This story is for the 2012 Valentine’s Day contest, Twisted Freaks Need Love, Too. All stories and characters © Lia Habel 2012.

Alyssa’s original comment: “So, there is a Pollen that when it touches flesh it makes you break out all over with bubbly boils that oozes and makes all the flesh melt off the bone, meanwhile that gross thing is going on that person is vomiting up all their organs and insides. so the end result is a Walking Skeleton. But over time do to the pollen, the bone dissolves in a fizzy way. yummy isn’t it?”

 

The Pollen Gardens were beautiful. Every morning Elysia Motts liked to take a moment to admire them before her shift, and so ascended the high white tower in the southeastern corner via the sub-basements, running up and up the spiral staircase until she emerged, panting, on the open observation deck.

Even Elysia, whose mother had engineered the Gardens and directed their construction over centuries, had no idea how large they actually were. The Wardens preferred to keep the Walls hidden from the Refugees, considering it far better that they should imagine they lived in a limitless world and not an elaborate quarantine area. Elysia had only been working in the Gardens for two months, wasn’t even allowed to refer to herself as a Little Warden, and therefore carried no Keys and knew few secrets.

There was a breeze today. Elysia leaned over the wrought iron railing, taking in the fiery shade of the trees far off, the aurora colors of the vast flowering meadows, chasing the little brown and gray walkways with her eyes. She was seventeen and fleshy, not a twig and not Rubenesque, her stays nipping in her waist and her panniers emphasizing her hips. Her copper hair was loose and trimmed with a single ribbon of flopping lace, her mother disinclined to have it set in the fashionable sausage curls that other young ladies were given to wear, and her gown was plain. Elysia, like High Warden Motts, preferred to spend her days working and striving. Anything else seemed petty, especially when you were immortal. Only immortals were immune to The Pollen.

Elysia looked forward to the day when she was permitted to carry Keys. To be able to unlock the earth, the doors hidden in the foliage, even perhaps bare a section of Wall just to see that it was actually there – these ideas greatly excited her.

For now, though, she had work to do.

It took her ten minutes to exit the tower and complete the short walk to Noville, one of the nearby tiny villages. There she’d been helping Mr. Scaddin organize his sloppily-kept bookshop for the last few weeks. Her training as a Warden hadn’t yet reached the point where she was in charge of guarding Refugees or fixing anything behind the scenes; she was still in the “getting to know the way around” stage. She’d herded cattle, strained cheese, read to old ladies, helped construct a stage for a play, and been halfway apprenticed to a cartographer before being snagged by Mr. Scaddin. She did whatever she could to help, no matter what form that help took from day to day.

She liked Mr. Scaddin, though. Even if he was bat-brained. The fact that he still had his brain at all was a wonder.

She soon found his shop and entered, the bell above the door ringing. There was no one immediately to be seen, and she figured he must still be abed. Tightening her hair ribbon, she ducked under the flip-top counter and opened the brass cash register, wondering if he’d remembered to remove the gold coins from the previous day and put them in his safe. As she found that he hadn’t, and did a quick count, she heard the door behind her opening. “You forgot again, Mr. Scaddin. There’re 17 sovereigns in here, and—”

Before she could complete her sentence bony arms, like stone, were wrapped about her. Crying out, dropping the coins, she found herself jerked a few steps back. Soon a cold knife was at her throat. “Who are you?”

“Mr. Scaddin?” she squeaked.

“How do you know my name?”

Turning her head slightly, Elysia saw a face that was not only skeletal – it was that of a skeleton. The Refugees, down to a man, were all victims of The Pollen – a strange and highly contagious form of flesh-eating pollen that reduced their bodies to nothing, caused them to vomit up their organs and their skin to explode in boils, before leaving them ambulatory, conscious, semi-immortal and tinged with magic. They spoke without tongues, saw without eyes. And they normally didn’t go insane.

That’s when Elysia realized that the bones imprisoning her were coated with some fuzzy yellow powder. Like stag velvet. The Pollen itself.

Mr. Scaddin was so old that his had fallen off.

“Who are you?” she asked. “My name is Elysia Motts. My mother is High Warden Motts. I’ve been helping Mr. Scaddin. Ask him.”

After a second, the Refugee let her go. She turned around and took a few steps back, her skirt hitting the counter. The Refugee’s sleek ivory head wasn’t like Mr. Scaddin’s at all – it appeared vaguely malevolent, the teeth white. Mr. Scaddin was like a coffee-stained cup, hard and brown.

“Nicodemus Scaddin,” he said. His voice was raspy. “Old Scaddin’s nephew.”

“Did you just arrive?”

“Unfortunately.” He looked her up and down, and sheathed his knife. He wore a jerkin and trousers, but no shirt. “Sorry.”

“You normally don’t have to worry about intruders here in Noville.” She wasn’t sure what else to say. “It’s a peaceful place.”

“Do the guards make it so?” He said the word sarcastically and opened the counter, stepping out into the dusty shop.

“No. The Wardens don’t control for any but the most serious crimes. They want The Gardens to—”

“Be like the outside?” Nicodemus barked with bitter laughter. “Is that it?”

Elysia was forced to admit, “Yes.”

“And so that’s why there’s money, and quaint little shops, and old hens gossiping in the streets…” The skeleton gestured to the exterior door. It was always so odd to watch them move, seemingly unsupported by anything, their bare bones jangling in the air. “Even though it’s a prison.”

“It’s not a prison.” Elysia approached him again. “It truly isn’t. It’s a place where those afflicted with The Pollen can be safe.”

“Oh, girl, it’s a prison. You’ve just never been in a prison, so you don’t know any better. The best prisons are pretty as anything.” Nicodemus reached out and caught Elysia’s hand, pulling her close. She blushed, despite herself. The bones felt firm and cold against her skin. “But I have.”

“Been in prison?”

“Yes. Because I lived on the streets and I chose to survive.” He let her go, only to tap one of his bony fingers on her lips. “And I’ve gotten out before. And I will again.”