Transitions

by Jesikah Sundin

  “Thank you,” Leaf whispered, voice tight, “for sacrificing your honor and our friendship to protect my family.”

  Skylar shoved out of his chair and strode to the window. He leaned on the sill, fingers clawing the wood, arms rigid, and placed his forehead on the cold glass to chill his roiling emotions.

  Villagers passed by with baskets, balanced across their backs or atop their heads, filled to the brim with grain for animal feed and for bread, or a variety of garden produce for the kitchen and root cellars. Their heads were covered in coifs or scarves, but sweat still dripped down their foreheads. They smiled to one another and spoke in passing.

  Men mixed water into powered cob from fallen buildings to rebuild walls. Mud formed gloves over their hands clear up to their elbows. A man from the second generation flicked mud from his fingers to a friend who pushed him in the shoulder in shared humor.

  A mother scolded her child as another sat at her feet with tears streaking down dirt caked cheeks. She reached into her pocket and unwrapped a crust of bread from a rag and placed the remnant baguette into the distressed child’s hands. Chickens pecked the soil for fallen crumbs nearby and the child laughed.

  A young woman, just beyond girlhood, huddled close to another young woman and exchanged whispers while watching two young men work. Noticing their attentions, one young man intentionally hit the other in the back of the head with a plank of wood, which began a grand chase. Skylar smiled as the scene unfolded. Though they wrestled and fought, they laughed and earned humored remarks by the older men.

  He had seen these very images more times than he could count. But this moment, it was as if seeing it all for the first time. “Everyone seems happy,” he said aloud. His words fogged the window and he watched until it dissipated. Skylar turned toward Leaf and leaned his back against the sill. “They believe this world and have forgotten their origins, but they seem at peace.”

  “Yes,” Leaf replied simply.

  “What if,” he drew out and paused. “What if we took the technology imparted to sustain our world, and used it to help disconnect New Eden from the lab entirely?” Leaf’s eyes widened with interest. “Not everyone, mind you,” Skylar continued. “Just those who are mechanically inclined.”

  “To build our own team of Guardian Angels.”

  “Precisely.”

  “And Hanley?”

  Skylar lifted a shoulder in a weary shrug. “Leave him to Dr. Nichols and the Son of Eden.”

  “But we must convince him of this plan if we are to gain independence.”

  “Does he know that is what we want?”

  Leaf shook his head and rested his shoes on the chair across from him. He crossed his arms across his chest as he sank lower in the chair deep in thought. “I discussed with him the possibility once and he laughed. I shall wait until Fillion returns as owner and then I shall explore buyout options with my inheritance.”

  “And Dr. Nichols?”

  “No, she is not aware of the sincerity of our plans, nor do I wish to revisit the discussions with her until Fillion is present.” Leaf leveled his gaze onto Skylar and the steel in his eyes hardened. “Her words and gestures reflect probity. I do not question her authenticity. But she is too powerful, and knows it.” The Son of Earth lifted the corner of his mouth in a grim smile. “Sometimes I wonder if it is Hanley who is being manipulated.”

  Skylar flinched as goosebumps prickled the back of his neck.

  He swiveled to peer through the window and reflect upon village life as Leaf’s words settled. This was the most they had confided in each other since before he courted Ember. Nor did they use honorary titles to cloud their discussion. It was not necessary. He took in a deep breath and allowed the air to fill his lungs with hope.

  “Leaf?” He peered over his shoulder. “When do you advise we roll out our Education Plan?”

  “After the village is rebuilt.”

  “Agreed,” Skylar said, relieved. “Let our community heal first.”

  “The community?” Leaf said with a grin. “I was thinking entirely of you and I. That was rather noble of you to think of others.”

  Skylar tittered, though it resembled more of a grunt. “Yes, I am quite noble.”

  “It must be our fine aristocratic upbringing.”

  “No,” Skylar said. “We are far too political and scheming for that refined nonsense.”

  “Indeed.” Leaf stood and stretched. “Well, on that note, I promised to arbitrate a disagreement between two grain growers in the Mediterranean dome.”

  “Happy times.”

  “Always.” Leaf grabbed Skylar’s forearm. “I shall swing by to assist you with the dehumidifiers afterward. North apartments?”

  “Yes.”

  “Excellent. Until then, My Lord.” Leaf flashed a wry grin as he bowed.

  “Your Majesty,” Skylar replied. He attempted a straight face to match his bored, aristocratic tone and failed. His lips twitched with a suppressed smile and Leaf quietly chuckled as they exited The Chancery.

  Chickens squawked in protest as they flapped out of his and Leaf’s path through the main square. Leaf slid him a blasé look in response with all the arrogance of their high-bred class. But he could not hold the expression long and erupted into sputtered mirth much to the curiosity of the villagers. Skylar hid his amusement as best he could. Then thought better of it. His friend, his brother, felt no shame in being seen with him. Why, then, should he?

  Monday, December 14, 2054

  Leaves crunched beneath Skylar’s shoes as he approached The Mill. It was mid-day and the sun was at its zenith in the reflective sky. The community currently gathered to regale their day thus far with friends and family over a meal. Skylar, on the other hand, brought a pack and planned to eat alone. A matriarch and his sisters sat with their mother.

  He knew the likelihood of followers was slim. Still, as he crossed the stone bridge over the North Pond, he peeked over his shoulder. Dark fabric folded over part of his face with the movements, but in his limited sight he saw nothing save swaying trees and grass. Satisfied, he dipped two buckets into the pond and covered them with wooden lids. Then he jogged past the linden tree to the backside of The Mill where divots were dug into a corner of the cob wall. With a grunt, he hoisted himself up and scaled the wall to deposit one bucket and then quickly returned for the other. Last bucket in hand, he swung a leg over the wooden railing. He landed with a thud onto the balcony connecting to the grain bin floor. A thin layer of flour dust poofed into a small cloud and dissipated in the breeze.

  At the south end of the small balcony, Skylar retrieved two long plank boards stacked against the railing. In all these years no one had questioned the need for additional planks upon a perfectly structural balcony. Perhaps the Miller knew of his family’s secret. Skylar stretched the first plank toward the stone wall of the biodome. It slid across the open space to the hidden landing until it rammed a boulder. He repeated the process with the second plank. Then, he climbed onto the railing and spread his arms for balance, each hand holding a water bucket, and tiptoed to his makeshift bridge. He stepped onto the planks and bent his knees creating a slight jostle to test how they would hold. Barely a budge. He took a tentative step out into the open air, followed by another step.

  The wind wrapped him in a cool embrace and his cloak fluttered and snapped behind him. Hair flew into his eyes but he continued the course, one foot in front of the other. Walking across the air was a feeling unlike any other. Even at eighteen, he could not help but pretend that he levitated and possessed the power to travel by sky. He glimpsed his shadow as it walked over bending grass several stories below while he traversed the impossible.

  Not a single rumor whispered on the wind here. He was too high up for such lowly experiences, too removed from the mundane and the pain. For these few blessed moments the rushing sensations blew away his controversial existence. And he smiled. Not a mere wisp of happiness. Rather, a full-on grin, one that invaded and destroyed everyth
ing negative that he had become.

  A couple steps more and a layer of birch, maple, and cypress trees lining the biodome wall came within touching distance. Skylar grabbed a limb for support and trotted the remaining way to the landing platform hidden behind several large evergreen trees.

  He lowered the buckets and tossed his pack to the narrow balcony jutting from the stone wall. Carefully, he pulled one of the long planks toward him and hid it in an evergreen tree, followed by the other. The trees rustled in a gentle breeze and stirred strands of hair back over his forehead. He threw the pack across his shoulder, blew the hair out of his eyes, and spun to face the wall. A crude ladder made from hemp rope and sturdy tree limbs draped the boulders. He curled his fingers around a rung and began his long climb to the skyline. It would take multiple trips to bring up the buckets.

  With a final step, both buckets now secure atop the rock wall, he crested the boulders and his hand touched the glass panels.

  From all other vantage points, one could only see the Outside sky reflected back. But here, nose pressed to the glass, he could see what others could not. Beyond the glass, desert stretched on for what seemed like eternity. In the far distance, a great body of water sparkled and glimmered beneath the noonday sun. Besides Coal and now Leaf, who visited the lab at least once a week, Skylar was perhaps the only other member of the second generation to see mountains with his own eyes. They were breathtaking, especially in the evening when the sun dipped behind the jagged peaks.

  He pushed himself up on the rock and pulled his knees to his chest as he surveyed Earth. Down below, scientists in white lab coats walked the grounds of N.E.T. He looked for the tell-tale blue trim to confirm his suspicion. These were indeed the Guardian Angels who worked within the technosphere. From his pack, he retrieved an apple and took a bite as his eyes trailed the engineers coming and going.

  Skylar brushed a finger in an arc across the glass and his forehead wrinkled. A thin layer of soot still covered the dome ceiling. How on Earth could they possibly clean their sky? He bit into the apple and chewed on ideas, especially concerning the Techsmith Guild. Despite Dr. Nichols’ request to leave Hanley to her, Skylar’s mission was now to convince Hanley to approve their modified Education Plan without revealing their ultimate motive. His uncle was astute, though.

  Skylar placed the apple core back into his pack and pulled out a small chunk of cheese and fresh bread wrapped in a linen cloth, still warmed by the ovens. The yeasty smell wafted around him and he inhaled deeply. He spread the cloth across his lap to rest his bread and cheese, and then retrieved his Cranium from the pack and positioned it against his head. Time to message Hanley, then return to work.

  With a touch, his Cranium turned on. Vivid colors painted the air, though dimmer than usual in the bright light. He brought up an email screen within Messenger Pigeon and selected “Guild Master, Hanley Nichols.”

  “My apologies for the delay in response, though I appreciate your efforts in reaching out. Are you perhaps available this evening for a brief session? As I am sure you have heard, the Education Plan did not roll out as designed. I do have a solution, though, one I hope you will be open to receive. I shall await your reply.”

  He hit “send,” then enjoyed a bite of bread and cheese. The tangy goat cheese melted in his mouth and he swallowed with appreciation. A bird flew by the glass Outside and Skylar watched its wings cut through the expansive sky, seemingly unaware of the endlessness of it all. A ping echoed in his head and he returned his attention back to the message center.

  Hanley: “I am available this night. Meet me at our usual time. In the future, I expect better communication from your office.”

  Skylar clenched his jaw.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned off his Cranium and tossed it back into his pack. Sitting on the edge of his world inspired an idea. His insides quaked, but he was resolute. Perhaps the community would view him differently after this night. Maybe he would see himself differently, too.

  Meal complete, Skylar packed up and stood. He walked the lip of the rock wall away from the ladder and toward the hidden wind machines to check the filters. Before passing an open spot in the tree border, he paused to scope out the surroundings for human movements. Several times in previous assignments he had camped on the wall ledge for hours until villagers moved far enough away that he could proceed without being seen. For this reason he always brought extra food and a skin of water.

  He was able to complete most tasks at night while the residents slept. However, visiting the wind turbines required a significant amount of daylight. Candles would snuff out, and it was not safe to bring lanterns should he fall from the wall. Mid-day meal was a relaxed event, so it was easier to excuse his absence. Plus he enjoyed meals in solitude. Skylar checked the area surrounding the North Cave, lifted his hood, and continued to walk the sky horizon toward the roar of hidden machines.

  The stone corridor appeared as the wall curved toward the North Cave. From below, it appeared as though a normal wall, as the entrance was indiscernible, an illusion. Rather clever, actually. The hallway granted access clear to the other side of the North Cave’s opening before the west apartments began, to which he could walk above on the lip of the rock wall. Wind turbines were positioned discreetly throughout the domes. Though no access was granted in front, and for good reason. His father often shared a story about a worker who flew into the North Pond during a test session while the biodomes were under construction. Not even the safety ropes could save him.

  Skylar yanked open an iron handle in the wall to reveal the innards to one of the many wind turbines. The whir of fans rushed in his ears and he grit his teeth at the volume and peered inside. Wires were coated in black ash which also blanketed the base. He frowned. It would have to do. There was no possible way to clean everything. Perhaps the cavity would clean itself over time. He crouched and peeked in the lower cavity and found the filter. It was buried beneath a thick layer of soot and ash.

  Slow and gentle, he removed the filter and dumped it into a bucket of water to soak. He pulled out a small brush and a bar of laundry soap from his pack and scrubbed the felted wool until it no longer bled black when lathered. Given the unclean state of the wires, he surmised he would need to repeat this process once a week until the filters stopped gathering a significant collection of soot within a short duration.

  Upon finishing the last filter, he studied a nearby shadow swaying by the corridor entry with a start. Mid-day meal was long over. He needed to resume replacing the dehumidifiers in the occupied apartments before his absence was noticed. Leaf had assisted him over the past two days, which had enabled Skylar to nearly finish servicing all the occupied apartments. Still, more residents grew ill.

  The mumblings in homes and from passersby worried Skylar. High fevers with respiratory difficulties. Coughing spasms to the point of vomiting. He had witnessed these in two homes now. It was the latter that gave him the most concern as difficulty with breathing and vomiting were common symptoms of air toxicity. Only two facts reassured him that air quality was not to blame: The first generation was entirely unaffected by the illness, and those who fell ill suffered a fever before any other symptoms manifested. ’Twas most strange that those born after Moving Day were the only ones the illness touched. He tucked the last thought away and focused on his footing along the rock wall.

  A half-hour later, both planks returned to storage along the balcony and buckets in hand, Skylar ambled along the village path toward the East Cave. He was tired. More than tired. It seemed as if he raced against the impossible. Perhaps he did. Tomorrow he would walk the circumference of the dome along the west apartments until he reached the wind turbines above the South Cave. Though with disrupted sleep promised this night, it may be best to wait an additional day to ensure his safety.

  Tasks numbered in his mind until he lost sight of everything other than his myriad responsibilities. He passed villagers, but did not notice the shadowed stares or the unnatu
ral quiet. Nor did he behold the lackluster activity within the village square. Not until a hand touched his forearm and a familiar voice said, “Son of Wind, there you are.”

  Skylar stopped mid-stride with a start. “Lady Rain.” She wrung fingers at her waist and lifted her shoulders. He set the buckets along a shop wall and she jumped when one tipped over. Black water spilled over the earth and she took a frightened step back. Was she unwell? Concerned, he righted the result of his clumsiness and asked, “How may I assist you?”

  “I have been looking for you, My Lord.”

  “My apologies,” he said, forehead wrinkled. “I was working in the North End. Is something amiss?” Lady Rain grabbed his hand and yanked him toward the forest. “My Lady—”

  “Shh!”

  “This is unseemly—”

  “The village is far too preoccupied to notice.”

  Once tucked beneath a canopy of cedar bows along the trail, she dropped his hand and lowered her hood. Her movements were frantic, though controlled. Had something happened to his mother? Sisters? Where was Leaf? Tears gathered in her eyes and crested, one drop and then another falling down her cheeks. Needing an occupation, he rummaged through his pack and pulled out the linen cloth and offered it to her.

  “Forgive me,” she said and dabbed her eyes.

  “There is nothing to forgive, I assure you.”

  “Two children died this day.”

  The air in Skylar’s lungs stilled. “From the same home?”

  “No, My Lord.”

  Through the trees, he watched a small crowd by the entrance to the Great Hall. Hoods were raised in mourning and his heart sank. Children, his thoughts screamed and he winced. His mind could not form an adequate reply, hoping, praying, that air toxicity was not to blame. The mere thought that he was responsible for the deaths of two small lives was too much to process and absorb. Lady Rain glanced up at him from time to time, but he remained focused on the forest path.