<div dir="ltr"><div>Part 2b of Blossom</div><div> </div><div>---- </div><div> </div>Lori looked over and saw Ophelia still sitting at the table, hunched over and watching everyone dance. Lori didn't feel much like dancing any more, and she remembered that Ophelia needed some cheering up. So she made her way back over to the table. "He smelled a heifer," Ophelia said. "She was sitting earlier at that very table. That's why he stopped. He got his dances mixed up." "I figured something like that," Lori said, sitting down. "You decided not to dance?" Ophelia looked at her, her eyes troubled. "You were lost in that crowd. Maggie was lost in that crowd. It was like you weren't even there." "Believe me, I wasn't. I wished I wasn't." Lori sighed. "I've handled enough livestock for one day." Ophelia winced. "Don't call them livestock." "Sorry. Bad joke." She needed to get back on topic. "Ophelia, how are you feeling? Your brother told me you weren't looking so good." "That's what he said?" she said, a bit distantly. "Yes, and I'm a bit worried too. You've been more distracted than usual." Ophelia nodded. "Doesn't it feel, sometimes, like there's nowhere to go to get away from everyone, and their watchful eyes? Always trying to be critical, and nudge you in the right direction? In their eyes, the 'right' direction?" "Yeah, all the time. That's why we need to talk to each other." Lori looked up at the crowd. Maggie was now leading the chain. Nancy was among those forming the arch, though she was looking out into the night, as if looking for someone. "Like what we're doing right now, while everyone else is busy. I know it's weird to have Mallory be a man now, but I promise the five of us are still friends. That much won't change." Ophelia took a slow breath. "I hope so. But… everything changes, doesn't it? Nothing can stay the same forever. The littlest things can change everything." Ophelia had always been a strange girl. She was a nice girl, yes. When the grown-ups spoke, she could listen and answer them. When the five of them were together on a happy day, Ophelia could tease them with a smart joke or a snide comment. But sometimes she would have melancholic episodes where she wouldn't play with them or join their chores, where instead she would head further down the creek to wash herself or mend her clothes. Her parents didn't mind, as she always returned bright and cheerful, and she did her best work by the river. A couple years ago, when Ophelia was nine, Nancy spied on her, hoping to dispel some rumors that she was practicing witchcraft. She told Lori what she saw, that Ophelia had been speaking to herself in a flurry of words, as if holding half a conversation, or practicing one. Nancy sat for half an hour trying to piece together what the conversation was, but Ophelia would keep pausing suddenly, switching subjects, or saying something unrelated. Nancy decided that Ophelia was just shy and nervous holding conversations. Still, Lori couldn't help but feel maybe Ophelia was lost, like her. Maybe she couldn't do anything about the rumors of witchcraft, but she could look out for Ophelia, and be the eyes she needed. Lori leaned over and hugged Ophelia. She saw Marcus looking over at them with a slight smile, as he and the other blossoms continued clapping along with the dance. Lori smiled back. "I look forward to Marcus sitting with us again. Perhaps on Equinox." Lori waited for Ophelia to say something, but she didn't, and so after a while Lori let her go and watched the dance. The chain was now weaving itself around the stage, the five blossoms watching them closely. Suddenly, the center blossom, the one named Amos, kicked back his chair and stepped onto the table. The fiddlers nearly skipped a beat but quickly launched into an even jauntier tune as he dove into the crowd, which instantly parted for him as he rolled and grabbed a shocked quail woman and began to dance with her. The crowd was shocked but quickly cheered this exciting turn of events. They spread out into a ring to give the two of them more room to dance. Around and around they danced, but barely a few seconds into a full dance, he suddenly switched his partner out for another woman, this one about her age. Lori blinked. No way. That was Nancy he was dancing with. Nancy, who for a brief moment looked absolutely terrified to be the center of attention. From somewhere in the crowd, Lori could pick out Maggie's distinctive laughter. Nancy quickly stifled her fear, and danced as perfectly and rhythmically as the quail before her. Suddenly she was swapped out, and Amos danced with yet another young girl, grinning like all the world was watching. Nancy slunk through the crowd as she made her way towards the two of them, keeping the tables between herself and the crowd as she sat beside Ophelia. Maggie was not far behind, grinning impishly. Lori opened her mouth to say something. Nancy shot her a look that said, "Don't." "Nice footwork, Nancy," Maggie said as she got in earshot. "Coward," Nancy glowered at her. "If you want to dance so much, why aren't you in that circle?" "I wouldn't want to compete for his affections," Maggie sat down, still smiling. "He's chosen you, after all." "He grabbed me." "You must've been smiling at him." Ophelia looked down, her shoulders tense. "I did not." "I've always said you're the prettiest girl among us. No offense, Lori." Nancy swallowed. "I only wanted to see him dance. If I had known he was going to pull in people, I wouldn't have gotten in close." "I'm jealous, honestly. Amos has good looks, a big house. And he's rich. That quail woman is already married, I think. But you're the first bachelorette he's danced with tonight. Everyone's going to be jealous of you." "No one will care." "I bet Tom will care," Maggie teased. Nancy's frown twisted. "Why would he care?" "Don't pretend you don't know the hunter's son. I've seen you sneaking off with him into the woods every few weeks or so." Nancy's face grew red as she smiled thinly. "Who have you told?" "Oh, I haven't told anyone. I don't gossip about my friends. But I have heard a few other people talking. It's hard to keep it quiet in a small town like this." Nancy sat down, with a tight embarrassed smile. "I guess it is. Well, I didn't want to say anything out loud. You know how it is about pre-curse romances. I don't care at all about Amos, but... I've been hoping Tom would show up tonight." "Tom isn't here?" Lori asked. "Late night hunting. Game is most active at sundown, and all the celebrating tonight will drive them farther away than usual. The larder's been gutted for the blossom, so they need to stock up for the next few weeks." "I hear there's a bit more game than usual in the woods, since that wolf pack chased them out of the mountains," Ophelia added. "So he shouldn't be in there too long." Lori nodded. "So I'm not the only one who missed out on the blossom." "How long ago did you start seeing him?" Maggie said. "Couldn't have been more than a few months." "That's about right," Nancy said. "I'm still new to courtship, though, but... please don't take it the wrong way if I ask you not to talk about it." One of the most commonly-held superstitions about the curse was that entering a courtship while still uncursed would doom it to failure. There were plenty of stories in which only one partner became a gender morph, dooming them to a forbidden, unholy love. Not just between children, but outsiders who brought their wives or lovers along, and cleaved whole families apart, were common stories. Maggie nodded. "Tom's sixteen, isn't he? He's probably got the child curse anyway." Ophelia was starting to relax, and she spoke up. "It won't matter, they don't call you a child morph until you're eighteen. And still not until the summer festival." "Bah, let people be kids," Maggie said. "Look, Nancy, I have no issues with you and Tom. If he wants to be with you, I say go for it. Live in the moment. You have nothing to lose." "Yes, but..." Nancy was frowning again, "you've never believed in superstitions." What distinguished superstition from tradition? Perhaps someday, one would become the other. It was tradition that a woman never ask a man for courtship. The suitresses of a blossom went against that tradition, but for good reason; a new blossom needed to establish himself quickly as a man, and the suitresses as women. Traditions died hard, though, and there were still so many traditions that were men-only, and women-only. Years ago, one of the then-mayor's daughters had been betrothed to a Midland noble's son since they were little, shortly before Nasoj's curse had struck the valley. The noble had declined to call it off, believing that a childhood vow of betrothal was stronger than the curse. The daughter believed it as well, and since childhood she obsessed herself with courtly manners and rituals, dreaming of the day she could marry her man. One day as her maid was dressing her, a tragedy was discovered: telltale hairs and a ripening manhood. Before her eyes, her dreams of ladyship and wifehood had all been broken. Soon after the sad message was dispatched, she fled the house in her dressing gown and into a nearby barn, hiding in the hayloft and refusing to leave, despite the guards and the pleading of her father. Weeks passed. The mayor did all he could to make his new son comfortable. He took out the barn animals and had food delivered to the barn. The farmers were not allowed in; he sent them to the stables, and leased his private horses to Castle Grenier while he constructed a new barn to permanently house them. He brought courtesans into the barn to teach him court manners, privately so as not to embarrass himself. He brought in weapons masters to teach his son how to fight and wrestle, how to take a punch and endure pain. A full year passed, and the mayor's son, who had not emerged in all those months, yet delivered such brutal marks to his instructors, became something of a living legend. The mayor prepared a celebration that autumn for his new son's emergence. Yet there was some grumbling among the peasants about losing one barn and being forced to build another. Old Pog Bowyer, the grumpy gander, would grouse aloud about "the cheap little mansion they were building for a half-man's ego". Still, most of Twone welcomed a proper feast to accompany their harvest festival, and were happy for the baron's son to emerge. The story might have ended there, but a few days before the feast, another young gender morph in the middle of her change snuck into the barn and hid. The mayor's son himself stopped the guards from hauling the girl-turned-man out. He ordered the servants to train her as they had trained him. Over the next coming weeks, he visited the young girl, and trained her himself on how to be a man. More young male gender morphs would enter for training, and the mayor's son would continue to give them all lessons. Another full year passed by the time he deemed his first group of gender morphs ready, and he personally sponsored the feast for them, commissioning a poem to be read aloud at the beginning, titled "The Blossoms of Metamor''. It ended with the lines: Bloom upon us, the light among us all Bask in glory forever more; Keep watch over us, stay victorious O! Bright blossoms of Metamor! As mountains sing in splendid dawn And sweetly break the granger door Let sunlight dance aglow upon The blossoms new of Metamor A couple years later, some young lads started spreading their own version of the poem, called "The Blossoming of the Gourds", which began: Once there lived a maiden fair who had a lovely garden; One day as she was tilling there, The ground began to harden Her fingers dug the wetted earth, And thus was her reward: A fattened root that grew in girth The blossoming of the gourd Its skin was smooth with oily scent It glided as she picked it Her husband came home ill-content She asked for him to lick it He smelled the gourd and saw the land And he was much abhorred So out she went to show firsthand The blossoming of the gourd The next stanzas got more suggestive from there, with her gourd growing to monumental size while she went around asking people to taste it. Needless to say, attempts to suppress the bawdy verses only made it more popular. The mayor resorted to saying the original poem at the start of every feast thereon, emphasizing the beautiful message within. Whether people meant the term earnestly, or mockingly, the feasts came to be known as "blossoms", as were the newly revealed gender morphs. The fiddlers finally finished their tune, and as everyone dispersed into applause, Amos stepped onto the stage and held up his hands. "Attention, please!" Aside from a crying baby in the back, all became quiet. Amos held up his cup of ale, and looked down on them. "My friends, my countrymen, fellow citizens of Metamor. It is good to see so many people here tonight, to celebrate our transition, from children, to men." Nancy turned away, rolling her eyes as she glanced at Lori. Lori nodded sympathetically. Yes, it was going to be another "blossom speech" on the importance of being a man. "As you all know, it is a great responsibility that has been handed down on us. I know that some of you, including our own fathers and mothers, still see us as their darling young girls, even after that fine show we put on for you all." It was a nice little speech. Or it would've been, if the baby in the back didn't keep whimpering. A few of the child morphs had gone over to soothe the infant, and they seemed to be helping at least a little. "But it is thanks to all of you, and your generosity, that we stand here ready to provide for you, to shelter you, to stand armed at the gates of misfortune, and strike down the terrors of the night." The baby gave an ear-splitting scream. Several people chuckled, especially the parents who lived through newborn hellions of their own. Amos briefly glared at the baby, but he caught himself and turned back to the glass, adopting a contemplative pose. "There is a story I heard long ago, about a tribe of peoples from a distant land called the Maldori." Lori glanced at Marcus. Aside from a slightly askew smile, Marcus politely and placidly watched Amos. "The Maldori had a fable on why children never hold still for very long. Why their eyes always dart from one place to another. And why their minds always wander from one topic to another." He paused. By some miracle, the baby stayed quiet. "They say that, as children, we can see all the paths that lie open to us and in our future. As children, we hope to walk every single path; we try to see where each one leads; our minds lead us down every single path. And because of that, our feet and our eyes and our minds are always restless. "But then, we grow older, and our paths become fewer in number. And we become more careful to stick to our destination. Until one day, only two paths lay before us. That is the day where we choose our destiny. We commit ourselves to our road, and we resolve to see its end. Our eyes never stray then; our minds never wander. "As children, we have many paths to choose. Some are forced on us, others we discover for ourselves. There may be easy times ahead, or hard times. I think I speak for all of us when I say that I have never felt more ready to walk those paths, thanks to Twone and the warmth of its hearths and teaching, and to accept whatever fate lies before us." Marcus had a tight smile on his face -- and Lori couldn't blame him. The Maldori were a fairly obscure people. The only place she had heard of them had been six years ago, at a summer festival. Merchants had stopped to do business with the three villages; among them was a battle-scarred one-armed man whom Ophelia had been absolutely fascinated with. Mallory was equally curious, and so the five of them would corner him outside his tent to ask him questions. The story had been one of many stories the man told them of his native homeland. He told other stories, too -- of distant kingdoms, of ancient rituals, of savage Toreador heathens -- but Ophelia loved the little proverb about growing up, and asked Mallory over the years to tell it again and again. Lori honestly doubted Amos, or Amelia as she had once been, had deigned to speak with a foreign cripple. It should have been Marcus's story to tell. "And so, my friends," Amos held aloft his goblet, "let us walk together towards our futures, and ask the gods for only good fortune and bright skies to travel by. To Metamor, and to the future!" "THE FUTURE!" The crowd chanted in chorus. Those who were still near the tables lifted their mugs and drank the toast. A few applauded as well, and Amos waited for them to quiet down before he spoke again. "Now, I would thank our fine musicians for those songs of theirs. Now how about something the REST of you can dance to?!" The fiddlers laughed. They set their bows to the strings, one of them led off with a lively tune, and the other two joined in on counterpoint. The crowd clapped to the beat, and several of them jumped up to restart the dance, this time a free-for-all. Maggie practically jumped up from the table to join them. "'And if ya get to my age, young ones'," Ophelia murmured gravely, imitating the voice of the old Maldorian, "'you've got no road ahead, and all your life behind you.'" She smiled softly. "It's a better story when he told it." "Not every story has to be about loss," Nancy said, grimacing a bit. She had never cared much for the story, or for Ophelia's apparent fondness over a sad crippled old man. "No," Ophelia said, "but a good story needs some wisdom. Amos only told half the story, the half without the man who told it. That's not how stories work." "Well, I think it was a very interesting observation he made, and it was pretty good, the way Amos told it," Lori said. Nancy had a distant look, as if thinking back to the carnival. "Did we ever ask that man how the Maldori fell?" "I remember I asked," Lori said. "He never said." "'Not for innocent minds to hear,' is what he said," Ophelia said with distaste. "As if we never lost anyone before. He had a story there, and now we'll never hear it." "Well, maybe he's still alive," Lori mused, "still in that wandering circus. Some place where the Toreadors couldn't find him." "Maybe he's here in Metamor," Nancy said. Something about that felt wrong for Lori. She scanned the crowd, watching as everyone danced around the field, most of whom had partners, but some were switching from one partner to the next. Maggie was one of them. "Have either of you noticed Maggie's been a bit more… boisterous than usual?" "Boisterous!" Nancy smirked. "She was worried you were going to miss everything. She noticed that you rarely go dancing at festivals any more, like you're scared to join in. I, um… I saw you fall earlier. That didn't look like it was just an accident." Lori turned away so sharply that Nancy immediately changed the subject. "I wish Marcus could be sitting down here with us. It doesn't feel right that he's sitting up there, and we're down here." "I wish Maggie didn't tease about the 'child-bride' thing." Nancy sighed. "Well, at a certain age, men just don't hang around women any more. Not unless they're his sisters, or his wife, or his friends' wives. That's the way it's always been." A silence fell over them, a mutual despondency disguised by the music and the dancing of the village. The three girls watched them dance, unsure whether to join or watch. Nancy suddenly sat upright as she stared out towards the edge of the party. Lori followed her gaze and saw Tom the hunter's son walking in, hastily tying his shirt up. His face was blank and looking straight at the other men nearby, until he met Nancy's gaze and smiled. Apparently he had only just arrived from a hard day's hunt. Nancy looked away, but her eyes kept glancing over at Tom, her face reddening with shyness. Lori caught her eye and smiled. "Go on. Be bold. Enjoy yourself," she mouthed. Nancy cleared her throat and stood up. "Can't hurt to dance," she said to herself, and walked in Tom's direction. Lori drank her water and scanned the crowd to find her family. The future awaited them all, and she was more than ready to see where it would lead. </div>