Relinquish(81)
It is the most enchanting thing I have ever glimpsed. No words could truly describe the sense of peace and beauty this place possesses. I stand, staring all around me in awe, until Drakon snatches my hand and yanks me forward. “There will be plenty of time for you to look around later. Someone is waiting for you.”
I work hard to smother my fear as I smile sweetly back at him. “Let us hope he is in a forgiving mood. After all, it did take you over a year to finally bring me to him. I’ve heard he isn’t the most patient man.”
With a flick of my wrist, I shake him off and walk ahead with my head held high. Let him chew on that for a bit.
Dozens of men and women flow out of the ship behind us. I can hear shouts of welcome as several break off from our landing party to hug a loved one. Craning my neck back around, I search over the group for Bastien, but he has yet to be brought from the ship. No doubt Drakon wants to keep us separated for as long as possible.
It is hard to appear aloof and disinterested as we walk through town. The streets are bendy and the homes built in endless rows. The roofs are thatched and droop over the edge. Everywhere I look, flowers grow. Some drape from low-hanging trees that bend so low their fronds grace the ground. Yards, neatly spaced and contained within metal fences, are bursting at the seams with wide blue petals, vivid purple sprouting vines that weave a pattern across the stone house face. I can see heart-shaped flowers, starbursts, and shaggy black balls that I’m not entirely sure what they are.
Orange moss hangs from the trees, tickling my cheeks as I pass under. Footpaths run on either side of the stream banks, littered with pastel-colored stones rubbed smooth over time. I cry out in delight as a small orange-and-blue fish leaps from the stream and dives back under its cool, lavender surface. I hear the gushing of greater waters up ahead but am unable to spy a river before Drakon pushes us off down a different road.
The streets are made of stone. Sand weaves between the rocks, and as I take a closer look, I notice white glass pressed into the handmade pavers, glinting in the sunlight. Birds swoop from above, looping and cawing as they spiral through the sky.
Up ahead I can hear laughter. It spurns me on. I can’t help but grin back at the children who stand along a fencerow, waving wildly as we approach. They are each beautiful. Tiny noses. Small hands. Eyes with every color of the rainbow and some with a swirling mixture, like paint splattered on a canvas.
There is an overwhelming sense of wonder here. “Where are the transports? I don’t see any vehicles.” Dozens of people mill about. Some lean against tree trunks and chat with neighbors. Others walk with packages under their arm, whistling and dipping their head in greeting as they pass. They act as if they have all the time in the world.
“We don’t use them here. There’s no need.” Alesta waves as a young girl steps out from a small wooden bungalow-style home. This roof is woven with what looks like palm leaves. The door is wide open. There are no coverings on the windows.
I realize as I look all around me that this is a tropical climate. I stare at sun-kissed faces and browned arms. Their clothing, although far less flimsy than my own, is made of lightweight material in whites, yellows, and soft blues. A warm breeze unsettles my hair about my neck as I turn my face up to the sun. “Is it always warm here?”
“Yes,” Alesta says. “Earth is one of the few planets that has a winter. You have seasons because of how your planet revolves around your yellow sun. Our sun is white and we are closer to its surface, providing us with year-round warmth.”
“But how is that possible? Surely when you are on the back side of the sun, this city would be farthest away.”
“Yes, but we have those.” She points to the moons again. I look closer and notice how the sunlight seems to reflect off their glossy surface.
Our party winds through the city, soldiers lining up on either side to clear away the crowd that grows with each street we pass. Shouts ring out as kids grab hold of their parents to bring them near. I stare down at the little children and realize that no matter how terrible this past year has been, it was all worth it for this moment.
These are my people, resonates loudly within my soul as I wave back.
Lines of people now edge the streets as we begin to climb a small hill. My shoes have hardly any traction as I attack the stones, praying I don’t fall flat on my face in front of all these people.
From somewhere behind me, a song begins to emerge from the crowd. I pause and look back over my shoulder, trying to make out the words. “What are they singing?”
“Hail to the queen, a savior born,” Drakon growls. He motions his hand toward a soldier and the man surges back through the crowd, commanding loudly in a tongue that I’m unfamiliar with. Soon the song cuts off and I feel saddened by the silence that follows.