Big Things, Little Things

Michael drones on in a seemingly endless mess of formalities and recounts. Sera sits on the other side of the desk, eyes stuck staring at his desk and thinking of nothing, his noise just a muffled buzz to her. For the first time in recent history, Michael looks up from the herculean ring binder, "Sera?"

"Yes?" Her eyes drift back to his half moon glasses and receding brown hair. He gathers that if wants her attention then he'll only get it for a short burst.

"Considering the, uh, circumstances… The Employment Board is going to designate you the role of Traveller as you enter your age of placement. But, as a formality, I have to officially offer you the position as mineralogist – as is your right through hereditation. Do you accept or decline?"

Her direct answer offers a thin veil of certainty, "I decline," but situations like these don’t allow time for one to think through things clearly.

"Noted for the record." He etches something onto various dotted lines with a chicken quill and ochre with his focus returned to the book of many documents.

"Is there nothing else I can do? Winder? Picker? I don't even know what a Traveller does." Sera feels that doubt worming its way from ambiguity to a quiver in the back of her throat.

He looks up again with strained effort, "All we have is temporary work clearing," he swallows the words like a mouthful of food too big to fit down his throat, "the collapse. Sera, I’m sorry-"

"No, Michael. I’ve had my fill of apologies."

"Yes, yes of course," he replies. Sera, glassy-eyed, has no way of intuiting that denying Michael this moment of connection cuts him deeply.

"So, Traveller," he says, reorientating the conversation back to business and pulling a circlet of single-toothed keys from his waist. "First in seventy-eight years. Here’s your patch - take it to the stores and they'll give you your due for the journey. Essentially - formally - the Board's said that we've nothing for you to do in our society. Rather than have you sit around and wait for a position to open, you'll travel to a neighbouring city to find work and fulfil yourself. And so on, so on, until you find a place with a society that needs you."

Confusion and anger about this rejection would overwhelm her were it not for the last solemn days polluting her every thought. She looks at the raggedy blue circle with a yellow T at its centre slid across the desk like a heretical artefact. She holds it between her fingers and stands to leave, only again to be called back to attention.

"One last formality to jot down for the record. Where's your intended destination?"

"No clue. Write whatever you want, leave it blank. Doesn't matter," she says with dejection, making sure to leave faster this time.

He calls after her, "Sera, as a Traveller you won't be able to return here." Whether she hears this or not, he'll never know. Still, he mumbles a farewell to himself, "Blessings to the Pe-" but catches himself on the edge of a tired saying, "be well."

She leaves the building in the same haze that’s clouded her the last few days. Thin pieces of sunlight guide her way as the giant steel oval that encases her city is wedged open into two pieces during the day. Various structures sit halfway in the ground; excavation teams shovel deeper daily to pull the last ores and materials from beneath their feet. All to be seen within the dome is just sandstone upon sandstone upon sandstone.

On Michael's instruction, Sera makes her way to the stores where an elderly man, outwardly satisfied with the station passed down to him through his mother and her father before her, looks at the patch suspiciously. Though, when he sees the face and hears the name, it awkwardly clicks for him. "First in my lifetime," he mutters so lowly it can't have been for anyone in particular.

No words are shared between the two – no condolences or queries, apologies or well wishes. Sera is grateful in a small solemn way for this as he stacks supplies on the counter - more supplies than she can imagine ever needing. She even receives some metal shavings to give to whomever she ends up with as a gift from the city of sand. The elderly man almost winces when parting with the shavings from their silver walls.

"Blessings to the People in the Picture," he says as she organises all the items into a knapsack. She doesn’t return the sentiment and leaves for home. The walk back feels like the longest of her life – up and down so many pale yellow steps and through long shadowy arches and corridors.

She is unsurprised to find someone awaiting her at home, sitting in the lounge room where they lost so many nights to conversations about everything and nothing.

Mandie glances down to the patch barely peeking through the creases in Sera's hand, "Holy shit. You’re off then?"

"Seems it."

"That's insane, I thought Traveller roles were myths," Sera simply shrugs as a reply, unable to process the magnitude herself. "I can’t blame you. But I can be upset at you for leaving me."

"Patch is yours if you want it. I don’t, I think."

"So I’d be taking off and you’d be stuck here instead? No point in that really," she says, similarly to how she phrases everything - without any note of seriousness. But, the moment she stands to walk over to Sera, a note of unexpected sympathy sneaks in.

"I know it has to be this way," Mandie says, "that this is how everything turns out and we take different paths from here – I just don’t want to believe it yet." She saunters over slowly. Sera knows what’s coming; she wants to recoil harshly. The idea of someone touching her – showing pity for her – makes her angry. But, as those arms wrap around her body, she can’t help but sink into the embrace. The anger melts away, giving way to a sadness she was refusing to feel.

"Come on. It’s shitty, the worst, but it’s gonna get better when this is all just memories you're telling someone someday." She pats Sera’s back before pulling away and gingerly holding her shoulders. Sera takes in a deep breath to steel herself, already feeling some embarrassment at the sudden emotional collapse.

"You gonna be there to see me off?"

"Sort of - I’m a Winder remember? Look up to the roof and know I’m up there letting you out of this place. Speaking of which, I’m already gonna be late because you took so long. And you know how long of a climb it is to get up there."

She embraces Sera one last time before leaving, both of them lingering a moment longer and sharing the weight of what one hug can mean. Mandie's fingers catch on the corner of the doorway and she peaks back in, "Remember," then points two fingers at her eyes and gestures to the sky. And just like that, two lifelong friends are separated by things far beyond their control with the knowledge they may never meet again.

A deep breath brings more unwanted feelings for Sera, like the sudden realization of so many losses in such a short time. She paces to dissipate the buzzing in her head. When she's calm again, Sera takes a moment for herself and starts packing the few personal items she wants to bring. Not once does she glance at the carpet blocking the entrance to the master bedroom. One last look around the home's crystalline sand walls etched with family portraits. Then a sad ache twinging in her chest drives her from the room.

Sometime later, down at the east exit of the sandstone city that aligns with the seam of the oval dome, a strange farewell gathering has formed. It’s been three generations since unfortunate circumstances have aligned and caused the need for such a ceremony. Sera spots a few familiar faces but the meat of the gathering is parliamentary members. The event is spearheaded by Lady Pratchett herself, adorned in dusty robes and an elaborate headpiece.

Some head of some department puts a hand on Sera’s shoulder and gestures to the far away seal, already opened a crack to allow the light of day in. Her steps align with the start of the mayor's sendoff: "Before the great alteration… the terrible minimisation… blessed by the old world to forge a new…" Sera thought such an infrequent event would call for something different to the tired retellings and sentiments heard endlessly in classes she has forgotten everything about. The mayor's voice dwindles away as Sera presses on – Pratchett’s speech was only ever a performance meant for those remaining behind.

She only looks back when she reaches a distance that gifts an unfamiliar silence. From this angle, the city looks so much like a child's sandcastle; from so far away, she can almost make out the picture on the left wall of the city. The years have seen it broken and torn for the needs of the denizens but a portion of the two embracing giants still remains, though, distorted and grey. The right wall bears an inscription in mountainous writing: Forever In My Heart.

She looks up to the roof miles high and spots little black dots working cranks to open the seal of the dome. She smiles at them, knowing Mandie’s smiling back, and turns to the widening crack in the steel. The closer she gets to the opening the more obvious it becomes that the ceiling has been getting steadily lower until the exit, a solid curve of light, appears to disappear into the ground entirely. The two walls vibrate from the strain of being forced apart as she wearily climbs through the v-shaped opening, finding her pupils adjusting quickly to the new sights and allowing her to take in the emptiness of the world around her. The same translucent sandstone excavated to make her home is all to see between her city and the next in its smooth unaltered form.

Somewhere in the city, a person with refracting lenses gives a thumbs up to someone who passes it on to another and the steel walls close back to their former distance, sighing with relief from the strain. The glinting steel of the walls reflects the world around her – though she only left seconds ago, she can’t wrap her mind around how an entire city is housed past that thin crack that slopes high into the sky above. The sunset to her left ignites one side of the oval dome and casts a tremendous shadow to her right. Large ornate engravings on the smooth metal sparkle in the sunset’s light and cast luminescent patterns on the ground. Sera takes in the shape of the shell that encompasses her home - a steady diagonal rise, then some miles away a round dip curves into another that disappears below.

But where would she go from here? From just outside of Lockhart, she can only clearly see two cities: Bootleigh, where all textiles are acquired and whose laces were broken down long ago for their fibres; Hatten, capable of some intrigue with its brimmed cloth dome deprived of natural light. Various other cities sit on the edge of perception. Then the Faraway, the land beyond exploration - it could hold wonders she’s never dreamt of, or it could be the same expanse beneath her feet. Or it could be nothing at all, which would mean heading for it would only lead to emptiness and death. Her bag feels heavier than before. All she knows is that she won’t be the same when she gets there.

She closes her eyes, spins, then stops. She takes one step, and then another.