Peter tried to make conversation by complimenting her mother. “Smart of your mom to come up with the idea for this place,” he said. His hand trailed along the big green leaves of trees they’d planted.
“If everyone had their own fire, the island would be treeless, and the nasty fruit saved our people when they first came here,” Milly said, reciting the words of her fire master. “Creating the vegetable fields took time, and without the noni fruit and an abundance of fish nobody would have survived the early days of Respite.”
“Yeah, we still have to do our field chores,” Peter said. Most people on Respite worked in the fields in some capacity, regardless of their status or job.
They reached the cupola and a black box made of a material Milly didn’t recognize sat atop a table made from dried vines. The wind eased, and the birds and insects took a break from their constant chatter. Milly froze. The box wasn’t locked, yet she couldn’t move for fear of what it contained.
Peter opened it.
Two roughly hewn metal rings lay within. The pieces were decorated with etched flames and their names were chiseled therein. Peter picked-up the larger of the two and put it on his ring finger. The etched flames glittered when light hit them.
Milly didn’t put her ring on, but stared at it as it rested in her palm, her mouth twisted in a frown. “This is it?” Milly said.
“It is the symbol of the fire guards. You know how hard it is to forge metal. We’re part of them now,” Peter said.
“Great,” she said.
When she turned to leave, Peter grabbed her elbow. “What is it? You should be happy.”
“I know, but…” She stared at the ring. “Have we nothing left? We’ll achieve no more than we did today.”
“I felt the same way, but ask yourself, how do you know?”
“Because I know every inch of this island. Because our jobs will never change. The same thing every day. I know because my mother and the other elders have controlled everything we’ve been exposed to. You know what they always say, how we must move ahead and never look back. If the sacred texts have taught me anything it’s that we are a product of our environment. An environment created by the elders. That’s how I know, Peter Pan.”
She stalked off, and he said, “Wait. What’s the rush?” Peter wanted to spend quality alone time with her, but she wanted no part of it.
She called back through the orchard, “Come on. Everyone will be waiting for us at the Womb.”
The Womb was a stone depression on the sheltered side of Respite halfway up the mountain. Fresh drinking water trickled into a stone pool on one end, and the Perpetual Flame burned in its natural fireplace on the other. Most of Respite’s citizens looked on as Milly and Peter entered the Womb for the first time as equals. Milly had drunk water from the spring and eaten food cooked over the Perpetual Flame her entire life, but had never tended them. She’d lain next to the natural chimney on the side of the mountain on cold nights, and heard the great tales of the past read by people who worked at the Foundation, but hadn’t understood their purpose.
The Foundation took its name from the sacred text, Foundation by Asimov, about a library to preserve and chronicle human knowledge, and within were the nineteen sacred texts brought to Respite by Doc Hampton on The Day. Above the cave entrance to the Foundation, the following was carved into the stone wall of the Womb, “So we may remember the world that is gone, understand our purpose, and the world that may be again.”
Milly and Peter stopped when they reached the foot of the stone dais. Bell peppers and herbs grew all about the Womb, their intoxicating scent blending with the smoke and steam. It was time for the sacrifice ceremony. Burn something you wish to shed or change and do your best over the next twelve moons to do so. Milly was taught that the tradition was from an ancient people called Indians who once ruled the old country where their descendants had lived.
She looked at Peter, who stood transfixed. He gazed at the Perpetual Flame, the massive fire licking the stone walls. Peter loved her, and Milly knew there was no way she could ever change that, despite her best efforts.
Master Jeffery stood on the dais and lifted his hand to the sky. He held forth a small white cylinder with a silver top. When he rubbed its tip, a flame sprang from its end.
Peter gasped. “What is it, Milly?”
“It’s from the gone world,” she said.
The tiny flame winked out and Master Jeffery cleared his throat. “People of Respite, you gather here to pay tribute to the keepers of the sacred flame, and to honor Peter and Milly as they start their life of service to the endless fire. It was decreed by our mothers and fathers that this flame shall never be extinguished and that it is to burn for all eternity as a symbol of our people’s strength. Thus the Perpetual Flame gives us heat and cooks our food. It brings us together and preserves our island vegetation.”
Master Jeffery paused and looked around the Womb. The faint sound of waves crashing filled the stillness. “But perhaps the most important
