Chapter 8
Star
There was a sudden quiet in the room, usually a sign of impending death. When I looked out in the corridor, I noticed several people waiting to pay their respects. I wanted to scream at them, forcing them to go the hell away.
As if in doing so, I could keep the Grim Reaper from reaching in through the thick walls, gnarly fingers with claws reaching for my mother. But they were her friends and had cared for our family as we’d cared for theirs.
There’d been an expression my father had taught me long before I’d hit puberty.
It takes a village.
I hadn’t understood what that had meant until I’d gotten older.
The phrase was a reason we insisted we were living in a village instead of stragglers banding together to survive.
But it was really in name only. We were survivors and nothing more, forging an existence instead of really living.
Maybe that’s why the passion from the night before had caught me so completely off guard.
My feet were heavy as I walked away from the bed, stopping in the doorway to look back. I would lose her soon and when that happened, my anchor would be shattered.
No. I had to push all thoughts away for now.
Peter smiled as I approached, forever thoughtful, every word carefully chosen before speaking. “Your mother knows how much you love her. You do not need to prove your worth.”
“I wasn’t trying to prove my worth, Peter. I would do anything to make her better. Even you told me that medicine might help.”
Our relationship was different. In my eyes, he was a man to be held in the highest respect, someone I could trust with all things. To him I was a little girl to protect. Even now that I was a woman, he was often required to remind me I wasn’t invincible.
We walked slowly toward his room. I had a million questions I wanted to ask, but in doing so, I’d expose what I’d endured over the last few hours. I couldn’t tolerate being forbidden to leave the compound. It was the one time I felt free.
Seeing his arms behind his back and his mind in a tangled web of knowledge from the past, I remained quiet while we moved from one corridor to another.
“Even as a small child, you were adventurous. A far cry from the first few months where you were mostly catatonic.”
Given my memories only went back until I was about five, it was as if I’d known Peter my entire life. There was a piece missing and for some reason, it seemed very important that I determine what happened during those years.
“I didn’t like being cooped up.”
His laugh was a sound I’d heard from the beginning. Very people found amusement in our world, but he’d tried to provide an anchor that included some sense of joy. “No, you did not. Do you remember when you managed to escape and ended up being protected by a mama bear?”
I stopped walking, trying to remember anything about what had happened. “No.”
He patted me on the back before ushering me into his room.
Being in the larger space was magical. He had bookshelves filled with books, phosphorous lights in various colors creating shapes and shadows on his walls.
He’d acquired a microscope and testing equipment, scores of photographs he’d carefully tagged and archived.
Even reels of information that he’d called movies highlighting a time when families enjoyed being in the Graveyard.
Although that’s not what it had been called then.
There’d been names of states throughout the country.
Peter had shown me maps, highlighting the different areas, providing vivid stories of culture, living conditions, natural landmarks, and even providing details of different foods and entertainment geared toward the regions.
I’d always felt as if I’d been the traveler.
I’d soaked up every scrap of education available, often spending hours reading everything from books of fiction to those on architecture and as I’d grown older, books on medicine and even engineering. Nothing had soothed my voracious need for information.
“Sit, child. We have much to discuss.”
The seriousness of his tone was unusual. I did as he asked, waiting as he prepared tea, one of very few delicacies he allowed himself. I felt honored to share a mug with him.
“The child is special,” he said so quietly I wasn’t certain I’d heard him correctly.
“How do you know?”
His laugh was not to make fun of me, but as if doing so to himself. “You could call my perception a gift, although there would be many who would claim that I’m nothing more than a demon sent to ravage the earth. However, the prophecies do keep me awake at night.”
Prophecies. He had a gift that I didn’t envy. I’d heard he’d been partially responsible for warning the previous civilization of the impending doom. Many had called him crazy, acting as if his words regarding the future were simply ramblings and nothing more.
Yet some had taken him seriously, which was why preparations had been made. He rarely talked about those days, but when he did, I listened.
“What do the Freedom Hunters know? They are nothing more than bootlicking followers.”
He seemed surprised I’d used such a term, knowing it was one I’d heard from his mouth and no one else. Rarely did he spew anger and never in a blasphemous way, but to him, the criticism was the worst thing he could say about another. His smile reminded me of why I adored him with all my heart.
“While you are right about the hunters, people fear what provides them with the truth and a picture of their future, whether positive or negative.”
Shrugging, I studied his hands, realizing they were shaking. Another reminder of how old the people living in our village were.
He set the mug in front of me, along with a surprise. A lemon. His smile while watching my shock as I realized he’d managed the unthinkable, propagating fruit was just as joyful as the scent.
“You did it!” I jumped up, throwing my arms around him.
“I thought you’d be happy, child.” Peter patted me on the back, chuckling the entire time.
I’d watched him attempting to do so for years, but not just with lemons.
He tried other fruits as well, shrubs and flowers that had been decimated by the fallout.
Most of the protected seeds and grafts had been something he’d carried with him his modest home at the start of the war.
He’d been one of the lucky ones, a number chosen at random for a place of safety inside one of several hundred bunkers.
He’d seen winning the lottery as a burden instead of a gift, horrified that only a select few from out of hundreds of millions had been chosen.
It had been his cross to bear to provide education and rebuild as much of the amazing aspects of the past as possible. In my eyes, he’d fulfilled his self-imposed duties.
As soon as he backed away, he produced a knife. “Will you do the honors of making the first cut?”
I don’t know why but my hand was shaking as I accepted the implement.
This was a true honor, much like that of caring for the plants from time to time.
Even before I sliced the lemon, the pungent odor was perhaps the most incredible scent I’d ever experienced.
Yet the moment I sliced through the flesh, tears formed from joy.
“Oh, child, it’s quite alright.”
Somehow, I’d managed to cut it in perfect sections, one matching another. “May I?”
“Of course. Just remember, they are not sweet, but the juice will be excellent in your tea.”
As soon as I darted my tongue across the flesh, my noise wrinkled. “Wow.”
“I told you.” He took a piece into his fingers, savoring the scent while I dared nip a tiny bite.
My eyes watered for a completely different reason. “Oh, my. That’s very…”
“Sour. Lemons are the perfect definition of a sour fruit.” A lesson I would not soon forget.
He finally sat down opposite me, still watching as I squeezed another hunk into my tea.
“Thank you for such an amazing gift,” I told him.
“If only I had more to give you, child.”
Leaning over the table, I offered him one of my goofy looks that usually made him laugh.
Not today.
Today was a somber day. I could feel it in the air, a dense, almost stagnant sensation that was more foreboding than usual.
“You give me so much and always have, Peter. I would never be able to thank you.”
He took a sip of his tea, contemplating as always. “The child is a healer.”
Peter had been the one to mention their foretelling, a myth that only a few soothsayers believed. The aging man’s capabilities had been proven time and time again. “Yes, I believe so.”
“She was sent to you.” A few seconds later, he lifted his chin, waiting to see my reaction.
“Why?”
“For obvious reasons. You will need a healer as you face the next phase of your life. They are rare and to be cherished. Given she is so young, she will also need your protection.”
“What does that mean?” I pulled the rim to my lips, inhaling the incredible aroma. There was nothing quite as comforting as enjoying a cup of tea. To think I’d loathed the taste as a child.
Very carefully he placed his mug on the table, pushing it away. There was a seriousness dwelling within his eyes that made me very nervous. “Tell me about them.”
“Wren and Jake?”
His smile was almost but not quite condescending. “The Savages who protected you.”
I could feel my mouth drop open. “How did you know?”
“There are things that an old man always knows. The dreams you’ve been having have increased in frequency. Yes?”
There was no reason to be nervous around him, but a cold shiver replaced the warmth from the tea. And suddenly, my mouth was dry. “Am I sick? Do I need to be banished? Is that why I need a healer?”
He seemed surprised, even reaching over to place his hand on mine.
“No, child. There is nothing wrong with you. You are perfect in every way. The dreams are merely an awakening, your brain allowing you to remember what has been up until now far too painful for you to do. The significance is in me knowing the time has come.”
“The time,” I repeated. “You’re scaring me.”