With all my love and affection,
Yours Truly,
Coal M. Hansen
“Dear friend,” Oaklee sighed, “I grieve over breaking your most faithful heart.” She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sounds of nature to calm her troubled spirit. However, the festive music from the Great Hall drowned out the gurgling creek’s cheerful tune. She opened her eyes and shuffled the papers, drawing the forbidden poem closer to the light.
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
By Robert Frost
Despite Coal’s admonishment not to cry over him, she could not contain the tears that slipped over the threshold and fell down her cheeks. The poem was beautiful and gripped her heart fiercely as she contemplated the last line. The community’s Golden Boy did not stay as Eden sank to grief, and took with him her golden tribute. The nibbling dread that paid visits since Coal’s departure whispered to her once more, and she began to believe that her fear of his never returning held substance.
Straightening her shoulders, she folded the precious words of the poem and placed them within her dress pocket. An urge shivered through her as she faced The Rows, and her fingers lifted his letter to the lantern’s flame. Death was the only goodbye she understood, and Oaklee needed to let go properly if she was to move forward and embrace the dawning Spring of her life. This was Coal’s gift, and she would not fail to appreciate his sacrifice.
As the hemp paper flamed, she approached the heart of the Ceremonial Garden. Reverently, she lowered the burning letter to the soil and watched as his last words turned to ash. The embers faded into the black of the rich soil and she scooped dirt over the remnants to cool the ashes as her fingertips tilled the remains into the garden. His words of love and honor would now feed and nourish this community, becoming a part of each individual.
She blew a kiss to her parents and to Coal, rising from the garden as a new woman. It was time to return to the Celebration of Life and lift a goblet in Coal’s name. Her heart experienced lightness as she approached her lantern; so much so, she lifted her face to the night and allowed the bio-breeze to caress her form and sift through her hair. The fresh feeling flushed through her entire body and she giggled with the release, forgiving herself for the unkind and selfish acts against her family and Coal, while forgiving Coal for his foolish quest in pursuit of her heart. She was now officially ready to transcend, to reach beyond, to live.
Footsteps shuffled from behind and Oaklee slowly turned as a shadow moved toward her. She lifted the lantern from the branch and dangled it by her side and nibbled the inside of her lip in anticipation of his presence. An orange glow cut through the dark, brightening momentarily before lowering closer to the ground.
“Hey,” he said, almost shyly.
“Hay?” She stared, perplexed. “Do you always greet young women as if barn animals?”
Fillion laughed, the sound reminiscent of a soft, fluttering breeze; and her heart began to dance in tandem to the quick rhythm of the drum as she surreptitiously admired his smile. The silvery blues of his eyes possessed an ethereal quality, taking captive every one of her thoughts. With great effort she looked away, heady with wine and acceptance.
“H-e-y. Hey. It’s outsider speak for hello.”
“I see.”
He slid her a sly look. “And do you like what you see?”
“I see many things,” she quipped. “Perhaps you can enlighten me. To what do you refer?”
“Nothing.” He casually lifted a shoulder in a shrug as a near indiscernible smile pulled at his lips. “Everything.”
“Are you intentionally elusive so I become cross with you?” She lifted the lantern to better see his face. He looked away with an amused grin and then raised a joint to his mouth as his eyes roamed over the meadow and The Rows. Fillion exhaled slowly as he studied the dome’s sky. Another humored smile played across his face—one that reminded her of the Dungeon Master—before he met her waiting gaze.
In a dallying tone, he asked, “You wanted me?”
“Do not be absurd,” she said with a huff and narrowed her eyes. Fillion raised his eyebrows with a look resembling boredom, and yet it contained a flirtatious element that muddled her senses. As subtly as possible, Oaklee studied his features as a sudden idea surfaced. “You know the mill along the North Pond?”
“Maybe. Is it by where we came in yesterday?”
“Precisely.” Her heart pounded noticeably as she became more aware of him. In a delirious cycle, her mind whispered over and over to her runaway thoughts that this was the man to whom she had pledged herself. And the man who had lied to her. He was definitely the Dungeon Master, a more gentle and timid version, a revelation that destroyed every notion of how to feel or behave. Modesty won over in the end, and she lowered her eyes to the ground. “There is a rather large tree across the bridge and to the left of the mill.”
“And you’re telling me this because...?”
“I wish to meet you there at half-past the hour, if you will oblige.”
“Sure, I’ll oblige,” he responded with a shaky smile, drawing on his joint again. “Why the secrecy? Just say what you want to say now.”
Oaklee inspected The Rows and meadow. “I cannot be seen with you alone at night and unchaperoned. I have already compromised my reputation by traversing the gardens alone. If we were seen together, it would place us in a precarious position before the community.”
He took a step forward so that their toes nearly touched and she held her breath. His fingers plucked a white flower from his belt, the one Corona had gifted him, and placed it in her hand as he stared at the wild grass.
“I’m not afraid of New Eden’s mob mentality, but whatever.”
She whispered, “What are you afraid of, then?”
With a bashful grin, he met her eyes for a mere heartbeat and whispered, “See you around,” before sauntering back toward the Great Hall.
The wine on his breath made her think of the prior evening and her stomach fluttered. She watched until Fillion’s form disappeared completely and then she giggled behind her hand.
She would raise a goblet in Coal’s honor after she met with Fillion. They may not have another moment of privacy such as this. As she ambled through The Orchard, her fingers brushed along the trunks of some of her favorite trees, hoping Leaf did not worry over her prolonged absence, and hoping the trees would guard her secret. The old biddies of The Orchard witnessed her interaction with Fillion and she knew their red fruit blushed at the scandal of their clandestine meeting, and the one to come. “Shhh,” she directed at the trees, raising a finger to her lips, before giggling once more.
The wildflower twirled in her fingers as she rubbed the stem absently. In a moment of whimsy, she leaned her back against a pear tree, closing her eyes as she inhaled the sweet fragrance of the flower, unable to hold in a smile. Heartbeats passed in a euphoric blur, and she eventually resumed her stroll along the footpath as she tucked the flower into her hair.
The night air blanketed her in solitude once more and she pulled her hood over her head, deciding to walk the path along the apartments. Candles burned in a small number of homes as mothers tucked in their young to the lullaby of the Celtic music that carried on the bio-breeze. Her eyes wistfully lifted toward the apartments. Then she tugged on her hood and trod toward a confrontation she both longed for and dreaded.
***
By the fountain, near the gate,
There stands a linden tree;
I have dreamt in its shadows
so many sweet dreams.
I carved on its bark
so many loving words;
I was always drawn to it,
whether in joy or in sorrow.
Today again I had to pass it
in the dead of night.
And even in the darkness
I had to close my eyes.
Its branches rustled
as if calling to me:
“Come here, to me, friend,
Here you will find your peace!”
The frigid wind blew
straight in my face,
my hat flew from my head,
I did not turn back.
Now I am many hours
away from that spot
and still I hear the rustling:
“There you would have found peace!”
— Wilhelm Müller, “der Lindenbaum,” Die Winterreise, 1823 *
***
Fillion waited in the shadows of the Great Hall. He smoked his last joint with shaky fingers, forcing himself to walk into the forest. She knew. He could see it in her eyes and it took everything inside of him to play it cool. God, she was going to kill him and leave his body. One part of him enjoyed the idea of dying at her hands and the other part of him was ready to fall on his own sword. Either way, he was terrified. And yet, even though these were his last minutes on Earth—or Mars—or whatever the hell this was—he marched forward to meet his fate.
Logic told him with confidence that, now or later, it didn’t matter. Self-preservation urgently shouted to enter the North Cave and bang on The Door until it opened. The last glimmer of hope whispered that she didn’t regret giving trash like him her pure and innocent heart. “I’m so lame,” he muttered under his breath and then shook his head. He really needed to stop talking to himself out loud.
Fillion hoped, no matter what happened tonight, that he would be able to focus on his mission and help Leaf. Tomorrow he was to meet with Connor and go over his job options. The thought made him groan. With his luck, he’d have to pull carrots from the ground or peel potatoes for ninety days. Or worse, milk goats. That last thought made him shudder.
He slowed when he reached the stone bridge that crossed over the far end of the pond. The large tree nestled against a Tudor-style mill, as described. A wheel sat in an emptied channel, perfectly still, the buckets poised and ready to drown and emerge, load and dump. He picked up a small rock and skipped it across the pond as he traveled over the stone bridge, satisfied with the familiar plinks and plunk.
A figure emerged from behind the tree and his steps faltered. God, she was beautiful. All he could hear was his own breathing and the pounding of his heart. They were the sounds of life. His life. He blinked rapidly, lowered his head, and continued toward Willow. He exhaled a little too loudly when he stopped in front of her and lowered his hood. But there was no help for it.
“Hey,” she said softly.
He looked up and bit the inside of his cheek. She offered a kind smile and his heart pounded with more violence. Fillion should be humored by her greeting, but the nerves racing through his body overwhelmed him beyond any reasonable thought. He was on the verge of a system crash, but somehow managed a “hey” in return. Being reduced to stupidity, yet again, was getting old.
“I wish to show you something,” she said. Her voice quavered and Fillion felt a smidgeon of relief that she was nervous, too.
He trailed behind her as she walked around the large tree. A lantern rested near the trunk, flickering across the bark. Willow’s features were enchanted with warm light as she bent forward and picked it up.
With reverence, her fingers caressed the bark of the tree. His eyes trailed over the henna tattoos decorating her hands and he felt his heart begin to race for entirely different reasons. Flowers and leaves cascaded down her long, wavy hair, including the one he impulsively gave her. He needed to focus. After tonight, there would be no knowing her—in any capacity. Fillion shifted on his feet with growing impatience as he watched her inspect the “something.”
“Do you fare well?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
She slid a glance his direction and held his eyes. And as usual, he stared, like an idiot. She blinked and returned her focus to the tree. What the hell was she doing? What the hell was he doing?
Willing confidence, he took a step toward the tree and leaned in to see what the “something” was she wished to show him. Initials in various shapes, sizes, and patterns, covered the tree like druidic runes. The tips of her fingers brushed against each mark and she paused every so often as if they spoke to her. After a few exasperating seconds, her hand stilled over a set of initials. Her lips formed a faint smile and she beckoned him to come closer with a quick nod. He leaned in farther and closed his eyes as a shot of adrenaline hit him when their cheeks touched.
She leaned to the side to create more space, whispering with a slight tremor, “Do you see the letters?”
“Yeah.” Once again, not a very inspired reply, but the only one he could manage.
“J.W. and D.J.” Her voice had a strange quality to it as if he should recognize them. But his mind stopped working the moment he stepped into her presence. She began again, much to his relief. “These are my father’s initials. He always carved or penned leaves in the letters like this. ’Tis his signature, to be sure.”
“OK.”
“In medieval folklore this was known as the ‘the tree of lovers.’ It was also believed that one could not lie when speaking beneath its boughs. So men and women pledged their eternal love for one another beneath such trees.”
“Interesting.” Fillion forced a polite smile. He hated illogical stories like these. But whatever.
“According to a legend in New Eden, this tree once belonged to two star-crossed lovers, a man of humble origins and a maiden of unparalleled beauty. One day, they met beneath the Tree of Lovers to declare their affection. When she gifted her heart to him, he carved their initials into the trunk to seal their pledge. For many months they knew nothing but happiness. However, before they wed, a great tragedy tore them apart.” Willow’s fingers played with the edge of her cloak as she continued. “Heartsick, the woman sought the tree for comfort. It is said that the tree took great pity upon the maiden and wept a single tear.” He studied the large heart-shaped leaves littering the ground. “When the small, silver leaf landed upon the palm of her hand, it magically transformed into a pendant to wear around her neck. This way, the heart of the man, in the form of a leaf, could stay close to the heart of the maiden he left behind.”
“Quite the legend.”
“Do you not see?” She stood up.
He scanned the letters once more and swallowed when he recognized his mom’s initials. She definitely knew. He felt like his gut got punched. His only thoughts were commands to breathe. Damn, Leaf. It wasn’t that she thought he was the Dungeon Master, but that she knew exactly who he was. The air was frigid but sweat began to bead on his forehead. He tucked his thumbs into his belt and raised his shoulders, tensing when she spoke again.
“This is a linden tree and—”
“What?” Fillion took a step back and looked up at the branches.
“Pardon?”
“What’s the name of the tree?”
“Linden...”
“OK, go on.” He tried to act casual but the atmosphere had shifted.
“The name of this tree bothers you?” She took a single step forward and squinted her eyes in a look of suspicion. “Why is that, My Lord?”
Fillion cringed with the title. “It’s my sister’s name.”
She clearly didn’t expect that answer and widened her eyes. “You have a sister?”
“I know it’s hard to believe, nettomo, but I don’t live in a computer.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “And I’m not a genie and you didn’t summon me to New Eden through Messenger Pigeon to grant your wishes.”
Willow took two slow steps back, arms akimbo. Since learning of his sentence in New Eden, he thought he would turn into a puddle of useless nothing with any kind of confrontation with her. But the urge to fight kicked in and he met her challenging glare.
Nobody was allow
ed to wipe their feet on him anymore—and that included Willow. He didn’t care if he was possibly the son of a killer. Or that she was essentially his employee. Or that she had gifted him her heart to guard and keep safe. He was exhausted and mentally unraveling after a sleepless and intense forty-eight hours. And most of all, he was tired of being afraid of Willow. Fillion couldn’t live ninety days tip-toeing around the inevitable. She could hate him now. Logic won out in the end.
“That is most unfortunate,” Willow said, “as I wish to know why you lied to me. And how you knew my full name before we were properly introduced. Since you are not in the business of granting wishes, I suppose this conversation is over.”
Willow spun on her heel and began to walk away. Fillion grabbed her hand and pulled her back. She bumped into him with the momentum and looked up with rounded eyes.
“Unhand me!”
He shouted back, “I lied to protect you!” He let go and lifted his hands to his chest in mocked surrender and took a step back.
“How very gallant of you, sir. Or shall I refer to you as a soldier? I humbly thank you for coming to my rescue.” She turned her head and lifted her chin. “How can I be sure this is not another game you play? Is this even the real you?”
Fillion stared at her profile for a moment. A volcano of emotions threatened to erupt. Whatever. He shook his head and brushed past her toward the bridge. The hell with her. The toe of his shoe scuffed the worn path and he kicked at it as the anger fully surfaced.
“Fillion!”
“Shit,” he muttered. His name on her lips made him hesitate and he continued to swear under his breath. As petty as it was, though, he didn’t want her to win so he kept walking.
“Fillion!”
This time the voice was right behind him and he stopped. She ran in front of him, frantic. “Save your breath,” he said. “I don’t want to hear it.” He moved to walk around her.
She side-stepped and placed her hands on his chest and he stilled. “When a lady calls for a gentleman, he should regard her and honor her request.”
“I don’t care who calls for me. I’m not sticking around to be mocked and shamed.”
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 12