The Night Orchard of Glass Fire

The night Mira Holt arrived in Ember Hollow the rain smelled like copper and apples. It slid down the windows of the bus and blurred the town into a watercolor of dark roofs and crooked trees. She stepped onto the empty road with one suitcase and the thin ache of leaving too much behind. The driver shut the door and the bus pulled away as if the town itself had exhaled and sealed her inside.

Ember Hollow slept early. Street lamps hummed and cast small circles of light that did not quite touch each other. Beyond them the woods pressed close and breathed in a way that felt aware. Mira tightened her coat and walked toward the only building with a light on the old boardinghouse whose sign read Larkspur House in peeling paint.

Inside it smelled of dust and tea. Mrs Calder the owner was small and sharp eyed and took the cash without comment. She showed Mira to a narrow room with a bed a desk and a window that faced the hill beyond town. On the hill stood a stone orchard of sorts. Trees with branches like veins of glass caught the light of the moon and held it. They did not sway in the wind. They shone and waited.

Mira stood at the window until her breath fogged the glass. She had come to Ember Hollow to catalog artifacts for the historical society. That was the reason she told herself and the reason she told others. The deeper reason was a dream that had followed her since childhood. In the dream she walked through a night orchard and the fruit burned with blue fire and a voice called her name as if it had always known it.

She unpacked and lay down and the dream came again. This time the voice was closer.

The next morning the rain had washed the town clean. Mira walked to the historical society which occupied the old courthouse with a bell that no longer rang. Inside the archives were cool and dim and full of the smell of paper. She met Jonah Reed the caretaker whose hair was dark and whose smile was careful. He showed her a table stacked with boxes.

We get few visitors he said. You will find us quiet.

I like quiet she said and meant it. She worked through the morning cataloging deeds and letters. At noon she stepped outside and felt the hill draw her gaze again. The orchard glittered even in daylight though the glassy branches were duller and the fire was gone.

You should not go up there Jonah said when he saw her staring. People get cut.

By glass she asked.

By memory he said lightly. Then he smiled as if it were a joke.

That night Mira walked toward the hill. She told herself she was only curious. The path was overgrown and the air cooled as she climbed. At the edge of the orchard the ground changed from soil to smooth stone threaded with veins of something clear. The trees rose with trunks like frozen water and branches that chimed softly when the wind passed.

She reached out and a shard sang under her fingers. Blood bloomed bright and warm. She hissed and pulled back. The blood did not fall. It lifted and drifted toward the nearest branch and vanished.

You should not bleed here a voice said.

She turned. A man stood between the trees as if he had grown there. His hair was black and his eyes reflected the orchard with a depth that made her dizzy. He wore a coat old fashioned and his hands were bare.

I am sorry she said stupidly. I did not know.

Most do not he said. You can leave.

She should have. Instead she said Who are you.

His mouth curved with something like regret. I am the keeper. I am called Elias.

The name struck her chest like a bell. You called me she said. In my dreams.

He looked at her as if she had struck him. No he said. I do not dream anymore.

She left with her heart hammering and the cut on her finger healed without a scar.

Days passed and she worked and slept and thought of glass fire. She returned to the orchard at dusk and found Elias waiting. He did not smile. He watched the sky darken as if it were an enemy.

Why does the orchard exist she asked.

It is a place where vows took root he said. Long ago the town bargained with what lived under the hill. Love for protection. Memory for harvest. It grew wrong.

What went wrong she asked.

We did.

She learned the rules. No blood. No fruit taken. No fire after midnight. She learned that the glass was not glass but time made brittle. She learned that the fruit burned only when someone told the truth it was waiting for.

She learned Elias watched the town but could not enter it. He could touch her and did and the touch was careful as if he were afraid she would shatter. When he laughed it surprised them both.

Their closeness grew in stolen evenings. He told her of the day he chose to bind himself to the orchard to stop it from taking more. He told her of the lover he had lost whose name he could not say without pain tearing his voice.

I will not lose you he said one night and the words were a promise and a fear.

I am not yours to lose she said and kissed him anyway.

The fire came when they kissed. Blue light ran along the branches and fruit swelled and burned. The orchard hummed awake.

Something is wrong Elias said and pulled away. It wants.

What does it want she asked though she knew.

It wants you he said. It knows your dreams. It knows you hear it.

The town began to change. People woke with cuts that would not heal. The bell rang once at dawn and split the air. Jonah came to Mira pale and shaking.

You brought it closer he said. Whatever you are doing stop.

That night the orchard burned brighter than ever. The ground cracked and voices rose like wind through leaves. Elias stood at the center with his hands out and blood running from his palms.

Stop he told the orchard. Take me again.

It does not want you anymore Mira said. It wants a heart that still dreams.

He looked at her with love and terror. I cannot let it.

You cannot stop it alone she said.

She remembered the dream the voice that knew her name. She stepped forward and pressed her palm to the trunk. Heat bit and light flooded her. Memories poured through her not hers and hers alike. The bargain the fear the love that built the town and the love it consumed.

She spoke the truth the orchard waited for. I choose to remember and to release. I choose love that does not cage.

The fire flared white. The glass softened. The orchard cried out and then was silent. The trees sagged and became stone. The fruit fell and cooled to ash.

Elias fell with them and she caught him. His eyes were human and wet.

It is over he whispered. I am free.

Morning came and the hill was bare. The town healed. Jonah rang the bell and this time it sounded right.

Mira stayed. Elias learned the town again and the weight of days. They planted real trees on the hill and waited for them to grow. Sometimes at night Mira dreamed of blue fire and woke smiling because the voice was beside her and said nothing at all.