She was mostly happy with her life in Joro, by Cahir’s side. She simply yearned to have a child to share their life with.
Teivel looked away from the woman and back to the crowd. “We cannot tolerate absentees or misbehavior. Those are the rules.” He waved his hand to the Rozzers, telling them not to interfere with the woman or her children.
The Rozzers, who had started to step toward her from their spot on the wall, moved back to their original position, their swords falling back to their sides.
The woman remained kneeling on the ground with her daughters, their cries softening into sniffles. A few bystanders helped lift them off the rocky ground. Dirty streaks now marked the girls’ faces as they brushed away tears, and dust now covered their worn-out dresses.
“Now, for the important part,” said Teivel with a dramatic pause to ensure that all were listening. “But first, our prayer in honor of our lord, Lord Mordred.” Teivel nodded his head to the Rozzers on the landing above.The Rozzers turned around and flipped the switch to play the song.
The seraphic voice of the same prayer they heard each morning began to fill the speakers across the city, the music an eerie reminder of why everyone was still alive.
Oh, our lord, Mordred,
protects us from these evils that consume,
and prevents the Monsters who dwell,
from us meeting our gloom.
The gods wished us farewell,
but his love allows Joro to bloom.
When the prayer ended, Teivel perked up. “And now…” he paused again before raising his voice, “Lord Mordred!”
Teivel extended his arm toward the doorway, and the lord stepped out. His hooded black robe billowed behind him, flowing like wind through the darkness.
Lord Mordred walked across the stage, threw his hood back, and smiled broadly, showing noticeable gaps in his teeth. His scarred, lifeless skin couldn’t distract from his tall stature as his long legs carried him to the podium.
The entire crowd knelt in a gesture of respect. Soft murmurs of love and gratitude spread among the majority. Seda and Cahir joined them, pressing their hands against the rough ground, and watched the shadows of birds flying overhead.
The crowd chanted, “Our lord, we serve. Our lord, we love.”
“Thank you all for coming. Please rise,” sounded his booming yet pleasant voice through the speakers.
Lord Mordred gestured broadly with a theatrical display of his arms. “We’re here to celebrate the nine-hundred-and-ninety-ninth-and-a-half Wyrd with two gifts for everyone who remains after today’s events. Only those who consistently demonstrate their love and dedication to our society each day will receive these tokens of appreciation.”
Two?
Each Wyrd typically came with a single gift. Sometimes it was an extra day off work; other times, it was a silver token. Many in the crowd looked up with surprise and excitement, with children jumping around and clapping.
Lord Mordred responded with a broad smile.
“Everyone will receive three additional food tokens for extra rations upon the completion of today’s Wyrd. Please remember not to spend all of it at once and to save some for a rainy day,” he said.
Rain never fell on Joro soil with the home high in the sky. The aquifer, flowing from the ground, moved through the city and was the only source of water and relief. She could only see the rain patter against the dome on the stormiest days, a gentle reminder of their safety.
She had always yearned to feel the gentle touch of rain in her palms and on her cheeks, but the idea of leaving the dome was too terrifying to consider.
For some mysterious reason, animals and people could pass through the glittering barrier, but neither rain nor monsters could. For safety reasons, no one was allowed to leave without prior approval. A large, heavily protected wall surrounded the bottom part of the dome, with only a few exits allowing passage beyond.
Lord Mordred continued, “I want to thank everyone for your dedication to our society. Your efforts have helped us sustain ourselves. As we approach the one thousandth year of our victory over the monsters, we have repeatedly improved our education, allowing us to offer stronger protections for our families.”
Lord Mordred scanned the crowd and pointed at a man with a young child. “You, sir, are a prime example of why we succeed!” He bared his jagged grin once more.
A light applause echoed through the stadium, and Seda rose onto her tiptoes to get a better view of the man in the crowd. The man had dark hair, and a small boy, about seven years old, stood with him. The man bowed deeply, and when he stood up, a proud smile with reddened cheeks appeared as he looked at his young son.
“As for our second gift, this Wyrd, we will select forty individuals instead of fifty who have not been committed to Joro’s success. These forty have been given more than fifteen years to secure their place inour society by bearing children, but have failed to do so. They will be sent to the Camp as a final effort to redeem themselves, where our doctors will do everything possible to ensure successful reproduction,” Lord Mordred said as his eyes slowly scanned the crowd.
