloud. Jacinda’s burns a low-roiling, flickering orange, proud like the campfire. Catalina’s flame is a purple roar, just like the sass she can’t keep secret.

None of them see what I do. If they had, the faces before me wouldn’t be so blissful, haloed within their flames.

What does it mean? I cast my eyes to the milky sky. The stars seem to shrug back. Do I see their personalities? Their life force? Their very souls? I can only wonder.

And I wonder what mine looks like.

†

Landfall +36

I’m broken.

We stand in a gently rocking ocean, along pearlescent beaches, and I know this to be true.

The planet’s sun—a twin-tailed neutron star—spins high on the horizon. Its plasma trails twirl in a dance that seems taunting: look at you, so hollow, rotten from within.

As we swim in these clear waters, I’ve realized: their flames are reflected in the water. Their souls, I’ve decided. Catalina’s purples multiply across the waves, prisming out. Jacinda loves to dive, but I never lose sight of her; her oranges flare like a beacon within the deep.

But in my own reflection? There is no flame. I am cold. Extinguished. I have no soul.

This land’s vacant blessing mocks me.

†

Landfall +42

On our evening expeditions, I’ve come close to telling Ashok the truth. After all, this is the place for honesty. With our tablets, we scan the plants and rocks along the oceanside cliffs, giving us plenty of time to chat. The sun edges below the waters, its plasma tail spinning above, as if waving us goodnight.

The question announces itself before he asks it. His greens drift low, soften, and then waft toward me.

“Hey,” he says, feigning a calm that his flames betray. “You doing all right?”

I make myself smile back at him. “Just thinking about these rocks.”

Ashok’s flames become tinged with uncertain teal. But he drops it, and we return to scanning the flora.

They’d be horrified to know I see through them like this. See the real them. Their flames give away so much they don’t mean to. So much they don’t say aloud.

But should I care? I am, after all, empty.

We continue up the ridge. I clear my throat. “Suppose we should get the planet’s gifts soon.”

Ashok nods, and his features soften. He’s decided this is what has been on my mind. He looks to his tablet. “Any day now, I’d wager.”

And he treads on. I come to a pause at a wide, unfurling plant. Pretending to study it, but in fact caught with a new, terrible thought.

Perhaps the flames are this planet’s blessing, and everyone received them but me. They haven’t noticed yet because a sun doesn’t see its own light. A fire doesn’t feel its own heat.

I move on. I don’t want to know.

†

Landfall +55

I’m an early bird, so I’m seated by the fire, coffee in hand, when Catalina emerges from her pod. Purple flames resplendent. Blazing to outdo the sun. I can’t help but wither in her light.

I want to leave. Walk into the woods. Fly off this planet. But we’re stuck here. There’s no going back.

Catalina must see my discomfort. She comes for me, arms outstretched.

“What’s wrong, hon?” she says, her purple flames silent but roaring. I rise, palm outstretched, but my feet are rooted before her.

She hugs me. It’s searing, all-consuming. I may as well be face-to-face with the sun.

I’m backing away before I realize I’ve screamed. The sound dies in my throat and my cheeks flush. I pat my face, my chest, muttering apologies. I’m fine. If anything, I’m lucky the coffee didn’t burn me.

She stares at me, agape. Ashok tumbles out of his pod, hair and eyes wild; Jacinda peeks from hers.

I go stumbling for the beach, half-worded excuses on my lips.

†

I sit on beached driftwood as the sun pirouettes in the sky. The divide between us is getting worse. Their flames get bigger each day. Only a matter of time before they realize. If they haven’t already.

Soft footfalls in the sand behind me. A pause, then Jacinda: “May I sit?”

I consider, then nod. She steps over the driftwood and sits beside me. Orange shades flicker at my periphery, but they’re subdued. Almost gentle.

I brace for questioning, but Jace blessedly doesn’t speak. We listen to the murmuring ocean for a time. Then, her voice low, she starts to hum. It’s a soothing melody, flittering but smart. Hopeful, somber.

Finally, I ask: “What’s that from?”

She stills. “You,” she says. I blink. Look at her. The orange flames still flutter, though they’re gratefully dimmed. “You’re such a lovely song,” she says. “Did you know that?”

I frown. “I wasn’t singing,” I say.

“No,” Jace says, with the ghost of a smile, “You are a song.” She looks out to the ocean. “I received this planet’s gift, I think. I hear melodies in you and the others. Isn’t it neat?”

I follow her gaze across the icy-clear waters. The waves glitter with the coming night. “You can hear our…songs?” I say. “And what of your own?”

She laughs, gentle. “Now why would I want that?” she says. “Then I wouldn't hear yours so clearly. Listen—”

And she starts to hum the song—my song—again. I listen intently this time. Trying to open myself to it. Burn it to memory. And as it sinks into me, I wonder: do I hear it within myself? Is it there now, echoing, resonating deep within?

My chest feels full, and before long, I feel ready. Ready to share with her what I see. In her, and in the others.

Perhaps I have a gift after all.

© 2022 Tarver Nova

About the Author

Tarver Nova is a spec-fic writer and professional night owl in New York. His stories are found with Air & Nothingness Press, Daily Science Fiction, Kaleidotrope, and others. He is an associate editor of PodCastle and CatsCast. Find him at tarvernova.com or show him your cats on Twitter @tarvernova.