by Isaac Petrov
Ximena feels Edda’s sudden angst at her mother’s unusual reaction.
“That’s not helpful, Ani.”
“And telling lies to your children is?” She shakes her head. “They must learn to be alone. They soon will be, and life must go on.”
“Come on. It’s too early. We still got some good years in front of us.”
“I don’t want to be alone!” Edda says, her voice wavering with incipient fear.
“You are not alone, girl,” Willem says. “Listen. No one in this family will ever be alone.” He is speaking to Edda but looking at Anika. “We have each other. We have our parents and ancestors watching for us, and our children and descendants waiting for us.” He chuckles. “Sometimes I wish I had some more time for myself.”
“Oh, such beautiful horseshit,” Anika says. “Our ancestors are dead, and our descendants are unborn. I don’t know about you, but I can only hear people that are alive, yeah?”
Edda begins to weep. Willem takes her with both arms against his chest, kisses her softly on the top of her head and caresses her unruly hair. He turns his head to his sister. “Calm down, Ani, please. How long are you going to be grieving? It’s been over a month, Goah’s Mercy. Marthijn is in a better place now. His Joyousday was… beautiful.”
She scoffs and folds her arms. “You don’t know the half of it. He didn’t want it, yeah? But he was a coward! He accepted it all like a lamb taken to the slaughterhouse.”
“If that were true, that makes him very brave.”
“Oh, always so logical. It’s so easy to be logical, yeah?” She begins to speak with a mocking tone. “The heroic man that accepts his fate for the good of the many. Way to go!”
“You’re being selfish,” Willem says. “You’d rather have your lover back for your own sake.”
She stands, eyes widened in outrage. “You don’t believe that he is enjoying the oh-so-sweet Embrace of Goah, do you? You’re not that naive, are you?”
“Who am I to say? I’m just a teacher.”
“Exactly! We are teachers!” She takes Edda in one hand and Willem in the other, and pulls them up on their feet. “Come!”
She leads them out of the living room, up the stairs, and into a windowless room. She turns on the light. The walls are filled to the brim with shelves of books.
“It’s unlocked!” Willem says when he enters the room with Edda.
“It’s always unlocked. That’s how I like it now. The kids should come here anytime they like.” She laughs. “I’m not surprised you haven’t noticed yet that I unlocked the room. You spend all your time playing with those stupid tin soldiers, instead of absorbing the knowledge entrusted to us as colonial teachers.”
“But what if somebody breaks in and—”
“Not even you, a teacher, care enough to read them, and you think our fellow colonists would?” Anika scoffs. “They’re all either working their asses off in the fields or at sea, or too hooked to that trash radios are spitting at them every evening.”
“But we’ve sworn to keep the old books safe.” Willem’s voice sounds unconvinced, like he’s repeating a mantra. “They’re only for emergencies, if things really go south, that we have a semblance of guidance. These books are too dangerous to—”
“Read this,” Anika hands him one of the books lying on the only desk in the room, “and then we can discuss what forbidding books really tells us about the society that takes that step, yeah? Oh, and when you’re done, get started on this one, on myths and religions. Yeah, plural. Then we can have an actual conversation on the merits of aws Embrace, yeah? And this on the real history of the Roman Empire is… eye-opening. Did you know their entire system was fueled by slavery? That barbarians were absorbed, not cleansed? That resisting cities and civilizations were forever wiped from the face of the Earth? And this book on Napoleon,” she is pointing alternatively at the other books on the desk, “or that one on Stalin,” she shakes her head as she snorts, “those will give you quite a view into the true soul of the heroes of aws Imperia.”
Edda, wide-eyed, is looking at the shelves with fascination. “Can I read them too, Mom?”
“Of course you can, baby. That’s the whole point!” Her eyes keep scolding Willem as she speaks. “These books connect us with thousands of years of human civilization. And they’re just,” she waves her hand around the shelves in exasperation, “gathering dust in locked rooms like this one. The knowledge inside these books, that’s what really extends the reach of our ancestors into our descendants, not aws stupid Embrace. Reading these books will transform you, baby, into a true human.”
The mares are back in the pitch-black hallway. Edda—sunk head and limp shoulders—stands next to them, her anxiety hanging tight in a tense, high-pitched vibrato, like a suspect awaiting the jury’s verdict.
“Insufficient,” Yog finally says, and Ximena feels Edda’s tension burst inside her guts. “A pronounced desire for change is indeed a valid motivator for our candidates, but I do fear that this memory only did show such ambition in the human’s female parent. The candidate seemed merely… curious.”
“This was but the beginning, Overseer Yog,” Rew explains. “The candidate has since shown repeated active behavior in the pursuit of change. Just recently she infiltrated an official space in a doomed attempt to shake the power of the elites.”
“Too risky, Walker Rew. This human’s motivations—love and change—are too… faint. I am still unconvinced.”
“We shall then dig deeper,” Rew says. “Until you see what I know.”
“No time, Walker. I shall grant this human one last inspection, since your… belief is so strong. But then we shall proceed to the next candidates.”
“Very well.” She turns to Edda, whose eyes are wide with fright. “Redeemed van Dolah, take us to the last door.”
“Th- The last…” She turns towards the deeper end of the hallway, “Sorry. I- I can’t.”
“You can,” Rew says, speaking uncharacteristically slowly. “You can, Redeemed van Dolah. Do lead on.”
Like a zombie, she begins to drag her legs, slowly, down the hallway. Ximena feels raw dread filling her body—her soul—as she pushes herself forward.
She walks and walks until the air tastes… stale and bleak. And on she walks, passing door after door after door. Sudden images of Willem, of Anika, flash across her sight, as she musters every last fiber of willpower.
And then, the hallway comes to an end on a narrow wall with a single door—a black door, in the darkest rim of Edda’s memories. She is panting, eyes injected with horror, like she has just pulled a corpse across a field of mud—like the corpse is her own.
“Do open the door,” Rew says.
Edda continues to pant, frozen in place, like a jumper staring down the edge of a skyscraper.
“Do open the door, Redeemed van Dolah.”
“Which… which door?” she asks, her voice breaking.
“Do open the door, Redeemed van Dolah, or you shall never Walk the Paths.”
Edda falls on her knees and weeps. The pain Ximena feels coming from her is almost physical. She wished it were—it would be more bearable.
“Please, open the door, Redeemed van Dolah,” Rew says, her voice softening. “Do it for your father.”
“For…” she stretches out, slowly, painfully, until her fingers rest against the black door, “… Dad.”
Edda pushes the door open.
Twelve
The Joyousday of Anika van Dolah
The Van Dolah family sits on cushions around the low table in the center of the Evocation Room. Well, not the entire family. Little Hans wasn’t around back then, three years ago, Ximena realizes. Thirteen-year-old Edda has arranged the decoration all by herself. She has gone with a colorful display of fall leaves, mixed with a careful selection of fresh flowers of matching colors. Ximena can feel her pride at the resulting effect: festive with a shade of farewell. Ten-year-old Bram suggested a large happy-faced pumpkin on each cor
ner, but Edda refused. This is Mom’s Joyousday, not Halloween, Goah’s Mercy!
“Come on, Ani. Tell us one more.” Willem is almost twenty-five, but he is holding his older sister’s hands like he is a little boy learning to swim, afraid to let go.
“Yes, Mom, please.” Ten-year-old Bram smiles radiantly with the confidence of a new adult. “Tell us another story of your life before you go. Something we can tell your future grandchildren. And when I see you again in seventeen years, I promise I’ll tell you all about them!”
Anika, looking splendid in her white tunic, lets go of one of Willem’s hands, and puts it softly on Bram’s cheek. “Seventeen years,” she says, her expression turning somber. “That is a long time, boy.”
“It is!” Willem laughs—a loud, lighthearted type of laughter, but he doesn’t get it quite right. There is a nervous undertone, a hidden anxiety in his voice. “But don’t worry, Ani. I’ll be there with you in no time. Three years pass by flying. Then we can watch this lot together.”
“Together…” Anika’s eyes wander to an empty point on the wall.
“Yes, and in the meantime, you make sure to tell Mom and Dad how wonderful their grandchildren are, all right? And that I miss them awfully.”
“Yes, me too!” Edda says. “And tell them Bran came out kind of all right,” she adds with a chuckle.
Anika, still staring at the wall, says, “It doesn’t make sense.”
“Huh?” Willem’s smile twitches, but it’s just an instant.
She meets his glance, no trace of contentedness on her beautiful face. “Why tell anything to Mom and Dad, if they’re watching over us?”
“Yeah, uh, m- maybe they…”
Tears well up in her eyes. “Or why do you need to tell me about our grandchildren, if I’m to have a front-row view over their lives?”
“Anika…” Willem’s imploring eyes pierce his sister’s.
She blinks a tear away, and then nods and smiles to her two children. “I will, of course, send your love to your grandparents, girl,” she tells Edda. “And tell them about your wonderful brother.”
Bram smiles at the words, but Edda doesn’t. Ximena feels the wrongness as well.
The outer door to the Evocation Room opens, and a smiling man—a Quaestor in formal purple robes—enters. He is followed by three white-robbed acolytes: two men and a woman—Marjolein Mathus, Ximena immediately recognizes. Not even twenty yet, and her aspect not as carefully tended, with her blonde hair falling flat instead of finely braided, but it is her, all right.
The Quaestor rubs his hands together and turns to Anika. “I trust your evocations have been satisfactory, Elder van Dolah?” He then waves both hands at the family. “They shall all be blessed in Goah’s Eyes.” He shuts his eyes and sinks his head, murmuring some words to himself. Then he directs a fresh smile at Anika, and says, “Shall we proceed to aws Embrace?”
“Can we get more time, Quaestor Menger?” Anika asks, her breathing quickening. “There’s so much I need to tell my family.”
“And you shall, my child. But not on Earth. Rejoice, Elder van Dolah, for the time has come to meet the Love of your creator.” He gestures invitingly at the door opposite the one they entered from, a wooden door with a large Eye of Goah painted on it. Ximena knows what awaits on the other side—Edda herself will break into that room in three years’ time.
“I- I’m not ready.” Anika stands, sudden panic in her eyes. She takes a step back. “I can’t—”
“Now, now,” the Quaestor says calmly, “there’s only Bliss in front of you, my child. You are leaving your earthly pains behind.”
“No.” Anika takes another step back, and she bumps against the wall. “No!” She begins to weep in panic, staring at her brother with pleading eyes.
“Ani,” Willem stands, eyes wide with dread. “All is good. Please, believe.”
“I don’t. I can’t!”
The Quaestor throws a subtle glance at the two male acolytes, and says, “Now, now, nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.” The two men walk over to her and grab both her arms. “Rejoice, Van Dolah family, and feel aws impatient Eagerness to Embrace your Elder.”
“No, I changed my mind!” Anika shouts. “I renounce my Joyousday!” She tries to shake her arms free, but the men hold her firmly. They push her kindly but relentlessly towards the eye-marked door. “No, leave me alone! This is just a ritual to control the masses. There’s no Dem! There’s no Goah! Let me go! Will!”
“Q- Quaestor Menger…” Willem takes a tentative step towards his sister and the two men, Bram and Edda beginning to sob behind him.
“Mom!” Both are standing with stretched, trembling arms. “Mom, mom!” Ximena gasps as she tries to keep herself from crying, Edda’s dread and disbelief battering violently inside her.
Willem hesitates, turns around and takes Bram and Edda in his arms. He begins to weep himself, while futilely attempting to calm his kids.
“Don’t mind her words, children,” Quaestor Menger says, his tone practiced and unwavering. “This is her flesh speaking, not her soul. It happens occasionally and there is nothing to worry about.”
“No! I renounce, I renounce!” The men open the door and push Anika firmly through. “You can’t do this! Will, help!”
As the door shuts, her muted shouts continue, yelling her brother’s name in desperation.
“It’s okay, it’s all right,” Willem whispers over and over to his crying children, interlaced with his own sobs.
Marjolein, still standing by the entrance, is covering her mouth in dismay. Her eyes fill with tears as she watches Willem trying to console his children while his sister calls his name from behind the door, over and over again, drenched in desperation. And Willem keeps whispering words of comfort over the shaking bodies of his children, caressing, soothing them, ignoring what for many would be an irresistible compulsion to go, well, mad. Ximena can’t take her eyes off him. Such discipline, such strength of character; a man refusing to drown, because his kids need him. Marjolein is staring at him like she most certainly agrees.
“Mom’s fine,” Willem keeps repeating between sobs, “Mom’s okay.”
And then, from one instant to the next, Anika’s screams end.
Edda and the others stop crying at once and turn their heads at the sudden, eerie silence.
A silence that hangs in the Evocation Room like a blanket too thin to warm a soul in the dead of winter.
A silence that freezes Ximena’s blood with the horror of Edda’s irrevocable realization. She has seen—she has heard—her mother for the last time.
Her mother.
For the last time.
“Goah be praised,” Quaestor Menger finally says. “Rejoice, Elder van Dolah, for your sister’s soul is heeding aws Call, and is now on her way to aws Embrace.”
“I want to see her,” Willem jumps, reaches for the door and pulls, but it doesn’t budge.
“There’s nothing to see but a soulless body, Elder van Dolah,” the Quaestor says. “A carcass ripe for Dem. In two to three weeks, when her Dem-ridden body leaves us for good, I will send somebody with the ashes.”
Edda and Bram run to their father and hug him anew.
“You may stay as long as you need,” the Quaestor says in that annoyingly understanding tone of his. “Acolyte Mathus, please remain here with the family and attend their every need.”
It takes a long while for the children, and for Willem himself, to sit back around the table, sobbing quietly now. In the meantime, the Quaestor has called his two male acolytes from beyond the eye-marked door and left in respectful silence. Marjolein stands by the entrance, head sunk like she doesn’t belong there, which she obviously doesn’t.
Willem draws a deep breath, keeps his eyes down and says with broken voice, “Let’s go home.”
“Why didn’t you help Mom?” Edda says, her accusing eyes locked on her father’s.
Willem doesn’t raise his eyes. He sighs. “There’s nothing I coul
d do.”
“You could…!” Edda doesn’t know what to say, but that doesn’t stop her from trying again. “You could’ve…!”
“We’re just teachers, girl,” Willem’s tone is subdued, infinitely tired. He finally meets her gaze. “We can’t change the world.”
“Why not? We are teachers!”
“We are powerless, Edda girl. We must take what we have and make the best of it.”
“Knowledge is power, Dad! You are always saying it. We are teachers, and we hold knowledge. We can change the world. I will!”
“Knowledge is necessary, yes, but not sufficient. There’s much more to power than reading books.”
“But… But…”
“We are powerless,” he says, a notch louder. He reaches out with both arms and takes Edda and Bram by the hand. “We still have each other, and it’ll have to suffice.” He sounds so infinitely sad, Ximena thinks. “It’ll have to.”
“And when you’re gone? What then, huh? What then?!”
“We still have a few years, don’t think about it now.”
“Three years! Just… three fucking years!”
“Edda!” Willem throws Marjolein a glimpse. “Language.”
“Don’t leave us!” She begins to sob again. “Don’t, please. I don’t want to be alone!”
“You’ll never be alone, girl.” He gently wipes a tear off her cheek. “You have each other,” he smiles at Bram, a very sad smile, “and your children, and your grandchildren afterwards if you don’t delay the dowry bonds. You still have so, so much to live for.”
“No!” Edda’s sobbing intensifies. “I need Mom! I need you! You don’t have the right to leave us!”
“There’s nothing you can do. It’s better to accept it.”
“I could… I could…! Ah!” She throws her head back in exasperation.
“You don’t have the power, girl.”
“Not yet.” Her eyes open with determination. With desire. Ximena feels it flooding her senses: the will, the urge, burning up her spine. “Not yet.”