Dahlia and the Garden of Light - Chapter 38: Chapter 38

Part I – Return to Africa
The morning air in Uganda was warm and still when Amy and Jack arrived at the village where it all began.
Amy stepped off the solar-glider and paused, taking a slow breath. She could still hear the echoes of Dahlia’s first song here — the way the earth had pulsed, the way the children had danced through glowing petals.
Louis stood at the edge of the field, watching with calm eyes and calloused hands. His lion companion, Njoka, lay beside him like a great bronze guardian.
“You’re back,” Louis said, walking over. “But not with her.”
Amy smiled sadly. “No. But I need your help to make it look like I am.”
Louis tilted his head.
Jack joined them, carrying a pouch of glowing flower petals, sealed in a cool case. “We’re creating a trail. A misdirection.”
Louis opened the pouch gently, and the faint scent of sun-warmed jasmine and rain touched the air.
“She made these?” he asked.
Amy nodded. “She left enough in the Bloom Room to help for a while.”
Louis studied the petals for a long moment. Then he said, “This is more than just deception. These heal. These bring peace.”
Amy lowered her eyes. “I know. But if we spread them wisely, it’ll do both — help people and send the government the wrong way.”
Louis whistled, and a cheetah, a falcon, and a small monkey trotted up beside Njoka.
“I’ll train them to make it seem like her brother passed through. The animals will go where the petals bloom — mimic movement. You’ll have sightings from here to Lake Victoria.”
Jack raised his brows. “You’re a miracle worker.”
Louis smirked. “No. Just someone who remembers what it felt like to be seen by her.”
Moments Later – In the Village
Amy and Jack handed out small packets of petals, tucked into woven pouches. Some were boiled into tea. Others were planted beneath sickbeds. They moved from hut to hut, meeting faces both new and familiar.
A girl named Rima, maybe six years old, took Amy’s hand.
“Will the flowers sing again?” she asked.
Amy knelt. “They might. But even if they don’t… they remember your voice.”
Rima smiled wide, then whispered to her mother, who pressed a hand over her heart.
Near the well, two older men spoke softly in dialect. Jack caught the words — the flower child has returned. Amy overheard an elder say to his grandson:
“Maybe the world isn’t dying. Maybe it’s just shifting its roots.”
Part II – The Amazon
The air was thicker in Brazil. Amy pulled her hair back, damp with humidity. Jack was scanning the canopy when a voice rang out:
“You smell like her.”
Maria burst through the trees barefoot, sweat-soaked and radiant, machete slung across her shoulder. Behind her, several forest runners — indigenous guides and medicine gatherers — followed.
Amy rushed forward and hugged her. “It’s good to see you.”
Maria looked past her. “Where is she?”
“She’s gone dark,” Jack answered.
Maria tensed. “Gone or gone?”
“Gone... but not lost,” Amy said gently. “She’s running. With family. And we’re making sure no one catches up.”
Maria nodded slowly. “And the petals?”
Amy held up a satchel. Maria’s eyes lit up with reverence.
“I’ll get them everywhere,” she promised. “River towns, tree schools, healer camps. I’ll make sure her name is whispered in every market for miles.”
Later – Among the Healers
Maria led Amy and Jack to a camp where several sick children lay beneath awnings. A woman named Tita, a midwife with graying braids, took the petals with shaking hands.
“You say this is from the flower girl?” she asked.
“Yes,” Amy whispered. “From her garden.”
Tita ground some petals into a drink and spoon-fed them to a coughing boy. Within minutes, his wheezing eased.
“She left this?” Tita asked.
Maria knelt beside her. “She left everything but herself.”
In the background, a scout named Diego spoke with Jack. “The government sent drones near the Amazon edge. We shot two down.”
Jack nodded. “Keep spreading rumors. Say she’s with a healer tribe near Peru. Or with the cloud monks near the Andes. Anything.”
“I’ve got people who’ll swear it under oath,” Diego replied.
By the Fire – That Night
Maria, Amy, and Jack sat beside the water under stars muted by mist. The jungle chirped and sang around them.
“You really love her,” Maria said quietly to Amy.
Amy stared into the fire. “I do.”
“She’s not just a symbol to you.”
“No. She’s my friend. My heart. And she’s tired of being a miracle on display.”
Maria threw a stick into the flames. “Good. Then we’ll turn the whole world into a reflection of her. They’ll never find the real one in a field of echoes.”