Enter the Rebirth (Enter the... Book 3)

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Enter the Rebirth (Enter the... Book 3) Page 11

by Thomas Gondolfi


  Dandy looked like she was about to say something when my mom walked up with Hazel.

  "Hello, Dandelion, happy Holiday," said my mom, then looked at me and smiled that smile moms get that make you think they know everything.

  "Happy Holiday, Ms. Grainwell," replied Dandy all sweet-like.

  "Konner, it's time for the sing and I want you to take Hazel with you."

  I took little Hazel's hand, figuring it was a good excuse to get away from Dandy. But she followed us to where the others were getting in line for the sing. I tried to ignore her.

  I didn't care much for the sing, but if you weren't joined you were still considered a sprout as far as the sing was concerned. It was the only time I wished I had a wife like my big brother, Kyle. I didn't mind singing the songs, ’cause they were kind of scary and fun. I just didn't like having to parade round the hub so all the grownups could coo and ah about how cute we all were.

  I don't know who started it, but we trailed off real slow as soon as the first song began. I noticed Dandy was right behind me, but I didn't pay any attention to her. I held onto Hazel as I sang, and watched her trying her best to remember the words.

  Tell me, tell me landstory.

  Back when fire burned the sea,

  Rivers wept and mountains roared,

  Hot winds sang a frightful chord.

  Tell me, tell me landstory,

  About when people had to flee.

  When hoppers rose up in swarm,

  Laying bare where once was corn.

  Ahead of me, Heather was walking real close to Billy Wagoner. I figured if he wasn't careful, they'd be joined before another harvest. I looked round and saw the Trouble Brothers. They seemed to be behaving themselves, acting more serious than usual. But I knew why. The songs still scared them a little.

  Tell me, tell me, tell me please,

  That someday there'll be more trees.

  Say ol' demon Drought is dead,

  Then I'll lie down on my bed.

  Round and round we trailed and sang. I knew it would have been a real good time to sneak into the elders' lodge, ’cause they were all watching the sing. But I couldn't very well get away with Hazel in tow and everyone watching, especially Mom and Dad. They held each other, touching and kissing, and looking so happy when us sprouts trailed by. Dad was usually all leather and salt, except when he was around Mom. I enjoyed how she could soften him up no matter what his mood.

  Tell me, tell me, I do pray,

  What I'll eat this Holiday.

  Say the poppers will fly right,

  And grant the wish I wish tonight.

  Tell me, tell me landstory.

  How I wonder what I'll be.

  When the sing ended, I noticed some of the elders headed back to their lodge. I knew then I'd have to wait until morning to do Gramps’ errand. The weight of it bore down on me. I turned the thought aside as I couldn’t do anything more tonight. Instead I stuffed as much Holiday food into me as I could while doing my best to avoid Dandy.

  When once I spotted her heading my way, I dusted off in the other direction. Keeping to the dark, I made a trail round the hub to the other side. As I did, I spotted two older kids all twisted up together like Gram's special mustard pretzels. I recognized it was Burt Ploughhorse and Lily Landesgard. With them half-naked and kissing, the way they were moving, and the sounds they were making, I could tell that they were planting seed. I knew what they were doing was for the good of the community, but it still seemed silly to me. I stayed out of sight and made my way back to the party.

  It wasn't long after that when Mom and Dad began rounding up everyone for bed. The Trouble Brothers tried to sneak off, but Dad snatched them up by their shirts and lifted them off the ground till they stopped squirming.

  "You sprouts need to get to sleep soon, so the Santa will come," said Grams as we trailed off toward our lodge. Kobey and Kory started whispering real excited to each other, and Hazel looked up at Grams, her big blue eyes filled with wonder. Last harvest I'd snuck out early and saw it was the elders who actually hid the candy. So I figured the Santa must have been at one with the earth for many harvests, and that so all of us sprouts weren't disappointed, the elders kept doing his good work for him.

  When we got to the lodge, everyone else went inside. I stayed out so I could look at the moon. It was full and kind of orange. It made me think of Dandy's jack-o'-hearts, and that got me to remembering the kiss. That made me think about the pair I'd seen planting seed. I'd heard talk from the older boys that it was a fun thing. But it sure sounded painful, and I couldn't see the sense in it—except for making babies. Of course I knew the more sprouts, the better for the community. So when a boy and girl got together and started planting seed, the elders always acted all happy.

  I put my hand in my pocket, took hold of my goldstone, and stared at the moon. I didn't want to think about girls, I wanted to think about Faraway, and what I might find when I got there. I sure hoped I'd catch a popper and get my Holiday wish. I was worried if I didn't—

  "You need to get to sleep, son," said my dad, stepping outside and looking up at the moon himself.

  “Dad . . .?” I said, then hesitated.

  “What is it, son?”

  “How important is a promise?”

  He looked at me as if he were sizing up a new calf. “A man’s only as good as his word, Konner.”

  I already knew the truth of that. I guess I just wanted to hear it said.

  "Don't forget you got your chores to do tomorrow."

  "But, Dad, tomorrow's Holiday," I protested, even though I knew it would do no good. When did I ever not have to do chores? Never, that's when.

  "It may be Holiday, but the pigs still have to eat, and the tools still have to be cleaned."

  "I know, Dad," I said, getting up to go in. But as I did, I gave one last thought to Faraway. I thought about how when I dusted off to Faraway there wouldn't be any more chores to do. I couldn't wait for that day to come.

  * * *

  It was Holiday, and just ’cause I didn't believe in the Santa anymore, didn't mean I wasn't gonna get up early and find as much candy as I could stuff in my pockets. Mom helped Hazel. The Trouble Brothers were on their own, so I did pretty well. Afterwards I hid it all in my secret place, so Kobey and Kory couldn't get their dirty hands on it.

  Then I did all my chores, and by the time I was finished I knew the Holiday shoot had started. So I made a trail to the gully where the older boys, with their cupid bows, were trying their best to hit whichever jack-o'-hearts was carved by the girl they were sweet on. Some weren't even coming close. Others were so bad they were splitting open the wrong pumpkins, much to the frustration of some girls. I saw Heather get all excited when Billie Wagoner shot one right through the heart-shaped mouth she’d carved. That was about all I could take.

  Most all of the elders, including Grams, had pulled up chairs to smoke their weed and watch the shoot. So I knew it was now or never. I dusted a trail, squeezing my goldstone the whole way.

  As I neared the elder’s lodge, the sky grew dark. The wind passed over me and I shivered. A mean-looking dusky cloud was blowing in from the east. I could see a big old bull in its shape. I kept watch for a minute, then snuck inside as slow as an earthworm. It didn’t seem like anyone was there.

  I'd never been in the elders' lodge before, ’cause sprouts weren’t allowed. It looked like any other lodge, only bigger. As I searched for where they kept the markers I spied this picture hanging on the wall. It scared the fertilizer right out me. Either that or the candy I'd eaten that morning was disagreeing with my insides. It was a creepy-looking thing, painted in more shades of brown and red than I knew there was. It was some kind of monster, all fangs and claws but almost like it wasn't really there—like a goblin made of wind. I guessed it must have been somebody's idea of ol’ demon Drought.

  Even though it was just a picture, I backed away from it real easy-like. That bumped me right into what I was looking for. A
ll the elders' markers were in this big bowl sitting there on the table. Quick as I could, I found Gram's marker and put it in my pocket. I started to go but got this queer itch to take a last look at ol’ demon Drought. His eyes gave me the shiver-tingles. I was sure he knew what I was up to. So I dusted it out of there before I gathered any other strange thoughts.

  Once outside, I made a trail back to our lodge, going real slow like everything was okay. But everything wasn't okay—at least not with me. And it was more than ol’ demon Drought looking over my shoulder. I knew what I'd done wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But I didn't know any other way to make sure I kept my promise to Gramps. I just hoped someday I wouldn't feel as bad as I did right then.

  * * *

  By evening, everyone had gathered at the hub for Last Supper. I couldn’t help but notice something was in the air, something you could almost feel, like a thick morning dew. Nothing I could see, but I could sense it. It was more in the way folks were talking or not talking. They were a bit bridled, not as free and easy, as if they were waiting to be set loose. I knew what they were waiting for.

  Before anyone could eat, the Harvest Christ had to be chosen. My dad and Mr. Landesgard made a trail to the elders’ lodge and brought back the big bowl with all the markers. I tried not to show it, but I was feeling real bad about then. I didn't want to be there, but I knew I had to be. Young or old, sick or cripple, everyone took part in the choosing of the Harvest Christ. I knew it was a great honor to be chosen, and that only doubled my guilt.

  Since the bowl was filled with all the elders' markers, or was supposed to be, none of them could pick. So, after everyone quieted down, Mr. Landesgard reached in, stirred his hand round, and pulled out a marker. My hands were in my pockets—the right one clenched round my goldstone, the left on Gram's marker.

  "Henry Olmstead," he announced, holding up the marker for all to see.

  Everyone started clapping and shouting and I looked over to old Mr. Olmstead to see how he was taking it.

  He was all smiles, shaking hands with everyone. He seemed happy, but . . . there was something about his smile I couldn't quite figure. Something different—like he was trying too hard.

  Anyway, someone had put the harvest wreath on his head and a big knife in his hand, and everyone coaxed him to get Last Supper going. Mr. Olmstead waving the knife above his head made the rest of us clap more. He brought it down and began carving the Eater Bunny.

  I swear it was the biggest rabbit I'd ever seen. Even skinned and barbecued up nice and juicy like, it was as big as a ki-yote. It was such a grand scene, full of laughter and fine-smelling food, that it made me wonder for a moment whether or not I'd get the honor of carving the Eater Bunny someday. Right then, I didn't feel bad at all. Flies and fleas, I even let Dandy sit by me for Last Supper.

  * * *

  It was long after dark when I climbed aboard the wagon with the rest of my family. My stomach about burst from all the good stuff I'd eaten. I wanted nothing more than to get some sleep. But Holiday wasn't over yet. The whole community loaded up the wagons and made a trail out to the fallow north field where the Holiday fire already blazed.

  When they loaded Henry Olmstead's body aboard one of the wagons, I started feeling guilty again. Earlier, when he'd drunk from the harvest gourd, I'd turned away so I wouldn't see. I squeezed my goldstone and tried not to think about what was in that drink.

  Not that there was anything so terrible to see. I'd watched when Gramps was chosen. It was like he'd just gone to sleep. But this time I couldn't help feeling bad about what I'd done, even though I'd kept my word to Gramps. I knew the Harvest Christ would be made at one with the north field this Holiday, and Gramps wanted Grams to be with him in the south. That's what I’d promised. So I couldn't let her be chosen—not this Holiday—even if it meant maybe depriving her of the honor.

  When everyone had gathered near the fire, Henry Olmstead was carried carefully from the wagon. They took off his clothes and gently laid him into the place that had been prepared. As they covered him up, Ms. Olmstead stepped forward, looking real proud-like, and delivered the Holiday thanksgiving.

  "The earth is the land, and we are the earth. Bless this land and the bounty of its harvest. We who take from the land, now give back to the land. May all of our harvests be so bountiful."

  Then everyone joined in for the last part.

  "The earth is the land, and we are the earth."

  After that, everyone trailed off to stand round the fire. No one said a word, ’cause we weren't supposed to. Parents shushed the littlest sprouts if they tried to speak. Even the Trouble Brothers knew better than to make any noise.

  I already knew what my Holiday wish was, so I tossed my popping corn into the fire like everyone else. As I stood there, waiting, hoping to catch one of the poppers so I'd get my wish, I thought about Faraway and Gramps and Grams and old Henry Olmstead. I wondered if they celebrated Holiday in Faraway. I sure hoped so, ’cause I'd miss all the food and the fun. Who knows, I might even miss getting kissed under a jack-o'-hearts.

  The poppers had started flying all round me. I waited, ready to grab one if it came my way, ’cause you had to catch them on the fly to really get your wish. I saw Heather catch one and get all excited, then pop! One shot off to my right, but I was quick. I caught it, wished my wish again, and tossed it into my mouth.

  I felt real good when everyone began loading back into the wagons. Just knowing I'd get my Holiday wish made everything I’d worried about seem okay. Maybe I wouldn't get it right away, but someday . . .

  It's All Good

  Lisa Timpf

  Editor: Sometimes our delusions speak a stronger truth.

  "Height: five feet, seven inches. Scanning biometrics now. Stand still, please, and hold your breath."

  Melissa Mourningdove focussed on remaining motionless as the eight gleaming silver arms of the Simultron completed their complex dance around her body. When the "all clear" light flashed she gulped a breath of air.

  "Fitness level: 98 percent. You may now exit. Have a nice day."

  "You bet I will," Melissa said, unable to suppress a broad grin as she stepped away from the machine. All those years of practice. The running. The weight training. And now—

  Now, at last, she'd achieved her dream. The Olympic Games.

  The metal door at the end of the small enclosure slid open soundlessly. Though she'd endured the Simultron's probing half a dozen times already this season, it still took getting used to. Melissa had been glad to hear the machine give her a 98 percent rating. Coach Gordon would be watching each player's stats as they stepped through the equipment at their respective locations, and her eagle eye would quickly pick up on anyone with substandard readiness.

  In the change cubicle, Melissa stopped to admire her Team Canada softball jersey with its stylized maple leaf on the front. She tugged the shirt over her head, smoothing the silky fabric with her hands with a reverent motion. Melissa fitted the silver VR circlet around her brow, then tugged on her black baseball cap to conceal it.

  A quick check in the mirror. The uniform did look sharp, even if she said so herself: the red jersey and stirrups, the black softball shorts and hat, the white turf shoes.

  Ready, Melissa told herself, squaring her shoulders. She drew a deep breath, picked up her softball glove, and grabbed the silver handle of the door . . .

  . . . which swung open to reveal Team Canada's virtual locker room. Melissa nodded to her holographic teammates. Like herself, each of them had endured the probing eye of the Simultron, which would use the data gathered to project the most accurate image possible. She made her way to her designated spot, between Nova Scotian second baseman Ruth Mickelton and Giselle Plouffe, a relief pitcher who hailed from Quebec.

  "Welcome, ladies." Coach Gordon's smile showed dazzling white against her darkly tanned skin. "We've drawn the United States as our first opponents. I don't need to remind anyone of our long-standing rivalry." She paused for effect. "As usual, t
hey're fielding a strong squad, and no doubt think they'll make short work of their neighbors to the north. It's up to us to show we have other ideas.

  "Beyond national pride, we're playing for something else today." Coach Gordon glanced around the circle of intent faces. "Holding the Olympics, even virtually, acts as a symbol for life returning to normal. We all know how important that is. You can take pride—you should all take pride—in your role in healing the scars left by recent events.

  "Enough said. Now, here's the starting lineup—"

  Melissa leaned forward with her teammates and took in the pre-game instructions.

  "Gather in for the cheer," Coach Gordon said. Melissa felt her skin tingle with anticipation. She willed herself to see her teammates as substantial beings, just like when they played live.

  "It's all good!" The cheer erupted from twenty-one voices, and Melissa followed starting pitcher Randi Roxton as the team jogged through the locker room door.

  Melissa thought she'd understood Coach Gordon's words about the symbolism of the Olympics, but just how big a deal it was became evident when she stepped onto the artificial turf in the Simuldome.

  Cheers erupted from thousands of throats as fans tuned in through their computers, portable devices, and televisions. The truly fortunate had secured "seats" in the virtual stands. Melissa squinted up to the left and spotted her mother and father, sitting with her brother, Liam. She had time for a quick wave, noticing Shakela Norberg, who'd coached her in midget softball, seated in the row behind her parents. The man sitting beside Shakela looked familiar for some reason. News coverage, that was it. Erik Norberg, Melissa thought. He'd been instrumental in finding a cure for the Outbreak.

 

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