Guardians by Design - Land

The Biodome

Festelda snuck into Reblex’s sleeping quarters before the sun had risen. With no sign of Dahj or Brenloru, she took advantage of their distraction to satisfy her curiosity. Brenloru’s comments still coursed through her head, but she was unsure if her anger was warranted. Brenloru had not been incorrect, just abrasive.

Creeping to his bed, she touched his arm to gently wake the ram. His eyes were already open, staring at the ceiling through eyes glazed over by a clouded mind. Without a sound, they made their way down the hallway towards the landing room, occasionally stepping over various rodents that had slept in the middle of the path.

Awkwardly gesturing towards the roots hanging from the ceiling, Festelda attempted to encourage Reblex to grab them without saying it. As she flailed her arms and jumped in the air, Reblex’s cheeks turned red in frustration. Finally, she ran around his back, hopped onto his shoulders, and reached out to grab a root. Reblex felt her weight leave his shoulders. He looked up to find that she was no longer present.

Festelda stood in the cold, snow-littered field outside the Homestead. Stubborn enough to stick around into early spring, frigid nights still accommodated hard-packed patches of ice. Melting during the day only to refreeze at night fortified the slick plots. Littered in sticks, needles, and mud displaced from high winds, the patches slowly leaked water down the hill into the valley below.

Reblex appeared beside her, falling to the ground before cursing loudly. “What, was that?” he shouted.

“Shhh! Transportation. However, it is the only root network I know of that will do that,” she said, turning to scan the mountains behind her.

“There,” Festelda said quietly, picking the path of least resistance that appeared to gain altitude quickly.

The pair headed west with haste. Festelda knew they weren’t technically doing anything wrong, but the feeling of a covert mission gave her a rush. It was best not to raise any questions from Dahj or Brenloru about their destination anyway. She pretended that it was critical to stick to the bases of trees and only move under the guise of the shadows as to not be spotted by a sentry.

“Hey! A tunnel?” Reblex said, pausing by one of the larger ice packs after leaping across a narrow, shallow stream.

The spring snow pack sprawled across a steep grade facing north. Mountain snow fueled a stream that carved its way underneath the snow pack, creating an arched tunnel with waved ridges.

“I can fit in here!” Festelda said, entering to investigate.

Merely inches above her head, the roof of the ice tunnel dripped water on the back of her neck. The sound rushing water was amplified by, and echoed off the frigid walls. Small sticks and branches poked out of the receding base. Various large rocks and logs ricocheted water to the surrounding porous walls, speeding up the process of erosion.

“We just came from the Homestead of wood and rock tunnels… This is like, a Homestead of water and ice tunnels!” Festelda noted metaphorically, exploring the tiny, temporary fantasy land.

“I’d hate to see tunnels of pumice and magma!” Reblex called safely from the exit. “Come on! Get out of there before one of my horns collapses the thing! The ascension is just a little further west!” His voice echoed loudly off the cylindrical ice cave.

***

The pair made their way up steep grade as the sun rose from the east. Early morning shadows were cast from jagged peaks beside them, shading their path. For hours, Reblex appeared to be unphased. Barely breaking a pant, his powerful legs pushed him higher as Festelda’s short extremities caused her to lag behind.

“Reb… please… oh my land. Slow down!” she cried, looking for something to drink. The snow had grown deeper, and the rocks more rugged. Slick ice froze to the top of loose shale as the pair gained altitude. Festelda was wasting too much time on sound footing, and Reblex was growing anxious as the day went on.

The tree line had ended miles ago. Cedar, nor pine, was able to take root in this inhospitable ground. Soil was deep beneath the layer of shattered stone and the temperatures were frigid.

Festelda felt exposed and vulnerable without anything vertical nearby to escape to. Bushes had dwindled to mere new growth poking through shale, desperately attempting to seek nourishment from the unforgiving land. Whining every time her weight shifted from ice or moving rock finally made the ram pause for her. He waited for her to catch up, then offered his horn. Exhausted, she grabbed on and was pulled up to his back. Patting him on the head and shifting her vials, she made himself comfortable on his shoulders, grateful for the pity he had taken on her.

Reblex picked up his pace, responding to the increased strength of the wind. Grey clouds moved in from the west, overcasting the vast sky. Wind mixed with light rain pelted the pair in the side of the face. Festelda had turned her head away to protect herself, tightly clutching his horns to avoid being blown off into the knee-deep snow.

Even with his extensive experience of this mountain range, Reblex seemed to be losing his bearings in the relentless weather conditions. Canopies were nonexistent, and the gusts were only growing stronger as they gained altitude. Rain turned to ice, further advancing the tactics of its brutal assault. It was time to find somewhere to take shelter until this storm blew over; finding this place of lore was not worth risking both their lives.

From her shoulder-top vantage point, Festelda scanned the adjacent mountain peaks. It seemed hopeless to find any sort of cover to escape exposure at this altitude. One spot, however, caught her eye; a mountain face that seemed… dry – in the distance – untouched by the particularly brutal weather. It connected to the surrounding mountains, forming a bowl shape. In her current position, the rest of the mountain face was not visible. It seemed to be their only option.

Wordlessly, Festelda tugged on the ram’s horn to gain his attention through the howling wind. Pointing and nodding, she set coordinates for the vessel that carried her through the ever-rising sea of white. He responded by putting his head down and trudging in a straight line towards the peculiar spot of land.

Clumps of frost accumulated on her eye lids and whiskers as she squinted through slits. She could no longer feel her nose, and her tiny fingers gripping Reblex’s horns had gone numb. The black mask that banded her face had officially turned white.

Reblex dropped in altitude towards a canyon that led to the edge of the bowl-cut mountain face. The V-shaped gorge had collected fresh, powdery snow, fallen from the surrounding mountain peaks. Matching Reblex’s chest height, it further inhibited his movement. Festelda could feel his exaggerated steps reverberate through his body, threating to shatter his knees with every brutal impact as they descended. Visibility had begun to clear, however, revealing a clear cliff face. In fact, it was quite green.

Through the wet snowflakes, mist, and overcast skies, Festelda recognized trees growing out of the side of the cliff face. Damp mosses blanketed boulders that the mountains had been constructed upon. She questioned if the sight could be real; like a mountainous mirage. Once again only using pointing gestures and nods, she altered the ram’s direction. Drawn towards the thought of relief and warmer weather, he gained his second wind to keep pushing.

Reblex stepped to the edge of a ravine that dropped into a bowl-shaped depression in the land. The ridgeline circled the very top, bordering a unique habitat hundreds of feet below them. Sun broke through the dense cloud cover to shed its rays on the hidden region, offering its heat to no land higher than the ridgeline. Warm rays bathed the pair, shielding them from snow mixed with rain.

Festelda turned to find that the harsh weather behind them was no longer audible, unable to encroach beyond the invisible protective barrier. Snow had stopped falling here, and her facial fur had already begun to thaw. Beyond them, what had once been perceived as a small plot of land now opened up to acres of green fields littered with bushes, trees, grasses, and flowers. Many plants were recognizable, and native to the territory at the base of the mountain. Other species of flora were completely foreign to the pair. A waterfall fell down the cliff face to the west, fueling a strong river that ran directly down the center of the protected region.

Pollen drifted through the air, tickling Festelda’s nostrils as her brain struggled to decipher its exact origins. She curled and stretched her fingers, blood flow increased, and melted snow dripped to Reblex’s shoulders. “Where… are we?” she asked, scanning the valley littered in foreign plants. They varied greatly in size, and some appeared to be struggling to grow.

“We’re here… I guess?” Reblex said under his breath, then moved to descend the closest rocks that would provide solid footing.

The cliff face seemed intentionally steep leading into an ancient crater, possibly created by an explosion or an immense meteor. No animal that lacked the capability of flight or climbing skills as exceptional as Reblex would be able to access this place.

Although many of the species of flora were alien to the pair of explorers, most seemed to be thriving in this environment. Low standing shrubs had long, jagged leaves that tapered at the end, which danced playfully in the light breeze. Taller trees had thin, wax-like bark that sparkled in the sunlight, with branches that hung to the ground sprouting tendrils abundant with deep green leaves.

Other species were not as successful. Various trees had grown vertically before warping and bending completely over in an arching fashion, their tops ending back in the ground. They were either too weak to support their own weight, or significantly directionally challenged. Some bushes were lack-luster cosmetically as well; only growing leaves on one side, their opposite side was completely barren. Low-standing flowers had shriveled and died, even in their earliest stages of life.

Patches of tall grasses had rigid blades that stood straight into the air. Festelda warned not to step directly on the spikes out of fear of injury. Denying her caution, he stepped directly on them to find they wilted immediately upon contact.

Festelda hoped off Reblex’s shoulders. Her muscles had regained feeling, and blood flowed to her extremities. The excitement of discovering a new variety of plants to experiment with, and the possibility of finding something poisonous was overwhelming. A long stretch accompanied by a deep moan followed, then approached what she could only assume was a stunted a tree. The species was covered in a sickly bark of deep yellows and reds; generally nature’s colors of caution.

Bark of the bulbous plant was as thin as its brittle leaves, and easily peeled away when scraped with her small claw. Its growth seemed to be severely stunted, and resembled a root crop. The thick trunk had grown wider at the base than the tree was tall, quickly tapering to a narrow crown that only displayed a few sickly leaves similar in color to the tree’s bark. Only barely besting Reblex’s height, Festelda swore it must have been over one hundred years old, and wished she could count the rings to confirm.

“Some of these plants… they’re suffering,” Festelda said solemnly. Scanning the field to record all species present as she rubbed thin bark between her fingers, she recognized none.

“These,” Reblex agreed, kneeling to inspect a plant with a thick, deep-blue stem. It had grown to about three feet high before wilting over, unable to hold up its own weight. “It should have flowered by now in this climate.”

“This brush…” Festelda moved towards one that had only managed to grow leaves in broken patches. Looking to the sky, she found that the sides barren of leaves were populated in flowers that only faced north to south. “Even the softest rays of sun scorch the buds of this plant. It can only bare growth on its north-south side… Pitiful.” Using a loose stick, she grazed the brittle leaves. They crumpled and cowered with minimal coercion.

Flowers populated the bush on the ends of rigid, otherwise barren branches. The pedals were streaked in an intimidating red color that made Festelda wary. The leaves that did manage to grow were bright green dotted in sickly yellow. They were long and oval shaped, covered in waxy polish. “Pitiful… but possibly potent,” she said, pinching a few using her mortal and pedestal to avoid contact with her fingers. She ground the leaves, then dripped the oily deposit into a pouch from her side. The oil smelled of rot, causing her nose to scrunch.

“A plant that protects nothing,” a voice said. The brush piquing Festelda’s interest rustled.

Festelda jumped back, nearly dropping her tools and the oil she had gathered. A creature unveiled himself, carelessly allowing many of the branches and leaves to brush against his arm and side of his shell.

He towered over the raccoon despite his stubby, leathery legs. Small, pointed toenails stuck out of his trunk-like feet. His torso was long, however, seemingly stretched through the plated shell protecting his chest. The creature resembling a tortoise able to stand erect.

“Who…” Festelda stuttered.

“I was never really given a name,” the tortoise interrupted. He stared down at her over his sharp, beak-like face. His age was obvious. Loose, wrinkled skin was seemingly draped over his skull. Bags under his eyes hung deep, leaking tears unrelated to emotion.

“You were wise not to touch that plant little one,” the tortoise groaned. He reached his long arm covered in thick, brown hair to claw at one of the yellow-dotted leaves. “Incredibly poisonous, yet fails to grow in any weather conditions other than the present.”

“You’re… able to touch it, though.” Festelda said.

“Well I’ve been around it for long enough. Took a while to form an immunity, I’ll admit.” He dropped a leaf into his gaping, beak-like mouth. “I have grown resistant to many unique species in the area. There are quite a few, after all!”

Reblex approached from the side to inspect the massive shell the tortoise carried on his back. Dome-shaped and reinforced, it had shallow triangular points covering the surface. Should it be solid, it would likely weight a thousand pounds. Much of the shell appeared to be quite smooth, presumably from friction. No scratch marks or signs of attacks visible across the shell; perhaps the tortoise had never needed to use it for defense. It was apparent that the tortoise had spent most of his time laying on his back, bathing in the sun rather than fighting for his territory.

The sound of beating wings stole Reblex’s attention from the shell. A large bird fluttered down to join the new company. It stood as tall as the tortoise, with a much straighter posture to its thin body. Only two long, slim legs with bumpy, textured skin, supported it. Black feathers grew from his arms, Allowing the option of flight. Its torso was covered in short, black feathers streaked with white.

“New residents?” the bird asked, only slightly opening a sharp, triangular, yellow beak.

“Appears so,” the tortoise replied. “Although, this one appears to be a mere… raccoon. No notable differences. The ram is coming along quite nicely – pity he was deemed a failure.”

“Failure?” Reblex butted in. “What are you talking about old man?”

“Well, the Designer sent you here when he deemed you unworthy of being a Guardian, did he not?” the tortoise replied, taken aback.

The plants surrounding them stood motionless. Wind came through the valley in controlled intervals, as if on a set schedule.

“You know about the Designer? The Guardians?” Festelda asked.

“Well of course. I was supposed to be a Guardian,” the tortoise replied, turning to her. “Unfortunately, my hands never developed to the Designer’s liking.” He rolled leathery stumps over before her. Tiny, failed fingers capped in sharp nails protruded from them. A nub on the side of his hand – an attempted thumb – lacked any practical use. “Although my posture and defensive traits were successful, the Designer decided my sluggish speed and lack of thumbs deemed me unworthy, so I was sent here.”

“How long ago?” Festelda asked.

“Hundreds of years. I have accepted many generations of rejected Guardians.” The tortoise eyed Festelda up and down. “Rodents, birds, deer, elk, badgers… You, little one, appear to be omnivorous. Were you really eligible to be a Guardian?”

“I… well… not yet. I’m working on it,” she replied bashfully.

“I knew it,” Reblex said under his breath. He picked up a nut fallen from a nearby tree. Long and cylindrical, the shell looked softer and less protective than the average from their region. Rolling it between his fingers with moderate pressure easily split the weak shell, revealing nothing edible.

“I was sent here after the Designer deemed my species, the woodpecker, to be too vulnerable,” the bird next to the tortoise said. He brushed a hand through the bright red, mohawk-like plume atop his head that pointed diagonally up and back away from him.

“I am not a reject,” Reblex said, cheeks turning red as he threw down the empty nut. “I am actually a Guardian. I awoke in the Cedar Homestead after my… rejuvenation.” Stuttering, he seemed to realize how ridiculous his claims sounded mid-sentence.

“Well. Good for you, ram,” the tortoise said bitterly. “Then what brings you here?”

“I have heard of this place in tales,” Reblex replied. “What exactly… is it for?”

“Testing, mostly. This old crater is climate controlled to offer ideal habitation year-round. We do not experience extreme weather patterns here. As you can see, there are many rejected plant species, along with the animals.” The tortoise’s legs grew weary of standing. He leaned back, plopping his butt into the rigid grasses on a small hill, causing them to wilt and fall flat instantly. Stubbly legs stuck out in front of him, revealing the thickly-calloused bottoms of his feet.

“How long do his creations typically last here?” Festelda asked.

“It depends,” the woodpecker replied. “Some hours, some years. If the plants last long enough, they are deemed successful, then transplanted to suitable places of the planet. The animals, however, never leave. We are all failed subjects.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“What do you expect me to do? Hike up that hill?” The old tortoise scoffed, and attempted to scratch a spot under his shell with furry hands.

“I stay here to keep him company. I suppose I have never really attempted to leave,” the woodpecker pondered. “There are many trees here suitable to drill homes into.”

“It was only after my death that I gained the suitable physical qualities to be a Guardian,” Reblex said in a low tone. “You didn’t… evolve after you fell?”

“Death,” the woodpecker said under his breath, eyebrow raised.

Festelda gasped. A sickly squirrel had pitifully crawled through tall, brown grass behind the group. Its limbs were long and lanky, each better described as arms than legs. The creature had four spindly fingers on each paw, with a fifth, small nub that protruded out of the sides of the hands: failed thumbs. Its breaths were short and labored as it desperately searched for food and water.

Reblex swore sharply at the sight of the creature. “Aren’t you upset?” he asked the pair of complacent residents. “He augmented your bodies! Only to decide you were unworthy of a decent existence, and exiled you to this forsaken place…”

Festelda watched anger wash over the ram. The look on his face conveyed the consideration of charging the long-limbed squirrel to terminate it underfoot. She worried he had convinced himself it would be better to put the thing out of its misery. “Reblex… no. It’s still a living creature,” she said, grabbing his arm.

“His motive is understandable,” the tortoise said lightly. “The predators face no threat. Soon their population will control this planet. You cannot expect the Designer to develop a suitable enemy to the enemies right away, can you? Thus, we are stepping stones on a path to an answer.”

“I suppose that is an… optimistic view of your situation,” Festelda said. “Noble of you.”

“This location must never be revealed,” the tortoise wheezed. “We need this area. A sanctuary for those with nowhere else to go. Please never speak of this to anyone.”

“Do you ever wish to leave?” Festelda offered.

“Perhaps. When the predators are gone.” The tortoise rolled backwards onto his shell, facing his stomach towards the sun to warm. His limbs dangled weakly.

Festelda turned to examine the field surrounding them, experiencing mixed emotions. She appreciated the uniqueness of every plant here, and pitied that none would ever flourish in the real world. If only she could take a few with her – perhaps the miniature trees with wide, waxy pedals, or the gaping, flowered plant with mouth-like leaves, ready to swallow an unsuspecting rodent. The species were limitless, though she knew that they wouldn’t last a day in natural soil.

“Are you comfortable here?” Festelda asked the sunbathing tortoise.

“For… the most part,” he replied with an exaggerated yawn. “Back in the region of the Cedar Homestead, my species was quite cold for most of the year. I didn’t like it there much. That’s why the Designer offered me fur on most of my body.” He lazily lifted one of his furry arms.

“But now here, this darn stuff… too difficult to manage for an old guy like me… it just collects dirt and becomes matted under my shell. An example of too many ideas, yet none very practical.” Sighing, the tortoise struggled to reach an itch underneath shell and dirty, tangled fur.

“Jahev,” he continued, “please show our guests out. Do not let them take anything.”

Jahev the woodpecker kept a close eye on the pair as they made their way to the path from which they descended. Festelda paused near a group of tall, slim trees that grew vertically. About ten individual trees had woven themselves together before strangling one another; preventing both air and water from traveling through the trunks. Their tops were now decrepit and void of leaves.

At the base of the cluster laid a skeleton of what appeared to be an elk. Male, judging by the rack, but the points had grown sporadically and curled in random directions or complete circles. The limbs were what caught her attention, however. The creature’s skeleton lacked hooves, and instead had the bones of four fingers – with an additional short, gnarled bone on the side. A pitiful sigh escaped Festelda as Jahev encouraged her forward.

Reblex scaled the face of the crater towards the exit with Festelda perched on his back. The air grew colder as they approached the invisible, dome-shaped wall that stabilized the climate within the crater. Snow mixed with rain flurried towards the pair, instantly melting and falling to the ground as droplets when hitting the transparent barrier.

The memory of the pain they had endured to venture here numbed Festelda’s mind as she felt harsh air seep through the barrier. The sensation felt like icy fingers eagerly reaching, straining to grab her face and neck. Reblex turned to Jahev, who was fluttering his wings, suspending himself in air as he watched them exit. Reblex nodded and stepped through the barrier into the pelting snow. The wind instantly deafened, muting the thoughts that raced through Festelda’s head. Clutching Reblex’s horns, she tightly shut her eyes.

***

Festelda and Reblex silently returned to the Homestead, both digesting the information they had gathered differently. She wondered what it was going to take for her, too, to be cast aside if deemed unworthy. Already in the species category of ‘omnivore’, it was likely that the Designer saw her as expendable. She accepted the concept of trial and error, but pitied those who didn’t make it to the rank of ‘Guardian’. To see that they were at least content in their controlled environment was comforting, however.

“Are you feeling better?” Festelda asked gently, breaking the silence as their feet met dryer ground.

“I guess. Some things just feel unjustified,” Reblex replied.

“You seemed really upset. These waves of anger come in pretty strong bursts, huh?”

“The Designer knew about that. Wanted to know how I ‘unlock it’, or something. My only explanation was when a threat is present, it quickly rises,” he said, stepping over a fallen tree.

“So, you felt threatened there?”

“Kind of. I mean, the threat being ending up in that place. But I knew I wasn’t in immediate danger.”

“Odd. Perhaps the conditions have been altered in this new life.” Festelda rounded a patch of ice to avoid skidding. She questioned what would make him want to take his temporary anger out on the squirrel; an innocent bystander.

“Thanks for defending Henden, Reb,” Festelda said after a pause.

“Defend him? Did I?”

“Well, you gave him a chance, at least. Trials are important. Omnivore or not, they deserve a voice before they’re evaporated,” Festelda said.

The pair crested a hill that led to the transportation roots of the Homestead. “I don’t really know why I did it,” he said.

Festelda scanned for an entry root.

“What he did was vicious and unforgivable. I see that now, but in the moment, I understood him. Never thought I would defend an omnivore.”

“Perhaps in the moment, you were defending my teachings, and didn’t want the blame to be passed to my instruction,” Festelda offered.

“I guess so…” Reblex replied. Festelda had already grabbed a root and disappeared.