5. Chapter Five
Chapter Five
Astrid
My legs go numb when he delivers the news, and it takes every ounce of effort to stay standing. The bedroom door clicks shut behind Papa and I crumble. I choke on a silent cry as it tries to consume me. The world crashes down around me as the first sob escapes my chest. I remember when I lost my mother. I can't go through that pain again. Embla’s warm arms embrace me, holding me up before I can hit the ground. I don’t push her away, instead I shove my face into the crook of my sister’s neck as I convulse with each cry that leaves my mouth. I’m not sure how long we stand like this. Long enough for the tears to slow and the sobs to ease. The onslaught of emotion leaves me trembling and exhaustion sweeps through me with the full ache of a coming migraine. Embla guides me to the low bunk. Clinging to each other, neither one of us wants to be alone with our grief. I just wish I could say goodbye.
“Do you remember the summer when Reyna talked us into cow tipping with her?” My voice is hoarse and distorted from congestion.
“I remember it started raining while you two chose a cow. You and Reyna tried to push it over only for the cow to walk off mid-shove landing the two of you in the muck.” Embla laughs, and I can’t help but join in. That night was chaotic fun, the mud fight that followed plays through my head. We threw fat glops of mud at each other for hours and laughter filled the field. For weeks after, we were all cleaning muck and who knows what else out of places we didn’t know it could get.
“Let’s go to the infirmary, break her out of quarantine. We can’t let her die,” I whisper, suddenly serious. Reyna would do everything in her power to save either of us. I can’t imagine life without her here. We have to try. A yawn rips through me that Em returns, stretching her arms as much as she can without racking her knuckles against the top bunk. Her eyes are just as puffy as mine from the grief we share. My mind is made up in that moment. I’m not going to let us lose anyone else. It’s time for someone to do something.
“We can’t do anything now. Sleep. We’ll talk to Papa in the morning,” Embla says, patting the bed behind me. I want to argue. The need to do something threatens to override every logical voice in my head. “You can’t help her if the Shadows catch you after curfew. They’ll ship you off before you wake up,” my sister reminds me gently, patting the bed again. I settle into the soft unfamiliar mattress. Embla’s fingers return to my hair, and I drift off to the sound of her humming.
I bolt upright in bed, nearly smacking my forehead on the top bunk, Reyna’s name on my tongue as the previous day’s memories spill through my mind. Heart heavy, I toss my feet over the side of the bed. Tears well and threaten to spill over as I start my first morning without her. I won’t be able to attend her funeral because there won’t be one. By decree of the King, the bodies of the sick are burned outside of the city to try to stop the spread of illness. I'm never going to see her again. “No, I’m not going to lose someone else,” I say into the empty room, staving off tears with sheer willpower as grief crashes into my heart. There has to be a way to save Reyna. Maybe King Daemon doesn’t know how bad it’s gotten. If he did I’m sure he would do more than let only the master healers leave the city. I’m half tempted to attempt the search on my own, but without special licensing and permissions from the king no one is allowed to leave the district– much less the city.
At the thought of leaving Demendia, getting out of the city beyond the dome , a fire burns deep in my chest. The reignited flame of longing for freedom burns brighter than ever. Decidedly, I set my jaw. Papa has to convince the king to let someone out of the city to find something that will help or allow a master healer into the district. King Daemon can’t just let his people die. I’m going to do whatever I have to do. I am going to find something that will save Reyna– even if it kills me. It doesn’t take me long to work my way through my morning routine. Women are expected to look approachable and put together. Which is just code for making sure my makeup is done and I’m dressed every day even if I’m spending my time at home. A small piece of me wonders what the point is in looking approachable to men, especially for someone like me who has already decided I’m going to be an old spinster. My problems are so much bigger than makeup and pretty clothes.
Now wearing a simple green dress, the skirt tickles the tops of my feet as my fingers twist the silver locket that hangs from my neck. The smallest glimmer of hope in finding something to fix this has me floating into the dining room. Papa will know what to do, I know he will. He always has something up his sleeve.
“Morning,” I greet Papa as I take my seat across from him at the table. Embla pops out of the kitchen door carrying a covered tray. After a few more trips to the kitchen, the table is full of trays in various sizes. Uncovering them reveals sausage patties, apples from the greenhouses, scrambled eggs with fresh veggies, pancakes, biscuits, and my favorite white sausage gravy. Her plain golden locket thumps against her chest as she straightens, tucking her white strands behind her ear. She’s come a long way since she was given the title of homemaker. I remember the burned meals we endured the first couple of years until she figured out how to cook. Embla still doesn’t let anyone in the kitchen with her. My mind is a whirlwind as I pile food onto my plate. I have to figure out the best way to ask Papa if he’ll go to the King and insist on his help. We won’t be able to make the tithe without it. The healers are doing all they know how to do, but the masters have so much more knowledge and freedom. If one of them would just come look at the sick, I’m sure they would know how to treat this illness. It has to be something the students haven’t been taught and the instructors haven't encountered yet.
“Papa, we have to do something,” I say, breaking the silence that had settled over the dining table.
Leif sets down his fork with a sigh. “All we can do at this point is ask the King for help. As much as I dislike being in his presence, it is the next in the steps I have to take as a Lumin." Leif sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose. "I’ve sent a request to King Daemon for a Lumin’s audience even though my previous requests have gone unanswered.” Papa grimly picks up his fork and shovels a bite into his mouth.
“King Daemon has always detested the farm district, even before you were Lumin,” I mumble, my hope diminishing along with my appetite. I didn't know he sent previous requests. I push my food around on my plate trying to make it seem like I'm eating. I still remember a time when merchants traveling to the market district would loot as they moved through the Farm District. The King only put a stop to it when he was unable to get his favorite food—peanaria bird.
“The only other option we have is to try to leave the city. Are you two ready to finally escape this place?” Papa raises an eyebrow. We’ve talked about it before, but we’ve never had a reason to go through with it. Not until now.
“We can’t just leave. Mama’s buried here,” Embla interjects, standing at her place opposite me. She holds my gaze, her round, golden eyes full of sorrow for a mother she never knew.
“She’s always going to be here. She lives on in your love and your memories.” Papa’s eyes soften as they land on my sister. This is why we haven’t left yet. Embla is so hung up on the people we've lost she hasn’t given the outside a chance.
“It’s my fault she’s not here with us anymore. I can’t just leave her alone.” The grief of leaving our mother’s resting place behind lances through my heart, but I can’t put life on hold for someone no longer living. The illness ravaging through the people of our district isn’t going to stop its spread. If the Farm District loses another shift, making the tithe will be the least of our worries. No, something can cure this thing. Someone just needs to find it.
“She died bringing you into this world, that’s not your fault.” I give Embla a pointed look before stretching an arm across the table to lay my hand against hers. “We can wait to make the decision on leaving. Let’s give it a day, maybe the King will grant you an audience.” I look at Papa this time and he nods. “I can’t just sit with my thumbs up my ass—”
“Astrid! Language,” Embla hisses flinching away from where my hand covered hers.
“—waiting for Reyna to die. I want to come with you Papa, to help you convince the King.” A Lumin’s audience is an emergency meeting between a district leader and the King, reserved only for situations that threaten the city. It will also be my excuse to see the rest of the city and find out if the rumored golden palace carved from the mountain itself truly stands at our epicenter. No one I’ve ever met has seen the damn thing, and Papa doesn’t like talking about the other districts. Something about it being suspicious if a Lumin is looking into another district, so it’s better if he doesn't talk about other districts at all.
Embla shakes her head. “Something you would like to add?” I ask, narrowing in on my sister, but she looks away, her eyebrows drawn together.
“No,” Embla’s voice shakes , only igniting my temper.
“You shook your head for a reason. Just tell me what it is.” I throw my arms up, standing from my seat, exasperation making my voice louder than I intended.
“I just don’t think the palace is a place for your…" Embla hesitates a moment, her eyebrows scrunching together as she contemplates her next word. “Temper,” she says, settling on that word instead of using tantrum as she has in the past.
“I don’t care what you think,” I snap, slapping my palm against the table, anger overriding common sense.
“Astrid!” Papa bellows, his voice booming through the house. “Your sister has more experience at the palace than either of us. You should heed her warning and leash your temper for the time being. This is hard enough already.” Papa rubs a hand over his face. “You can come, but I’ll be doing all the talking at the palace,” he says, pointedly meeting both of our gazes. I lower myself back down to my breakfast. “We’ll be careful. Em, are you going to be okay here alone?”
“I can handle the house and Bjorn lives right down the way if anything goes wrong,” Embla says, confidently.
“Since you’re staying behind, I’m going to need you to work on the festival preparations. I don’t think I’m going to be back in time.” Papa gathers his empty plate before rising. “We need to have the district ready by this weekend. I disagree with the Oracle about continuing with the festival, but I would rather not anger her by denying it.”
Embla nods before Papa disappears into the kitchen. “What do you think you’re doing?” she hisses at me.
“Trying to save Reyna. You know, the person who is like another sister to us?” I ask, my tone mocking, “Better than cleaning the house all day and hoping for the best,” I sneer. Before Em can sputter a response, Leif sticks his head back into the dining room.
“I’m heading to the barn. Ash don’t forget, you’re due in the southern fields this morning,” he reminds before walking back the way he came.The only thing in the southern field is the Arena. A structure I think resembles two glass mountain peaks. It’s where every member of the guard trains, including my friend Erik. A loud thunk sounds as the back door closes behind him.
“Do you forget I spent a year in the King’s palace?” Embla hisses as soon as the door is closed. “He will never help us. He despises his people. Watch your back while you’re there and don’t say anything. No one in that palace can be trusted,” she continues in a low tone.
“Don’t worry about me, I can handle anything they throw at me. I always have.” I stand with my dishes. “Just worry about the festival. It’s the first one you get to attend. Papa and I will handle the rest.” I give my sister’s arm a squeeze before walking into the kitchen to deposit my dirty dishes. Uncertainty of what the future holds follows me as I start my day.
I catch myself kneeling on the arena floor. My breaths come in gasps as I turn on Erik. His chiseled bronze chest ripples as he raises his dulled sword. Sweat glistens over his skin, making him glow the way I imagine a god would. His clean-shaven face is set in a look of determination; his dirty blonde hair falls into his face as his honey brown eyes meet mine. I can feel a smirk threatening to overtake my features as I stand to face him. He doesn't know I've been practicing something new. He charges, swiping with the training sword. Arching to duck the dulled blade, I twirl around behind him. Time fades to nothing. I jump as he turns, my speed throwing him off. Wrapping my thighs around his neck I swing my body weight around to capture one of his arms, as we roll to the ground. We grapple for a few seconds until I secure him in an arm bar. Applying a little pressure, I threaten to break his arm like a peanaria wing. He struggles trying to get out of my control before he taps my hands twice, and I release him.
“You finally perfected your take down!” Erik says, impressed as I help him stand. The Arena is empty of guards since they're out patrolling for anyone who could be ill. We’ve snuck around here for years. It wasn’t until the plague started to spread through the district that we were able to use it so openly; that's when we started inviting others to train with us. Reyna was the first and slowly it grew into thirty-two girls who saw the value of knowing how to defend themselves. During that time, Erik taught us everything he learned about fighting in the military academy.
“I did it once. If I can do it again, I’ll be impressed,” I say, wiping the sweat from my forehead before guzzling water. I take in a labored breath thinking of one of our early practices, I’ve come a long way. I take a second to stand, wiping the sweat from my forehead as I observe the girls sparring around me. I marvel at how far we've all come in the months since this started.
Papa thinks Erik and I should go to the matchmaker together, and if I wanted to get married, Erik would be the one to marry. Maybe it could have happened in another life. Grunts fill the air as blows land and a loud smack sounds as someone hits the mats.
“Astrid,” Erik says eyes wide as he presses a finger to the hidden earpiece he uses to listen in on the guard's radio channel. I step in closer to him leaning my head against his to listen.
“An anonymous report has come in, something is going on at the gymnasium, take your squad to check it out. Over,” a deep voice layered with static demands followed by a prompt 10-4.
“You need to hide,” Erik hisses before his voice grows louder. “Shadows are coming, you all need to hide!” he says, his voice a restrained shout as the other girls rush to find a place to hide alongside me. I shove my way into the back of a supply closet, a small window overlooks the outdoor training area. In moments the Shadows storm through the arena, ripping two girls, Hannah and Nicole, from where they hid among the training equipment. I’ve only known them a short time, and we all know the risks of training with Erik. Just because we know the risks doesn’t mean that changes Demendian law. Men are the only ones allowed to learn how to fight, and to join the military. The consequence of going against the king is execution. It always has been. That doesn’t stop the way my heart squeezes in sorrow with the knowledge they will be dragged to Mortis Square. Hannah screams as they drag her away and she tries to fight them off. I flinch with each soft thud of fists against her body as they silence her. The shrill sound of her shriek echoes through my ears long after the Shadows have left.
Papa is in the barn when I return, the gray in his red hair more pronounced as he shoves blankets and other things into a rucksack.
“Did you hear from the King?” I cock my right hip, my arms crossing over my chest, shoving what happened in the Arena from my mind. Papa doesn’t know I train with Erik, and I’m not going to risk another flogging by telling him.
“Yes, I did,” Papa says, not bothering to ask how my morning went as he rapidly packs. He knows Em and I have our secrets but as long as we're keeping it from the public eye and not flagrantly waving it in his face, he doesn't care. “There’s no time, we must be there before the passes expire. Go pack, quickly.” Papa ushers me. “You don’t need much, just an extra change of clothes and anything else you want to bring,” he calls after me as I rush into the house. I wonder what time frame the passes have. It must be short if he's rushing like this.
Embla shadows me as I rush into our bedroom, picking up a faded pair of jeans and an airy green canvas shirt that will be perfect for the ride back. Embla plucks them from my arms, shoving them into a small bag. I reach under my mattress and pull out a coin purse. I pause my packing, thinking of the sword under Embla’s bed. There’s nothing I could want more than to be able to wear that sword with pride. But, with Demendian laws, women aren’t allowed such things. I’m technically not supposed to be wearing pants, but because I was named the first female to petition the council of Lumins for the title of Farmer, I was granted some liberties.
I strip out of my training clothes, cursing myself for leaving my favorite dress in the Arena’s locker room. I pull on a dark emerald tunic and black leggings. I stare at myself in the mirror, the black hair that stands out amongst the blonds, browns, and reds of Demendia. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever find my place. If it’s not here on the farm, where could it be? Where do I belong?
“Astrid, the sprites are ready,” Papa calls , and I quickly grab my dagger from under my pillow and slide it into the side of my boot. Embla shoves the bag she filled into my arms.
“Do you have everything you need?” Embla’s voice follows me as I move through the house.
“Papa said I didn’t need much. It’ll be fine.” I throw the bag over my shoulder as I walk out the back door.
Two horse-like grass sprites stand side by side in front of the barn. Long green legs lead to wooden hooves. They are known for their delicate green skin and the ability to shift into different livestock depending on the season. I run my hands over Nymia’s cool, waxy skin. Her mane and tail are made up of a mixture of lichen and vines. A large purple flower bud sits atop her head that only blooms when she wishes to consume sunlight.
Papa has never told me the story of how he got the first sprite. Whether it was bought or gifted, I can’t be sure, but I will treasure the memories of raising Nymia from seedling to implant to full-grown sprite. I’ll never forget the day that the plant-animal took her first wobbly steps after she shed her roots. I run a hand down the sprite’s snout, reveling in the feel of her waxy skin. The difference in our temperatures sends a shiver down my spine while anxiety and excitement swirl together creating a confusing pit in my stomach.
Embla clears her throat, startling me into turning to face my sister.
“Please travel safe,” Embla’s tone is loud enough for Papa to hear before lowering her voice. “And please for the love of Malia, keep your temper in check.” She raises her eyebrows.
“We’ll be fine, and I will see you when we get back.” I pull Em into an embrace before looping my green and gold mask over my ears. My sister steps back, clutching her hands to her breast, watching expectantly as I approach Nymia.
“Are you ready for your first trip into the heart of Demendia?” Papa asks, a single eyebrow raised in a dare. I smirk, clasping my cloak around my shoulders. I mount Nymia in one fluid motion, clicking my tongue as soon as my ass hits the saddle, and she takes off. We canter down the road kicking up a trail of dust behind us as we fly.