Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2)

by Sundin, Jesikah

  Fillion hung his head as another tear fell. “I don’t know how to love.”

  “There is a difference between being able to love and believing your love is valuable, worth giving away.” She paused and her hand went limp. Relief flooded him when she began again. “He would have loved you like his own flesh and blood,” she said with a raspy whisper. His breath caught and his head snapped up. Norah offered a warm smile. “Allow me to bless you, Fillion Nichols.”

  “You already have,” he said quietly.

  “Come closer.” Not wanting to argue, he leaned toward Norah as her hand lifted once again. A trembling finger outlined the shape of a heart on his forehead. “The legacy of your life is love. May it fill you and pour out of you the remaining days of your life. Be blessed.”

  Heat flooded Fillion as if light poured into his veins. Norah smiled beautifully, patting his cheek with a look of pride that warmed her gaunt features. Emotions rose and fell as a war waged inside his mind, one he couldn’t shake. It was too much to take in and confusing. Fillion shifted his gaze and stared at the solitary half-melted candle on Norah’s nightstand as ideas continued to capture him. His legacy was love? The words seared, and another tear crawled down his cheek.

  Fillion looked up and his eyes widened. Norah’s face was relaxed, peaceful. Her eyes were closed. How long was he stuck in his head? Was she breathing? He stared in horror as he sought a sign of life in her face. Was she dead? He was too afraid to find out. His chest heaved as he gulped in a large breath. A sudden pain filled him and tears fell, feeling hot against his flushed skin. God, how would he tell the Daniels family? Just as he pushed off the floor, wheezy breaths began to fill the silence and Fillion’s shoulders slumped with relief. She was still alive. God, that freaked him out. Norah’s eyes slowly fluttered opened and he wiped the tears away in quick motions before resting his forearms on the edge of her bed.

  “Can I get you anything?” He looked around the sparse room. “Water?”

  “The Watson family, please.”

  “Sure.” He quietly rose to his feet and bit the inside of his cheek. Before he lost his nerve, he leaned down and kissed her sunken cheek and then turned toward her door.

  “Fillion,” she said. He stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Make sure my family remains ... on ... Earth.” Her voice trailed and she took in quick, shallow breaths.

  Perplexed, Fillion returned to her bedside and knelt on the floor once again. Was she referring to the Outside world? She wanted the community to disband? “What do you mean?”

  “There is now an entire generation ... who have never seen the world.” Her eyelids closed again.

  Fillion waited for her to continue, but her breathing became uneven and rattled. He didn’t dare disturb her to get a better answer. Slowly, he tip-toed across the floor. At the door, he looked back at Norah one last time. “Thanks for making me feel real,” he whispered.

  Multiple pairs of eyes looked up as he entered the living room, the polite curiosity evident in their troubled stares. Willow blinked with concern as she silently questioned him. He forced himself to look away and focus on Leaf. “Norah requests your family.”

  Leaf gave an appreciative nod as he rose, taking Ember and Laurel by hand. Willow’s lips trembled as she followed, meeting Fillion’s eyes for a split second as she passed. The Watsons faded into the dark hallway. The sound of iron striking wood echoed as the bedroom door closed behind them. Fillion swept his gaze across the room, feeling the walls close in one more inch.

  He had to leave. He needed to find solitude.

  Thoughts surged in his mind. When the user interface of his consciousness refreshed, he realized he was in the woods, running. But he didn’t care. He just wanted to disappear.

  A giant oak tree appeared around the bend, painting an image straight from the pages of a fable. He abruptly stopped and admired the long, sprawling branches. Wind rustled his garments and leaves fell, the tinfoil sound of their collision to earth reverberating in his ears. The crunch of dead and decaying life shouted at him with each step—he almost covered his ears—until he reached a large cluster of ferns against the trunk. He lowered himself, leaning his back against the tree. Fillion gripped his hair for a moment, then buried his head into his arms and knees.

  Norah’s words spoke to his soul in a murmur, her command prompt foreign to his system. What if he did have something valuable to give away? What did Norah see in him that led her to believe that he possessed remarkable strength and honor? Questions spurred more questions until he thought he would crack. To still his thoughts, Fillion raised his head and watched shadows lean and stretch as time progressed. Occasionally, he paused to listen to the sounds of village life nearby, silencing the voices of doubt and shame in his head.

  Two birds flapped noisily off a nearby branch as brisk footsteps echoed the protests of the forest floor. Fillion angled his head toward the approach, feeling his stomach clench when Willow appeared. Norah had died. Every anguished word Willow could share was already evident on her face.

  Two people—Elements no less—were now dead thanks to his family’s experiment. The guilt was overwhelming. But he refused to hide, welcoming any anger Willow wanted to inflict on him. Adrenaline coursed through his body and he stood quickly, causing Willow to startle and jump back.

  They stared at each other curiously. Holding back tears, he sucked in his lower lip as he begged for her to forgive him with his eyes. She blinked in reply and placed a hand on her chest and then pressed the same hand over his heart, and Fillion deflated.

  The strange energy that connected them pulled tighter. He closed his eyes, momentarily overcome by her gesture and her touch. The feelings were painful. A breeze rustled the trees. He glanced up as yellow leaves cascaded all around them, slowly meeting her eyes once more. Wisps of hair flew across Willow’s face, her lips flushed and rosy as she held his eyes. He longed to kiss her. But he was too terrified to ruin this moment.

  She pulled away gradually, stepping backward as she blushed into her shoulder. With a deep sigh, she lowered in a curtsy and placed her hand onto her heart once again. Fillion didn’t know what to do, far too humbled and stunned by the implications of her gift.

  Willow wiped away silent tears as she rose. Offering him one last look, she rounded the trunk of the giant oak and climbed into its branches. Fillion had climbed trees with Mack on a few days they felt aimless, but he’d rarely seen anyone else do so, and never a girl—let alone a girl in a long dress. He watched as she settled onto a thick branch and began to heave with sobs into her dress. The image was striking, especially with the leaves framing her in gold. The linen folds of her dress flowed over the branch, rippling in the breeze.

  He was completely beguiled, his focus drawn away only when a golden leaf fluttered past his face. Shaky fingers caught the long, narrow leaf. He wasn’t a sentimental type. It was stupid and silly. But as he peered up at the Daughter of Earth, who grieved in the boughs, he thanked Fate for a piece of willow oak that could be entirely his own.

  With a final glance up into the tree, he tucked the leaf into his pocket. Then he jogged off toward the Watson apartment. Now that Norah was dead, Leaf would discover the spinning wheel. And he needed to tell the Son of Earth about the Death Card.

  ***

  Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

  — Arthur C. Clarke, “Hazards of Prophecy: The Failure of Imagination,” in Profiles of the Future, revised edition, 1973 *

  ***

  Oaklee haphazardly leaned against the trunk, swinging a leg below the supporting branch. She wrapped an arm around her other leg, pulling her knee tight against her chest. The bark was smooth against her back from years of rubbing, compared to the abrasive and grooved areas that marked the remainder of the tree’s surface. Thoughts flitted around, her questions seemingly endless, as she gazed up through the canopy of glimmering leaves and swaying tree limbs to the mosaic pattern of the sky she had always
known. The reflective blue darkened to various shades of gray, almost as if the Outside world also mourned the loss of Norah Daniels.

  Did Earth feel pain when its creation returned to her? When the trace elements comprising the soul’s outer shell no longer bore the genetic imprint of who they are, did Earth remember? Tomorrow the Daniels family would endure the Cremation Ceremony, and Oaklee would watch another parent-figure burn, becoming a living ingredient to nourish the soil and enrich the agriculture.

  In a far-away voice, she intoned, “‘In the sweat of thy face shall thou eat food ’til thou return to the earth, out of which thou wast taken: for dust thou art, and into dust thou shall return.’”

  Beads, fastened to Oaklee’s belt, slipped between her fingers as her lips moved in a prayer her mind could no longer comprehend. The atmosphere of her community altered once more, and she inhaled deeply, refusing to entertain the free-fall sensations that tempted her bruised heart. She knew the floor would claim her, knew she would crash. Still, she longed to detach and float blissfully unaware of the pain.

  As she observed the rhythm of the forest, an acorn landed in her lap and Oaklee’s fingers stilled on the prayer beads as she stared at the small nut in wonder. She always marveled how something so mighty and majestic grew from something so very simple. In many ways, she felt akin to this acorn—plain, small, and yet containing a purpose so grand that the very notion bordered on the impossible.

  A rabbit scurried from the underbrush, the light thump of its hind legs announcing its presence as it searched for another hideaway. Acorns dotted the leaf-littered ground, providing treasures for the squirrels, and she swallowed with the pain of life’s never-ending cycle of love and loss, survival and sacrifice. “May your journey be blessed,” she whispered, then flicked her wrist, tossing the acorn to the ground. Oaklee stilled in anticipation of the telltale plunk and, instead, gasped when an irritated groan resounded instead.

  She peeked over her arm to discover Leaf, who glowered at her from a couple branches below. He rubbed the top of his head. With a heavy sigh, he dragged his fingers through his mess of dark brown curls and resumed his climb. Oaklee stiffened as she closed her eyes to listen to the sounds of nature, desperately seeking peace. Normally, she would giggle over such a situation. But she was far too disconsolate, and Leaf appeared far too angry.

  “Willow, I wish to speak with you.”

  She opened her eyes. “It is Oaklee.”

  “Willow Oak, we need to speak immediately—and be warned, I am in no mood for dramatics.”

  “Whatever it is you wish to say, do so quickly, for I am in no mood to deal with your patronizing tones.” She turned her head and lifted her chin.

  “I am grieved—”

  “As am I!”

  “That you and Fillion would keep from me—”

  “I did not think we needed your precious blessing to speak alone, My Lord.”

  “Pardon?” Leaf paused. “You spoke with Fillion unchaperoned once more? When?”

  A blush warmed Oaklee’s face as she met her brother’s eyes, now level with her own. “Shortly after Norah died. You are not here to scold me while attempting to avenge my honor?”

  “No. Well, yes, but over a completely different concern.” Anger burned across his features once more. The ever-present dark circles under his eyes now swelled with red. Had he lost his senses from Norah’s passing?

  Leaf pulled from his pocket a bobbin wound with black yarn. He reached for the hand in her lap, and pressed the carved object into her palm, closing her fingers over the wooden piece. Oaklee’s body sagged as she held a remnant of her destroyed spinning wheel, an event she had shamefully forgotten in the wake of Norah’s vigil and passing. No, she had lost her senses.

  “How dare you withhold from me something as dire as this,” her brother continued through gritted teeth. “My job is to protect my home and uphold the laws and Code of our community. Instead, my own sister intentionally withholds this crime against our family and asks another to partake in such a foolish decision.”

  “How dare you accuse me of dishonor! Perhaps you should examine your own actions, Leaf Watson.” The knuckles on her hand grew white as she gripped the bobbin. “Get off my tree!”

  “Your tree?” He held onto a branch above his head and leaned forward. “You honestly believe such a childish response will remove me from your tree? Willow Oak Watson, sometimes you infuriate me to such deep levels I could go mad.”

  “My heartfelt apologies for encumbering your life.”

  Leaf snapped a nearby twig and tossed it to the ground. “Do you ever look beyond your circumstances? Or do your emotions swallow you whole with each and every opportunity to exert their will?”

  Oaklee repositioned and turned her back toward Leaf, then hugged a neighboring branch as she blotted away the traitorous tears. She attempted to collect her thoughts, feeling her brother’s insistent presence. Leaf went too far with such harsh words and tones. In fact, her brother appeared as though he would be willing to cut down her tree and perhaps the entire forest, simply to ensure she understood his message.

  Leaf loudly sighed. “If you do not possess sense for your own safety, at least consider the safety of our sister. You denied me the opportunity to protect her should whoever destroyed your spinning wheel wish to act as violently against her. For Heaven’s sake, Willow! Our father may have been murdered by the very same individual.”

  Her throat tightened. Oaklee twisted to see Leaf over her shoulder as his words penetrated her mounting offense. “Leaf, I did not wish to dishonor Norah on her last day among the living. I promise that was my only motivation.” Oaklee repositioned on the branch and crossed her heart, hoping Leaf would believe her. “I feared your response and asked Fillion to guard his knowledge of the incident to ensure the Daniels family had our undivided support.” She extended a hand to her brother and bowed her head. Apologies were difficult for her, but she knew her brother would never believe her sincerity otherwise. “Please forgive me. I should have fully considered the ramifications of my decisions.”

  Her brother blinked with the unexpected display of contrition. He took her hand and shook it, dipping his head in honor. But the anger remained on his face. “There is a silent war for power, and I shall not stand for my family to suffer for it.” Leaf descended the tree, jumped to the ground from the last branch, then looked back up at her with authority. “Come.”

  She did not hesitate and gingerly climbed down the branches, spooked by her brother’s words and fearful of what he may do if she did not obey. Nevertheless, upon the last branch, she dangled longer than necessary, hoping to prolong the inevitable, until fingers wrapped around her waist from behind in an unexpected gesture of assistance.

  Oaklee turned to thank Leaf, lowering into a curtsy. She paled upon recognizing Fillion. She looked for her brother, not bothering to hide her distress. She spotted Leaf on the path, pacing, while Ember held Laurel. Tears wet Laurel’s cheeks as her eyes tracked their brother’s tense movements, little fingers wringing with rhythmic persistence.

  “We don’t have much time,” Fillion whispered, regaining her attention. “Leaf gave me a few minutes to talk to you. He doesn’t know about our ... talk ... last night and thinks that info is what I’m sharing before shit hits the fan.”

  She could not form a reply. Their close proximity quickened her pulse and she attempted to regulate her breathing to appear as unaffected as possible. Nevertheless, all she wished to contemplate were the hands that rested upon her waist and those eyes, inches from her face, imploring her to trust him. Their bodies were mostly hidden by the large trunk, and the partial seclusion thrilled her addled senses. His fingers moved, readjusting his loose hold over her thin linen work dress, her fabric and his skin sliding along her midsection. Enfeebled, her thoughts traveled in a drowsy haze, and she was convinced she would surely float away once Fillion no longer rooted her to the leaf-littered floor.

  “I didn’t tell Leaf about
the spinning wheel. Your brother guessed you had asked me to keep information from him after seeing us this morning in The Forge,” he continued. “And even then, I evaded his questions. I meant what I said. Your secrets are always safe with me.”

  His touch was doing odd things to her, feelings she could not fully describe. Memories of their earlier moments, shortly after Norah died, drowned her thoughts in delirium, and she barely whispered a reply. “Thank you, My Lord.” But he seemed not to notice her struggle nor his effect on her.

  “He’s madder than hell and about to piss off a lot of people. Do not, under any circumstances, challenge him publicly. Promise me.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Oaklee’s febrile thoughts instantly cooled, and his hands dropped from her waist as she stepped away. And contrary to previous notions, she did not float away. Every enraptured sensation evaporated in that moment, replenished by offense over his patronizing request. “If my brother is not acting in a proper manner, I have every right to challenge him as any other within this community. Do not presume our earlier moment means I swoon over your Outsider boyish fancies or submit to your egotistical notions of grandeur.”

  “Egotistical notions of grandeur?” A subtle, playful lift of his mouth taunted her. “You’re losing your edge. Try again. You can do way better than that.” She pressed herself against the tree, clenching and unclenching her fists, as he stepped closer. When she refused to be baited, he said in a slow, overly emphasized voice, “Promise me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because,” he began, as sudden shyness seized him, “I need you.” The sincerity of his confession stilled the storm inside of her, and Oaklee’s determination momentarily faltered. Fillion dropped his eyes and lifted his shoulders as he whispered. “But don’t make me choose between you and your brother right now.” He exhaled a shaky breath and met her eyes. “Promise me.”

  Bemused, she wound a strand of black yarn, dangling from the bobbin, onto her finger. “Is Leaf fulfilling revenge on your behalf?”