The brutal truth was our technology was failing, food was hard to come by, the weather was a total mess, and other than natural remedies, we had almost no medicine. The ironic part of it was we had the brains and manpower to rebuild, but no one did anything about it. Most of us had one thing on our mind: break free. People lived and died for it, even if this prison of ours had been built to protect us as much as to keep us locked in. There were very few species throughout our vast universe that did not want us extinct and rightfully so.
By the time I made it home, my thoughts of Michael had calmed down some. There was nothing more sobering than a walk through the village. There were a few hundred families in our village. It was actually a small town, but we preferred the term village, it gave us a sense of closeness, of belonging. The scrawny kids, the dirty houses, the famished dwellers, it all painted a bleak picture that yanked everything pleasurable right out of your soul.
I heard the sobs the moment I opened the door. I froze where I stood, hectic thoughts of my mother’s distress paralyzing me and making my breath come out in hitches.
“There, there, Marianne. Try and drink your tea, it will help you relax.” Mother’s soothing voice took all my worries away. It wasn’t my mom who was crying, it was my aunt.
“But he’s going to be caught and killed,” Aunt Marianne wailed.
“Why now? Fred has never taken an active role in the Freedom Alliance. Isn’t it enough my husband was executed?” Mom asked in a trembling voice.
I groaned and closed my eyes, leaning into the doorframe for support.
“They asked him again. They think his brother shared his knowledge with him.”
Mom’s voice went an octave higher. “That never happened though. We both know that.”
“Yes, but Morrigan’s widow took up arms, even though she’s lost everyone but her daughter. He said he couldn’t be less courageous than a woman.”
Marianne’s sobs turned louder and my mom tried to soothe her, but by the sound of it she was failing. The sharp shrill of the old-fashioned tea pot my father had rescued from a torn down museum interrupted her soft whispers.
“Let me make us a fresh cup of tea, I’ll add some Valerian root to this one,” my mother said. The soft rattle of cups and plates being moved about seemed to quiet my aunt, so I took it as a good sign to make my entrance.
“Good evening, Auntie. Hello Mother,” I said meekly.
“Adam,” Mom said and turned, greeting me with her warmest smile.
“You brat! What did you do?” Marianne shouted, standing abruptly and charging. She raised her hand and I caught it on instinct.
“I believe Uncle did enough of that today. He had a flyer making him stop. How about we consider that enough beating for today?” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but a little bitterness still seeped through.
“You and those damned beasts whose boots you insist on licking,” she hissed, her eyes burning with rage.
“Marianne,” Mother called sternly. It was the voice she used when scolding me. Even now, in my mid-twenties, it still made me drop my eyes to the ground and fuss awkwardly.
“It’s his fault, Julia!” Auntie turned, yanking her arm from my grip. She turned to face my mother, her shoulders shaking. “The whole village talks about how your son worships the monsters who killed his father. They all look funny at us, it’s why Fred had to accept.”
I rolled my eyes, but bit my tongue. Saying what I believed would only make it worse. The Freedom Alliance was a safe place for my uncle to spew his hatred of flyers and be praised for it. A bully, he was, but like most of them, he’d always been a coward. He’d let my father lead the local branch while he did nothing that would earn him an execution. Being part of the Alliance was not against the rules, but trying to build them a ship to fly us into the endless skies was. For years he’d been urging everyone to defy the angels, while he hid comfortably in the shadows. I was convinced it had been his anger and hatred after the day’s incidents that had made him speak louder and thus painted himself into a corner.
“Marianne, you are my sister-in-law and I love you as my own flesh and blood. But if you don’t stop talking like that about my son, I’ll ask you to leave.”
“Sure, defend him! He’d dance over our dead bodies if he could,” Marianne said, turning to glare at me over her shoulder. “Evil little bastard.”
“Get out, now.” My mother’s voice was quiet and steady, her face void of any expression. I knew from experience there was no going back when she got like this.
“Julia, you can’t possibly choose him over everyone, he does not deserve it.”
“Marianne, I’ve never judged you for allowing your husband to beat you and rough up your children. I’d hoped you’d show the same courtesy. Clearly, you cannot. So, please, go. Go before everything is broken.”
Auntie nodded and left, mumbling something under her breath. I did not catch what it was, but I could have guessed she was cursing me or something equally as vile. I was the root of all evils in this family, after all.
Mother looked at me and gave me an apologetic smile.
“Should I be ashamed, Mother? I’m not, but should I?”
She sighed and returned to her cups. She finished preparing the tea and brought the two mismatched containers to the table. She pulled a chair and sat, moaning at the pain in her bones that she had to endure every time she moved, and patted the chair next to her. I sat down quietly, my eyes searching hers for some form of absolution.
“Darling, do you remember what your great-grandmother did back when we still had schools?”
I nodded, remembering all her stories since her time homeschooling me. “She was a history teacher.”
“That she was, and she took great pride in teaching all the little scoundrels in this village about our past.”
I shrugged and looked away, not knowing where she was going with all this talk of a dead relative. I’d never met her, she had died years before I was born.
“I was her favorite student. Not because I was the brightest, but because she lived with my parents and me and I couldn’t get away. I know of our mistakes, of how we brought all this upon ourselves. We’ve had more chances than all the species in the universe put together and we’ve messed up each and every one.”
I felt her warm hand cupping the cheek that was surely bruised by now and although it stung a little, I leaned into her touch. I closed my eyes, remembering vividly all the times in my life when she’d been the only solace.
“I know, Mother. Yet everyone treats me as if I am an abomination. I respect the angels, I never mourned my father, though I cried for your pain every day when he insisted on working on that dreaded pile of metal. I also believe we have more important things to worry about than flying about the galaxies.”
“You are special, child. You’ve seen our past and you have learned from it. Your father… I loved him with everything I had, but all he did was break my heart every day.” She sighed and touched her forehead to mine. “You’ve never known him. He was never around and you had no connection to that man. All you remember is him hurting me.”
“Do you ever wish I’d been different?” I closed my eyes, afraid to be facing her when she answered in the affirmative.
“Adam, look at me,” she urged softly. When I opened my eyes, I saw that beautiful, brilliant smile of hers. “Never, my son, never. And heed my words, there are plenty in this village and in the others spread on what’s left of this continent that think like you. They’re just too afraid to say anything.”
I smiled back, thankful I had her in my life, otherwise I might have forgotten how to do it. There were very few reasons for me to smile.
We sat quietly and drank our tea, letting the roots calm us and make us sleepy.
“Go on, go have a shower and I’ll have dinner ready when you’re back.”
I nodded and did just as she’d said. Doing what my mother said always came easy to me. She had always been amazing at logically
explaining why. She’d been kind and forgiving, and kept trying to protect me from all the evils of our world. I showered quickly, changed, and went back to the tiny kitchen. A spicy soup with faint traces of some larger birds my traps had caught was waiting for me, steam swirling through the small space and enticing me. We ate in the same comfortable silence of earlier and when we were done, I stopped her before she got a chance to stand up and start clearing the table.
“Mother, would you like to start a new alliance with me?”
Her eyes widened and her smile faded. “What kind of alliance, my son?”
“One for Earth, one for our children. I kept thinking about what you said. If there are others who think like us, maybe we should nudge them in the right direction. Work on crops and machines that can help us live better. Maybe open up a new school?”
She hugged me with all the strength she had and I felt hot tears on my skin. I held her tightly against me, hoping all my love and respect for her would stop the flood.
“Yes, baby. Call it Blossoms of Hope.”
“Blossoms of Hope.” I said it a few times, rolling the words on my tongue, tasting and trying them out. “That sounds perfect, Mom. Thank you.”
THE VERY NEXT morning, I applied myself to seeing my plan through. I’d split my days between reading everything I could find on mechanics, engineering, agriculture, and educational programs, working on the tractor that was still fighting me on being fixed, and spending endless hours after dinner on pamphlets and information sheets. Mom and I would both stay at the kitchen table, hunched over the computer interface and try to come up with smart and sensible ways of explaining what we wanted to accomplish, what our dreams and goals were.
What worried me the most was that people would shy away from me. I was openly in awe of the flyers, I supported them and always emphasized the need to follow the rules. Even if they sensed the truth in my words, that did not mean they weren’t easily influenced by malicious gossip. I was the boy who never mourned his father. I was the young man who often said we got what we deserved.
Mother, my best friend and the entirety of my support system, always had a solution for everything. “Worry about that tractor, child. Make it work, write these documents, and I will hand them over to those I trust the most. I’ll be the face of this new movement, and you will be its leader.” She’d repeated those words in as many ways she could find, instilling strength and determination within me.
It was only her who stood by me, but that small ounce of trust and support was enough to push me forward. I went into it with all my might. I read till my eyes couldn’t see and when that happened, I’d go to the garage and apply what I’d learned. There was no one to ask for advice or for explanations, everyone who could have offered it was part of the Freedom Alliance and no one there would ever help me.
Most days it was an uphill battle and sometimes, when despair caught me into its tendrils, I felt I was my time’s Sisyphus, seeing everything I’d built crumble in failure at the end of each day. At times like that, when I was most likely to determine my efforts were useless and I should abandon them, my tired brain would throw images of Michael at me, tempting me. I knew it quite well, if Mother and I succeeded, if Blossoms of Hope did well enough that most of our efforts would be reinvested in our small village and its future, there would be fewer executions. Less of Michael to see.
Whenever that happened, I’d remember the sound of his chuckle. I’d remember him thanking me and the warmth in his eyes. I’d see him less, but when he’d finally come, he’d look at me with pride. Maybe, just maybe, that deep-rooted disappointment in us, that pain we’d caused him, would subside. Maybe then he’d smile, genuinely smile, until it reached his eyes and everyone would see what I did when I looked at him.
Luckily for me and my village, nothing would ever be a greater incentive than the prospect of pride and acceptance from the one you wanted. So I labored away, till the days morphed together and I could never tell them apart. I’d have trouble saying what day of the week it was. I’d have trouble remembering to eat throughout the day. With my mom gone out while there was light outside, talking to people in our community, she could only make sure I had my dinner.
I lost weight, but the heavy lifting of metal pieces and tools and wheels as I tried to make machines work had replaced all that with muscle. Soon enough, I had a few young boys and girls from around the village helping me. They were more of an impediment than any real help, asking tons of questions and misplacing my tools more often than not. But they did always walk me to the outskirts of the village where those charged with exploring the decrepit city nearest to us would drop everything they’d salvaged from the rubble. If it couldn’t be used to reinforce the walls of their homes, or be secretly stashed away in the Freedom Alliance’s hiding spots, anyone could take it.
All I got was scraps that were almost beyond any use. But if I went through them carefully enough, I’d find some gems to keep me going, keep me fighting. Despite the exhaustion and minor results, I was smiling more than ever. I finally had a clear purpose beyond just fixing a tractor and that was all because of my mom.
“What are you doing here, boy?” my uncle asked one day as he stepped into the garage. He walked slowly, a smirk curling his lips as he approached me. “Playing with junk, I see. Why don’t you put that brain of yours to good use and come to our side?”
I snorted and threw away the pliers I was holding. They landed on the dusty floor with a muffled thump.
“I’m not going to follow in my father’s footsteps, Uncle! I am not going to lay down my life for something I don’t believe in. I’d rather play with this junk.”
He laughed, a chilling sound that sent shivers down my spine. “Well, you’re keeping yourself busy, I see. It’s all useless, but entertaining, I suppose.” He ran his fingers over the metallic work board, picking up small tools and inspecting them. He seemed fascinated with an old wrench I had lying around.
“It’s not useless,” I bit back. “Once the tractor is ready, it will be far more useful to the village than some rusty rocket engine.”
He snorted and threw the wrench back on the board. He wiped his hand on his trousers, his face contorted in disgust.
“Too bad you will never make it work, son. You don’t have the skills and those who have… Well, they prefer rusty rocket engines.” Without another word he turned his back to me and left.
I growled, letting some of the frustration out, and returned to the tractor. I had taken its engine apart, cleaned it, replaced pieces that were beyond repair, and was now struggling to reassemble it. I swore and kicked the huge tires, but kept trying to put it all back together. I had very detailed schematics, but they were for a different, far older model. Things had changed by the time this particular rusty relic had been assembled. While I could remember exactly how the engine was before taking it apart, and I could reconstruct that, I had no idea if anything was missing, or still broken.
My stomach twisted painfully and a loud rumble reminded me I had once again skipped a couple of meals. I looked out the window and saw the orange shades of dusk coloring the sky. I’d have to go home soon, call it quits for the day, and face my mother after another failure.
I braced myself on the now closed hood of the tractor and let my head fall, nestled between my shoulders. Maybe Fred was right, I was wasting my time on an impossible project. I was deluding myself with the idea I could make a difference. I’d entice people, lure them to my cause with false promises, and they’d follow me at first. What would happen when I couldn’t deliver? I’d do even more damage and send them flying to the Freedom Alliance. What on this forsaken earth had made me think I was better than the rest?
Someone cleared their throat behind me and my grip on the hood tightened. I could feel the strain of my muscles as I clung to it, too tired and weak to face more taunting. The sheen of sweat on my back turned into a crippling chill and for a second I considered staying there until they left. I might be delus
ional, but a coward I was not, so I turned, all angry and ready to fight.
The flyer before me sucked in a breath, his bright blue eyes widening slightly.
“Michael?” My voice sounded higher than I’d intended it to be. Closer to a scared little girl than the confident male I wanted him to see in me.
He kept staring, his eyes glued to my chest. I suddenly realized I was only wearing some battered jeans, and started feeling extremely uneasy and self-conscious. The flyers and a lot of men in my village would prance about half naked, but I never shed my shirt like that. The garage was the only place where I’d succumb to the heat and concede it was more comfortable to work like this.
“Hello Adam,” he finally said, his voice shaking a little. “You always work so hard.” I saw his nostrils flaring as his eyes roamed over me. I felt woozy and breathless under his scrutiny, and my damned nether regions started to stir. This was not happening, I would not pop wood in front of Michael. My secret would be out in the open and I wasn’t ready for it.
I turned slightly so that my left side was what he’d face. Not outright rude, but enough to give me a moment to catch my breath.
“Yes, well, it tends to get lengthy and tedious when you don’t know what you’re doing.”
Michael walked to the tractor, surveying the many parts of my puzzle spread on the floor. He tapped the hood and tilted his head. “Open it up, let’s see what you’ve done so far.”
I had to shake my head to snap out of it. The idea of Michael surveying my progress with the tractor engine seemed so surreal, I had to fight the need to pinch myself, just to make sure I wasn’t really sleeping. One of his brows shot up and he pointed his chin to the hood. That was all the incentive I needed and I stumbled forward, managing not to fall. I popped the hood open and stood next to him as he took in my meek progress.
Angel's Feather (Flyer Chronicles, Book One) Page 2