Legacy (The Biodome Chronicles) (28 page)

“You are the bestest friend a man could have.” Mack batted his eyes at him.

“Yeah, don’t forget it. I won’t be on the Green Moron version of Mars forever.”

“I’ll share the action, don’t worry.”

Fillion was about to reply, but became distracted when Lynden and Pinkie walked down the hallway, his door left wide open following Mack’s surprise attack. Pinkie stopped, and then walked in just past his doorway, giving Fillion a predatory smile as her eyes traveled up his entire length. Alarms went off in his head at seeing the swollen bruises formed around her left eye. He jumped up to a stand, ignoring her seductive stare, and went straight to his sister who stood in the doorway with an annoyed expression.

“Did you just get home?”

“No, we were downstairs, watching the Imigicast.”

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“God, Fillion, ease off, OK? I’m not a child.” Lynden looked away.

Pinkie stood close to him, and her fingers brushed against his chest, tracing the broken heart tattoo as she slowly met his eyes. He took a step backwards, and his muscles flinched from her touch. Fillion turned his head to the side while clenching his jaw in disgust, hating her advances and wishing his sister would listen to him.

“Look at you, Fillion.” Pinkie’s eyes traveled over his face and inspected his shortened hair. “Did you find the light or something? Crawling out of the underground?” Pinkie took a step closer. “I think I like this tattoo best.” She touched his left side, her finger trailing down the stars. “I can make your wishes come true.” He grabbed her hand before she reached his hip.

“How did you get hurt, Pinkie?” Fillion asked in a low voice. He kept his eyes averted in case she took his attention in the wrong direction. He had a good idea about how she got hurt, but wanted to hear it from her lips.

“None of your business, asshole,” she challenged, and then yanked her hand free with a glare before walking down the hallway, disappearing into Lynden’s room.

His sister remained where she stood. Fillion lifted an eyebrow her direction as he felt the burn of the whiskey settle in his stomach.

“Well?” he prompted.

“It’s not from ticketing, so relax.”

Fillion gave his sister a look he hoped conveyed that there was nothing relaxing about that confession.

“Is she whoring around?”

“Why? Got some cash on you?”

“Wow. That was low, Lyn. You’re better than that, and so am I.”

“You can be so self-righteous, Fillion.” Lynden rolled her eyes and turned away from him.

“And you can be so stupid.” His sister glared at him and he smirked in reply. They continued to stare at each other for several seconds, and then Fillion sobered. “You want to join the underground? Fine. I’ll get you connections. But you already know that. So why do you insist on seeing her? She’s dangerous, and she’s using you.”

“Oh, please. Stop being so dramatic. I’m smarter than you think.”

“Good. Prove me wrong, Einstein.”

Lynden stuck her tongue out at him, and he chuckled at her childish antics. The fear of leaving her unprotected made him queasy, and he became grave. “I’m serious. She’s. Not. Your. Friend.”

“I don’t have any friends!”

“Lyn—”

“Stop, Fillion. Just leave me alone. I don’t want your help. And I don’t want your pity.” Lynden looked up at the ceiling, folding her arms protectively against her chest. Her lips trembled, but the tears that wanted to fall were held back as his sister worked hard to maintain control.

He reached out a hand and touched her arm, whispering, “You’d tell me if you were hurt, right?”

“Yeah, I’d tell you,” she said in a soft voice, giving him a tight smile as she turned away and walked toward her room.

Fillion watched her disappear, and then shut his door.

The darkness enveloped him as he leaned his forehead against his bedroom door. The black hole in his heart expanded to suck away more of the things he cared about, and there was nothing he could do about it. Rage demanded a price, and so he punched the door. How could he leave Lynden? Would she even be alive when he returned? Pinkie needed to go away—now. Fillion would rather have his sister hate him and be completely alone and friendless. He started to open his door, but startled when he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

“I’ll watch out for her,” Mack said in a serious tone.

“Thanks,” Fillion replied with a sigh, rubbing his throbbing knuckles. Cold glass touched his side and he jumped, unleashing a loud string of swear words at Mack. “God, you could have just told me to hold out my hand.”

“Nah, doesn’t get the same response. There is something so very satisfying about seeing potential energy instantly become kinetic, you know what I mean?”

“Shut up, asshole.” Fillion chuckled, but the pain in his heart deepened.

Fingers ached as he turned on the light with the holographic switch, technology that was becoming more common in homes. He squinted his eyes as he made out his friend, the wild blue, green, and white hair stabbing the air. Mack had increased the spacers in his lobes last night, making Fillion want to pull him by the ear for good measure. Sticking out his tongue, Mack showed off his new piercing, and the silver bar made Fillion scrunch up his face in disgust. No wonder Mack sounded a little funny when he talked.

“Bletcherous, man.”

Mack gave him a crooked smile followed by a shrug. Fillion rolled his eyes and shook his head, walking over to his closet, pushing another computerized button. The door slid open to reveal a sea of black clothing.

Mack gave a chuckle, and then asked, “What did the Martians do to you? If it wasn’t for our conversation in the dark and your tats, I’d think you were a stranger.”

“They strapped me down and naturalized me, but all I remember was this bright light overhead.” Fillion gave Mack a wry smile.

“Shit. You actually look human.”

“Well, that’s a relief. Most of the time I feel like an undead creature.”

“Yeah, you’ve looked like one, too,” Mack laughed. Fillion turned around and gut-punched him, prompting his friend to taunt in a sing-song voice, “Fillion Nichols,
a la
natural and organic, making his daddy proud.”

“You can leave now,” Fillion said flatly, pulling a black shirt over his head, his hand throbbing all over again.

“Hell, no. The party just got started. Drink up, mate. Let’s drown out our sorrows and float away into the oblivion of nothingness.”

He gave Mack a salute, and then changed out of his flannel bottoms and into a clean pair of utility pants, fastening the studded belts. Fillion fell onto the bed, and took another swig out of the offered whiskey bottle, sobering as he swallowed. The braided bracelets on his wrist caught his eye again, and he fingered the loose strings, thoughts plunging into the bottomless abyss of his life. He hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before, so he was an easy hit. His head began to buzz. The alcohol numbed his mind, and he closed his eyes as some of the ache in his heart dulled, fading away behind the amber liquid coursing through his veins. For once, he agreed with his friend.

“Mack, what would you do if a girl you thought was dead suddenly came back from the grave?”

“Is she cute or creepy looking?”

Fillion whispered, “Beautiful,” to no one, feeling foolishly sappy once again. He wanted to bang his head against the wall. God, he felt so stupid.

“I’d kiss her before she got away.” Mack gave him a sideways glance. “Do you have a secret girlfriend?”

With tentative movements, Fillion opened up his nightstand and pulled out a spiral notebook and a pen, old school items both he and Mack kept handy to pass messages to each other. It was a tactic he was especially grateful for now in light of his dad’s Faraday cage room. His hand stung as he held the pen and wrote out a message. But he ignored the discomfort as he passed the note over to Mack, watching his friend closely.

Mack turned fearful eyes his direction, and then wrote back. Fillion held his hand out, and Mack passed him the notebook.
WTF?! He set up the honeypot?

Fillion thought for a moment before writing down his next message. After delivering the paper to Mack, he walked over to his window, peeking through the curtains toward Lake Washington. His head was buzzing wonderfully at this point, and he knew the alcohol was requesting a confessional, dying to share the sins he kept inside.

He felt a tap on his shoulder and Mack handed him the notebook.
Spoke w/THE Willow? ur stat?

Fillion wrote back.
Betrayed. Spoke 2x. She’s alive. Not mental. Promise.

Mack looked up from the note with a drawn expression, his friend’s eyes studying him with intensity.

Fillion walked back to his bed, gently sitting down, and then glanced at Mack, and said, “I have a job for you while I’m gone.”

“Anything,” Mack said in a grave tone.

He took the notebook back and wrote another message for his friend. After reading it, Mack met his eyes and nodded vigorously, tore the page out and then wadded it up. Mack pulled out a lighter, and gave a crazy look as flames began licking the paper. After a few seconds, his friend placed the fireball in the cereal bowl on the nightstand. All traces of the confession burned away. Fillion took the bottle from Mack and tipped it up, determined to make this day pass by in a haze.

***

I died as a mineral and became a plant,
I died as plant and rose to animal,
I died as animal and I was Man.
Why should I fear? When was I less by dying?
Yet once more I shall die as Man, to soar
With angels bless’d; but even from angelhood
I must pass on: all except God doth perish.
When I have sacrificed my angel-soul,
I shall become what no mind e’er conceived.
Oh, let me not exist! for Non-existence
Proclaims in organ tones,
To Him we shall return.

—
Rumi, 13th century A.D. *

What we plant in the soil of contemplation, we shall reap in the harvest of action.

—
Meister Eckhart, 14th century A.D. *

***

P
ulling up his hood, Leaf left the Great Hall and began the familiar walk toward The Rows for the Third Ceremony. Superstition held that seeding the memories of loved ones following the evening meal made for the most nutrient-rich plant. The story went that each tiny seed recognized that the sun had set on a life, absorbing the memories and essence of the deceased through their ashes and into its own soul, allowing the loved one to live on with those left behind. Scientifically, he knew there were no grounds for such a belief, but this lore did not consult logic. Rather, it was an expression of the heart to comfort the soul.

Willow and Laurel walked beside him with large hoods shadowing their features and cloaks covering all but their hands. Lanterns were held close to their waists, and the orange glow warmed their skin and illuminated different areas of their faces with each stride. The Elements and their families, as well as most from the village, walked behind him and his sisters in a processional, each with hoods high and heads low, as the saying went, the respectful way to mournfully march to The Rows.

Reaching the ceremonial garden, Leaf pulled out three leather pouches and watched as the hemp-paper tags fluttered in the gentle bio-breeze. Rows of spinach bent and swayed with the cool wind, and Leaf lost himself in thought as he studied the dark greens before turning toward Willow and Laurel. He handed a pouch to each sister, and kept the purple kale to plant. Leaf felt it was his duty to reunite the soul of his father’s ashes with his mother’s, particularly as he was the reason they became married in the first place.

Many times Leaf wondered why his father had not married his mother before arriving in New Eden, especially as she was with child. His father shared this story when he turned thirteen, a cautionary tale as to why men do not take from women what is not theirs to have, which became the slogan for fathers in the entire village to share with their sons who were growing into men.

Joel and Claire had met while working in Africa for Hanley Nichols. Both were permaculture specialists, each finding a deep connection to earth not only in occupation but also in philosophy. Had Joel not married his mother, Leaf would have become a bastard son, something so scandalous and shameful in their community that not a soul had dared cross that moral boundary line. Although the private scandal of their marriage and his birth was not his father’s message, it was the one Leaf absorbed nonetheless. Leaf was further horrified upon learning that this father was once pledged to another woman after a long understanding. Father had broken a promise.

This is why, in many ways, Leaf did not feel worthy to have Ember as his wife. Joel Watson had redeemed Claire Johnston, but that did not matter to Leaf. He was conceived out of wedlock and his father came to New Eden without his mother, never intending to marry her by all accounts. Not only had Claire followed him inside, but he learned upon his father’s death that she was The Aether, and The Legacy she carried was passed on to him, her firstborn child. Joel was simply acting as Regent until he came of trust maturity, which no longer mattered—both Aether and Regent no longer living, and he nearly twenty.

His father was still an incredibly good man in his eyes, and Leaf wondered at how he could ever live up to the legacy as well as The Legacy that he left behind. In some ways he felt manipulated, raised in a half-truth. Since he was twelve years old, his father had known that upon his twentieth birthday Leaf would become The Aether. His entire education, the hours spent working rather than playing, all the moral lessons and grooming to be a perfect gentleman—they were all for this moment. The audience was largely imaginary, and he gathered that only a small number knew the truth. But the pressure to show himself approved, capable, and ready to stand on his own two feet burned inside of him.

New Eden Township declared that he was a man at age fifteen, calling him the Son of Earth, a noble title endowed by The Elements. At age sixteen he was given rights to marry and was bestowed an honorific title as
a Lord from the Earth Element House. Five days ago, when he held his father and listened to his death rattle as he exhaled his last breath, he knew that he had officially become a man. He was no longer anyone’s boy.

Willow looked up at him with a strange calm, and he relaxed his face. The emotional storm had either cleared, or she was passing through the eye. Either way, Leaf was thankful that he did not need to corral his sister this evening. The morning seemed a lifetime ago, but his cheek and shin begged to differ. He spent the morning and afternoon in solitude, sitting on the observation deck high above the community. When he returned home, Willow walked around as if in a trance, a subtle smile on her face as she gathered wool inside her head, spinning thoughts that kept her mind distracted through the evening meal. Something had happened. His sister was far too peaceful, but he did not have time for a conversation with her as Connor, Timothy, and Norah appeared to pay their respects prior to the evening meal.

“Shall we seed, My Lord?” Willow asked.

With an appreciative smile, Leaf said, “Yes, and I believe Laurel shall begin first as she represents the body, which is the earthly vessel for the spirit and soul. Your thoughts as well?”

Willow dipped her head. “As you say, My Lord.”

Placing a hand on Laurel’s small shoulder, Leaf guided his youngest sister to the outer ring prepared for their family’s seeding. He knelt next to her in the soil as he opened the pouch while giving instructions on planting depth and space. Laurel began her role, and quickly planted the seeds in her care as he walked beside her, encouraging her moves as needed. With her ceremonial job complete, she returned to where their family stood and gifted him a sweet smile before peering up at her older sister.

Willow timidly approached the row prepared for her portion of the ceremony while gripping her pouch of seeds, glancing a look his direction. Leaf graced her with a sad smile and then she faced the garden and began performing her duty in planting the spirit.

As she knelt near Coal, he watched as the young man stiffened, looking straight ahead while trying in vain to not watch his sister. Leaf respected his sister’s decision, even though Coal had understandable reasons for not being forthcoming with Willow. The young man was as impetuous as he was honorable.

Leaf looked around the gathered group, satisfying his paranoid thoughts. Jeff met his eyes with a fleeting glance before nervously looking away. The Elements and their families were busy watching Willow, except Timothy who was waiting for him to notice his stare, acknowledging Leaf with a subtle nod of his head and a friendly smile. Skylar stood next to his father and looked at the ground, deep in thought. Leaf could not read Skylar’s expression, but his friend appeared upset, perhaps by Ember’s temporary move into their home. This made Leaf smile internally, feeling a small victory in a silent competition over one woman. Perhaps he should be more thankful for his sister’s turbulent emotions.

Upon completion, Willow stood and bowed deeply to the garden, honoring their parents, before tracing her steps back to where he stood. It was now his turn, and he looked at the group again, finding Ember’s eyes steady and encouraging as he stepped forward. He was seeding the soul, his father’s ashes reuniting with his mother’s. Their beginning was undesirable but produced a love that proved strong and faithful. When his mother died, he believed that his father would crack in two, never to become whole again. And he was correct. Joel was never the same after Claire died, but the love he had for his family and his community never diminished.

Leaf knelt in the soil and placed his hand into the dirt, allowing the particles to sift through his fingers. Son of Earth, indeed. His fingers always wore the residue of soil and living things, the stains a badge of honor awarded by the Earth for fulfilling his duty in caring for the community. Opening the pouch, he placed a pinch of seeds into the palm of his hand. His finger gently swirled them around against his skin, and he admired how something so wonderfully small could create such a beautiful, leafy masterpiece that fed the soul and nourished the body. He poked a finger easily into the soil, over and over, then dropped two seeds into each depression before raking his fingertips through the dirt as he moved along to fill in the holes once again.

As he approached where Ember stood, he gave a subtle glance her direction, feeling his pulse accelerate when her lips curved up ever so slightly, offering a small smile as she stared ahead. Was his happiness important? He paused, and continued to give Ember guarded glances as he dutifully seeded the soul, wondering whose soul his ashes would reunite with when his spirit left this world and his body breathed its last. He stood up, dusting the earth from his hands, and then walked toward the center of the garden to retrieve his lantern before joining his sisters, keeping his head low as a sign of respect, per tradition.

Tears trailed down Willow’s cheeks as Brother Markus gave the closing prayer, and she turned to lean against Leaf’s side while burying her face in his chest as the sobs began. Leaf wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer and resting his head atop her own. Laurel clung to his other side, wrapping her arms around his waist as she quietly cried. He was needed, and his sisters desired to pull from a strength they perceived dwelt within him. Straightening his posture, he pulled his sisters against him tighter, feeling humbled and empowered simultaneously.

Thoughts continued to argue within that he could not fulfill such an important role. Nonetheless, Leaf decided to walk into his destiny and not look back. He was strong enough, and he did not wish to dishonor his father after all he had poured out in order to mold him into the Son of Ear
th, Lord Watson of the House Earth Element, and Aether. The community had known he would grow to become a man of noble bearing, groomed and educated to care for their needs. But first, he needed to care for his own. While kneeling in the garden, an epiphany formed in his soul, which was now shouting to his insecure and unconfident heart that his happiness was important and necessary to become an effective leader.

He would declare his desire to become the Earth Element in the small gathering tomorrow eve that was planned for his leaving, and he wanted Ember to belong to him, despite his misgivings of who he was and where he came from and what his future would be like. As soon as his sisters felt more stable this evening, he would pursue Ember, and he would do so knowing that he was in direct violation of Skylar’s declared territory. It was an act against his closest friend, but a decision that was ultimately Ember’s. And as a gentleman, Leaf finally understood it was Ember’s heart who should do the choosing to ensure her happiness, and she could not choose him if Leaf did not make his affection known. Asking a woman to join him as a wife was madness, considering all she would endure due to the secrets and expectations filling his life. Deep down he knew Ember was up to the task, perhaps even knew the secrets, already caring for his family when he was unable to meet Willow’s needs.

Coal’s words yesterday demanded his attention. A faction was forming, a conversation Coal had overhead between his father and stepmother as they whispered with fear over the Watson family. The Hansens knew his father was The Aether, and therefore they knew he was next in line. He would feign ignorance around Connor and Brianna. Yet how many of the others knew? Is this why they voted for him to leave New Eden? He had asked Coal to vote for him, but he never asked Connor, Timothy, or Jeff to cast a vote his direction, and they gave their nominations first. After two days of reflection following a conversation with Jeff, Leaf knew he was being watched and studied to see if he showed signs of receiving The Legacy. He also became more convinced that the exchange on Saturday would bring a message from Hanley as he had yet to find, much less activate a Scroll per his father’s instructions.

Nervousness continued to dance in his stomach, and he glanced around the group while his sisters cried. His father had died for something he believed in, a conviction Leaf wished he knew so he could better survey the damage and plan for repairs, knowing exactly where to step so he did not get injured—or worse.

The Son of Fire also shared that Brianna expressed a concern for both him and Willow, as they were the eldest and both within touching distance of the trust maturity age. Coal did not want Willow to be without a protector, especially at night, knowing that was a time when she would be most vulnerable and without the public cover of a bustling home and community. Leaf agreed with the blacksmith, and marriage would be the best solution. He would make the arrangements if his sister was agreeable. Leaf would never force his sister to marry against her will, even if her safety as well as his was paramount.

The card poked his upper thigh and he looked up, meeting Jeff’s paranoid stare. The lawyer had told the story behind the candle card, but maneuvered around Leaf’s direct questions. Why his father? Who would do this? What is next? Jeff knew something, though, and held the answers close against him. Leaf’s suspicions were correct, at least—it was a death card. How much should he share with Willow? As if sensing his thoughts were upon her, she pulled back from his embrace. Leaf reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief for her to use, touching the card as he did so.

He assumed the attacker was an Element as they had access to his father’s body before cremation, unlike others in the village, with the exception of the undertaker. Was the murderer the faction leader? Why did the murderer kill his father in plain daylight? Were they making a statement? Joel was most likely poisoned, although the undertaker wrote on the death certificate that he had died of a massive heart attack. Thoughts wandered back to Jeff, curious how the barrister came upon his father in the field, and knew where to find him and Willow so quickly. Regardless of how often his thoughts pondered Jeff as the murderer, he could not accept such a judgment. The lawyer had been good friends with his father, and a gentle soul. What could possibly be his motive?