A BOWL OF SHADOW

A BOWL OF SHADOW
by Stephen S. Power

The only lights in the low-ceilinged basement were a votive candle on the dirt floor, its reflection in the bowl of liquid beside it, and the glow in the eye of the woman who set them there, which did not come from the candle.

Outside the white suns raged over a town half-blasted and bleached of color, but in there all else was darkness: the woman’s hooded cloak, the room it dissolved into, and the socket where her other eye had been, which looked as bottomless as the bowl.

“Many years ago,” the woman said, “I knelt where you are kneeling. And a woman told me, ‘Many years ago, I knelt where you are kneeling. And a woman said…'” She laughed. “Then the woman told me, ‘It was not easy, removing my eye. But that is the only way to be free of what you would take on.’ And she was right.”

“The woman told me she had used a silver spoon to pop hers out. I chose a wooden one, though, and eased mine out because the eye must remain undamaged. So do not scream or shake when you do it yourself because you only have two chances.” She laughed again. “Then cut the nerve cleanly: snip! Which would be much tougher on your second try.”

The woman blew on the bowl. Something globular breached, glistened in the candlelight and sank. Its tail lingered on the surface like a question mark.

“Next,” she said, “as the woman told me, put your eye in a clean black bowl filled with clear cold water. Whoever would have the power next must drink it, eye and all, before the eye rots.”

“Eyes do not last,” the woman said, “So you must drink soon. Then you will see all there is to see and all there is to come. Until you want to give it up.”

An explosion rumbled through the floor, screams penetrated the walls, so I doubted that. She smiled.

“Oh, you will,” the woman said. “I promise. Because in seeing into everyone else you will lose all sense of self. In seeing into every second, you will lose all sense of time. In seeing everyone’s fate and finding you cannot save them all, in knowing that your terrible power is terribly limited, you will lose your soul. You will end up like me, a shadow in the darkness.”

She leaned forward. Her eye glowed brighter.

“Hopefully, though, with one eye left.”

She glanced at the door. Boots marched by.

“You may refuse to drink, of course,” the woman said. “I would not have, had I listened to my predecessor. I would never even have sought her out had I understood what it would mean. You must realize, though, that if you don’t drink, I could easily contrive your death, however little recompense that would be for my wasted eye.”

The woman blew on the bowl again. Her eye bobbed to the surface and glared at me.

“Now, please, if you would, drink. My knees hurt.”

I looked at my own knees through worn canvas pants grimy and flecked with blood.

I had not considered what it would be like to drink her eye. Grit your teeth and gulp it, I told myself. Let it slide down. You have swallowed worse.

Nor had I considered what it would be like to remove my own eye eventually. Which is funny. That one who desired foresight would avoid it.

I certainly did not consider leaving the room. I had spent years searching for this woman: a legend in some towns, a bogeyman in others, the subject of terrified whispers in the halls of power. She could make things not happen, people said. She could make people un-be.

I only considered why I had sought her out: to keep the rest of my family from being murdered. My people from being persecuted. Our towns from being burned out or blown up. Because our neighbors turned a blind eye. Our police led the attacks. And those in the halls of power either did not care or did the worst. We were losing hope while I had lost two more sisters and an aunt during my search.

So I lifted the bowl with both hands and drank. I tried not to choke.

The glow in the woman’s eye faded, and she blew out the candle. She must have left then, but I cannot recall her opening the door because countless doors were exploding open in my mind. It was like being in the Glass Temple when the suns shine through every pane at once. I floated in a bright sea of lives, souls, dreams. Then I realized I was drowning.

I would drown for years. Decades. Centuries. Gasping. Breathless.

I did do some good. I did save my family, pulling them out of the way of danger before they realized they were again in its path–or I contrived to eliminate the danger. For the first time in my life, my family felt safe. Sheltered.

For every one of us who lived, however, ten from other families died instead. For every town of ours I saved by stopping mobs from forming or distracting the police, another was destroyed.

So I broadened my approach. I tried to save everyone, even our enemies. I made sure more sympathetic leaders walked the halls of power. I inspired better laws and put the police in their place. I helped millions prosper so they heard no calling to ruin.

Yet every passing minute I felt thousands of lights go out of the world, lost and broken. The thousands more flickering to life could not undo that darkness.

You might do more good, if that is your goal. Or maybe the woman after you will. I hope so. I have often wondered whether that is the real power we pass on; the stupid hope that our successor will finally succeed in saving those we love and, in the bargain, the world as well.

Now, please, if you would, drink. My knees hurt.

Fiction © Copyright Stephen S. Power
Image by gippal_rock10466 from Pixabay