It's not safe for you
Brae's meteorite
Hello. This is an entry from my novella, Brae’s meteorite. I understand there may be trepidation wading into something that already has multiple posts, so let me blurb for a moment:
Brae’s meteorite takes the form of diary entries from a young man named Renn. Join him as he recounts his strange and heartfelt journey with Brae, and witness the events that change their lives forever.
I hope that helps blurb-stir your interest. I usually write a little short intro before each piece, too.
The very first entry can be found here:
All entries can be found in the table of contents:
Now, lettuce continue …
In twilight hours, as the candle weeps pale life, I have toiled at translating the writing within Renn’s diary. The long, curling script; the notes from a world that is not our own; the sketches, maps, constellations—it beguiles and intrigues.
And thus, below, another translation comes to light. I invite you to take a seat by the fire, snuggle up within a blanket and hear the crackle of story as Brae makes for the copse of trees wherein the oracle lies.
(And if it helps: this is only a five minute read. So you can take that blanket on the bus with you if you want. No one’s watching1.)
Omereth, 18-on-Rye, 568
Walking alone, Brae took off towards the hill.
I would have none of it.
“Brae,” I shouted, racing after her. I made to grab her shoulder and turn her around, but she shrugged my hand away and kept moving.
“Brae, please. Talk to me.”
She stopped and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, then looked up at the bank of trees, as though worried that in these short moments they may have pulled themselves free, to walk away on creaking roots.
“No, Renn,” she said, still facing away, her voice desperate. “You can’t.”
I moved in front of her, blocking her path. “I can’t what?”
“Come,” she said, her eyes pleading. “You can’t come.”
“Why?” I asked, my frustration rising. “Dammit Brae, what in darkness is going on? Tell me!” I paused, aware my fists were now clenched. “By what untold doing is that … that oracle?” I stressed the word, the very one that has become seared into all I do.
The wind gusted, sending stray leaves across our path as the oracle let out another burst, a rippling wail carried down and along the land. Brae raised her hand and placed a finger against her lips. Her eyes—framed by freckled cheeks and crimson hair—lost none of their intensity as they bore into mine. I held my breath, waited as the oracle seemed to exhaust its cry, dying down to a flicker of sound that mirrored the way it shifted between the trees. In the distance, perhaps in attempt to reclaim the night, an owl began hooting.
“I must hurry,” she said, dropping her hand. “It’s not safe for you, Renn. Only I can go.”
“Only you can go? Go where?” I asked, my words pathetic.
“When you reach Kareth,” she said, “seek out scholar Kovan.”
And with that, she made to go once more, stealthing her way through the grass at the base of the the hillock.
When I reach Kareth? There was no I. It was we. It was always meant to be we.
“I don’t understand,” I mumbled, feeling the weight of my head.
Whether Brae heard, I do not know, but she stopped and turned to face me, standing there in her crumpled brown boots and taut leggings, those that laced to her waist where a belt wrapped itself so around her hips. The map lay tucked into that belt, of course, along with her waterskins and a few small pouches. They tugged at her, willed towards the ground like all objects are wont to do, as much a part of her as they were a burden. Her bow was slung across her back, and across her front, a small hunting knife.
These details, though, are mere preface to the image I still see: that of her face. The way it was captured by light and dark, the way her hair fell in loose curls that tumbled to either side, gossamer threads woven by some magical, copper spider. The light of the stars left a silver glaze upon her skin, accenting her freckles and framing her in immortal sheen. And even though the light was dim, I could see that her eyes—creased with a saddened smile I could not then understand—were rimmed with tears that left her fragile, almost naked.
She was—she remains—beautiful.
And then she did something I could not have expected: she walked back to me and leaned in, stroking my hair before resting her hand along my cheek. She closed her eyes as her thumb moved back and forth. With my heart now racing, I found my own eyes had closed, too. Time stretched. It yawned into a void bereft of anything but the sensation of Brae’s hand that remained against my cheek.
“I’m sorry,” I heard her whisper, from someplace far away.
And then her lips were pressed against mine.
She kissed me.
Brae kissed me.
It was a single kiss; long and soft and carrying with it a warmth that no other could ever bring about.
It was for me, that kiss.
It was a singular, impossible moment before the impossible chaos that would ensue.
LITERALLY EVERYONE IS WATCHING
I was delighted to see a new episode of ‘Brae’s meteorite’ in my inbox. This novella still stands out to me as probably the best attempt at live fiction serialization on Substack that I’ve come across so far. I already mentioned several reasons why I think that: your writing, the framing of the translations and, today I realize that also the length of the chapters is very suitable for Substack as a medium. I loved other serialized novels on Substack but I must say that the length of the chapters makes me put off the reading for ‘when I have some time’ and the chapters pile on. Not with Brae though.
And now to the chapter: I knew from the very beginning that this moment will come, still it feels me with sadness to see Brae and Renn part ways. This chapter is hauntingly beautiful.
I love this... "She stopped and wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, then looked up at the bank of trees, as though worried that in these short moments they may have pulled themselves free, to walk away on creaking roots."