Synopsis: A thousand years in the future, in a world where mysterious teachers rule with an iron rod, Ferran has an opportunity to spend a day with the object of his affection and fascination.
I watch her as she exits the gate that leads into the heart of the city. As usual, she doesn't appear to have a care in the world. Her face is like the face of a teacher. Peaceful, content, radiant almost. Those who live in the city's heart tend to look this way. I envy them. What is it like to dwell with the faithful, knowing that everyone in your home and all your neighbors desire only good for you? Outside the wall, it is different. Though we are blessed beyond measure, things are messier. Much messier. Selfishness abounds, and I am not without guilt. But I continue to seek the unattainable that I might one day take my place among the faithful—if only to be near her. She stops and looks my way as though she can hear my thoughts.
She can't hear my thoughts. Can she?
The waterwalkers manifest many of the powers the teachers possess. If she is a waterwalker, she could have the ability to sense the intentions of my heart as they do. That's a horrifying thought, that she could know all of the times I've watched her in secret.
She begins to walk in my direction. I pretend I don't notice, as I grab more tools and provisions to throw on my cart.
Just focus on your job. She'll pass by.
"Excuse me."
Or not.
"Excuse me, courier."
I turn to meet her brown eyes, my soul dying a thousand deaths.
"Yes, Miss?"
She brushes a brown lock of hair to her cheek. "I know you're terribly busy, but, may I ask of you?"
"Yes. Of course. How may I help?"
"You go out of the city to reclamation; do you not?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to the new site today?"
"Yes. That is my only stop."
"Would you take on a passenger and three parcels? I'll pay you a day's wage." She turns to present three nondescript boxes on the outgoing mail table next to the wall. "They're mid-sized. Can you fit them?"
My eyes quickly run down her smooth neck, where her long chestnut hair is pulled away from the reddish-tanned skin and fastened in an ivory clip.
"Yes, miss. I can carry you and your packages to reclamation. You're traveling alone?"
She turns back to me, eyes sparkling. "I won't be alone; I'll be with you."
"Yes. But, you understand what I'm asking?"
"And you are kind to ask. That's why I chose you."
"Chose me, did you? Of all the couriers, you picked me? I find that hard to believe. I don't exactly have a stellar reputation."
"Your reputation is far more reputable than you give it credit, and that is also virtue." She scans me, likely sensing my nervousness. "And I see I have made the right choice."
I shrug off her scrutiny. "Well, if you know what you're getting yourself into, who am I to turn you away?"
She smiles. "Then, I'll get my parcels."
She retrieves the three brown-papered boxes near the gate and brings them to the cart. The sound of her shoes clicking on the ornate stone sidewalk is slightly muffled by the white filigree at the bottom of her vibrant red dress.
"Here. Let me help you." I collect the boxes from her. "Would you like them up front or on the back? I'll put them up front," I say, answering my own question.
I walk along the side of the cart and tuck the boxes behind the passenger seat of the carriage. It's a tight fit. Good. They won't move around too much. When I turn back to the woman, she stands with her hand shooting straight at me. "Harmony Brightwaters." she says.
"Ferran. Ferran Stone," I say, gripping her hand lightly and shaking as a gentleman should. "But you probably already know that."
"Thank you, Ferran, for taking me on short notice. Let me know when you're ready. I'll browse the market while I wait."
She turns and strides toward the Honeywine furniture shop across the street. As she walks away, I can't help but take her in. Her chestnut hair gathered in its ivory clip, her slender frame, the fabric of her red dress hugging her curves—I pull my eyes away.
If she could read my mind, she would not travel with me.
I don't understand. In all my years, I've never been so tempted by a woman, and I've certainly never had inappropriate thoughts about one. What is it about this woman? It transcends beauty, for I have seen beauty. Is it her conspicuous lack of care? I am far too burdened by care. The thought translates to my hands and arms and I toss a pickaxe into the cart with force. A few folks nearby share a concerned look. I give a polite and sheepish face.
I don't like being out of control. It is not my family's way. There is likely a reason we acquired the name Stone. I correct my posture, and finish the job of loading the reclamation gear without attracting further unwanted attention.
When I'm done, I climb up onto the carriage and pull my lunch bag out of the cooling unit under the seat. My sister made a sandwich for me this morning, and I doubt I'll have time to eat it if I don't do it now.
As I'm nearly done, Harmony appears in the doorway of Honeywines'. She stops to chat with the young newsboy selling papers on the side of the street, hands him a coin, takes a paper, and heads in my direction.
"Are we ready to disembark, Ferran?" she says, coming to a halt, using her paper to shield her eyes from the sun.
I wipe the crumbs from my lips. "Do you have all you need?"
"I have the news, and, I have your company. I'm sure that's all I'll need for this trip."
"Well, hop on up."
She enjoys my enthusiasm, goes around the back of the cart, and climbs into her seat. I wrap up what is left of my lunch and store it in the cooling unit.
"Do you have water?" I ask.
"Yes. In my bag," she says, tapping the leather pocketbook pinched under her right arm.
"Okay. Then, we're ready." I lift the reigns and urge my horse forward. We pull out and move down the street, horse hooves clipping on the stone road. I keep my pace slow as the sidewalks and road are busy with people enjoying the first market day of the month.
"I love your carriage. It is a very comfortable ride."
"Thank you."
"Why only one horse if you don't mind my asking? Isn't it appropriate to have two horses for a cart this size?"
"My brother and his wife are having a baby. Our budget is stretched due to the expansion plans for our home. We're making do with the horses we have, rather than add more stabling costs to the family budget."
"Making room for baby," she says with delight.
I don't share her delight. New family members can stir up trouble in many unexpected ways, but I attempt a diplomatic response. "Yes. We're all looking forward to the adventures this new personality will bring to our home."
"Adventures. I like how you put that. We have them in our home too. Adventures," she says again for emphasis.
"Really? You?"
"What? Do you think our babies are different from yours?"
I immediately regret my reaction.
"That's not what I meant. Obviously."
She smiles. "I know. I'm teasing. We have fewer conflicts, for sure. But children will be children. And young adults will be even more so. They question many things and test their boundaries, as all young people do."
"It must be tough on them, having to live by a higher standard."
"It is."
"Did you grow up in the heart?"
"Yes."
"And you're still there. That is quite an accomplishment."
She appears sullen for a moment but her face brightens quickly, making me wonder if I might have imagined it. "I don't know how much of an accomplishment it is," she says, "It isn't hard to follow the rules when you love them. But I understand what you're saying. To follow the ways of God takes discipline and sacrifice. There is a cost—and it is a cost some are not willing to pay. But it isn't so bad outside the heart. There is faith and love and kindness."
"And back-biting."
She laughs. "And back-biting. We don't want to forget that."
I begin to slow the cart as we are reaching the gate that leads out into the countryside. It stands open, as always, and the elders enjoy the day underneath their cloth canopies off to the left.
My dear friend Ernest interrupts his conversation with the long-white-bearded man next to him and gives his attention to me and my riding companion. "Good morning, Ferran. Who is your lovely passenger?"
"Harmony Brightwaters," she says with a charisma as bright as her name.
"Do you know the manner of man with whom you travel?" His bushy brows rise slowly on his protruded brow bones and his wrinkles stretch.
Harmony quickly picks up on his dry sense of humor and responds in kind. "I've heard he is a brigand and a pillager, and I thought, 'Harmony, this is the man best suited to protect you from Twilight.'"
A big smile draws like a bow beneath Ernest's big nose. "You've done your homework, have you? Well, it may please you to know that he is also a chicken poacher."
"You don't say!" She gasps.
"Well, if I'm being honest, and I must," he says, looking at the others, "A chicken egg poacher to be exact."
"Okay, old man. You've had your fun," I say with a mock scowl.
His lungs produce a hoarse rasp instead of laughter.
"Do you have any useful information to share today or just more sad jokes?"
"I do indeed have useful information, my boy," he says, regaining his composure. "A recent traveler spoke of a merchant van from Epoch. They are carrying perfumes of an exotic variety and an ornate dresser that I'm told rivals a Honeywine dresser. Now that, I'd like to see! If you happen to purchase it, would you consider bringing it by for my perusal, dear boy?"
"I shall. Thank you for the news, Ernest—and, of course, the egregious besmirchment of my esteemed character is always a pleasant treat."
"My pleasure!" He says gleefully.
I urge the horse forward and we move ahead through the gate, clipping and clomping as we go.
Harmony twists. "Bye! It was nice meeting you!"
"It was nice meeting you as well. You are in good hands. Ferran is a fine young man."
She plops down again and looks at me with appreciation. "Anyone with such friends must be trustworthy."
"Yes. So, while it may sadden you, there will be no briganding or pillaging today."
She scrunches her nose. "Not even a little pillaging?"
We both smile for a moment, then ride in silence. It is a beautiful day, as always, between the scheduled days of rain. The sun is high in the sky, warming the land between the cities. I enjoy this trip to reclamation as the incredible architecture mixed with the beauty of God's creation brings my heart joy. I find it even more lovely today, considering the company I keep. I could imagine taking this ride every day for the rest of my days with Harmony at my side. But we are of two different worlds. I am not yet fit to live in the heart of the city.
Harmony watches the crop fields and estates off to the right of us, her chestnut hair waving in the wind. I wonder how often she gets out here to see the country up close. While I'm sure it is beautiful from the viewpoint of the city's center, where the houses are built on the highest elevation, modeling God's chosen city, there is nothing quite like seeing it up close.
She turns and notices me looking at her. I snap my head forward.
"How long will you be at reclamation?" She asks.
"An hour, perhaps an hour and a half."
"I need to leave the reclamation site for a short task, but I'll return and head back to Falls Church with you—if that is acceptable."
"Do you think it is safe to leave reclamation? It is near the border to the wilderness. I've heard unpleasant stories of mishaps with twilights."
"I'll be alright, but thank you for your concern. God will go with me."
"Go with you where? You don't actually plan to go into twilight?"
"Oh, no. Not into twilight. Just to the border."
"If you're going to the border, then I will go with you."
"You don't have to do that, Ferran. I'll be fine."
"I would not be able to live with myself if any harm came to you."
Her eyes squint as she examines me. Then, her expression breaks into one of resolve. "If you wish, but I assure you, it will be uneventful."
"I hope, for both our sakes, it is."
We ride in silence again, the day only slightly spoiled by the revelation of Harmony's reckless intentions. But, should it surprise me? She seems unaware of the danger outside the walls of her paradise. While rarely is there physical danger in the city or countryside, in reclamation and in the wilderness, physical danger is nearly assured, even though the angels and the teachers keep watch.
I toot the horn at the gate that allows entry into the reclamation site. It is sandwiched between two large structures covered in vines, the decaying remnants of hospital towers. The gate swings wide and my friend Caleb greets me from his perch on the short wall.
"God has gifted another beautiful day, Ferran."
"Indeed. But the rain will be nice too."
"I say let the farmers have all the rain they want if it means I get a few more days off from reclamation."
"Don't pretend like you don't love this job." I laugh. "You get all of the treasures first."
"What they allow us to keep," he says with a large-lipped grin that breaks to reveal the whitest smile.
"Remember your friends when you find something cool."
"You know I always do."
I flick the reigns and we move up into reclamation along the dirt road lined with debris. It opens into a large storage area in front of a building and we pull up at the front. The building is the remains of what was once the main lobby of the ancient hospital. We slow and stop.
"I need a minute to speak with the foreman. Are you good to wait here?"
"Yes. I have my news," she says, lifting the paper slightly.
"Okay. I'll be right back."
I hop down from the carriage and enter the hospital. There is a flurry of activity and I receive several greetings. "Where is Garret?" I ask a young man filling boxes with items from a nearby junk pile.
His grimy finger points. "Down the hall."
As I walk down the hospital hall I feel the same uneasy feeling I always have here. What a terror it must have been to go to a hospital. To have your body opened up—or worse, to suffer the chemicals of ancient tinctures.
My friend Garret appears from a doorway to my right. "There's that face again."
"What face?"
"The, I'm so glad we don't have hospitals anymore, face."
"Well, I am."
"It probably wasn't as bad as we've heard."
"I pray I never find out. Anyway, I have the last shipment for this lunar cycle. It's out front. Can some of your crew unload it for me this time? I have an errand to run."
"An errand?"
"Yeah. I brought someone with me. I need to help her with a task."
"Sure. Do you need assistance with the task or just the cart?"
"Just the cart. But thank you. I'll be back in less than an hour."
"You going right away? Are you sure you don't want to stay for just a few more minutes in these luxurious accommodations?"
"Leave it to you to make something creepy even more creepy."
I leave him, chuckling at his own joke, and head out of the hospital, avoiding any distractions that might keep me in this horrible place any longer than needed.
Harmony looks up from her paper and her eyes round. "Are you okay?"
"Am I that transparent?"
"Don't like hospitals?"
"Do you need help with your packages?"
"And don't like to talk about how you don't like hospitals. Got it."
"What is it with everyone today? Do I have a sign that says, "Tease me?"
She seems pleased by my response as she plucks her boxes out and hands them down. After they are securely in my grasp, she climbs off the carriage and takes the box on top. "Do we leave out the gate?"
"No. There is a side exit."
She looks around expectantly.
"This way," I say, heading in the direction.
We pass by several workers and are greeted many times, one greeting nearly demanding my attention, but I apologize and press on—out the entryway and across the broken asphalt field toward the wilderness.
Once again, we are comfortable to walk in silence. But, eventually, I break the silence. "What brings you to the edge of the wilderness?"
"It is a bit of a story. I'm not sure I'll do it justice in the time we have."
"I imagine it is important, in light of the risk. It is a striking contrast to the safe confines of the city's heart."
"The city's heart is far from safe," she says, with an unexpected somberness.
"What harm is there where love is perfect?"
"I assure you, one's heart is never safe as long as it loves."
"I don't understand. What do—"
"We're here," she says, slowing down.
I look toward the wilderness and notice an a man and woman of advanced age now standing at the makeshift fence recently moved by the reclamation crew, obediently observing its feeble boundary.
"Do you know them?"
"Yes," she says, taking the other two boxes from my grasp. "I'll only be a moment."
"Should I come with you? They may not be alone. There could be others hiding in the buildings or vegetation."
"No. Please stay here. I'll be fine."
I watch quietly as she walks across the broken tarred ground to join the old man and woman. Are they a couple? They stand shoulder to shoulder. Perhaps they're her parents.
The old woman breaks into tears as Harmony draws close, her eyes filled with love. Harmony hugs them each in turn. Words are exchanged, but I am unable to hear what they're saying. The old woman opens one of the boxes and lifts out a loaf of bread. On her face is intense gratitude, and more tears flood. I imagine it is harder to grow food in the wilderness, though I'm not sure how it works. Perhaps this is a benevolence trip. Missionaries from the heart often go to the wilderness to provide help and to minister to the lost souls. But there is clearly more going on here. Harmony has a deep connection to these two. How awful it would be to lose my parents to this dark place. I can't imagine.
The three talk for a while, and I stand patiently in the hot sun, waiting. My eyes scan the haunted cavities of the surrounding buildings, watching for movement. The wilds are filled with dangerous people, made dangerous for envy, and beaten down by futility. The teachers set a high bar, and, until recently, ruled with an iron rod.
The three finish with their visit, and I am relieved. They hug and share tearful goodbyes. Harmony heads back, discreetly wiping away her tears as she approaches.
"Are you alright? Is there anything I can do?"
"No. I'm okay. Thank you for asking. Let's just get back. There is still a beautiful day ahead of us."
We trod silently and I don't press her with questions, though I have many. Her hand rises several times to wipe away more tears. I pray for words to comfort her, but they do not come.
Time passes slowly as the tension of her sadness weighs on my heart, and questions weigh in my mind. But I don't speak a word until we are almost at the entryway to reclamation.
"Harmony?"
"Yes?"
"May I ask you a question?"
"Yes, of course you may."
"Were those your parents back there?"
"No."
"But you have a relationship with them. Clearly, they mean a great deal to you. Am I wrong?"
She stops and looks back the way we came, as though she can still see them standing at the fragile fence on the border of the wilderness. She takes in a breath and lets it out slowly. "They're not my parents, Ferran. They're my children."
