Coal tip-toed out of the restroom and then jogged to his bedroom door, yanking it open to find Michael sitting in a chair across the hall. The scientist looked up with large eyes as his face settled into a baffled expression, studying Coal’s semi-dressed state with raised brows.
“What’s wrong?” Michael asked. All Coal could do was turn toward Rosa and gape, eliciting a friendly laugh from Michael. “That’s a Rosa, short for Robotic Online Service Assistant. She’s a humanoid robot, a machine. Don’t worry, she’s perfectly harmless.”
Coal’s mouth suddenly went dry and the air vanished even though he drew in breath.
How could a machine look like a woman?
Talk like a woman?
Move like a woman?
“I need to get dressed,” he muttered, the words quavering.
“Ah, I see.” The scientist stood and walked up to the door, popping his head inside. “Rosa, I’m sorry to trouble you but Coal needs a private moment to dress.”
“No trouble.” The female machine walked with fluid strides out of the room and Coal partially hid behind the door as she exited.
“Thank you,” Coal said, and shut the door.
He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his body to breathe. He did feel lightheaded, and a dizzy spell overwhelmed him as he placed his forehead against the wall. Surely he was dreaming, stuck in a nightmare, and any moment he would awake to the clank and clink of metal as his father tidied the shop.
Determined to adapt to his new environment, Coal pushed off the wall and approached the peculiar chest made of drawers. In the top bin he found a linen tunic and breeches, familiar items that cooled some of the heat.
How did they have such homespun items?
No one else in the Outside wore such garments. Nor did New Eden commerce with the lab. He tied his new breeches and froze, the laces falling from his fingers as he whispered, “Merde.” Oaklee’s leaf was tucked away in the pocket of his old breeches.
***
Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free.
— Rumi, 13th century A.D. *
Oh grieving heart, you will mend do not despair
This frenzied mind will return to calm, do not grieve
When the spring of life sets again in the meadows
A crown of flowers you will bear, singing bird, do not grieve
— Hafiz, “The Lost Joseph,” 14th century A.D. *
***
Oaklee glanced over Laurel’s head and absorbed the motions of happiness and family. Life simmered in the cadence of arms, legs, and heads that rippled in a unified celebratory tempo within the stone walls of the Great Hall. Laurel rested against her shoulder with a contented sigh, and Oaklee absently played with her sister’s soft, gold tresses. Dainty herbal flowers and maiden hair ferns were woven into their braids, and Oaklee savored the earthy scent emanating from Laurel.
Her sister was a beautiful gift and she felt blessed that, on this night, Laurel wished to keep her company rather than chatter away joyfully with Corona. A lively tune began and Oaklee tapped her toes as her fingers continued to spin her sister’s hair. Tomorrow, Oaklee would begin her work again, and her body filled with the pleasure of predictability.
Laurel maneuvered so that she looked up and said, “’Tis this not your favorite tune? Oh, how I do enjoy a good reel.”
“Indeed.” Oaklee did not wish to dance, but Laurel lifted her head. A broad smile lit her sister’s face and Oaklee’s ruminating dissipated. Oaklee evoked a serious tone, “May I have this dance, My Lady?”
Her sister giggled. “I would be honored,” she cooed and batted her eyelashes.
Oaklee extended a hand and admired the swirls and designs temporarily tattooed into her skin with henna. The matriarchs had ceremonially marked her hands and feet with the ancient designs of life. This was the first time Oaklee had ever been tattooed, and she felt beautiful participating in this ancestral ritual that connected all feminine spirits past and present.
“Do, however, be careful with my little toes,” Laurel said.
Oaklee laughed, pulled Laurel close and kissed her forehead. “Oh darling, how I adore you.”
Laurel grabbed Oaklee’s hand and pulled her out of her seat, through the gathered crowd, and onto the dance floor. They stood with barely contained mirth as they waited for the right beat. When the song circled back to the familiar riff, they shuffled across the floor with the other dancers. Oaklee laughed as they spun and again when they paused to clap before grabbing each other’s hands and swishing enthusiastically across the floor once more toward the far wall.
A nervous jolt fluttered Oaklee’s breath upon noting Fillion nearby and her smile fell. He leaned casually against the stone wall, arms crossed loosely across his chest, his face expressing disinterest. He looked at her then, and she attempted to appear ladylike and modest, although her body heaved from the exertion. Laurel tugged on her hands, yanking her arms, and Oaklee smiled at her sister as they side-skipped to the other side of the dance floor. The dancers moved around her. Laurel spun as they clapped their hands. Oaklee followed suit while casting shy, furtive glances toward the other end of the room, locking eyes with his. Her heart faltered each time and her legs grew unsteady. The song ended and Laurel wrapped her arms around Oaklee’s waist and squeezed.
“Darling, I fear I must sit now,” Oaklee said between breaths. She raised her hands to her cheeks and felt the warmth. “You are a wonderful dance partner. Shall you save me another dance before the evening is complete?”
“I would be honored,” Laurel cooed once more. Oaklee laughed and curtsied and Laurel did the same. “May I visit Corona over yonder?” Laurel pointed near the hearth where other girls had gathered. “Or would you be too lonely?”
“I shall fare well, dear one. Please enjoy the evening with your friends.”
“Thank you for not stepping on my little toes,” her sister replied with another wide grin before running through the tables to the other side of the room.
Music began once more and Oaklee turned toward the dance floor. Curious, she peeked Fillion’s direction only to meet disappointment when his attention was solely on the musicians. She chided herself for entertaining the romantic fancies and notions of girlhood rather than those of a woman, who would never seek out a man’s attention in such an obvious way.
Lifting her head a notch, she walked gracefully to the head table and lowered herself with elegance. Oaklee poured a goblet of wine, sipping as quickly and as daintily as possible. Thoughts and feelings jumbled through her mind as her heart continued to betray her logic. She should not seek the attentions of a man who had lied to her repeatedly and whose presence removed Coal from their community. And yet, her heart came alive the more she attempted to think of other things or remain cross. The last drop of wine touched her tongue and she poured herself another goblet full and enjoyed a long sip.
Ember cleared her throat, catching Oaklee’s attention. The Daughter of Fire leaned forward across the table and whispered, “Go.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Leave, no one shall notice your absence for some time.”
Confusion wrinkled Oaklee’s thoughts and she continued to stare at her sister-in-law. “Where shall I go?”
“I believe you wish for a private moment, do you not?” Oaklee’s eyes widened, and Ember leaned forward even further. “This is your moment.”
“A private moment for what, pray tell?” Her sister-in-law only smiled. “Ember Lenore Watson, have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Away with you,” Ember said. She waved her hand and smiled.
“Are you well?” Leaf turned toward Oaklee.
“She is simply in need of fresh air,” Ember said with casual grace. “She reeled and feels flush. It is rather warm inside the Hall is it not, My Lord?”
“Indeed, My Lady.” Leaf scooted his chair
back and turned to Oaklee. “I shall keep you company.”
“No, please do not trouble yourself, My Lord,” Oaklee said. “I shall fare well, and solitude suits me. I shall not venture far.”
“Oaklee,” he whispered emphatically, glancing around the table. “You should have a chaperone. For several reasons. It is unladylike and tongues will wag.”
Oaklee placed her hands onto the table and leaned forward. “Please, My Lord,” she whispered in irritation. “Do not confine me any more than I already am.”
Her brother drew back, uncertainty and distress hardening his features. “I do not insult you with the request,” he said between gritted teeth. “I insult those who wish our family harm.” After a few heartbeats, Leaf reluctantly assented with a dip of his head. He twisted away from Oaklee and bestowed his attention on the other half of the table once more as a muscle twitched in his jaw.
When Leaf resumed conversation, Ember leaned forward and whispered, “Fret not, you shall be fine and I shall remind him so.” Ember gestured for Oaklee to take note that all The Elements were present. “Go. I believe there is something rather distressing you wish to settle in your heart. Make amends within yourself so you may begin anew tomorrow. I have a hunch, and I am rarely wrong.”
Unpleasant sensations swirled in Oaklee’s stomach with even the simplest thought of sneaking out and into the night for a private moment—for what, she knew not. Her fingers gripped the goblet of wine and lifted the vessel to her lips. It was a poor attempt at ladylike deportment as she drank to the bottom, but Oaklee needed to settle her nerves, and with haste. Fillion’s advice to drink up and drink fast echoed in her mind, and the muscles in her stomach tightened in response. She offered Ember a timid smile and then slowly walked away from the head table without looking back.
The musicians began a lively piece. Oaklee approached the crowd of onlookers gathered near the entrance who merrily clapped for the dancers. A Celtic drum beat in rhythm with her heart, her shallow breaths fogging the latticed window as she searched the darkened night. Never had she aimlessly traversed the biodome at late evening by herself simply to seek solitude. The very thought was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. She teetered on the edge of propriety, and Ember’s insistence mystified her.
Unable to resist the music, she lightly bounced on her feet. Slipping a hand into her pocket, she thoughtfully caressed the hemp paper as her mind conjured, yet again, what could possibly be contained in its folds. She was not ready to read the contents, though, and instead drew comfort from the memory of Coal. Did Ember know of Coal’s letter? Most likely, Oaklee mused to herself. Ember and Coal were close. Naturally, he would share such sentiments with his sister.
Oaklee stopped at the door and turned to look over the crowd once more. Everyone was consumed with their own merriment. Fillion continued to watch the musicians with knitted brows, his focus interrupted when Laurel and Corona approached him. Her little sister tapped Fillion’s arm and he looked down surprised, shifting his body to face them. Corona lifted a white flower and Fillion knelt down and accepted the proffered gift. A charming smile softened his face as he smelled the wildflower for show. Oh how that smile made various emotions flutter and dance within her chest! The girls ran off, hiding their giggles behind small hands, and Fillion trailed their movements with a sober expression.
He looked down at the flower for a few heartbeats and then swept his gaze across the room until he found her. Oaklee quickly looked away, unable to hide a small, bashful smile. Irritated at being caught staring, she tip-toed out of the Great Hall. The song ended and the crowd cheered loudly as she pushed the heavy door open with a loud, creaky groan. She quickly shut it behind her, pulse racing.
Her breath left her body in a ghostly vapor that faded into the inky night. Oaklee drew her cloak closer. Lanterns lined the dirt path and she sighed in relief, fetching one as she ambled in the direction of The Rows.
The cold air nipped at her exposed skin as she drew the large hood over her head. It was another moonless night and the ambient light from the dome ceiling cast eerie shadows across the meadow. The night breathed deeply, a restful sigh that flapped her cloak against her body and waved the hood across her face in gentle motions. Although the Celtic drum carried on the night wind from the feast, she fastened her eyes upon the earthen trail and listened to the trees whisper their lullaby to the sleeping forest. A tangible serenity infused each step and she smiled. Nighttime was beautiful, she concluded, and she felt a swelling appreciation for the solitary shelter it provided. Perhaps grief was not the only state that painted everything black. Perhaps peace did as well.
Leaves crunched beneath her feet and added accent beats to the drum. The harmony moved her soul and she added a dance to her step as she skipped down the footpath, turning in the bio-wind at the appropriate choreographed moments.
She paused before a sapling, growing on the edge of The Orchard. “Why yes, Sir Tree, I would be honored to dance with you.” Her fingers gripped a thin, bare branch and she arched her arm above her head, tucking herself beneath the bow in a slow spin. She gave a light kick, took two steps back and then swayed forward and backward with melodramatic grace as she bit her lower lip to contain the erupting giggles. Mayhap she had indulged in too much spirits as well. The song ended and Oaklee curtsied to the sapling, placing fingers over her mouth as she giggled once again. The tune carried in her heart and she hummed the melody as she continued her journey toward The Rows.
Guilt and grief—two emotions she knew well—had become her closest companions, often flavoring her day with disquietude. Jealous friends from the onset, these dispositions tainted every happy moment. But this night, she wished to live. She wished to push through the heartache that had stolen her life and, instead, seek friendship with closure and comfort.
A bride and groom were also celebrated this eve, their sacred oath as ancient as time. In New Eden, a bride was the symbol of life. She was adorned with flowers and leaves as if she were Spring, ushering in a new season after the hollowness of Winter. It was a message of hope and always cause for the greatest of celebrations. A groom pledged his life to serve his bride, even if it meant he must lay down his own life for hers. Thankfully, no man in their community had yet to physically sacrifice himself to save a woman. She suddenly stopped in the path. No man, until Coal.
Her view tilted as her heart and mind began to discuss the possibilities with heated tones, and she placed a hand onto a large maple to steady herself. Ember had dressed and prepared Oaklee as a bride to send off Coal and welcome a new resident at The Door during the union of two worlds. Her sister-in-law knew that Coal was sacrificing himself and shared that the newcomer would revolutionize New Eden.
In her subtle way, Ember gave Oaklee a message and allowed Oaklee to decipher the greater meaning in her own time. It was not that Oaklee should marry Coal; rather, she should choose to live. This was Coal’s gift. He was sacrificing himself so the Winter of her life could give way to Spring. The Last Ceremony marked the end of her bereavement period and welcomed a season of new beginnings. Knowing this, Coal protected her need for family and predictability within her home.
He was not stupid. He was not insensitive. Although he was still a fool. A rascally and impetuous fool that always charmed her into laughter and, only recently, made her cry over him. The knave! Oaklee smiled to herself as she thought of her friend. Mayhap it was the three goblets of wine she enjoyed within the half-hour, but for the first time in seven days she thought of Coal without a large dose of guilt and fear.
The Son of Fire’s letter shifted in her pocket with each step, and she looked up at the dim glow of the geodesic sky. The lantern easily slid onto a low branch of a pear tree on the outskirts of The Rows and, with a deep breath, she pulled Coal’s letter from her pocket. The hemp paper glowed beneath the candlelight as she untucked the folds. At first, her eyes wandered over the beautifully scribed note, each letter looped and slanted with uniformity. Coal’s penmanship was a
s artistic as the drawings he charcoaled or inked onto spare paper when allowed. She brushed her fingers with fondness over the ink, as if the very letters could leap from the page and materialize into her friend.
Dearest Willow Oak of the Wood,
How does one say farewell? The very act eludes me, never having practice in the art of saying goodbye. Since my decision to take Leaf’s place, I have penned four letters to you. Each one filled a page with trite messages that, no matter how they were described, could not approach what burns inside of me. My apologies if my words do injustice to our unfolding story, which, I dare to hope, contains a happy future.
I have loved you since I was a lad of four when Leaf brought you to The Waters to play while your mother rested. There I was a boy knight and you a faerie princess, roles we longed to fill and played at our entire childhood. Now, grown up, you are indeed a princess and I leave on a quest for your family. Is it not strange how fate has twisted our lives’ tales as such?
Please, do not grieve for me. I know you, Willow Oak Watson, and I did not depart to add to your sorrows nor shall I tolerate tears shed over my absence. Although, I smile at the very image of you cross over my decision, storming inside for demonstrating my stupidity and foolish insensitivity. Upon my return, I desire for you to inflict your tempestuous nature upon me. I shall relish in it and deem it a worthy hero’s return. I smile yet again, knowing full well these words infuriate you. Be warned, My Lady, your gale force winds only billow the fire and I, in reply, burn brighter for you.
Enclosed is a poem I discovered quite by accident when I borrowed a book from Norah. The page was neatly tucked away as a forgotten marker and I do believe it was penned during an age not allowed per The Code. I copied the words to save and wish to gift them to you, knowing how you secretly enjoy all things scandalous.
This is farewell, My Lady, and as Shakespeare writes, “Parting is such sweet sorrow.” I shall return to you and when I do, I hope a happy ending awaits us both.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 11