d1 Prologue

8/14/2019 d1 Prologue

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Prologue

It takes a lifetime to plant a garden, yet it takes only a single moment todestroy it all. That was my mistake. Now all I have is an entire mansion toremind me of what I did so many years ago.

I cannot go back now; there is nothing to which I can return. My entirevillage of Terra Valde is gone, along with everyone who counted on me thatyear when I was chosen to revive our village.

I know what I did wrong now, and I’ve spent countless years trying to fix it.So far, all of my attempts have failed, and each time, I am left with nothingmore than an exquisite home full of rooms that house my mistakes, each onea testimony to things that I have and haven’t done.

But this year, I feel a change on the wind. I know that this year will bedifferent. Someone out there will be our salvation, for this world and for me.

The poppies are in full bloom now, redder than ever and swaying slightly inthe wind, but times are dire. I feel that this is our final chance to finallymake things right. If we fail, then we surely will not be given a secondchance.

Everything is in decay, flowers sink to nothing more than decadence. Grassis the color of straw as if burned by the merciless sun. The earth is fruitless,and every one of our harvests looks as if it has been sucked dry of its natural juices.

Normally, people would be disgusted and taken aback by the decay androtting of all life all around them, but I am different. I can’t help but find a bitof charm in silent and slow decay. Even now I am reclining in a chair,

enjoying the aroma and taste of my best wine with a bowl of dried fruit. (Thedecay isn’t all bad.)

With a swirl and sip of my wine—it is a bit chunky—I am in heaven on earth,the closest as I can come to heaven on earth. I start to realize that maybethis state, this limbo that we’re in isn’t so bad. I can get used to it. Things



Prologue

have been like this for years. What reason do I have to hope for somethingdifferent, for change?

“Lady Oue?” One of my twenty butlers, Alam, asks as he steps to my side. I

look up at him in his pressed suit, a navy blue with a matching tie. He hasthe same plain face even after my numerous attempts to cheer him up, heremains the same calm and placid.

“Yes, Alam, what is it?” I ask, swirling my wine around in my glass. Theburgundy liquid dances around in a whimsical circle. It splashes around untila few drops fall. I follow them with my eyes.

One lands on Alam’s perfectly pressed white shirt. He clears his throat andquickly whips out the neatly triangle folded napkin in the pocket of his jacket. Alam promptly wipes up the stain, scrubbing it, and eradicating alltraces of the stain’s existence—almost as if it was never there.

I can’t help but think that there is some sort of symbolism in that simplisticgesture of his and his removal of the stain. Perhaps the hidden meaning isthat in time, we too will be erased, us and all of our existence will becompletely removed from this earth.

I miss the other drop as it landed, but what I do see is the deep red of thesmall stain in the dull earth. The pattern is irregular yet circular.

“Lady Oue,” my dear butler began as soon as he finished the clean up, “it istime. Should I begin making preparations now?”

“Yes, Alam. Please start making preparations immediately.”

I take my final sip at last and set down the glass on the table beside me thatAlam has graciously prepared for me. I have spent countless days in thisroom waiting, and it comes to me that I too am a red poppy—waiting in thewind and swaying.



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The long rays of the sun are about the only things about this world thatappears to remain unchanged. Like fingertips, the heat and light of the sunstretches out to me, reaching, beckoning, inviting. To what, I wonder.

When the red poppies blossom, we wait in anticipation and awe, and whenthe red poppies scatter, we fear and we hope that this year, we will have abetter tomorrow.

“Alam, wait.”

Stopping and turning to face me, he says, “What is it, Lady Oue? Is theresomething the matter?”

“No. I will join you. I’ve spent enough time in this room.”

I stand up to join Alam, and when I rise, I see the most curious thing. Not toofar from me, just ahead, an indigo butterfly in black trim flutters, catchingthe light in its wings just before it lands on a rock.

I am completely captivated. My legs become stone, and I am forced tobecome a spectator to its enormous beauty. The butterfly is there for but asecond, flexing its wings in a flap of twos then it takes off.

I immediately go to where the butterfly once was, and pick up the rock.Directly beneath it, is something buried and covered with dry dirt. Only withhelp from the sun’s rays am I able to catch sight of it.

Pushing away clumps of stiff dirt, I discover a treasure I do not expect to find—gold. Holding the tiny fleck of gold between my thumb and forefinger, I liftit up to eyelevel for further examination.



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“Have you discovered something, Lady Oue?” Alam asks, approaching me.He is ever the gentleman.

“I have, gold.” I beckon for him to come closer and look at it with me.

“Not quite gold,” he says.

I look at him strangely, almost frowning. “No? Then what do you think it is?”

“A seed.”

“A seed? Don’t be silly, Alam. Who finds seeds in the ground anymore? That’s rubbish, completely absurd.”

“Don’t be too sure,” he says and brushes away the dirt that stubbornly clingsto the sides of the golden object.

“What is it?” It isn’t until after I say that do I come to realize the child-likewonder present in my voice.

“A poppy seed,” he says. His mouth stubbornly form a lopsided curl, the firsttraces of a smile that I’ve seen in all of the eighteen or so years that Alamhas been in my service.

“Here, take it.” He has to take my hand, unroll the long lengths of my

fingers, and place the golden poppy seed in my hand for me to accept it.“It’s for you.”

“Why me, Alam? Why?”



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“It’s time for a new season.”

“How do you know that? How can you be sure?”

As we both look away from the sparkling gold in my hand, we look up in timeto see the butterfly drifting away on currents of wind.

A tear slides down my cheek while I watch the butterfly float away. I want itto stay with me in this room of memory that I am always drawn to. I havegrown too comfortable in this room full of wilting trees, rotten fruit, and deadharvests. Everything is all my doing.

I don’t notice that I am clenching the golden poppy seed with dear life until Istare at my closed fist. The tip of the seed pieces my dry, cold skin as myfingers envelope it of its own accord.

“Lady Oue, shall we go now?”

Alam has a hand outstretched to me, ready to draw me from the puddle of sorrow I’ve just made myself. Ever the gentleman.

“I am.” Taking his hand, I take one last look at the sun, staring at it until it’sas golden as the seed that I hold in my hand. I slip the gold seed into mydress pocket and follow Alam out of the garden.

I stand in the doorway of the garden, close the door, and then lock it. I onlyhope that the next time that I open this door, all will be well again, and thatthe garden will be plentiful.

We stroll down the hallway together with Alam leading me past all the roomsof my mansion. It is also a house of great decay and decadence. Ourfootsteps echo in the great empty mansion, but I know that will soon change.Very soon, this very mansion will be alive with the voices of many children



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and their companions, but even more, the metallic jingling of golden poppyseeds, the last great treasure of our generation.

***

It’s another warm day here in Matza Pira, but that’s nothing out of theordinary. But that’s just the thing—everything here in Matza Pira is just soplain. I’ve been here my whole life, and I’ve never left my village, not evenonce.

Just once, I would like to know what’s on the other side of this deep cuttingvalley. What’s beyond the Cliff Deos? Where does the water that pours intoPriya Lake come from? I will find out one day. My mom says that I’m tooyoung to leave the village.

Thirteen isn’t too young. Lots of people have done great things at thirteen, Ithink. I just don’t know who they are because I haven’t been around for verylong, and I haven’t gone anywhere. Sometimes I’m worried that I won’t beable to live the kind of life that I want to live. All I want is a lifetime of adventures, something that I can live to tell other people about when I’molder.

Right now, all I can tell people about is that I grew up in Matza Pira, andeveryone here seems to be obsessed with coming to look at the field of redpoppies that grow on the Cliff Deos every year. It’s nothing special, but youcan see them from the very bottom of the valley. I’ve always found themvery strange. They scare me a little.

d1 Prologue

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