I lay on my stomach, my body aching, waiting for the bell signalling the morning meal.
My eyes keep closing.
I get up, moving in careful increments, and start stretching my body, knowing the next few days will be easier for it.
I take up my favourite position by the arched opening of my room. The wood on the side I sit is more polished than the rest of the opening. I love Osolis during the day, when the smoke is gone and the world is cast in the soft orange glow of the firelight. I watch the activity of the milling people below me. Lattices of cracks are already visible in the bone-dry brown ground. These will only grow bigger as we rotate further away from the cold of Glacium.
The bell rings, reverberating through the wood of the palace. I make my way down to the dining ring to sit with my tormentors.
I crunch at my apple painfully, ignoring Kedrick’s gestures. I am not meeting with Kedrick. It would be disastrous if we were caught and I’m not eager for another beating. I’ll go to the orphanage today since I cannot train.
Two girls around my age walk in front of me as I head out to the front of the palace.
“She was wearing yellow! I felt sure it would be green.” One of them whispers. I roll my eyes, my mother was dressed in yellow robes today.
The other girl is dressed in yellow robes herself. “Yes, it was a lucky guess. But your hair is almost the same style she’s wearing,” she says. They catch sight of me behind them and hurry away with deep nods.
The court’s bright colours and quiet ways could be mistaken for tranquil and elegant. But it is so contrived and ostentatious it makes me grind my teeth.
Villagers skitter away and bow as I pass. I know it’s my mother’s title and her reputed hate of me which keeps them away. And they still remember the girl I once played with. Sometimes I see them running a finger across their throats to each other. They probably tell the story to their children late at night, to scare them. No one wants to be associated with me, unless they are desperate or too young to know.
I reach the orphanage and sit with a young girl who stares up at me with huge grey eyes and her thumb in her mouth. Most of the children in the orphanage have lost their parents to fire or smoke inhalation. The dangers of Osolis are great and every time I visit these children, I’m reminded of just how dangerous fire is. Nothing is more feared on Osolis.
“You’re hungry,” I say. She nods. Picking up an apple out of a large crate, I begin slicing it into chunks, trying not to laugh at her unwavering attention. She accepts the pieces I hold out after a cautious moment. I watch her crunch away. Apples always remind me of this place, it is why I love to eat them.
“Why you wearing that?” The small girl points to my head. I am so used to this question from the orphans by now, it hardly bothers me. Though the first time I was asked I’d nearly run out of the place.
“I don’t know,” I reply. She nods at this and resumes her apple. I work the rest of the day, staying longer than I usually do for reasons I don’t want to examine. I clean and play with the children, keeping my guard up for hands trying to grab at my veil. If mother knew what happened here I would be locked away forever. She thought I read stories to them. The matron knew what to say if she was ever asked.
I stand and move through the small orphanage and call goodbye to the Matron.
“Thank you Tatuma,” she says, but does not curtsey. She has only just stopped after three years of me requesting it. She still refuses to stop thanking me, which has always felt backwards to me. I always feel I should be the one thanking her.
The top of my head just clears the door of the orphanage. This building, and other houses in this area, are made from the dried grass harvested from the second. Every revolution these homes burn down and are then rebuilt in the fifth. I cannot imagine always having to do this and think it is a waste of their time, but I understand there must be a certain number of Kaur trees left standing to be able to clear the smoke. There had been incidences in our history where this balance had been upset and resulted in great loss of life.
The village has always had the effect of putting my life in perspective. The thin, weathered people around me wear loose trousers and tunics, dirty with the soot of smoke and ash. They are happy though. Children run between carts and wagons in bare feet, hair unbound, squealing when they are caught. One boy trips and falls in front of me. I crouch down. He must be about a revolution old. I’m reaching to put him back on his feet when he snatches a hand out and grips the bottom of my veil. I whip my hand forward and grip the veil in front of his hand and then pry his fingers off with the other.
I look up.
The village has lost its bustle, every person is watching us in horrified silence. A woman and male sprint out from a thatch building to my side. I let go of the boy’s hand and the woman grabs for him while trying to keep as far away from me as possible.
The man sinks down onto his knees in front of me.
“Mercy Tatuma, please don’t harm my family. I will take any punishment on their behalf,” he pleads with me. He has the accent of the villagers, rolling the ‘r’ in his words. The private tutors hammered this out of me, and I know the court was taught the same in the palace classrooms.
The pair are lean, obviously hard workers from the tired hang of their shoulders. It’s the first time this has ever happened to me. There are so many people watching.
The man is still on his knees. His wife huddles over the boy weeping. If I ever needed reminding of the fear my mother instilled, this was it. The Tatum’s word was absolute and I was the next in line.
I place a hand on the man’s shoulder. He is at least three revolutions older than myself, or appears it anyway. “He is a young boy and did not know any better. I am not going to harm your family,” I say. “What is your name?”
“Turin. It’s Turin,” he stutters.
“Well Mister Turin, return to your wife and your son. There has been no harm done,” I say.
It takes a while to leave. I eventually get away, a bit sickened after they pledge everlasting gratitude and wish me all kinds of good health and longevity. A young girl, maybe another of their children had approached with a small cake which I had politely refused. One of my worst beatings came after mother caught me eating village food.
The houses change as I near the palace, becoming increasingly made of Kaur - the sign of wealth and status on Osolis. Directly outside the palace border, the houses are Kaur with only the roofs being made of thatch. These abodes belong to the wealthiest villagers, such as the Satums and their assistants, who oversee the running of food, resources and regeneration throughout the rotations.
Olandon waits for me in the outer gardens as I pass through the unguarded wall into the palace grounds.
“You have been in the village,” he says.
“I have,” I say with a smile. It was rare that I didn’t spend at least part of a day there. “You should come, too.”
Olandon shudders. Apart from my brother’s ability to genuinely like the court, this was the only issue we really disagreed on. He couldn’t understand how the village held such allure to me. He had come once or twice at my insistence, but I knew he did so reluctantly and with a bit of disgust. He also hates how I’m ridiculed for my village visits by the court. Their laughter has never bothered me though because their ridicule is the only reason my mother allows me to go into the village. She enjoys it immensely. But as I also enjoy my training and going there, I don’t lose any sleep over it.
“Tatuma Olina, well met,” a voice says. I roll my eyes, but stop when I turn and see who the voice belongs to. A genuine smile lights my face.
“Satum Jerin, you are returned from the sixth,” I say, pleasure flooding my voice at seeing him after such a long time. He bows to myself and Olandon.
“Yes, we have just finished removing the Kaur cases from the next rotation of fruit trees there and planting seeds for harvest in the first,” he says with a smile, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing. Jerin is one of the rare court members I will be keeping.
“It is a big job you do for us,” I say, nodding my head. Mother never appreciates him enough, so I always try to praise him. Of the three Satums, he is the only one I like.
He beams at the compliment. “We only lost ten trees this year. The twenty new trees we planted in the sixth rotation last revolution survived the fires.” I smile at the passion in his voice. “With the Tatum’s careful management, we have nearly a whole revolution of food stored,” he continues.
“As long as there are apples, you know I am satisfied.”
He gives me a small bow. “You can be assured they have survived. I always make sure to lock those cases extra tight before the fourth.” I give him greetings to pass on to his wife and children.
Olandon and I discuss the guard’s training on our way to dinner. I tell him of the issues I’ve spotted recently.
Uncle Cassius was technically the head of the guard, but from the odd occasion when I had seen him at training, I knew he was an average fighter at best, certainly not good enough to be Head of the Guard. One of my mother’s Elite unofficially held the position until my brother turned eighteen. I listen to my brother’s stories and force away the threads of jealousy as he talks.
As we approach the dining ring, I see Kedrick standing to the side with the delegates. He turns my way. Several of the court are watching though. I glide past without acknowledging him, my heart sinking.