Festival Day

It was almost time for the festival, and the streets were alive with excitement. The lamps were glowing a little bit brighter every day in anticipation for the most coveted day of the long year. It was so easy for the citizens to fall into this eager stupor as they went about their usual business in the run-up to the festival. The festival was, after all, the best day of the year. It was no contest.

For one day every year, every citizen put down their toils and troubles. There was no work, no school, no strife. Even the bitterest of enemies put aside their differences and celebrated together. The entire colony shut down and every single person spent the day in pure revelry. They would even let the prisoners out for the day, as festival day was more important than any crime. It was the one day when the citizens could see the sun.

Tory ran her fingers along the cool stone wall as she made her way through the labyrinthine streets of the colony. The lamps that were spaced out evenly every fifteen meters were glowing brighter than usual, getting the citizens acclimated to bright lights, but Tory didn't need their light. She knew her way around by the subtle differences in the texture and temperature of the walls. It wasn't an unusual skill, many citizens found their way in unorthodox ways: by touch, by smell, by force of habit. Normally the halls were very dim, the light glowing faintly orange and then being swallowed up by the darkness before the light of the next was fully visible. The lamps were there as a courtesy, really, for the young or forgetful. And to ease their eyes into the sunlight of the festival, of course.

Tory didn't want to be eased into the sunlight though. She loved the shock of the blinding white light coupled with the almost overwhelming heat. It made the festival so much more impactful. It would take her awhile to be able to open her eyes fully, of course, which would take up precious festival time. But it would be worth it. Like a mole rat being exposed to light for the first time in her life.

So she dragged her finger along the cool stones, feeling her way around the colony with her eyes shut tight. The walls she walked were so familiar to her that she probably didn't even need to feel her way. Muscle memory alone could take her on her path from the youth barracks to Billiam's Book Nook.

Left-left-straight for three tunnels-right-left-down the ramp-first opening on the right.

She felt the curvature of the arched doorway with her finger. It had the right texture, with the cold dirt poking through the cracks in the stone and the three mushrooms growing sideways from the tightly-packed soil just above the keystone. She stepped through and blinked her eyes open.

Good ole' Billiam, he keeps it dim too.

“Morning!” Tory called in a sing-song sort of way.

A squat older man poked his head out from around one of many floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He had small, round wire-framed glasses pushed up to the bridge of his nose and a smaller pair of rectangular specs dangling precariously on the tip.

“Tory,” he said in his usual way: pleased yet exasperated and at the volume of a whisper, “come in, come in. Have you eaten?” He shuffled over to the large wooden desk in the middle of the room and set down a large pile of thick tomes with a soft thud.

“No, I can't eat today. Too excited.”

“Excited for what, you silly thing?” Billiam set himself at work searching through the many drawers at his desk.

“Tomorrow is the festival day!” Tory exclaimed with little care for the peace and quiet of the book nook. “Don't tell me you forgot.”

Billiam stopped his search and looked at the girl. “Oh dear,” he said, “you'd better have something to eat.” He pulled out a tarnished silver tray and plopped a few coarse lumps of hard tack and a potato on top.

“I don't want to be too full to enjoy the festival food,” she said, “all the berries and fruits! I haven't had a raspberry or an apple in years!”

“You ate a whole bucket of raspberries last year, child.”

Tory laughed, “well, I guess it's felt like it's been years.”

“Eat. I have something to tell you.” His voice sounded weary, grave almost.

Living in the dark, one's ears develop quite well allowing the citizens to hear far more subtlety in every sound, every voice. Tory could tell in an instant that something was wrong. She dutifully took a seat on her favorite little stool and began munching on the hard tack.

“They didn't tell you the news in the barracks, I take it?”

Tory shook her head, “I left before morning announcements. They're so boring.”

“Not today,” Billiam said with a heavy sigh. “The queen has fallen ill.”

“Oh.”

“She became ill in the middle of the night. They haven't shared much news with the colony yet, but it doesn't appear to be good.”

Tory stared blankly ahead. She had never met the queen. She was still young and unimportant. And she didn't much care for the parades they held on the first of every month where the queen would often meet with the more lowly citizens at random. To Tory, the queen was almost a mystical figure: talked about in reverence but with little consequence on her daily life.

“That's sad,” she said after awhile, “she'll miss the festival.”

Billiam sighed heavier this time, and took off his little rectangular glass off before speaking again. His hand shook as he placed them gingerly next to the tray of food.

“Tory,” he said, “there isn't going to be a festival this year.”

The hard tack biscuit clacked onto the stone floor. “What?” Tory asked in a breathless rage. “What do you mean there won't be a festival!? They've been turning up the lamps all week!”

“She just fell ill last night. They'll start dimming them this evening.”

“But why aren't they having the festival? It's the best day of the year, they can't just cancel it!”

“There's no festival without the queen. The new queen will host next year's festival, I'm certain.”

Tory sat silently, trying to wrap her head around the news. No festival. No raspberries. No sunlight and no fresh air for another whole year.

“But that's not fair,” she cried, “they can't keep us inside just because the queen is dying. People die all the time, why's she so special?”

Billiam reached across the desk in a flash. He grabbed her shoulders roughly in his hands and pulled her close enough to hear him whisper in harsh tones, “quiet! Don't ever let someone hear you say that!”

Tory didn't answer. She just wriggled, trying to break out of his grasp. Billiam's eyes were wide and his breath smelled like slightly rotten potatoes. It was uncomfortable to see her friend in this new, scary way.

“Just tell me you won't say that ever again,” he hissed as quietly as he could. “Promise me, Tory.”

“Ok, ok!”

Billiam released her almost as quickly as he had grabbed her. He shot back across the desk and settled in his stool, adopting his usual jovial demeanor. “Good,” he said, “now what have I done to deserve a visit from my favorite customer today?”

Tory took a beat before she realized what was happening: they were pretending that nothing had just happened. That suited her just fine. She was used to that – adults did that anytime she said anything remotely critical of the colony.

“It's, uh, almost time to pick assignments,” she replied, straining to forget the fright he had just given her, the crazed look in his eyes, the hotness of his potato breath.

Billiam lit up, “and you want to work for me for your first assignment? Become a book keeper or a historian? That's wonderful news! I'd always hoped this day would come.”

Tory sank lower into her seat, trying to disappear in the dimness of the book nook. “Oh, uh, no. Not that actually.”

“Oh, I see,” Billiam said, trying to contain his disappointment. “Was it advice you were looking for then? Because I have been known to give the best advice,” he added a wink for good measure.

Tory smiled, “yes you always did give me the best advice. Like that time you said Franklin was only mean to me because he liked me, and then he punched me when I asked him if I could join him for lunch.”

“Everybody is wrong sometimes,” Billiam countered, “even me.”

“I did want your advice, actually, do you know anything about the delvers?”

Billiam looked her up and down, trying to size her intentions. “You want to be a delver?”

“I like to explore,” she replied with a shrug. “I can already tell the exact depth of the tunnels just by touch. I can smell the changes in the seasons even though we're kilometers from the surface. I can hear ground water through the walls. I'd be a great delver.”

“There are no delvers anymore, Tory, you should know that. Do you ever go to classes?”

“Maybe I could be one anyway. The first of a new generation to strike out into the earth to build new tunnels, expand the colony, maybe even find safety on the surface for more than just one day a year. Maybe we could find someplace where the festival could last a whole week!”

Billiam just shook his head. “You dream too much, you know that? Maybe you should reconsider becoming my apprentice. The sorting, the cataloging, and all that might help screw that head of yours on better.”

“I can't help it that I want more. There has to be more of life, more of the world than this little colony.”

“There isn't,” he replied sharply, “best you remember that.”

Despite his chastisement, Billiam put his little rectangular glass back on the tip of his nose and looked through the tiny print of the giant catalog book on the desk. “Let's see, let's see.... there it is!” He slammed the book shut and waddled off into the neatly ordered rows of bookshelves. “Come along!”

Tory dutifully followed him. It was dark in-between the bookshelves and Tory liked it. She hadn't spent too much time lurking there in all her years. Billiam typically insisted that she stay put on a stool while he fetched books for her so she wouldn't mess up his sorting system. It felt like exploring to her.

“Here we are,” Billiam said as he came to a stop. His fingers danced across the spines of the books, feeling all the raised bumps until he found the one he wanted. “The Fall of the Delvers.”

“You're going to help me be a delver after all?”

Billiam chuckled. “No, no of course not. This book is all about why the colony has no need at all for delvers anymore. Pay attention to it and get rid of all those silly notions of yours before you blab them to anyone who doesn't like you as much as I do.”

Tory bowed her head in thanks. “Fine, I'll read it.”

“Good.” Billiam sniffed the air quickly. “Go along now, smells like they're about to call a meeting and you need to be with your group before it starts.”

“Thanks Billiam,” Tory said brightly as she turned to leave. She stuck the book under her arm and rushed out of the book nook.

She was tracing her fingers along the wall like usual when she felt it. The wall was vibrating ever so slightly. She stopped in her tracks. What was it? She placed her whole palm flat against the wall to get a better feeling. It was coming from higher up.

The colony had a rule about this sort of thing. Any citizen to sense any abnormality in the tunnel was to report directly to the queen's guard who would oversee the investigation. No citizen, under any circumstances, was allowed to do anything at all like what Tory was about to do. Of course, Tory was not well-versed in colony law. It was one of the most important classes taught to the young, but it was also quite boring. She had never paid close attention to it.

She veered down a less often used tunnel, running along at break-neck pace towards wherever the rumbling sensation was growing more pronounced. The stones gave way to soil and the air began to feel warmer, heavier. The paths she was taking had not been used in a long time, and they going up steadily. The pitch of the floor began to rise steeper and steeper, which was not how the colony's tunnels were built to ascend and descend. Colony tunnels did everything gradually, so that depth was imperceptible to any who could not feel or smell the changes. This was wild and untamed.

Tory's heart beat hard against her rib cage as she worked her way up a hill steeper than any she had ever known. Her pace slowed considerably despite the fact that she was pushing herself to move faster than she'd ever gone before. If she weren't so focused on finding the source of the ever-growing vibrations, she might have been shocked at the terrain. It was unlike anything she'd ever known. The dirt was loose and there were tree roots (though she had no idea that was what they were) poking up through the floor and hanging down above her head.

The vibrations were so strong now she could hear them. They had to be close.

Blinding white light shone through the tunnel ahead of her. The sight made her push forward even faster. In a moment, the light surrounded her and she couldn't see anything. She stumbled and fell hard onto the ground.

But the ground she fell on wasn't hard. It was kind of cushy. She felt around with her hands, trying to get her bearings. It felt a little cool, a little wet, and familiar.

“Hey!” a voice yelled. “Turn it off! Turn it off!”

A loud grinding noise followed, squealing through the air and forcing Tory to clutch her hands over her ears. The humming, rumbling vibrations stopped.

A hand was on her shoulder, gently. “Hey, are you ok? Where'd you come from?”

“Billiam's book nook,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I was on my way back to the barracks, I swear.”

“What are you talking about? Can you see me?”

She blinked again and again, straining against the white light. Finally shapes and colors appeared: the green and brown of moss underneath her, blue and white above, a tan and yellow blur in front of her. She blinked again. The blur looked almost human now, but not like any human she had seen before. It's face was darker with patches of red on the cheeks, not the almost translucent tone of the citizens. And it was wearing a garish yellow round thing on its head.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“I'm the foreman,” the person replied. “Where did you come from? Are you ok?” The foreman squinted at her and then called over its shoulder, “Hey, get some water!”

“Where am I?” Tory asked.

“Smack dab in the middle of my construction site, that's where.”

“Am I outside?” It sure looked like outside. It was warm, it was bright, there were weird chirping sounds, and the rustle of wind.

“Yeah, you're outside,” replied foreman with a quizzical look.

Someone else in a weird yellow thing walked over with a big jug of water. “What's wrong with her?” it asked.

“I dunno,” foreman said, “but we've gotta shut down until we figure this out. Look at this tunnel. Why didn't this show up on the CRM report?”

None of this made sense to Tory, she could barely listen to their weird jargon in their booming voices. All that did make sense was that she wasn't in the colony anymore. She was outside. She got to have festival after all. One day early even.

“Do you have any raspberries?” she asked.