With affection,
Yours Truly,
Willow Oak Watson
His thumb caressed the oak tree. Fillion read the note a second time, and then again. He knew Willow didn’t part with such an item easily, and it humbled him.
He knelt on the floor, and pulled his great-grandpa’s chest out from under the bed and opened the lid. Carefully, he placed Willow’s note inside, beside the dried linden leaf. Then he retrieved the piece of her chemise and tucked it away as well. “I’m such a sap,” he muttered under his breath. God, he was still talking to himself. What the hell was happening to him? This time, Fillion rolled his eyes at himself. A couple of weeks ago, he would have gagged with these sappy thoughts.
With a humored shake of his head, he rose and dressed. The rag hung from his belt and lightly tapped against his hip with each step. Before leaving, he lit a joint and blew out his lantern. It was past the breakfast hour already and time to go. Fillion shut his front door and pulled the wool cloak tighter around his body. Still, he shivered. He would never take indoor heating for granted again.
The joint loosely hung in his mouth as he surveyed the village. Images of “Eco-Crafting Eden” simmered in the forefront of his thoughts, comparing and contrasting buildings and landscape. Then, his body was in motion, potential energy converting to kinetic with each step.
The smoke left his mouth and blended into the dusky shades of dawn. He exhaled another thin stream. Curling, shape-shifting fingers writhed in the air, reaching for the geodesic horizon as if clawing the pseudo-sky. Fillion furrowed his brows at the image. He dragged on the herbal joint once more, and focused on the dirt path moving beneath his feet.
Families left in large groups from the Great Hall and journeyed toward The Orchard. Most gave him wide berth. Some bowed their heads as he passed. He was the Son of Eden. A man of magic. An Outsider. The object of political desire and disdain. It wasn’t a new position for him. But this? He kept walking, head down.
Fillion approached the golden fields and looked for Willow. The air still smelled pleasantly sweet. He puffed one last time on the joint and then snuffed it out with his shoe. Skirting the edge of the wheat field, he followed a worn path next to a thin layer of trees. Leaf’s unmistakable voice carried over the murmuring stalks, and Fillion paused.
“Pardon my confusion,” Leaf said. “I do believe my ears failed to hear correctly. You refuse to work?”
“Yes. We shall not support a King who will disband New Eden Township.”
It was an alpaca worker. Fillion had seen the man in the Mediterranean dome. The growing light cloaked Leaf’s face from where Fillion stood. But he could imagine the shock and confusion. After a few more steps, Leaf’s rigid form and stunned features became clear.
The young noble narrowed his eyes. “I do not write law, nor did I originate The Code which demands such action, nor did I force you to sign the document prior to Moving Day.”
“Why were our children not required to sign The Code? It seems far too strange and begs many concerns.”
“I am not sure, sir. You do ask a fine question.” Leaf said. “May I present your inquiry to Hanley Nichols for reply?”
“And believe the man who set a double standard in the community?”
Fillion moved to Leaf’s side. The Son of Earth dipped his head in greeting while placing his hands on hips. “I am sure there is a simple and logical explanation.”
The man moved forward. “What if the second generation is shipped off to Mars? They are not bound to a Code that requires they disband from the community. And they are the only humans on Earth born and raised in captivity.”
“Nobody is going to Mars,” Fillion said. All eyes turned his direction. “This is an experiment, not a mission. Refusing to work doesn’t change The Code either.”
“We do not intend to change The Code. We wish for new leadership.”
“I see.” Leaf drew his eyebrows together. “Who do you wish to appoint in my stead?”
The man crossed his arms over his chest. “Skylar Kane.”
Leaf nodded his head thoughtfully. “He is a good man. I can see why. However, he is incapable of rewriting The Code, same as I. New Eden is just as likely to disband under his leadership as mine.”
“Not what we heard,” the man retorted. “We heard it on the wind that Skylar has favor with Hanley Nichols.”
“Heard it on the wind?” Fillion felt his stomach drop. Peasants going on a work strike? Holding back food distribution? The coincidence was too eerie. “Trust me, nobody has favor with Hanley Nichols. Nobody. Hanley is too in love with himself to give a damn about anyone else.”
“Why should we believe a son who would turn on his own father?” The man looked behind him with smug appreciation at the crowd of men who whispered to one another.
Fillion relaxed his posture and stared at the man as if he, and all the others, just lost their minds. “You just declared you didn’t trust Hanley, but you’ll support his so-called favorite? You don’t want to change The Code, but you want the second generation forced to disband? But you don’t want to disband? Are you listening to yourself?” Fillion lifted an eyebrow. “It’s clear you were put up to this stupidity by someone else. You can’t even stand firm in your convictions.”
The crowd burst into debates between each other. The man never had a chance to reply. The alpaca worker’s skin reddened and his mouth opened in a slack-jawed expression of distress. As the noise elevated, Fillion watched as men, women, and children poured in from the fields and The Orchard. Willow, Laurel, Rain, and Ember soon appeared around the bend, worry creasing lines around their eyes.
“New Eden!” Leaf boomed. “Hear me.” The gathering grew quiet. “Allow me to assure you that I am doing everything within my power to ensure all families are happy, safe, and remain unified. Fillion and I are presently investigating the legal mysteries surrounding the newer generations. I do care about your fears, but we must not bow to rumors. Fears shall divide our home. We did not work so hard, nor sacrifice so much, only to be divided now.”
“We demand answers!” someone shouted from the crowd, receiving a wave of cheers.
“Yes,” Leaf said. “I demand answers as well.”
“We refuse to work until Hanley tells us why the second generation is not bound by The Code!” More cheers followed.
Leaf’s face fell. A few, long seconds passed and the Son of Earth lifted his eyes back to the community. Lines crinkled around Leaf’s eyes, the tension spreading. “It saddens me to say this,” he began. “But you leave me little choice.” The community grew deathly silent. “Let it be known that if you choose not to work, then you are choosing to not eat as well.”
“Tyrant!” a voice screamed.
“You believe asking your neighbors to work on your behalf honorable?” Willow spat back at the crowd. She clenched her fists at her side and glowered.
Before she could say more, Connor jogged through the crowd and toward Leaf. In a hushed voice, the former Fire Element asked what was happening. Leaf quickly replied and Connor’s eyebrows shot up. Slowly, in disbelief, Connor faced the crowd. Fillion watched as the muscles in Connor’s neck bulged and twitched. Fillion knew the former King of Terraloch was making his own comparisons to a former role-playing life, and he watched the blacksmith carefully.
“I support our King,” he bellowed. Some in the crowd broke into cheers, while others booed. “The Aether has demonstrated wisdom.”
“Look my children in the eyes and tell them how you refuse to feed them, Your Majesty,” the alpaca farmer said. Leaf flinched and lowered his head. “Then explain to them how a leader who does not feed children cares about their future.”
“You look in your child’s eyes and tell them yourself!” Fillion shot back. He was ready to explode, angry that Leaf was paying for a war that was never his. “And don’t forget the part about how you incited a strike over rumors. You accuse a man without facts.”
“Tyrant!” The vill
ager shot the same insult at Fillion, and then shouted it again over the rumbling crowd at Leaf. “Skylar Kane as Aether!” A low chant echoed the words until the small pocket of individuals quieted all others into shock.
“Where is Skylar?” Fillion asked Leaf. “Or Timothy?”
Leaf whispered, “I am not sure.” He scanned the gathering, eventually looking at Ember. With a deep breath, Leaf faced his accusers. “New Eden,” he shouted, the anger rippling in his tone. “I do not punish children for the choices of their parents. I said if you choose not to work, then you choose not to eat. Never once was there mention of your family.”
“Tyrant!” the rebuttal came once more.
“If you do not like this decision nor trust me to dialogue with Hanley to gather answers, then you are welcome to leave our colony and confront Hanley yourself.” Leaf schooled his features, even though his eyes traveled from face to face with growing panic. “Any person may leave, at any time, and for any reason. Disband now. Or stay, and wait to discover the fate of New Eden Township. The choice is yours.”
“That is not a choice, Your Majesty,” the man said. “That is a threat.”
“Harold Moore, I shall not tolerate dissension. We are men grown. Shall we adjourn to Jeff’s chancery to continue in civil conversation?”
“There is nothing to discuss. I refuse to follow a tyrant for a King.” Harold took a woman’s hand. “My family officially leaves New Eden Township this day.”
“Are you shitting me?” Fillion blurted. He was pretty sure his face mirrored the disbelief reflected in others’ faces. “You don’t want the community to disband, but you’re leaving? What the hell?”
“My family leaves as well!” another voice called out. A man led his wife and children away from the crowd.
“Plea—” Leaf attempted. But Connor placed a hand on Leaf’s shoulder and shook his head. In a whisper, Leaf said, “What have I done?”
“You delivered a tough but necessary message and possibly prevented a full-scale strike.” Connor squeezed Leaf’s shoulder and dropped his hand. “Harold made a choice. His mind was poisoned by fear.”
“No, by someone,” Fillion muttered under his breath.
“Do you think he demonstrates symptoms of insanity?” Leaf asked.
“Dr. Nichols shall determine such a diagnosis,” Connor replied. “We should not speculate and further tarnish Harold and his family, nor Frederick’s family.”
“Yes, you are right, My Lord,” Leaf said, hanging his head. He cast a side-glance to the gathering who watched in terrified silence as the men and their families departed. “Father, why did you leave me?” Leaf twisted away from the community and covered his face in his hands. His shoulders rose and he inhaled sharply. “I know not what to do,” he whispered through his fingers.
“Son, there is time later to process. Now, the community needs you to remain strong,” Connor whispered. “You once told Timothy that the community will respect a leader who is willing to forsake tradition and bend for their benefit if the situation requires such flexibility. Give them opportunity to respect you.”
“I spoke with haste, impassioned by a cause. I no longer believe I am capable of such a feat. Perhaps Timothy was right, and I should step down from leadership and grieve my father.”
Fillion grabbed Leaf’s forearm and pulled him close, and whispered, “Hell no. Trust me. I found something today. I’ll show you later. It involves Timothy.” Leaf pulled away and maintained a downcast posture, a frown darkening his face. After a few seconds, he nodded.
“Give them hope and direction,” Connor whispered. “Be strong.” In two large steps, the former Element positioned himself behind Leaf.
Fillion took the cue and stepped into the background as well. The Son of Earth dropped his hands and squinted his eyes. Hundreds of faces stared at Leaf in anticipation.
“Family,” Leaf said, straightening his posture and looking over the fields and meadow. “Who among us still refuses to work?” People looked around them, but no one volunteered such convictions. Leaf stretched out his hands, palms up. “Would all of you please show me your hands.”
Uncertain, the residents complied. Fillion raised his hands to show his support for Leaf, but he felt like a dork. He hated interactive motivational speeches.
“With these hands,” Leaf continued and Fillion looked up, “we have built a community that works together, celebrates together, and mourns together. Let us not use these same hands to tear down what we have labored so long to create.”
Murmurs of agreement swelled until the sound turned to cheers. Hands, once stretched out, clapped their approval.
“One last comment, if you would be so kind,” Leaf hollered over the cheers. Quiet descended on the dome once more. “We shall not speak ill of our neighbors. Nor shall we disparage the Moore and Carson households. Instead, we shall mourn their absence in our community. Tonight, I ask that you please light a candle and say a prayer for their families and bless them. May they find the peace and the answers they seek.”
Heads bowed with respect and they lifted hands and placed them over their hearts. Fillion couldn’t understand how people would choose to honor someone like Harold. The man was a tool.
Love has little to do with romance and everything to do with honor.
The Herbalist’s words rung through his mind and pricked his heart. Villagers and nobility both demonstrated a choice that baffled Fillion. By choosing to honor the families who left, the community acknowledged their value—a worth that transcended their crimes against Leaf or anyone else.
“A new day rises,” Leaf said. “Let us return to our shared purposes, and continue to employ our hands toward sustaining our home and each other.”
The residents dispersed, somber. Some wiped away tears and quietly wept. Leaf slouched and dropped his chin to his chest, lost to his thoughts. Then he slowly spun on his heel and marched toward the fields. The Son of Earth didn’t acknowledge his wife or his family, Connor, or even Fillion. A few thumped Leaf on the back as he passed by, but Leaf kept moving. The noble’s body grew more rigid with each stride.
Fillion stood by a small line of trees, studying faces. Mannerisms. Analyzing Leaf’s words and request, as well as the community’s response. It bent Fillion’s mind and forced him to recalibrate, yet again, what he previously considered truth. Was this why Willow chose to honor him, despite his selfish, vulgar actions at times? Most times? He declared it was part of his charm, but was it? She acknowledged the inertia of his choices and, with a slight push, enabled the journey toward honoring himself.
Before walking away, he risked a look Willow’s direction. Everyone from their circle had already departed, leaving them alone. She watched him through lowered eyes, as most girls from New Eden did to exhibit modesty. It was demure and not flirtatious. A strand of hair wove around her finger with fidgety movements. He had no words. His mind was full, busy reconciling conflicting thoughts and emotions, information and fears.
They continued to stare at each other. The world rotated at high speed, the centrifugal force of motion creating a pocket of stillness where they stood. His fingers gripped the edges of his cloak and pulled away the wool. Her eyes followed his movements, and she blinked prettily when recognizing her father’s token.
The world blurred and faded away. Fillion took a few steps forward as Willow sauntered to where he stood. Each step they made was timid, bashful. Her fingers grazed the cloth hanging from his belt as her emerald eyes shyly sought his eyes.
She whispered, “You honor me.”
“No,” he whispered in reply. “You honor me.”
Willow attempted to smile. But it fell as she sagged against him. His arms shot out in surprise and he staggered back. Shoulders, small and round, quivered as she pressed her face into his chest.
“I am so frightened,” she whispered into his tunic as her hands clutched the fabric. “I wish to feel safe. My community alters, and their grievance connects to my family once m
ore.”
Warmth surged through him with her words until his mind buzzed, as if high. She wished to feel safe through him? Fillion wrapped his arms around her and rested his head on top of her braids. Was he really holding her? Comforting her? He had dreamed of this moment for so long. This was real. She believed he held answers, wanted him to save her, even if it was just from her own apprehension.
She readjusted her head. “Why did they leave? And hate my brother so?”
They were alone and protected by a small crop of trees along the fringe of the fields. Still, Fillion scanned for any passersby.
“I think they were bribed into it,” he whispered in reply.
She pulled away and looked up at him. “By whom?”
“Not sure. I have a strong lead, though. I’ll tell you once I have all the facts.” He cupped Willow’s face with one hand and caressed her soft, pale skin with his thumb. “I promise.” His fingertips tingled as they rested along the contours of her jaw. Her mouth parted slightly in response and when she spoke, it became breathless.
“Why create such hateful dissension?” She stepped closer and leaned her cheek against his chest once again. Fillion closed his eyes. “I am scared, My Lord. For my home. For my brother.”
“Someone wants to bring new order through chaos. It’s an old trick, but it works.”
In truth, he was worried for Leaf, too. Two items remained on the Curse Card. Assault on Leaf’s life wasn’t beyond the realm of possibilities. It could make his death on paper a reality. The escalating emotions and accusations only confirmed Fillion’s trail of thoughts. Was New Eden perhaps the “place” the card user had in mind? Or smaller, like the Watson home? Hanley wouldn’t want to destroy New Eden. It had to be a smaller location, a place to strike fear with minimal damage.
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 37
