Transitions Read online

  Finally, he asked, “Has Timna voiced a possible diagnosis?”

  “Influenza.” The word repeated in his mind in a strange cadence. Lady Rain turned a sickly shade and whispered, “Under Timna’s supervision, Her Highness pricked the finger of the deceased boy and used her technology to study his blood.”

  Skylar’s pulse leapt within his chest. “Where is His Majesty?”

  “Quarantined.”

  “What?” He knew he sounded rude and unpolished, but his panic was rising. Would the town reprise their accusations and proclaim Lady Ember a witch once more? “Is the Son of Earth ill?”

  Lady Rain shook her head. “No, My Lord. It is a precaution, nothing more. For Ember’s sake and for the safety of their unborn child.” Color returned to her skin with her last comment and she lowered her eyes. “After interacting with the contaminated belongings and bodily fluids of the poor little boy who died, Timna asked the Watson family to remain sequestered for five days.”

  “Then it is not air toxicity.” He loosed a slow breath.

  “No, ’tis not.” Compassion softened her features and Skylar blinked in confusion. “This is why I searched for you, My Lord. I worried you would hear of the deaths and feel responsible. I wished to spare you the additional grief you might suffer.”

  Warmth filled Skylar and he angled away from her and mumbled, “You are most kind. Thank you, My Lady.” She touched his forearm and took a step closer, though she remained silent, as if gathering her thoughts. “Rain,” he whispered, nearly forgetting himself, nearly forgetting everything. “We are unchaperoned.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes once more. “The little village boy could have easily been my youngest brother.” She released a sob and pressed her fingers to her mouth in attempt to restrain her grief. “What if sickness visits my home next? Or my sister’s wee babe?”

  Skylar did not know what to do. Nor could he give reassurance. He knew nothing of influenza. But he felt like a complete idiot standing there as she ached with the same fears he carried over his own home. She was an unmarried woman and he a bachelor. Nevertheless, when all rules and dictates of society were stripped away, the very ones that defined the roles of males and females, both he and Rain were simply vessels comprised of the same elements. Perhaps, in moments such as these, rules mattered not.

  “Leaf asked that you and I care for the community in his absence.” Her body shook as she attempted to hold in her fear. Still she continued, though her voice trembled. “He wishes for us to relay our sympathies after evening meal and to reassure New Eden that he is in discussion with the lab as it appears to be an Outsider illness.”

  “What of the Ceremonies of Death?”

  “They shall not be postponed.”

  He nodded his head and searched the tree limbs and dome sky. For what, he knew not. She continued to weep and he felt so utterly helpless. What could he do? It was maddening. “Rules be damned,” he muttered to himself and took a small step toward the Daughter of Water. “Rain Daniels of The Seven Seas.” Her eyes snapped to his with mention of her childhood nickname. Another tear trailed down her cheek. “May I have permission to comfort you?”

  “Yes ... yes, My Lord.”

  Rain leaned into him, her movements awkward and uncertain like his. Gently, he wrapped a single arm around her upper back as if the gesture came naturally. Or so he hoped. Could she hear his heartbeat thrumming wildly against his rib cage? Or feel his chest constrict as he attempted to breathe normally? They were friends, had known each other all their lives. Why should anyone judge them in this moment? Still, the many disapproving voices of society pointed fingers at him in his mind.

  “Please tell me if I am too forward, My Lady.” The sound of his own voice seemed strange as he spoke. “I would never wish to trespass upon your sensibilities or take advantage of your reputation.”

  “I am well,” she whispered. Warm breath passed through his tunic and he swallowed. “You could never harm my reputation.”

  The forest remained unnaturally still, the village gripped in silence. The hairs on his arm rose in response. “Alas, I fear it is quite possible.”

  “Not with me.” Her shoulders shook as another sob surfaced.

  Skylar knew to what she referred. In fact, he had known for quite some time. The information never mattered to him, though. Did her mother share the truth on her deathbed? Heartsick, he whispered into her hair, “I am the son of the town murderer.”

  “No, you are a man of honor.”

  “My family’s name is disgraced.” He attempted to sound stoic, though his voice caught. “No father would grant their daughter’s hand in marriage to me.” A shudder traveled through her body and he squeezed his eyes shut for a heartbeat before stepping away from their embrace. Both looked away, embarrassed. Why did he just confess this to her? Tears continued to roll down her face as her fingers fidgeted with the strings of her cloak. “I have spoken too freely,” he said quickly and grit his teeth. “I did not mean to imply ... suggest ... I am most sorry, My Lady.”

  “Skylar Kane of the Four Winds,” she spoke softly. “I heard only your broken heart understanding mine, nothing more. I would like very much to be your friend, if I may?”

  He cast her a side glance and frowned. “You already are, My Lady.”

  A blush touched her cheeks. His eyes rested on her lips a moment as they curved into a kind smile. Dark eyes waited for his, though she turned her head toward her shoulder. “I shall see you at evening meal, My Lord.”

  “Until then, My lady.” Skylar bowed, his mind still berating him for his stupidity. As he rose, she closed the distance between them and kissed his cheek. Eyelashes, dampened with tears, brushed along his skin. He stilled, his heart in his throat. She was kissing him. His first kiss. Before he could speak, let alone react, she left the covering of cedar boughs and ran toward the village.

  Skylar looked down to the linen cloth he clutched, one she had pressed into his hand. He fingered the soft fabric as he tried to recover from bewilderment. Were they not friends? Perhaps the fear of losing those one cared for created boldness. ’Twas compassion, nothing more. Tucking the cloth into his pocket, he stepped onto the forest path and shambled toward the village to collect his buckets, then to his apartment. For now, he was married to his family.

  Tuesday, December 15, 2054

  “Fire... fire... fire...”

  Mother had entered another speech pattern phase. The house was long asleep, unlike him, and Mother, apparently. He crept down the hallway to peek in on his sisters as they slept.

  Gale-Anne had refused to go to bed this eve, reduced to wild theatrics. She even threw her pillow at him. He knew she was hurting and tired. They all were. A part of him feared that if he drew a strong line, she would think him the same as Father. Instead, he picked up her pillow, put it back against the headboard, and sank onto the edge of her cot with a weary sigh. She continued to unravel about subjects he could no longer follow, but still he listened as his mind numbed.

  Windlyn had cowered around the corner. Never one to raise her voice or create a fuss, she peeped through the small space between the door and door jamb.

  “Windy, stop sniveling in the dark,” Gale-Anne had taunted.

  “Gale, that is quite enough,” Skylar finally said. “Your grievances do not concern our sister.”

  Eyes wide, his youngest sister’s bottom lip quivered. “You are mad at me?”

  “I am shocked that you would use words as weapons against your sister. She has done nothing to warrant your offense.” Skylar knew the game she played. Rather than acknowledge Windlyn as the victim, Gale-Anne twisted the situation around so the attention remained solely on her. It was the same game Father employed. “Please apologize.”

  “For what?” Gale-Anne crossed her arms and glared at him. “I did not listen in on a conversation where I was uninvited.”

  “The entire village has probably heard our conversation by now.” Skylar stood and walked toward Windy. �
�Come, let us say goodnight to Mother and I shall come in to hear your prayers.”

  “You are mad at me!”

  Skylar swiveled toward Gale and lowered until they were eye level. “I know I do not show it, but I am angry, just like you.” Dr. Nichols’ words about the stages of mourning floated back to his memory. “However, I do not punish you or your sister in my grief. Windy is not to blame. We are family, Gale-Anne, not your enemy.”

  She lowered her eyes and folded her hands at her waist. “Yes, My Lord.”

  “Now, offer your sister a proper apology.”

  Gale-Anne’s jaw worked back and forth. “Windlyn, I am sorry for my hurtful words,” she ground out. “Do you forgive me?”

  “Yes,” Windy replied, meek and quiet as a whisper. “All is forgiven.”

  “Now, My Lord, I suppose I must go to bed for my behavior?”

  Skylar searched his sister’s eyes. “No. You must go to bed for it is that proper hour and we each have work tomorrow.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she combed fingers through the loose ends of her braid. “You promise you are not mad at me?”

  “I promise.” Skylar offered a weak smile. “Now let us kiss Mother goodnight then say our prayers.”

  The memory faded as he opened Gale-Anne’s door. Soft, rhythmic sounds greeted his ears. He leaned his head against the door jamb, relieved that she knew peace in her sleep. He did not. Mother was far too active this night. So he trudged back to the living room and collapsed into a chair. Skylar stretched out his legs and listened to Mother mumble the word “fire” in a slurred, dragged out speech over and over again. Though the room was nearly black, he could make out the white of her skin and chemise as her arm lifted up and down as if painting the air.

  “The fire is over,” he mumbled to the void. “The village is being rebuilt. The community is working together, Mother. You would be most proud, I think.”

  Silence, but for only a heartbeat. She resumed chanting, but to the word “water.” He lifted his hand to his cheek, then closed his eyes. Lady Rain had abstained from looking his way most of the night, even when they stood before the community with Timna and Connor. Skylar frowned and dropped his hand back to his lap. The announcement following evening meal brought a fresh wave of grief and fear, but no one protested. No one cast blame or argued, even when several families were asked to go into quarantine. Skylar should feel relieved by the latter, but his heart remained heavy and paranoid.

  Mother pronounced the word “water” with more clarity and he whipped his head her direction. Was she thirsty or did she speak of other things, such as the Blood Rains? Uncertain, he stumbled in the darkness until his hand blindly found a tumbler of water on a cupboard near her cot.

  Lifting her head, he said, “Voici de l'eau. Lentement, petites gorgées.” Liquid dribbled from the corners of her mouth. He used the hem of his tunic to dry her face before lowering her back to the feather pillow, a gift from the feather-dresser. His hand brushed against a dangling rope and he hooked a finger around the coarse hemp. It grieved him to tie his mother to her cot, but the time to meet with Hanley was fast approaching. He found her pacing the living room earlier today. What if she left the apartment and wandered the forest? Or fell and injured herself?

  “Mother, I shall return shortly.” Skylar checked the last rope brace and tugged. The knot held. “I am only in my room should you have need of me.” He knew she would not call out, but the pointless words brought him a modicum of comfort, nonetheless.

  In his room, with the door shut, he drank in the black. Time seemed irrelevant as his mind wandered where it should not. Thoughts of his father were dangerous. Nevertheless, they came with unrelenting speed. Angry tears pricked his eyes and he grit his teeth. He would not mourn. His father was undeserving of this token of affection. Nor would he allow Hanley to destroy what remained of the life he was slowly rebuilding. Skylar swiped at the tears and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. Move forward, he repeated in his mind.

  From under his bed, he pulled out a clay bowl and fire starter. Sparks of flint flashed until the hay and dried moss caught fire. He cupped his hands over the bowl and gently blew life into the newborn flame. The fleeting embers brightened into tendrils of light and Skylar dipped a tallow candle. He lit the wrought iron sconce on his wall, followed by his lantern as the starter burned out. The scent of smoke hit his nose and he shivered into goosebumps as his heart rate accelerated a notch. Slowly, he exhaled through clenched teeth.

  Straightening his shoulders, he turned on his Cranium and forced his face into an emotionless state. Screens layered before his vision and he brought Messenger Pigeon to the forefront and enlarged the viewing area. He scrolled through his contacts until his fingers settled onto Hanley’s name, and then he touched the pool of light. An outgoing ping echoed in his head, much to his annoyance. The chirp-like sound always unnerved Skylar.

  “Captain,” Hanley said. His image appeared in the video feed, immaculately groomed as usual. “Nice to finally hear from you.”

  “My apologies, sir. Duties at home have consumed much of my time.”

  “Are you alone? I expected the Techsmith Guild.”

  “I am alone.”

  Hanley leaned back in a chair and sipped on a glass of wine. “Your father is making life difficult for the staff at the psychiatric home.” Skylar bit his tongue and thought of the statue on Jeff’s desk, carved stone, still, expressionless. “I’ll need to move him to a higher security facility. He seems bent on trying to reach you. Even tried hacking a device he lifted from a nurse.”

  “I desire no contact.”

  A slow smile spread on Hanley’s face. “Yes, I imagine so.” He set the glass of wine on a nearby table. “My son believes all his problems stem from the media’s nickname for him. Son of a Killer. Of course, that was several years ago and has nothing to do with Fillion’s own choices.” Hanley drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and cocked his head to the side. “The media loves to destroy and consume. All lies, but the world doesn’t care. People crave lies. It’s the truth that hurts, right? Maybe you can let Fillion know how it really feels to have a father like yours the next time you see him. He needs a reality check.”

  Skylar’s fingers clenched his bed linens until his arms shook. For a moment, he thought he might finally snap and release the storm that had been howling inside of him for weeks. No, years. In moments of weakness, such as with Lady Ember on the observation deck and with Leaf in The Chancery, emotions had surged and boiled over the rim of acceptability. The loss of control was too much for him. He preferred a semblance of structure in the midst of shambles—rules and order, definable expectations. Skylar focused on breathing as his fury faded into shame, and the winds, the very ones on the verge of destroying all in sight, died down to a simmer. He would not take the bait. He would not allow Hanley to rattle his self-control.

  Steadying his breath once more, Skylar launched into his speech. “The community voiced concerns as the Education Plan requires all to break The Code. Unlike those in the Techsmith Guild, the residents of New Eden are not protected with an amended contract. Villagers saw the order as a test of honor.”

  Hanley shook his head with humor. “The same community who had no qualms about using aggression to appoint a new leader is now too pious for technology?”

  “It is too soon for change, sir.” Skylar’s voice trembled and he cleared his voice. “We are still rebuilding the village square. What little time and resources we possess are given to this endeavor.”

  “Even the children?”

  “Yes, even the children, who work alongside their parents.” Skylar released the bed linens.

  Hanley nodded his head thoughtfully. “Of course, school is no longer in session, is it?”

  The intended barb hit its mark, but Skylar remained steady. “Residents are falling ill, sir.”

  “So I have heard. The Aether has already debriefed me.”

  “Then you know that e
motions are taut and there is very little energy for change.” Skylar paused and maintained a level gaze. “I have a plan, one I do believe will be well received when the timing allows.” Hanley sipped his wine again and said nothing, so Skylar continued. “Our world has existed without technology for twenty years. For most, the idea of integrating this Outside tool is preposterous. They are unable to conceptualize the idea of no longer living in New Eden. This is their home, their life. For their education to be real, for it to be tangible, I request a tour of the technosphere for those who show interest. Afterward, allow the Techsmith Guild to teach technology to the second generation who have come of age with real-world application. Our students need to see that their education matters. Nothing is wasted in New Eden. But, to the community, the Education Plan as it currently is drafted appears wasteful.”

  “Spoken like the son of a teacher. Fine speech.” Hanley smirked. “What will your students do once the education session is complete?”

  “Perhaps New Eden Township can create their own team of Guardian Angels.” Hanley chuckled and picked at something invisible on his sleeve. “You laugh,” Skylar rebutted, “but if we were truly a colony on Mars, these jobs would be necessary for our survival. This explanation is far more convincing than a required drafted rotation ordered by New Eden Biospherics & Research.”

  “Indeed.” Hanley leaned forward in his chair with steepled fingers. “This is what the people want?”

  “They do not know that this is what they want yet.”

  “Yes, people crave lies, don’t they Captain?”

  Skylar frowned. “I do not speak lies. If I train someone in technology, then they will be an engineer who works inside the technosphere.”