2199 Extinction
Memory Feast

“Wait. You can’t go to the feast. You will get caught, thrown in jail, and probably executed. Malum has declared you public enemy number one. He has every guard in this castle looking for you. And they will expect you to show up at the feast. There will be double the number of guards, there. With your yellow skin, you will stick out.” Amlican says.

“Calm down,” I say. “I have a temporary solution for all of that. I was digging through some old boxes and found a bottle of temporary skin dye. Not sure what color it is, so that may be a problem.”

“I don’t know, Astra...” He says, trailing off.

I walk over to the storage cabinets and start digging through them. Picking up stuff and moving it elsewhere. “Aha! Here it is!” I say pulling out a small black bottle with white lettering. “It was shoved in this small cardboard box, shoved in the bottom, here. Now, I will be able to dye my skin. Let’s see…. And the color is…. White. I will be dying my skin white. I’m not exactly crazy about the color but it’s all I could replace. The bottle says it will last three hours. That should be enough time to go down to the feast and get back in time to discuss this V character.”

“White? As in snow-colored white?”

“No, white as in, your skin color.”

“This sounds like one of your crazy ideas, the kind that always ends in trouble.”

​“Look,” I say, turning towards him, holding the bottle of dye. “It’s the Memory Feast. Everyone will be wearing black hooded robes. As long as I wear one, I will blend in with the other mourners. Now if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I have to go in the bathroom and apply this stuff.” White as in snow colored. Seriously. And he’s supposed to be the smart one. A few moments later, I walk back into the room. My usually yellow skin is a pale shade of white. I wish I could have found black dye, but it is what it is. At least my pale skin matches Amlican’s. “Well, how do I look?” I ask, doing a small turn.

“You look…like you but with white skin.” He says, grinning. ​

“Amlican,” I say placing my hands on my hips.

“Yep, there you go. That’s generally how you look at me. But seriously, it’s the eyes. The eyes are what give you away. Talfarians don’t carry the heterochromia gene. That’s a Copaie only trait. How exactly do you plan on hiding your eyes?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I say walking to the dresser and staring, into the mirror, at my reflection. Amlican is right, I still look like me, just with paler white skin. If only I could change my eye color, everything would be good. I could be normal. Normal? Duh, normal. I know what to do. “Wait a minute! Yes, I do! It’s been a long time since I’ve used them, but I completely forgot about my eye color changers.” I say, excitedly. ​

“Your…eye color…changers? Are you kidding me right now?” he asks. ​

“No, I’m not. I never wore them to school; I was too worried I would be teased for trying to blend in. But I had my mother buy them, a while back. I was so tired of being different. I was so tired of people commenting on my eyes. So, we bought some. It’s the only way to ensure that my eyes are the same color. Both of my eyes will be brown. Now, where did I put those things?”

I dig through dresser after dresser, dumping the contents of the drawers onto the floor. Just when I’m about to give up, I replace them in the top drawer of the last dresser. I open the container and replace the case is still full of moisture. Thank goodness they didn’t dry out. I carefully, with my index finger, pick up one of the colored lenses and even more carefully stick it in my eye. I look up, down, to the left side, to the right side, and blink a few times; to get the thing in its place. I do the same thing with the other lens and then check my reflection. Two, golden-brown eyes stare back at me. “Yes!” I shout.

I go back through and put everything back in its proper drawer. At my dresser, I dig around until I replace a long black hooded cloak. I wrap it around my shoulders, tying it at the neck, and then pull the hood up over my head. “How do I look now?” I ask.

“Like just any other Talfarian mourner.” Amlican answers. “But what about your voice? It’s undeniable.”

“I don’t have a fix for that. Maybe no one will talk to me?”

“Actually.” He says. “I have a fix for that. It’s a small chip, that you place at the base of your neck, it changes your voice, and makes it drop an octave or two. My brother and I used to use it to prank people. It’s in my room, so you’ll have to try not to answer any questions before we get it.”

“Secret passageways.” I remind him. A few moments later, we are standing in his room, both of us in a traditional mourner’s cloak, me with a tiny speck of a chip at my throat.

“Thank you so much,” I say, giving him a quick peck on the lips.

“You won’t be thanking me if you get caught.” He says.

“Then I won’t get caught,” I say. It’s not long until I replace myself, once again, standing in the throne room. The thrones have been moved out, more than likely set up in the conference room. Several long tables and chairs have been set up to fill the enormous room. Along the walls, are tables filled with many different kinds of foods.

Various fruits, vegetables, and flowers, some cooked and some not, line the first table. Flowers. Must be some Flosume coming. Odd creatures, the Flosume. They look like the most dangerous carnivores in existence, but they only eat flowers. The next table holds a variety of meats, everything from flying creatures to swimmers, to large creatures that trample through the land. Some foods are fried, some grilled, some baked, some are marinated, and some are raw. The table next to that holds a variety of desserts; cakes, cookies, and pies in a variety of flavors and colors, more than enough to tempt the pallet. The last table holds a variety of liquids to consume, some of which will be fermented.

One, long table, is set up horizontal, this table is in the front of the room, the table of importance. This is where Malum will sit, and by all rights, where I should be as well. For now, all the mourners stand in small groups, around the room, no one talking above a whisper. Black banners are draped everywhere, some of which have Nova, mother’s name, printed on them in orange writing. And then I hear the sound of Malum’s right-hand female, trying to get everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone, it’s time to get started. As you are all well aware, we are here to celebrate the life of the former queen, Nova. She was only with us for a short time, a little over twenty years. Just a drop in the ocean.

We all wished for her to have a long reign, but life happens and sometimes we lose those we hold dear to our hearts. And now we will hear from Corsom for the history.” She says, turning around and going to take a seat at the head table.

Malum sits center of the horizontal facing table, he is wearing a hood same as everyone else, but that’s where tradition dictates, he sits. And beside him sits a small, childlike figure, also hooded. That small figure would be my baby brother. There will be no speech from Malum, tonight. Tonight, he is expected to mourn the loss of his wife, and queen.

Corsom, a short, thin, older Talfarian female, steps forward and begins the history of the feast. While she talks, my mind wanders back to the first feast I attended; I must have been eight at the time. I was full of curiosity, even back then.

********************************

“Put your hood on, Astra.”

“But why, Mom?”

“Because it’s a traditional part of all Talfarian funerals,” Mom says, bending down and wrapping the cloak around my shoulders.

“What does that mean?” I ask as she ties the cloak under my chin.

“It means that every funeral is the same.” She says straightening up and putting on her cloak. She pulls the hood over her head and then takes me by the hand.

“Why hoods? What do they do?” I ask as we walk through the castle.

“They don’t do anything per se, they are meant to keep the focus off of the people attending the memory feast and on the memory of the dead person. It’s a way to keep the person alive for a little while longer, so everyone can say goodbye.” She says as we exit the castle. We start the journey towards the home of the dead person’s family.

“What does that mean?” I ask, waving at the captain of the guard, as we walk through the gates.

She’s silent for a moment before answering, “In some cultures, people wear nice clothing and when they gather at funerals, the clothing becomes the focus. People worry about who wore what and how their hair looks. The person who died becomes an afterthought. It’s disrespectful. There is a time and place for all that, the memory feast is not the time nor the place.”

“Mom?” I ask, pulling my hand out of hers. I spotted a patch of beautiful wildflowers and decided to stop and pick a bright orange one.

“Yes?” she asks. She stops and waits for me to catch up.

“Do you think the family will like the flower?” I ask. I hold it out to her.

She lets out a small laugh. “Yes, I’m sure they will.” She takes me by the hand, again, and we continue our walk.

“Mom?”

She sighs before answering, “You sure are full of questions, today.”

“I can’t help it,” I say as we stop outside of a house. “Do we have to wear these, tomorrow?”

“No, dear. Now, place that flower on the windowsill, before we go in. We are not supposed to stand out.” She says pointing to the nearby window.

“Even though we are royalty?” I ask, placing the flower on the sill.

“Especially because we are royalty.” She says, opening the door.

“I thought royalty was special?”

“Technically we are. But not today. Remember, the Memory Feast is about the dead one, not us.”

***************************

I come back to myself just as Malum’s organizer starts talking again, letting us know it’s time to start eating. I am walking towards my traditional seat when a large ruckus off to the side, catches my attention. I turn my head to see the guards escorting a hooded figure towards Malum’s seat. I can tell they are guards by the white gloves they are wearing. The gloves protect the guards from the few alien species that excrete poison from their skin. Once in front of Malum’s seat, they pull the hood down to reveal the yellow skin of a female Copaie. I only get a quick look at her, as they drag her away, but she appears to be older than me. Several hundred years older. ​What was I thinking? I can’t sit upfront. I’m a criminal, now. Good thing that Copaie was caught, or I might have gone to jail.

“I’m glad you wore skin dye,” Amlican says, from beside me. He hasn’t left my side since our arrival. Probably scared he would lose me in the crowd.

“Yeah, me too,” I mumble. The rest of the feast passes by without any problems.

Malum’s handpicked females stand up and talk about my mother and her many good qualities. Some even recount funny stories that show how much she was beloved. I wipe tears from my eyes and laugh along with everyone else. In fact, the next sign of trouble doesn’t appear until dessert.

We start eating, served by a team of all-male waitstaff. They are the only ones not wearing hoods. I notice one, in particular, staring at me. I watch him, in between bites, and see him whispering heatedly to the head waiter. He keeps pointing in my direction.

“Time to go.” I lean over and whisper to Amlican.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, not taking his eyes off of his plate.

“I think the waiter recognized me.” I quickly whisper.

​Amlican looks over at the waiters and then back to me. He looks me over and then whispers, “Yeah, I bet he did. The dye is wearing off. Let’s go.”

​We quickly get up, zigzag through the crowd, and scoot out a back door. We make sure not to walk too fast so that we don’t draw attention to ourselves. Once outside the throne room, we run full speed. Back in the room, I take off the hood and look in a dresser mirror. My skin is completely yellow, again. “That was a close one.” ​

“It sure was,” Amlican says, taking off his hooded cloak. “Now what?”

​“Now we try and see if we can figure out who this V character is,” I say.

​“Do you have a bathroom, in here?” Amlican asks.

​“Yeah, back there,” I say pointing. While he’s gone, I fold the cloak and put it back into the dresser. I sit down on a bunk and wait for him to come back, so we can discuss a plan.