“Sky...”
“Yes?”
Her entire body was in upheaval, from the muscles in her stomach which tightened with pleasure, to the fear stealing her breath. These were not the flutters of girlhood fancies. It was as if drops of moonlight had mixed with a warm, summer breeze and touched her pulse.
Returning to her senses, though reluctantly, she professed, “I was not seeking this manner of favor from you. I hope you do not think me forward.”
“Not in the least. These are my sentiments unprovoked.”
“Thank the Lord, for I would die of embarrassment.”
His forehead wrinkled again and she resisted the urge to smile. “Please ... please allow me to show my gratitude. Whatever you ask...”
She flushed deeper. The only request she desired to make this moment was for a kiss. Not a chaste kiss upon a cheek as before. But she could not ask for one, of any kind, not really. Though, she longed to know if his lips were soft, if he would cradle her face, or perhaps if she would lose her heart completely, never to be recovered. She touched her cheek with her free hand as the feverish musings swirled about endlessly in her head.
“Are you well?” His gaze followed the hand now resting upon her cheek. “Shall we return inside so you may sit?” He tugged gently on the hand he still held, but they did not travel far. The door whipped open. Skylar dropped her hand and she startled, jumping back a step.
“Are you leaving?” Gale-Anne asked her. The words were laced with disappointment and Rain melted a smidgen. “I have my ribbons.”
“Oh, how pretty.” Rain fingered the linen ribbons, some stitched with embroidered designs of flowers and leaves. “I shall be there shortly, never you worry.”
Gale-Anne looked at her brother. “Do not consume all of her time for yourself, My Lord,” she said, then skipped away, slamming the door behind her.
An awkward tension plucked the air in the wake of her words. The village path and forest were quiet and wrapped her and Skylar in an intimate hush. They were friends, nothing more; she had said as much just a few days prior and he had echoed her sentiments. Rain took another step backward. “Has your sister mentioned a missing doll, perchance?” The words seemed forced, but safer.
Skylar’s shoulders relaxed a notch. “Have you found it?”
“Lake threw it into the millrace. I am afraid it is ruined beyond repair.” She chanced a look up at him. “I am so very sorry. I shall make her another that my brother will deliver along with a proper apology.”
He nodded his head, then focused on the forest. The strange tension returned. A light breeze played with the front strands of his hair. She could not look away, jealous of the wind. What she would give to know his thoughts this moment. But he was private, a quality she found both frustrating and attractive. The idea of privacy jarred her memory and she lifted her hand in exclamation.
“Goodness, I nearly forgot. I have a box of sorts that belongs to you.” She pushed open his entry door, retrieved the metal chest beneath her cloak, and returned. “In your sister’s room I spoke of a favor.”
“Yes?”
“I simply wished for privacy as I did not know whether you permitted your sisters to see the contents. Or if they would upset your mother.” Rain extended the chest to him. “Somehow, this box ended up in the millrace.” Skylar’s eyebrows drew together as he frowned. “Look at the base. Does that not appear to be your surname, Sky?”
“Indeed it is.” He looked to her. “I have never seen this box until now.”
“Please forgive me, I did not mean to pry. The box fell off my vanity and sprung open.” She bit her bottom lip and lifted her shoulders. Before he could react, she spoke quickly and continued. “Inside are the strangest playing cards I have ever seen and a phot ... phot...” She could not remember the full word. “A frozen memory on shiny paper.”
“Photograph?” he asked. Skylar slid the latch to the side and the lid popped open.
Rain’s eyes widened. “You know of photographs?”
“Yes, I have taken a few with my Cranium.” Her mouth hung open, then she remembered her manners. Though he did not see, far too focused. He rifled through the contents, his expression growing more grave. A muscle throbbed in his jaw and neck, and he shut the lid, clearing his throat, mumbling, “Thank you, My Lady.”
“Of course.”
Rain sobered with his switch back to formality. Skylar shifted on his feet, his body rigid, face hard but bland. Time yawned before them once more and she somehow remained quiet. Ever so many questions skipped across her mind, though.
Finally, he spared her a fleeting glance and asked, “Are you sure there is naught I can do for you?”
Skylar looked everywhere but her direction and Rain’s heart sank. When agitated or troubled, her father and Canyon needed an occupation to work through their frustrations. Whatever Skylar had found in the box had clearly upset him, though he attempted to hide behind stoicism, as usual. Rain thought for a moment—wishing to help him—until an idea surfaced.
She touched his forearm and his eyes locked onto her fingers. “May I trouble you to find my father in the Great Hall and inform him that I shall arrive late? I would not wish for him to worry over my absence.”
“It is no trouble at all, My Lady.”
“Even though you are in quarantine?”
“My sisters are in quarantine, not I. But the community did not know I was inoculated.”
“Sky—”
“My Lady, I shall deliver your message with haste as evening meal is well underway by now.”
Skylar bowed and immediately turned on his heel and left, metal box tucked under his arm. Did she imagine his relief? Rain fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve and nibbled on her bottom lip. She watched him fade into the dusky light then reached for the iron ring on their front entry. But it swung open before her fingers even made contact and she stifled a startled gasp.
Gale-Anne popped her head out the door again with an exasperated sigh. “Come on, My Lady, before I expire from anticipation!”
“Oh dear. We cannot have that, now can we?”
Rain chuckled, especially when Gale grabbed her by the arm and tugged her back inside. It did her heart good to spend time with Skylar’s family. But she could not shake the way grief had come over him nor the way he had dashed away. Perhaps photographs were another way for Outsiders to negotiate their mortality rather than truly live. No one, she decided, should have to bury their loved ones over and over again.
Monday, December 21, 2054
“Blasted reeds,” Rain muttered under her breath. She pushed away the spear-like plants to traverse the edge of the outlet filter in the wetland overflow pond. The clop of her soft-soled shoes along the floating boardwalk drummed to the melodic cacophony of chirping insects.
Today, the community celebrated Yuletide. Most did no work, except for the necessities. And it was necessity that brought Rain to the wetland room to dredge organic material. The outlet had clogged with sediment. This was becoming a rather common problem since the Blood Rains. She longed to visit with her friends and join the celebration. Alas, only one more round. The water was already trickling at a steady pace.
The floating bridge wobbled as she leaned over. Rain grasped a handful of cattails to remain balanced and drug her bucket through the yellow-tinted water. She righted herself and remained still as the boardwalk undulated up and down. Feeling the rhythm beneath her feet, she set off back toward the entrance with her somewhat pungent load. The organic material released a most unpleasant odor when decomposing.
Up above, the sky was a hazy blue. In this room in particular, with only mid-height vegetation to block the view, the sky seemed infinite. Many found this room unnerving, their sense of balance and perception of depth askew. But, to Rain, it was breathtaking. Dragonflies skipped through the air. Frogs croaked in harmony, filling the constructed swamp with music she imagined the insects and other aquatic animals danced to as they went about their merry da
y.
The door came into sight as she rounded a corner on the curved, floating walk. Seventeen buckets of dredged material sat along the wall where she had deposited them. Canyon had left to empty two buckets in the compost and had yet to return, and that was well over an hour ago. She supposed he could finish this task tomorrow after the festivities—unlike her.
To wait another day to unclog the overflow pond invited a flood, a reality caused by the still filtering water from the Blood Rains. The domes were hermetically sealed. Their ground eventually led to a puncture-resistant liner, buried on a slope to direct water toward the wetland sump. From here, water was filtered through the natural plant and soil systems and stored in a holding tank, then allocated to the well and various streams, ponds, rainwater pipes, and more. Details swirled about in her head as she drew her eyebrows together.
The muscles in her arms shook. She set the bucket upon the walk, stretched her back and rolled her shoulders. Lifting a rag from her belt, she dabbed her forehead. Sweat dripped down the side of her cheek. A scarf held her hair back from her face but, in her rush, she had not fully tied her tresses back. Rain scrunched up her hair and enjoyed a cool breeze across the back of her neck.
Feeling rested enough, she hefted her load and continued her march back to the door. Rain nearly giggled when she lined up the final bucket next to the others along the wall. One last task: empty the slag from The Forge to the incoming gray water to help remove unhealthy levels of phosphorous. The inlet was near where she stood and, within a few heartbeats, she had emptied the slag bucket in the first of several gravel filters.
Now she was done—finally! Wiping her hands on the rag hanging from her belt, she opened the door from the wetland ancillary dome to the heat of the Mediterranean biome. It was time to ready herself for Yuletide.
Back in her chamber, Rain shimmied out of her work clothes with a wrinkled nose and tossed them toward her laundry basket. Her head scarf, too. Tomorrow was laundry day, thank goodness. She dunked her hair into a bucket of fresh water then lathered her dark, thick tresses with hair soap. Rinsing was more difficult, but accomplished without too much spillage. Once clean, she rubbed lotions, lightly scented with orange blossom, into her skin.
Dressed in a finer gown and hair decorated with a holly wreath, she twirled with arms stretched out. Nothing could dim her mood this moment. She felt positively giddy for she would see her friends, drink wassail late into the night, and dance. Rain threw open the shutters and pushed her window panes out so that she could study the shadows and determine the time. Just as the cool air touched her skin, a small head jumped up with a roar and she screamed.
“Lake Daniels!”
A chunk of red hair fell over his green eyes as he laughed. The freckles dotting his entire face were far too adorable in the dappled light, however, and her ire slowly trickled away. But, not completely. “I did not throw leaves in your face this time,” he said with satisfaction, as if he had accomplished a hero’s feat in restraining himself.
“Have you waited there long?”
“Yes! You take an eternity to ready.” Lake shook his head. “Whatever were you doing?”
“A gentleman never asks a lady what she does in the privacy of her chamber.”
Lake blew the hair out of his eyes and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I am not a gentleman. I am only seven years old.”
“A perfect age to practice. Here,” Rain said, handing him Gale-Anne’s new rag doll through the window. “You may begin with this peace offering and an apology.”
Lake’s shoulders fell. “Do I have to?”
“Yes. Now shoo!”
Rain gestured for him to run along. Lake needed no further encouragement and scampered away toward the village.
How boys transitioned from bothersome pests to men who made her pulse skip a beat and her head swim in a flood of pleasurable sensations was beyond her. Perhaps this was the true definition of magic.
With that latter thought in mind, she shut her window, grabbed her cloak, and left her apartment.
Memories of the past few days spent with Coal and Skylar swirled through her head to the pace of her strides. At sixteen, she was a woman in transition. Girlhood was a not-so-distant memory, though most of it was spent caring for her mother. Rain shook her head clear of all the nonsensical cobwebs clouding her judgment. And the grief. She was tired of feeling resentful of each initial carved into the linden tree. Love should be magic, not desperation.
This new perspective bloomed in her heart. Rather than dash her hopes upon every handsome smile tossed her way, Rain decided she would enjoy the friendly flirtations, beginning this night. Perhaps one day she would marry. Until then, her helpless romantic fancies could flutter away as they pleased.
Feeling lighter already, Rain hummed a merry tune and picked up her pace.
On the edge of the village square, a Yule tree boasted garlands made from linen scraps knotted together. Salt dough and gingerbread ornaments hung from the tips of several boughs. Rain touched a dangling star swaying in the light breeze, and smiled.
Music poured out of the Great Hall in festive beats. Anticipation crawled over her skin until she could not help but bounce on the balls of her toes. Candlelight flickered wherever she looked, glinting off window panes and spilling golden amber hues across the stone walls and wooden rafters. Every candelabra was lit, from the wrought iron wheels suspended from the ceiling, and garnished in holly garlands, to the freestanding taper holders on each table, to the lanterns resting upon each window sill.
Winter Solstice was always a grand affair in New Eden. Today, the community celebrated the Oak King’s triumph over the Holly King, the Lord of Winter, a Neopagan Yuletide tradition many residents embraced prior to Moving Day. Her own mother, once belonging to a coven in the Outside world, had participated in many a mummer’s play regaling the story of life, death, and rebirth during Samhain, Yule, Beltane, and Litha.
Coincidentally, this year, Samhain had fallen upon the Second Ceremony of Death held in honor of their township, the Cremation Ceremony being the Great Fire itself. The very memory painted Rain’s skin in goosebumps. Following mass for All Saint’s Day, the residents normally feasted to celebrate the end of Harvest and welcome the darker days of winter. This year, however, the community forwent the festivities and embraced the season of death in their unified bereavement. The ashes of the village mixed with the ashes of loved ones, and only because a founding Element had betrayed them all. The pain had been too fresh then for any form of celebration—unlike today.
Rain angled through the revelry, exchanging “blessed Yuletide” greetings with villagers. A kitchen maid placed a tumbler of wassail in her hands, kissing her cheek in greeting. The hot mulled ale warmed her fingers and she inhaled the spicy fragrance with delight.
Midwinter reflected a whole new meaning this Yule season. The Earth Element house was seen as the mighty oak and Leaf openly proclaimed the King. New Eden breathed in the allegory of hope with abandon, for the Oak King’s victory ends the Lord of Winter’s reign of death and darkness and secures the sun’s rebirth. The spring of their lives would soon arrive. Rain closed her eyes and allowed the sweeping joy to touch every shadow in her heart. Vaccinations, deceits, ruined reputations, and sickness were pushed aside to be contemplated another day.
“There you are, you silly goose!” Rain’s eyes flew open with the sound of Oaklee’s voice, and she grinned. Candlelight caressed her friend’s golden hair in dancing shimmers, a magical sight that elicited a wistful sigh from Rain. “Blessed Yuletide, My Lady,” Oaklee said with melodramatic flair, dropping into a curtsy.
“I have missed you.” Rain pulled Oaklee into a quick embrace and kissed her cheeks. “A toast, Your Highness.” Rain lifted her tumbler in salute. “May dancing and merriment be ours this night!”
“Cheers!”
She slipped Oaklee a playful look. “And the smiles of handsome men.”
“Rain Daniels!” Oaklee squealed. �
�You say such shocking things.”
“Stop being so pretentious.” She pushed away Oaklee’s reaction with a sweep of her hand. “Feign your sensibilities all you like, Willow Oak Watson. I, for one, enjoy the attentions and shall relish each notice.” Rain sighed and placed the back of her hand upon her brow. “Do catch me should I swoon.”
“Dear Lord in Heaven.” Oaklee groaned and rolled her eyes, though her mouth quirked with humor. “I fear my arms shall tire quickly.”
“True.” Rain laughed in reply. “I shall try to restrain myself.”
“I am not so certain that is possible.”
With a conspiratorial smile, Rain threaded her arm through Oaklee’s until they formed a knot, each drinking out of her own tumbler. Both erupted into giggles as they pulled away, looping their arms together once more to promenade around the room.
Rain rose on her tip-toes, waiting for a small congestion to clear, and peered over the undulating crowd to the head table. Many seats were absent, but she noted her father and Michael engaged in conversation with Connor, Lady Brianna, and Lady Emily. Coal sat across from Leaf and Ember, laughing at his youngest brother, Blaze, who sat upon his lap. Windlyn bashfully cast surreptitious looks to Canyon, much to Rain’s humor, while Lake snuck a sugar biscuit from a plate and bounded toward the great hearth where other children played.
On the other side of the room from the head table, men and women danced by the stage as the musicians plucked lively tunes. Most, however, laughed with heads bent in conversation at tables. It was as if the recent outbreak of influenza and required vaccinations were all but forgotten, a mere wisp of a memory. Rain was glad and returned her attention to the musicians.
A new song began and Rain bounced to the rhythm of the Celtic drum. With a mischievous smile, Oaklee grabbed Rain’s empty tumbler and placed it on a dish return cart. They moved through the gathering, poised with the refined elegance befitting their station. Though, Rain knew, given the opportunity, they would dash to the dance floor with unfettered glee.
Transitions: Novella Collection (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2.5) Page 16
