Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2)

by Sundin, Jesikah

  Hanley’s earlier comment returned to his memory. “Then we are related by marriage. Brianna is my stepmother,” Coal said. “I do not believe I gathered your first name?” Coal asked with a small, charming smile, hoping she complied. “The first generation rarely speaks of their prior life, so please forgive your cousin’s oversight.”

  “Of course. It’s Della. Della Jayne.”

  Joel’s request to Leaf came rushing back to Coal’s memory, and he stared at Della in bewilderment.

  This was the woman whom Joel wished to care for his children?

  The silence grew thicker and Coal labored to remain in control. A knock on the door rescued him and Michael’s head appeared, much to Coal’s relief.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but Mr. Nichols wants to speak with you Dr. Nichols and says you’re not answering his calls.”

  Her face relaxed into a subtle expression of satisfaction. “Thank you, Michael. It appears I left my Cranium in my room.” Her eyes did not waver from Michael, not even to search for her device.

  She slowly rose and Coal looked away, refusing to entertain the thoughts that wished to surface. He needed to move, so he stood as a gentleman should when a lady leaves the room. Another amused smile lit her features and then she turned and walked from the room. Michael scooted out of the way as she passed and quickly shut the door behind her, then looked at Coal with rounded eyes.

  “Just between you and me,” Michael said, pausing to swallow, “she does to me what Ignis does to you.”

  Coal laughed, grateful for an avenue to release his contained nerves. “Imagine how I felt alone with her? You abandoned me to an uncertain fate.” He gave Michael a lopsided grin. “And here I thought we were becoming fast friends. I shall have to reconsider now that I know you leave at the first sign of trouble.”

  “I was dismissed,” Michael said with a wide grin. “But I fled as fast as I could.”

  The pair laughed. Then Coal thought of her request to see Joel and how he and Michael had feigned ignorance. He groaned. “She shall suffer embarrassment when she learns I knew the truth about Joel and withheld it from her. And yet so did her own husband. Perhaps my offense will be pardonable in such a light.”

  Michael nodded slowly, shifting his eyes away.

  Did the scientist also have information he withheld?

  “OK,” Michael said with a fortifying breath. “Back to work. Now that you know there are scarier things out there, let’s take Ignis for a walk. Want to visit the gardens?”

  “Only if I may also have a lesson with a Cranium,” Coal said.

  “Sure. Ignis can help you with that, too.” Michael touched the device on his ear, swiped the air, and then poked at an unseen object. “I downloaded the tutorial software. He’s now equipped to assist you.” He looked over the privacy screen at Coal. “Companions are activated with a code phrase. It can be anything you want.”

  “Boo.” Coal’s lips twitched as he tried to hold back a smile. Michael shook his head with humor and swiped at the air.

  “Give it a try.”

  “Boo!” Coal shouted the word and took a dubious step backward as the drone lifted from the strange box. It was yet another box to facilitate something for Outsiders. This love of boxes mystified Coal. He watched the circular object fly toward him. Ignis materialized as if otherworldly liquid poured out from the drone, the head appearing first and the shoe-covered feet last. The muscles in Coal’s body tensed. The image would forever haunt him, but he pushed back the fear and stood tall. It was not real.

  “What can I do for you, Coal?” Ignis said, wavering in the air.

  “Let us walk to the outside garden.” Coal headed toward the door, encouraged when Michael smiled and Ignis followed. “I wish for a lesson beneath the olive tree on how to use a Cranium.”

  “Sure, I can do that.”

  “Thank you, Ignis.”

  “Do you need shoes first?”

  Coal looked down at his feet, spooked, yet again, by a comment that appeared as if the false man could see. “I prefer to be barefoot, unless I am striking iron.”

  “Why do you strike iron?”

  “I am a blacksmith.”

  “Really?” Ignis smiled as if he just learned the most fascinating fact. “I didn’t realize that profession still existed. I am happy to be wrong.”

  “Why would you be right?” Coal stopped and turned toward Ignis.

  “I possess all of the world’s information.”

  “I see.”

  “You also see the information?”

  “No. Well, not in the way I believe you are suggesting, which I am unsure I can fully understand at this moment.” Coal turned and looked at Michael in frustration, and then began walking again. “My apologies, Ignis, but I need quiet to process my thoughts.”

  The hologram swung his arms and matched Coal’s stride, remaining quiet as requested, and Coal’s spooked feelings pulsed with each step. To distract himself from his growing trepidation, Coal trailed his vision over the various scientists. Several moved their eyes to note his presence, then returned their attention to the various screens they commanded. Everyone and everything was connected to a machine, and now so was he. He maintained a composed expression as scenery changed from lush work spaces to bleak hallways, turning his head only to capture the sunlight filtering through the windows dotted sparsely along the outer walls of the building.

  They were about to leave the lab when Coal tarried. The air was heavily laced with the spice of evergreen trees and he closed his eyes. This was the scent of home. He could almost hear Oaklee hum a tune as she meandered through the trees, leaves rustling in chorus with the bio-breeze. As he opened his eyes, Coal looked over at Ignis and drew his brows together.

  What was he doing?

  How could he possible forge a relationship with a machine?

  “Do you like this forest?” Ignis asked, glancing around the room as if he could actually see with real eyes. The absurdity of the body language assaulted Coal’s senses, but he remembered his promise to Hanley to not cause the staff grief.

  “The forest is reminiscent of my home.”

  “Would you like to learn how to use a Cranium here instead of the outside garden?”

  Coal looked up at the geodesic sky and sighed. “Yes, very much.”

  “Great. Where do you want to sit?”

  Of course they would have to sit. It was not only the response of Outsiders, but of their machines as well. Coal moved to a cedar tree and rested his body against the large trunk, stretching out his legs. His fingers plucked a piece of grass and twirled it absently, thoughts of family moving through his mind. The piece of grass continued to spin back and forth in his fingers, stilling when the hologram moved to a sitting position, crossed its legs, and leaned forward on its elbows. A nudge snapped him out of his trance and he flicked the blade of grass away as Michael placed a small, metal object in his hand.

  Sometime later, after receiving tutorials and instructions from Ignis, Coal strapped the device onto his ear and turned it on. A light pop echoed in his head and he winced, bringing his hands to his head in surprise. Michael had explained that Craniums used bone conduction technology, which meant little to Coal at the time.

  “Do you hear me?”

  Coal snapped his head toward Ignis, flattening his palms onto the ground. The voice came directly from his head.

  How was this possible?

  “Yes, I hear you. How is it you speak to me thus?”

  “I have an internal Cranium, so you can call or message me anytime.” Ignis smiled, but no words formed with this mouth. It was as if Ignis was capable of speaking to his mind, another otherworldly disturbance to add to Coal’s ever-growing list. Nevertheless, he was ready for more.

  “How do I move the air?”

  Ignis tilted his head in deep thought. “I don’t understand your question.”

  “I’ve got this one,” Michael said, noting the hologram’s response. “Touch the button on the met
al device. Good. A screen should pop up ... oh, there it is. OK, now poke the rectangular box right in front of you. See the letters, numbers, and symbols that appeared?” Coal nodded and the image moved with him, a dizzying effect his brain did not enjoy. “This is a keyboard. You’ll form words by swiping like this. Now give it a try.” Several attempts later, Coal correctly swiped the strange message Michael had given him and the screen gave way to another with multiple pictures, some that moved as if they were real. “You did it! Fantastic. So, what do you want to search?”

  “I am not sure I follow,” Coal said. He moved his head forward to see the screen more closely only to realize the hologram moved with him. He felt stupid and offered Michael a droll look in response. Movement captured his attention once more and his eyes darted back to a small box in a corner, blinking when a string of words in an opposite corner flashed to a different sentence. Coal reared his head back in surprise, making the hologram shift and he squinted his eyes and placed a hand on his head with the disorientation. Michael laughed and shook his head, his face calming to a simple expression of amusement after a few heartbeats.

  “You’ll learn that you move your eyes and not your head when working a Cranium’s user interface.” Michael tapped his ear and then folded his hands into his lap. “If you could know or see anything in the world, what would it be?”

  “Truly?” Coal’s eyes widened and Michael nodded. “I wish to see my mother.”

  “Sure. Tap that icon right there. No, the one that’s a lighthouse. Good. This is Xandria, the world’s biggest search engine and library of information. Put your finger in the long rectangle at the top. Yep, like that. This is a search bar. Now swipe your mom’s name.”

  Coal stuck his tongue out while concentrating, and swiped the name “Camilla Hiddleston.” The screen shifted and several pictures flooded his vision. Disappointment quickly crushed the excitement he experienced moments earlier as he stared hopelessly at the multitude of women who apparently owned his mother’s name.

  Were there so many people in the world that names were commonly shared?

  “Do you see her?” Michael asked.

  “I have never seen her,” Coal whispered. “She died minutes before I was born.”

  “I’m so sorry. Let’s see if I can find a photo of her in the lab files to help us out.” Michael turned on his Cranium and pointed at the air, swiped, and then dragged his finger in an upward motion. “Here we go.” He shifted focus to Coal’s screen, his eyes moving back and forth as he searched, eventually tapping on a photograph and pulling it from the corners until it enlarged considerably. “There she is.”

  Emotions swarmed within Coal as he looked into his mother’s eyes for the first time. He whispered, “She is beautiful.” Short, light blond hair with bright pink strands—cut on an angle—reached her chin, and eyes that reflected shades of the sky stared back in an eternal moment of happiness.

  “Do you want to save this image?” Ignis blinked his holographic eyes at Coal.

  “Yes, please.”

  “Place your finger on the image and drag it to the side icon labeled ‘shelf.’” Coal followed the hologram’s instructions and felt his heart constrict when the image of his mother disappeared. “When you want to see that picture again, just tap on your shelf.”

  “You can shelve anything, building your own personal library,” Michael said. “Videos, photos, articles, you name it.”

  Coal nodded as he began another search, swiping in the name ‘Lynden Nichols.’ If the scientist seemed surprised, he hid it well, busying himself with work behind a privacy screen. Or maybe he just did not notice. Michael often became distracted by his work within a blink of an eye.

  A young woman with rainbow hair dotted Coal’s screen in a plethora of tiles and he studied each picture with curiosity. She wore the most interesting clothing, as if the articles were chopped up and pieced onto her body, joined by straps. Occasionally she flaunted a short, ruffled skirt. He tapped on one image to observe her facial features with more clarity, smiling at her playfully taunting pose, tongue sticking out as hazel eyes glared.

  She had a ring fastened to her lower lip?

  And how did her hair reflect such shocking strands of color?

  One particular image held his sight, and his stomach lurched. A man with blue, green, and white hair, which stood up in random spikes, carried her limp form. Clothes hung in shreds and blood dripped from her face. There were no adequate words to describe what he saw, and a fury unlike any he had ever known billowed into a rage inside of him. Fire in his veins, indeed.

  Coal went back to the playful picture of Lynden and shelved her image.

  ***

  Emotion resembles a wheel spinning free. When the cogs work, action begins, emotion ceases.

  — David Lindsay, 20th century Scottish novelist *

  Then when she had put the kitchen in order, she sat down to her wheel and began to spin. Dobrunka had a pretty voice, as pretty as any of the song-birds in the forest, and always when she was alone she sang... But her mind wandered. The image of the young man kept rising before her eyes and I have to confess that, for an expert spinner, she broke her thread pretty often.

  — Antonín Leopold Dvořák, “The Golden Spinning Wheel,” 1896 *

  ***

  The whirl of the wheel infused the silence of her family’s apartment as Oaklee’s feet treadled with familiar rhythm. Nimble fingers toyed with the carded alpaca fleece. She pinched the drafted portions with confidence as the soft, lumpy threads twisted and spun from her fingertips. The fibers were dark and lustrous, destined to be woven into a warm cloak that would grace the shoulders of a growing child or perhaps a blanket to place into the storehouse. Dust motes magically twinkled in the encroaching sunlight as the spinning wheel disturbed the air with each rotation.

  A yawn quietly escaped, interrupting her spinning for but a moment. Oaklee had not slept well, too emotionally overwhelmed to rest easy. Shadows had played across the room and held her mind captive until she finally rose from her warm covers. She had placed an ear against the cool cob surface of the wall, hoping to hear Fillion from beyond—but he remained silent. Sleep eventually claimed her, and her eyes flickered open hours later to discover her palm still embraced the surface of the wall, her other hand pressing the linden leaf against her heart.

  A figure walked by the window as she spun, drawing her attention. Oaklee’s heart momentarily galloped until she realized it was not her father, and then her spirits fell.

  She logically accepted that he would never return, but her emotions cried out in defiance. His voice seeped into her thoughts, whispering, “Good morning, ma chère,” with such clarity that she would pause and inspect the empty apartment, waiting with excitement to see his smiling face. Instead, the dappled sunlight streamed through the latticed window, painting the floor in diamonds.

  The wooden wheel continued its mechanical song of merriment as she forced her thoughts to settle upon happier times. The ache born of grief eased for a few blessed moments as the familiar whir captured her soul in an embrace long overdue. Oh, how she cherished these moments early in the morning. Oaklee oft rushed home directly from Mass to enjoy the quietude of the rising sun as it stretched upon the planked, wooden floor until its warm fingers touched her wheel. By then, the household would have returned after breaking their fast, and she could retreat to the Great Hall to savor the remnant morsels of the morning meal without the demand of conversation before the landscape fully awakened to a fresh day.

  A hint of blue in the corner caught her eye, and Oaklee smiled as a modest cluster of forget-me-nots spilled over a wooden tumbler upon the cupboard. Her brother most likely picked the dainty wildflowers for Ember, a way to request her faithfulness, enduring love, and to never forget him as her lover. ’Twas a medieval tradition many grooms employed to woo and romance their new brides, one she found endearing and, at the same time, rather scandalous. The flowers were beautiful, and her mind wandered, eventua
lly resting upon the unusual blue of Fillion’s eyes. She nibbled her bottom lip, enjoying the sensations that filled her with such unbidden thoughts, when the yarn snapped from too much twist.

  “Oh, drat!” A heavy sigh escaped and her hands collapsed into her lap.

  She studied the shadows to assess the time, irritated with how just a single thought of him flustered her to distraction. She needed to maintain her wits with such a long, laborious day ahead. Following the breakfast meal, Oaklee would spend the morning in the meadow by The Forge to clean and card new bags of wool as well as to process the remaining bundles of flax from harvest last. She left the wheel and carefully lay prepared fleece into her work basket and covered the top with a square piece of hemp cloth.

  A multitude of tasks and thoughts arranged and rearranged themselves in her mind as she ambled toward her bedchamber, untying the apron and gingerly pulling it over her head. The iron ring to her door knocked against the hewn wood as she shut it, and the sound filled her chamber as she shimmied out of the garment reserved for Mass and finer occasions.

  The morning air still held a chill, and she rubbed her arms as she walked to the oak chest and folded the woolen tunic dress inside, dolefully caressing the wrought iron oak tree upon the lid. Limp and lifeless, her everyday work dress hung upon a peg near the door and Oaklee fingered the linen before maneuvering the piece over her heavy chemise, tying it off with an old tablet-woven belt. She made a mental note to grab the apron prior to leaving so that she did not need to borrow one from the shop, which reeked of wood smoke and sweat.

  Oaklee plaited her long tresses and then pinned the braids into a crown around her head, adding sprigs of lavender from the wreath she wore yesterday for the Celebration of Life. She was now officially ready for the work day with a few moments to spare.

  Purpose filled her with peace while memories added weight to the responsibilities Oaklee would shoulder as she rejoined the community in daily activities. Everything felt the same and yet entirely different. How could this dichotomy exist? And yet, it must. When she arrived at The Forge to gather her tools, Coal would not be there to greet her. His rascally smile and ready quip would not fill her morning with laughter this day, or the next. Nor would her father poke his head in the apartment door to ensure she stopped to enjoy the gathering hour where the community joined in fellowship mid-day over a meal before returning to their duties. Her father knew her penchant for losing herself to a task and to her wandering imagination.