Heart Strikes Ten

Legend says that when the heart strikes ten, it will open again. I wish I believed in legends. I want to believe in legends. Yet time beyond time, they fail me. I’ve given up my former conviction that a legend, either person or tale, will end this dread. Ancient legend said that when the heart strikes three, we will all be free. And yet with each turn of our world, the world in which we were free before the melt, we cannot talk with whom we wish. We cannot walk where we wish. We cannot admire another or another’s possessions. We cannot learn. We cannot love. For love is a freedom that ends our breath.

“When the heart strikes ten…” The legend doesn’t go beyond ten. And no truth has been found in the numbers leading up to it, when the legends began after the melt. Perhaps this means our hearts will open again. Or maybe they’ll stop.

My heart starts with a jolt each day as the sun breaks the horizon and the pounding occurs. First on the door, then through my skull. The sentinels are relentless with their guarding. Their watching. Their keeping. Their pounding. They don’t make the decisions; they only keep us in hushed tones.

My days are numbered, of that I am certain. None of the males know the number of mornings they have remaining. The best we hope for one another is to woo one of the Queens as her mate for a time. The unions never result in offspring; that is the job of the Architects. They can also keep a mate for a time, yet no legend describes the fate of these mates.

Being a Queen’s mate allows for comforts we dare not wish for as the mere thought of them seems to threaten their meager existence. I don’t know what it feels like to sleep in a bed, warm and safe. I have never had a hot meal. I don’t know what clean hands even look like. Are the lines as pronounced? Are the nails a different color? What color are they supposed to be? Legend says that when a Queen is done with her mate, she gives the mate these small comforts with the promise of never returning to the Maiden Land. He is set free. We all know where I stand with my belief in legends. I fear a fate worse than what I could imagine for a discarded mate. My profound hope is to go unnoticed. Do what I’m told, when I’m told. Do not talk unless I must. Never make eye contact. The man we called Blade made eye contact and we never saw him again.

She made eye contact first. I knew I was being watched as I tilled the land’s rich black soil. The earthen smell my only comfort in our now sweltering climate. I don’t recall the time before the melt when legend says the breeze that blew cooled your drenched skin. The hot breeze I know only seems to mock each drip down my back.

“You,” she shouted. Her fiery locks riding the breeze, giving the impression that those same locks were responsible for the temperature. As she glided toward me, her thin garment clinging her contour, my heart jolted again for the second time today. I quickly looked back to the shady soil until her voice forced my eyes to lock with hers. “You. What is your name.” Never questions. Only questions in statement form.

“They call me Hands,” I spoke while carefully studying her eyes. The color I’d only heard about in legends. They were a lavender blue that I’d only seen from a harvest of skyberries. A harvest I would never taste. But there was another element to them. A subtle glow. I did not break eye contact first. I knew the punishment. Her eyes drifted to my hands; the contact interrupted on her end while mine remained intact. I beheld her eyes studying my hands. Appreciation?

“Aptly named. Follow me.” My life spent only obeying never questioning, I swiftly stood and followed. Two paces behind and one to the right. It is the law.

The Architect lead me through the florid fragrance of the gardens and into the Maiden’s Circle where the statue stood. I took in as much of it as I could while keeping pace and placement. This time, the legend didn’t lie. The gilded statue, solid save for its centerpiece, was out of a dream. It gleamed as the sun itself and as likely as hot to a touch. The natural goddess holding out the locket, much too large to ever be worn, as it seemed to float on that scorching breeze. The centerpiece, a heart. We paced through the circle long enough for me to glimpse the element of this heart that validates legend – its point situated firmly where the nine would be on a clock. Has it always been this way? Or does it indeed advance, as legend suggests?

“When the heart strikes ten…”

Our quickened pace led us to a building far grander than any I'd seen. The garden flowers seemed to lead straight into the regal entrance and down the hallway. Bursting into a door, she stated, “This one. I want this one,” presenting me to a group of Architects.

“Kelsa. Daughter. You know our mates are chosen by the Queens. The mates we receive are engineered for us. You do not get to choose.”

She protested, “Banda got to choose and look what it produced – an army of strong, virile men that protect our borders day and night. Do you remember what it was like before them? I choose not to. Let me choose my mate.”

The elder studied her daughter and then me. Looking back at Kelsa, “We will council with the Queens tomorrow, high sun. Clean him up before then.”

Kelsa nodded with a whisper of a smile, paced back out of the grand building and back through the circle. This time, we entered a smaller alcove leading to another door. This one she opened with a large key. After pacing in behind her, Kelsa shut and relocked the door. A quick look through revealed our privacy. We were alone. I had never spoken to one of the women let alone be in the same room with one. Alone.

“Are you frightened?” Kelsa asked while exploring his sage eyes.

“I am frightened every day. Today, I am also curious.” Her smile suggested this had been her plan for months. I may never know the truth.

“This is where you will wash and rest until you are summoned tomorrow before high sun. Be ready. Food will be brought to you at usual increments.”

The woman they call Kelsa left me alone in my curious confusion. Each moment from here to eternity an utter mystery. I thought about the gilded locket I’d seen in the Maiden’s Circle and the heart’s position. Legend says that last time the locket opened, the world melted and would forever be disparate.

“When the heart strikes ten, it will open again.”

As current time hovered at nine, I had an unspeakable feeling that this legend, this one, may hold truth.