Sight

Sight

                I have never been able to see more than a couple of metres away. Beyond, all is dark. The wise ones say that the darkness that covered the lands has found its way into my eyes. How, they don't know. How to fix it, they say only that they could cut it out - but that would leave me truly blind.

                Because of my troubles I am not a hunter, not a builder, not a shepherd or a cattleman. I do small crafts - sewing, smithing, carving. Friends erect a tent for me, and guide me to a cart when we travel. My tribe wanders the grasslands, grazing our animals and collecting the berries and plants that grow on our route. Once a year, we gather with the other tribes near where the darkness lies; a gathering spot that was in the middle of our lands until the darkness came.

                Strangers often ask me, 'Is the dark fearful for you? Is the night?' They are often trying to ask if I confuse the night for the darkness. I do not. The night is far brighter than the darkness - even in the most pitch black of nights, under layers of cover, I can see where the darkness begins.

                Other times, they wish to know if the limit to my sight scares me. It does, but not by itself. When I hear sounds beyond sight - unexpected sounds - I grow afraid. I can barely tell where the sound comes from yet any monster can see me without trouble. Such a thing happened when I was young - a great carnivore, tall as a man and long as two, tore through our camp. I never saw it, but I heard it. And the screams...

                All ended well. The beast slew none despite wounding many. My parents found me hiding under a wagon, unable to see whether all was safe. The voices and sounds of victory hadn't reassured me enough; but their worried calls were enough to coax me out.

                Some few ask, 'do you fear becoming lost?' Being left behind, unable to see where my people have gone, terrifies me. But I never wander away from camp, and I have never become lost. I have friends by my side almost always. This fear has only ever come in dreams; never in life.

                On rare occasion a stranger will claim to be a doctor, or a shaman, or a wise one. They come close, and stare right into my eyes. They see the darkness floating within each. Most reach the same conclusions as the wise ones of my tribe - the darkness can be removed, at the cost of my eyes. Some try strange rituals, but all have failed.

                It is not so bad, being able to only see so far. My vision, my world, is focused on the task in front of me. I do not while away the time staring in the distance, thinking of where I might go next. All is much the same to me wherever I am. Myself, parts of my workshop, and the darkness that is blacker than black.

                Then one day news came. A hero had found, and destroyed, the source of the darkness. No longer would it slowly consume our lands. Better still: the hero had found a way to capture the darkness, and thus clear it from the land. My people watched as the darkness slowly flowed away, dragged into distant strange device.

                Beneath it the land was long since dead, and only dirt remained. Nothing had been able to live in the intense darkness whether animal, insect or plant. Bodies littered the revealed ground, pure white skeletons long undisturbed. Further down there was only the barren earth.

                As my people watched and cheered I saw nothing of the victory. Yet a wise one saw me, and had an idea. If the machine could drain the darkness from the land, why not from my eyes as well?
                With a handful of my friends and the wise one I travelled to the place the machines were setup. The hero was long gone, having set off for faraway lands, but those she had entrusted the machines to felt for my plight. They were people from a country so far from the tribes that they had never heard of us; and I was the first they had ever met to be afflicted by the darkness.

                They immediately tried one of the machines on me, trying to draw the darkness out of my eyes. It did not work. But the wise one saw that they possessed strange lights that drove the darkness back. It gave her an idea.

                A thin knife was carved at the end of one of the devices (apparently against the hero's desires) and slid behind my eye. It made my vision go completely dark as the darkness clumped upon my iris. Then the wise one put the smallest, tiniest of holes into my eye.

                The darkness squirted out, and was quickly sucked up by one of the machines. After a short while I could see - I could really see! As they repeated the procedure on my other eye I looked around in wonder. I could see so far! I could see the entire operation room, I could see all my friends at once and even those from the other country.

                Seeing with both eyes was another miracle. I smiled and cried - it was too much. I owe the wise one my life, and now I can... I can watch the sun set. I can see the river stretching down from the mountain. And I can follow my tribe without help; no longer a burden.