Brela - Rot (1)

Six hundred seventy-four days since the sun first rose, Brela thought, clutching her blanket tighter.

For a long time, she’d believed Dio was counting too. But when she once asked him in passing, he only shrugged. That small gesture had reminded her that there were things about him she would never fully understand. Things that slipped quietly beyond her reach.

Six hundred seventy-four days, and on nearly every one of them, she had expected him to leave. She could see it in his eyes whenever he looked toward the forest or the fields; she could hear it in his voice when he spoke with others about their crafts or ideas, the yearning for something more.

When they first met, he told her he stayed because he had promised his friend he would. It must have taken great effort to keep that promise, and with each passing day, she could feel it pulling at him a little harder. He had told her about Ray—how they had found each other on a bed of gravel near the place of their arrival, about her Lucidity, and about the Circle.

Ray must have been someone truly special. Not because she had brought the Sun—though that alone was extraordinary—but because Dio had stayed for her sake and fought against everything within himself.

Sometimes Brela thanked Ray in silence. Like everyone in Daw, she kept such thoughts from Dio so as not to remind him too painfully of her. Yet unlike the others, she didn’t thank Ray merely for the Sun and moon and stars but for giving them Dio, for letting his sharp, clear mind remain a little longer than it otherwise might have.

Others had gone into the forest with her before him, even when the dullness still hung over everyone. They had walked beside her and looked with her at the strange plants and creatures, yet they had never truly been there. Brela always felt they were only passing through, and each time they left, she was reminded of what hurt her most: that she was alone.

She had been alone when she awoke in a clearing surrounded by low shrubs, tall grass, and a wall of trees. Alone when she found the others nearby and was tested with them. The priests hadn’t chosen her, and those she eventually joined seemed unable to truly speak with her. Their words were hollow, their faces as boring as the sky above, even when on rare occasions faint embers of wonder glowed within them.

There was only one way to escape that loneliness, at least a little, and that way led into the forest. There, too, Brela was alone, but at least she wasn’t faced with the false warmth of people pretending to offer comfort while remaining unreachable.

Still, she couldn’t help but be cheerful toward them, calling out warm greetings and offering her brightest smiles, because maybe, someday, she could break through their shells and help them truly arrive. Together, they might bring Daw to life.

It had never worked. Only been more hurt.

So brela thought long and hard and finally tried something new. She would bring a piece of the forest’s beauty, the beauty of the Dream, back to the others so they could see it too when they returned from the fields or set out for the hunt. She began collecting seeds and planting a garden around her small home. Golden acacias, silver ash blossoms, purple roses… and the scent of nature—spicy, fresh, cool, tender, and sweet—wrapped her little patch of earth like a gentle cloak. The plants seemed to grow almost on their own, and she loved watching them, loved filling noble chalices with the most splendid geraniums. Soon her garden looked like a fragment of the forest she loved so dearly, a place whose beauty truly deserved her laughter and skipping steps.

“Look, I found new plants! I planted some zegonias; you have to come see them!” she had called out in the village square.

However the people had only nodded, not being able to escape their distant daze.

Each heartbeat she spent alone in her garden began to sting, for she realized she couldn’t wake anyone from their numbness.

Am I the only one who’s truly real here? The only one who’s truly arrived? Why didn’t they take me with them? The Sages, they seem so clear minded. What am I missing? What? Her inner voice was screaming now, and she fought back tears as her thoughts grew so loud she could almost hear them carried on the wind.

She wiped her eyes with a dirt-streaked hand, which only made them burn more, and desperately patted the soil around a tulip she had brought from the forest.

Maybe she should just go. Leave the Dream. Try again somewhere else, wherever one ended up after waking up. Find the joy that had been denied her here.

“A tulip? Oh, I know those! I remember tulips…”

She froze, startled from her thoughts, and quickly put her smile back on as she heard those words.

“Sorry, what did you say?” she asked, turning around.

Her neighbor, Des, was leaning against the fence, both hands resting on a post. He was sweating and dusty, his beard unkempt. He must have come from the field without her noticing. His eyes were fixed on the yellow tulip she had just planted.

“It’s beautiful, Brela,” Des said, smiling until his beard trembled.

Her breath caught. She looked down at the flower that had just found its home beside her roses.

“Thank you, Des,” she said softly, offering him the first genuine smile she could remember giving anyone.

It was only a brief moment, yet in it Brela found the confirmation she had been searching for: her work could touch others. She could bring them joy, real joy, not the empty kind that faded when the day ended.

For a short while, Brela no longer felt alone.

Maybe I just need the right flowers for the right person, she thought, and maybe I have to make them look a little closer at them. The thought filled her with a quiet, trembling hope.

Over the next days, she began guiding people toward her garden when they returned from work. Some took delight in the plants, and even though many showed little reaction, the few who did were enough to stirr, for the first time, a feeling of home in her heart.

More and more, she ventured into the forest to find new plants to bring back, and to her surprise, she often succeeded. Soon every hut in the village was adorned with one of her flowers, and whenever she spoke to the villagers about them, their blank expressions softened. They smiled. They spoke words that came from somewhere deep inside.

Before long, the scent of her flowers filled the air everywhere. She began adding herbs and berries to her garden as well, for she believed—no, remembered—that one could make healing salves and juices and pastes from them.

It wasn’t long before she was completely absorbed in her work: mortar and pestle, infusions, endless experiments to turn her ideas into something real. She wanted to help the others with her creations, to make sure they would stay with her, that wounds wouldn’t take them away. In time, she even managed to help the hunters recover more than once.

And so time passed beneath the gray skies, and her world became a little less lonely. Des, especially, played a part in that. He seemed to admire her garden almost as much as she did. Sometimes she saw him peeking from his window, gazing at the vines and herbs curling around her house like a small forest. From time to time, he asked how her plants were doing, how she was doing, and whether she’d bring more soon.

“I’m going back into the forest after my meditation. Would you like to come with me? There’s surely even more beauty there than here,” Brela asked one day, her face warm with hope.

Her heart pounded.

What if he says yes? What if he actually comes along? Then maybe I’ll have someone to share my real thoughts with, someone to… She felt her hands trembling, slick with sweat.

Brela had even placed a few golden, shimmering flowers in her hair, hoping, perhaps, he’d notice. Maybe he’d see that walking through the forest with her could be beautiful too.

“Oh, that’s kind of you, but I have to go to the fields. The forest is deep and dangerous,” Des said after a long pause that felt like eternity.

Her heart sank, and she swallowed hard.

“I’ve never seen a dangerous animal. I like them, and they like me. It makes me happy when they’re around. I’m sure they’d enjoy your company too… I’d enjoy your company,” she whispered, biting her lip.

He smiled that same honest smile as always but shook his head.

“I really enjoy your company too, Brela, but the work has to be done. It’s part of me; it makes me happy,” he said, nodding before turning away.

Brela ran off as soon as he was out of sight. She wanted to scream, but the others would have noticed, and she didn’t want to burden them with problems they wouldn’t understand—or couldn’t.

They’re all happy. It’s enough for them to work. Why not for me? Isn’t it enough that I live here like they do? That I work for the village, give them ointments, my pastes? Why isn’t it enough? Why do I want to talk with them, laugh with them… What’s wrong with me? she cried inwardly, her thoughts echoing a thousand times inside her.

She dropped onto the old tree trunk she had once found and stared at the desolate gray above. Slowly, Brela began to feel that same grayness settling inside her. In her meditations it was always bleak; she saw only a few plants and animals now and then, but sometimes there was a faint green light.

It probably belonged to Des.

But in the end, it didn’t matter. What good did it do? She had tried to bring him along, to share her forest with him—the only real companionship she had known since her arrival. She had done everything she could, and yet nothing had changed. A few more words, a few more smiles, and then silence once more. it drove her almost mad and she wandered into the forest, perhaps for the last time. There were cliffs nearby and they were high enough to carry her on. To a place where she might not be alone anymore. Still, there was also hope in her heart, desperate, as her mind returned to the few good things she had managed to accomplished and to the people she had now ben with for so long.

I’ll wait for the next arrival. Maybe someone new will come—someone who can lift me up. Someone who’s truly here, truly clear, someone I can talk to. And if not… I can always go back to these cliffs and...

She refused to finish the thought. The gray sky above helped her push the heaviness back down, to forget it.

And then Dio came, and soon after, the Sun, and everything changed.