Growing Pains
You water a flower too much, it dies.
You let it bask in the sun too long, it dies.
Too much of a good thing does harm.
Or is it just poor resource allocation?
You hear a Whisper on the Wind
In the wide world of the Wilde Blue, sometimes stories are left untold. However, they are not lost. Listen closely, and you will hear them. This one comes from a soot-stained building crammed into the heart of Sayles.
Clem shook his head mutely. He knows well enough not to intrude on Simon’s monologue. If his boss wanted something from him directly, he would ask. Until then, wordless agreement was the best course of action. Wordless agreement and the quiet tapping of typewriter keys. Simon often wanted to read through his previous ramblings, and Clem already knew to still his fingers when his boss said something that should not be recorded.
“The executors didn't care much for when I wrote ‘Your three meals a day’ under my yearly contributions.” Simon grumbles something under his breath that Clem cannot make out. ‘[Inaudible]’ is a common word in his transcripts. “But I'll play nice. I'll have to if I want that mining equipment shipped where I need it. It was tough enough getting my hands on it, let alone brought to Isurium.”
Clem sat up straighter in his chair. He knew better than most the future plans of the Sayles Farmer’s Union, mostly due to Simon’s proclivity towards talking to himself. Such information was very valuable, in the right hands. This new scheme, however, has been kept quite close to the old steward’s chest. Clem reckoned because it makes Simon look like he is going insane. Everyone knows about the burning of Isurium. Everyone knows that Isurium is uninhabitable. And yet, it was where Simon had set his sights.
“I was given strange enough looks when the contract bid for working the charred mass went through.” Simon continued, lost in his own inner world. He adjusted the cufflinks on his jacket sleeves. He likely never needed to polish the copper to keep it shiny, Clem thought, with how much he fidgeted with them. “Uncontested bids always get dirty looks.” Simon noted, almost as an aside. “Makes it look like you know something. But it was approved all the same.” A grin crept across his sun-weathered face. “They probably think I’m losing it. ‘Let the old timer play in his ashes’ they probably thought. ‘Means he’ll bother us less if he’s on some doomed venture, what do we care’.”
Simon had taken particular interest in old attempts by the various Clans of Sayles to repair the damage to Isuirum. Over the past week, he had Clem hunt down every scrap of report he could find on the matter, and spent hours pouring over them. Each expedition, as far as Clem could tell, was an utter and complete failure. The scarred landscape simply could not support life. Or at least, that was the conclusion the reports all led to. A more superstitious man would say that the island was cursed, haunted by the burning all these centuries later.
“On the other hand, maybe I do know something.” Simon said, to his bookshelf. He spoke in a quiet tone, and Clem had to strain to make out the words. “Something none of those waterborne we sent could work out.”
Simon reached out for an unlit candle on his desk. The room had electric lights, but Simon also required that Clem keep his office stocked with candles. Clem never batted an eye at the oddities of his employer. Everyone had their quirks, and Simon had more than his share. The union steward closed his fingers around the wick, and when he let go the candle was lit.
“We fireborne don't control flame, we make energy.” Simon told the candle. “And those damned imps turned all that lush jungle directly into nutrients for the soil. It's rich, it's too rich! And they went out there trying to grow their low maintenance flora assortments. Like digging their hands in plasma just to keep warm.” He snuffed out the candle again, pinching out the flame without even wetting his fingers first.
Simon walked over to his desk, finally sitting back down in his chair with a sigh. He kept his thoughts to himself, for a moment, and Clem enjoyed the silence while it lasted. “We’ve just got to dilute all that pure fertilizer.” He said, nodding to himself. “Maybe…mix some of the island's stone and earth into it.” Simon pursed his lips, and Clem made a mental note to copy these musings onto a separate note when he had the chance. Simon always appreciated being able to read over thoughts he was still undecided on. “We could pull some of that soil from the island as fert, but the shipping costs will add up. More than that, we need the space for crops.” Simon went silent again, staring off out the window. When he spoke, it was with the kind of conviction that reminded Clem how he had managed to remain steward as long as he did. “We have to put Isurium back on the map.”
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Author's Notes
This piece was written in collaboration with my good friend CollaredKing, who provided Simon's monologue. It was very fun seeing what he made from my worldbuilding and writings, and his contribution has inspired some future plans of my own!