Page 4 of Of Withering Dreams
As we made the trek back home, my thoughts drifted like a leaf losing its battle atop a river current. My musings often circled one main focal point … the Dormancy. How could they not when Midst Fall’s survival depended on it? At least, that’s what the Elder Laws decreed.
Every turn, seven days before the Autumn Equinox, we knew the Dormancy would begin when a pulsing amber glow spilled through the conservatory’s glass walls. The light was so bright, it was difficult to sleep if your home was near one.
During this window of time, everyone had the opportunity to attend the last Rationing of the turn. Most made the journey if they could guarantee to return home in time.
Growing up, there were tales of those who didn’t make it back. These were shared around spooky campfires in the dead of night. Parents would tell their children the stories as cautionary tales meant to instill a healthy, respectful fear of the Dormancy. It was common knowledge that failure to enter a pod in time would result in culling. I wasn’t sure what that entailed, but I didn’t want the experience firsthand, regardless.
Kaden kicked several stones into a grymwood ahead of us, distracting me from my thoughts. “I wonder how much your father was able to get this time. I know Ma and Pa appreciate him helping us this Rationing.”
“He doesn’t mind. I just hope it’s enough,” I murmured, looking down at my hands fiddling with the fabric of my dress. During the Rationing, each family was allotted a small amount of grain and pickled vegetables to supplement their provisions for a few months. When feasible, it was also prudent to barter food and other resources with the others who made the journey.
Our small village only had forty-eight inhabitants. Each family tried to contribute food and supplies for trade at the biannual Rationings. Unfortunately, the last few months had been taxing, and our village hadn’t had many viable crops. Nevertheless, I was grateful to live where everyone tried to help each other when they could—even when we were all struggling.
Father said we were lucky to live in Evergryn because it wasn't overcrowded—unlike Pneumali City, where people were supposedly starving in the streets. My fingernails clenched into the fleshy parts of my palms through the scratchy linen I was clasping. People were going hungry, and it wasn’t right. Children were languishing with nowhere safe and warm to go at night.
I peeked at Letti and gave her a quick side hug as we strolled along the wooded path. She leaned into me a bit, her warmth a salve on my burgeoning ire. If I were a Draumr warrior, I would make it my mission to protect and help those who couldn’t. Gavrel and I had that in common.
Members of the Order of Draumr directed and managed the Rationings. Many young people joined the Order with starry-eyed visions of heroism, hoping to become warriors. I’m sure some were not ecstatic to be assigned to such mundane tasks. Evidently, not every role within the Order could be an exciting adventure. I smiled, imagining Gavrel handing out jarred pickles all day, an insolent glower plastered across his face.
I often teased him that his face would stay that way, and then his emerald eyes would flash with mirth while the line of his mouth buttoned firmly together. He probably didn’t want anyone to know he could express joy.Ancients forbid he release a chuckle out into the realm, I mused.
I snickered on his behalf as we neared my family’s grymwood cottage. It almost reminded me of the box Letti and Kaden had made me for my birthday. All weathered and patched up, but still cherished.
My breath caught inside my throat as we all paused and stared. The pulsing, honey-colored light from the conservatory throbbed behind the cottage. Gleaming radiance repeatedly caressed its worn edges, winking at the sun overhead on its way to the west.
Even after all these turns, the sight of the awakened pods still stole my breath away. My limbs twitched with the urge to leap away—back into the safety of the meadow with my birthday frogs.
3
CRUMPLED PETALS
STILL BACK THEN
Kaden grabbed my hand and pulled us toward the conservatory. Letti skipped after us. Her bouncing golden curls seemed to meld into the pulsating glow.
Absently, I reached back and rubbed the flat, star-shaped scar on my nape like Mama used to. It often beat in time with my heart … and the illuminated Dormancy pods.
The conservatory was hauntingly beautiful, despite housing such ominous items. Ten thick, adjacent glass panels formed a perfect decagon, and the shiniest metal I’d ever seen crept along each connecting point. From the outside, the glass walls curved slightly inwards, giving the impression it was imploding. Its silver base was just large enough to house the starburst of pods within. The glass roof was rounded, like a soap bubble caught on a spoon.
When the pods were inactive, there wasn’t any way to enter the conservatory. Kaden and I had spent countless hours trying over the turns, but the aqueous metal seams fused with the glass, making it impossible to find a crevice offering a way in.
I had often watched the sleeping vessels with my face pressed against the concave glass. Their glossy obsidian shapes reminded me of human-sized dewdrops gently stretched out. To Kaden’s dismay, I sometimes joked that the Dormancy pods were staring back at me, like the giant eyes of a lurking spider. Kaden loathed spiders.
Finding an available vessel in a village our size was easy. There were five of them within an hour's walk. We were lucky we had the one in our backyard. The Larkins always used this one, too, as it was the closest for them. It was incomprehensible how they were built. They’d been scattered across our world for as long as anyone could remember. At least, that’s what Mama had always said.
I squeezed Kaden’s fingers, his hand still wrapped around mine. He looked into my eyes with an unreadable expression, which I found unnerving. His irises looked varnished in shades of umber with the bright light coating them. I turned back to the conservatory; its surreal energy coaxing my focus.
Tomorrow was the seventh day. It was when the dazzling beams would be suctioned into the pods. The dark, solid forms would transform into swirls of smoky mist confined within amber-colored glass. Within a few thumps of a heart, the golden glass would rotate on its axis and evaporate from view, fading into the void without a sound. The inky, twirling mist would slither and hover in the pod's shape as if still encased.
That’s when you knew your time was up. There was nothing else you could do but plant your whole being within the dark unknown—cradled inside one of the suspended caskets made of churning nightmares. My head felt stretched and fuzzy thinking about it. I was sure Kaden could feel the moisture slick on my palm.
I was about to grab Letti’s hand when a sobbing shriek sliced through our numb fixation on the conservatory. The three of us whipped our heads toward the disturbance. Letti gasped, and my hands flew up to cover the startled cry clawing its way out of my throat.
“What’s the meaning of this? Stop this madness!” Kaden’s father, Emmet Larkin, bellowed as he struggled against two armored Draumr guards. They were holding him back by the shoulders.
A sobbing Hestia was floating parallel to the earth, her paralyzed body in a stiff line as if made of ice. Hazy ropes of milky light wrapped around her figure.
On her left was a stern-looking woman and, on her right, a grim-faced man. They shared matching tattoos that covered the front of their necks in black ink. Each looked like a mishmash of geometric shapes and lines, the pattern vaguely creating a hieroglyph of a locust.
