First Light

by Rebecca Stead

  His father looked at the ground. “No, she isn't.”

  He didn't want to go inside the tent. He unharnessed Sasha, gave her some water, and shook food into a dish for her. He stowed the sled.

  His father waited. “Ready?”

  They went in together. Jonas was setting the table, and he gave Peter a smile and a wave, but looked uncomfortable for the first time since Peter had known him. The curtain was drawn across the foot of Peter's parents' bed.

  “Come on,” his father said gently, ducking behind it.

  His mother was lying in bed, leaning against all four of the pillows with her eyes closed, and yet clearly not asleep. Peter looked around for her red notebook, but it was nowhere in sight. The notebook was to blame for this. He had seen it sucking the life out of her day after day.

  His father sat on the edge of the bed, and Peter stood next to him. She didn't acknowledge either of them.

  “Hi, Mom,” Peter said. There was no response. His father was rubbing her hand, as if her problem might be a simple lack of circulation.

  Peter wanted to tell them everything: about his visions, and Thea and Mattias and the place they came from. He wanted to hand over all of it, to let them figure out the causes and the effects and the right answers. His sudden desire to be free of it all sat like a ball stuck at the base of his throat.

  “We'll get through this one, too, Pete,” his father said.

  Peter nodded. There was nothing worse than this.

  His father put his mother's hand back on the bed and looked at Peter. “You must be hungry. Let's eat.”

  Jonas had heated four frozen chicken pot pies for lunch. Peter didn't recognize his hunger as hunger, but he finished his food quickly, still thinking of the red notebook. Tomorrow he would find it, and destroy it.

  His father pushed the extra pie across the table to him,and Peter mechanically crushed its crust roof with his spoon.

  Jonas smiled. “Hard work this morning, huh? Out looking for the Second Volkswagen Road?”

  The pot pie steamed on Peter's plate like the smoking remains of a building collapse. “Something like that,” he said.

  When Thea woke sometime after last light, so many thoughts crowded her head that she squeezed her eyes closed and tried to return to the blissful mindlessness of sleep. It was no use—her mind raced among Mattias, the tunnel, Peg and Ham, the boy Peter, the warmth of the sun on her face. And although she was just barely conscious of it, a howling hunger had settled over her.

  She began one of Lana's breathing exercises and tried to remember the vastness of the night sky. What glory ithad been to see the star patterns reveal themselves one by one, welcoming her!

  Her eyes opened. Lana's painted stars glowed just overhead. She finally had her answers, she realized. She understood now why she had been made to learn the star patterns, along with the principles of navigating a ship, and the fact that an animal called a pig is bigger than one called a cat. Like every generation before her, she was being prepared to live in the world—the wider world. Had no one else put these things together? When had the purpose of all this teaching been lost?

  She sat up carefully and noticed that she was dressed in a fresh tunic and leggings. A thin fur wrap had been left at the foot of her bed, and her bracelets were stacked neatly on her trunk. She stepped down from the bed and reached for the wrap, hoping that the whole first line wasn't waiting for her in the greatroom.

  She ventured from her sleeping chamber slowly, braced by the chill of the greatroom and immeasurably cheered to see her aunt sitting at the long table, alone. Lana was crushing dried herbs with a tiny mortar and pestle.

  She gave Thea a broad smile. “Hungry?”

  “Mattias,” Thea started, “is he—”

  “Mattias sleeps. And Dexna has promised me that he will be himself again.”

  Thea felt a rush of joy. Mattias would be all right, and for a few moments nothing else mattered. She sat slowly,pulling the warm wrap around her shoulders. Even this small movement caused her body to ache in several places. She looked at her aunt carefully as Lana stood and went to the counter, returning with a small platter. Wasn't she upset?

  The salad was Thea's favorite, smoked fish with bitterest greens, and Lana had saved a generous length of the evening bread. Forgetting everything else, Thea began to eat. The salty fish on a crunchy heel of bread was impossibly good.

  Lana had taken up her place before the herbs again. As Thea ate, she began to wonder why her aunt asked her no questions. When her plate was clean, she sat back.

  “Is Peg here?” she asked carefully.

  “Peg will be fine, too. She is recovering at the archive with Ham. Dexna was here to see you a short while ago.”

  “Lana, Dexna can speak!”

  Lana looked up quickly, no surprise on her face. “Yes,” she said quietly, “though for a long time she has chosen not to.”

  “But why?”

  Lana rubbed the end of the pestle with her thumb. “The answer to that question is tangled among many others. Dexna's choice to be silent is her way of reminding us—some of us—of another voice that was silenced.”

  “Whose?”

  “For the rest of the answers, you must wait a littlewhile. And while we are on the topic of secrets, Thea, I am one of very few who know where you and Mattias have been. We must leave it that way for now.”

  “Leave it that way? But the tunnel, the murals—Lana, it's all wrong, what we think. Our foremothers never meant for us to remain here, and Rowen must be told, everyone must know …”

  Lana interrupted her gently. “Rowen knows of the passage, Thea. She has known of it for a long time.”

  “She knows? She cannot know. She said there was no passage to …” She wished her mind could work more quickly. “She lied, then, at the council meeting, when she said there was no way to the surface.”

  “Yes,” Lana said. “There is a great deal for us to tell each other, Thea.”

  “What are you saying?” Thea asked plaintively. “Have you all seen the surface then? Why won't you simply tell me?”

  “I have not seen it.” Lana rose to take the kettle from the fire. “And I want to hear everything. For the rest, well, you have very little time left to wait.” She set a cup of hot, sweet ricewater in front of Thea, cradling one for herself.

  Thea took a long drink. What was the meaning of all this? She had awakened believing that she was going to enlighten the citizens of Gracehope, and instead she was the one looking for answers.

  “There is a story I want to tell you, Thea, while we still have time.”

  Still have time? Thea thought. Where are we going?

  “When you were very small, just starting to skate—you couldn't have been more than two years old—you became very attached to a toy ricewater pot that had been floating among the children of the old quarter for some time. It was plain-looking, the lid had been lost and the decoration rubbed off. For a month, you carried it around with you everywhere.”

  “I don't remember it.”

  “I would be very surprised if you did.” Lana reached out and smoothed Thea's hair. “One day, you were playing with the pot at the gardens while I worked, and you somehow wedged two round stones into the bottom of it. You handed the pot to me, wanting the stones out. And I tried, but the stones simply couldn't be moved. I still wonder that you got them into it in the first place.”

  Lana gestured to Thea's cup, and she obediently drained the last of her ricewater.

  “You were very frustrated,” Lana continued, “and so I put the pot aside and distracted you with something else. The next day, I gave it back to you, but you became enraged about the stones all over again, demanding that they come out. Again I put the pot away, thinking that you would eventually forget about the stones and enjoy the pot as you had before.

  “But you never could forget. Every time I gave you the pot, you checked to see if the stones had gone, and you became angry again. Finally I passed the thing o
n to another line. It brought you nothing but frustration and grief.”

  Lana paused. “Do you have any idea why I am telling you this story, Thea?”

  Thea thought for a moment. Her toes had begun to tingle pleasantly with warmth.

  “Something to do with stubbornness?” she asked. The warmth was traveling up her legs.

  “That's one way to put it. My point is this: Once you found fault with the ricewater pot, you couldn't enjoy it at all. It became a source of misery because it was no longer exactly as you wanted it to be. But every person has to learn to accept what has happened in the past. Without bitterness. Or there is no point in continuing with life. I want you to keep this in mind tomorrow.”

  “Why? What happens tomorrow?” The warmth had reached her fingertips, the back of her neck, her eyelids. She was very sleepy. She realized with a start that her ricewater had been more than ricewater. That's why it was so sweet, she thought. But she was too tired to be upset about it.

  Lana smiled, giving Thea's arm a light squeeze. “I'll walk you back to bed. Nothing more will happen tonight.”

  One thing pressed on Thea more than the others. As she allowed her aunt to lead her back to her sleeping chamber, she asked, “Will you see Dolan tonight?”

  Lana nodded. “I expect I will. He's been here to see about you several times already.”

  “Will you apologize for me? I don't think I managed to.”

  Lana smiled. “Don't worry about Dolan. It's just that he loves you, and he doesn't understand his own line in some ways. He's been hurt so badly …” She trailed off.

  Another hint. Thea would demand full explanations when she had the energy, but for the moment she was content to climb back into bed. It was still warm.

  In the morning, his dad said Peter's mother was sleeping, but in fact she was more half-asleep, stirring and murmuring when Peter went in to ask if she felt hungry. Her sounds were like words that she couldn't quite pronounce, or maybe she was saying them in a dream.

  His dad made pancakes. They usually just had cold cereal for breakfast, with some fresh bread from the bread-maker. Peter wondered if the pancakes were to tempt his mother out of bed, or if they were supposed tocheer Peter up. Maybe his father just wanted something to do. He made about four times as many as they could eat.

  It was awkward trying to act normal. Jonas raved about the pancakes for a full five minutes. Peter watched the muscles of his father's jaw jump and twitch. Why couldn't they just talk about it? Let's say it: Mom is in bad shape. How will we get through it this time? But the heaviness in his throat stopped him. Instead, he clapped loudly for Jonas, who managed to eat sixteen pancakes.

  “I'll do the dishes,” Peter said as Jonas stepped into his boots.

  “Thanks, Pete.” His dad rested a hand on Peter's head. “If you can clear me a syrup-free space, I think I'll work here for a while.”

  That was the last thing Peter wanted. “You don't have to do that, Dad. Don't you need your computers?”

  Dr. Solemn hesitated. His jaw twitched. “Are you okay here, alone?”

  “I'm fine,” Peter said. In fact, he had a headache. “And anyway, you're only fifty feet away.”

  “I have to go take some readings later. If you want I can have Jonas stay—”

  “Dad, I'm fine. What's Jonas going to do around here? I'll make sandwiches for lunch, and then both of you can go.”

  It was a great relief when his father finally went out the door. Peter's headache was getting worse, and he wanted to look for his mother's red notebook.

  He pulled back his parents' curtain. His mom seemed to be sleeping for real now. Peter put his hand on her forehead, the way she always did for him. “Mom,” he said quietly. But she was somewhere else.

  He looked around. The red notebook wasn't on the bed, or the shelf. He opened the drawers under the bed and rifled through them. Two of them held nothing but clothes and the third was full of his mothers' old catalogs and magazines—she said they were the only things that could put her to sleep at night; everything else was too absorbing and kept her awake.

  He pulled each one out and threw it on the floor. The notebook was nowhere. Head pounding, he began shoving the magazines and catalogs back into the drawer. The top of a writing pad stuck out of one—white paper, green lines, and a thin cardboard back. He slipped it out.

  On the paper, his mother had drawn trees. Long, thin trees with big leaves that grew around the edge of a lake. There was no doubt in his mind that he was looking at Thea's trees, Thea's lake.

  Peter's head swam for a moment, but his thinking was clear. He would return to the tunnel. And this time he wouldn't leave without answers.

  He went into the kitchen, made a bowl of tuna fish forhis dad and Jonas, and set it on the table with a bag of thawed bread and a box of cookies. He washed the breakfast dishes.

  Peter put a new rope and hook into his knapsack along with a small tarpaulin. He knew his coat wasn't as waterproof as the fur Thea had given him, and he thought he might sit on the tarp and scoot down the tunnel if he had to.

  He went to the cargo line and took a handful of dried peaches, some ham, and two frozen rolls. He pushed all of it together into a small plastic bag. His headache was raging, and he seemed to be limited to one thought at a time. He put the plastic bag into his knapsack. He filled a canteen with water. Then he kissed his mother on the forehead and went to get Sasha.

  At the dogs' house, he grabbed the lightest sled and as many treats for Sasha as he could stuff into one coat pocket.

  Then, ignoring the throbbing of his head, Peter stepped onto the sled and they set off to the west.

  Five minutes later, Peter was trembling and drenched with sweat. He could just see the ice wall, a bump among other bumps on the horizon. As he looked at it, a fluttering started at the edges of his vision.

  Aha! He thought. You're back.

  He was so hot. He unzipped his jacket. It didn't seem to help.

  He stepped off the sled, stumbling away from it before falling to his knees in the snow. Isn't that funny, he thought to himself as he lay down, it isn't even cold.

  He gazed up at the sky, where he could make out stars, though part of him knew that couldn't be right. It was daytime! The stars expanded, pinpricks of light growing into small orbs that blazed in a friendly way against the sky. And then all at once the world went black, which came as a relief, like someone shutting the lights off when you are too tired to do it yourself.

  Peter knew nothing when Sasha, whimpering and still dragging the sled, lay down alongside him, raised her head, and began to call for help.

  When she woke again, Lana was gone. It was Sela who sat at the greatroom table.

  “Feeling rested?” she asked brightly. “Dolan is expecting you at the breeding grounds this afternoon.”

  “He is?” Dolan wasn't going to banish her from the grounds after all! “Sela …” Thea couldn't bear to meet her eyes. “It's my fault, everything. Mattias didn't want to go to the surface, not after the tunnel started flooding. But I wouldn't turn back, and Mattias almost died.”

  Sela got up from the table and stood before Thea, lifting her chin with two fingers. “Mattias is fine. Or he willbe, shortly. I won't say what the two of you did was particularly intelligent. But no one is angry, not yet anyway. You have cured a kind of paralysis, Thea, suffered by everyone in Gracehope, and by the first bloodline in particular. But I can't say more, because I promised Mattias that you would both hear the story at the same time, and now I've gone and told you half of it already. But first, wash, and eat. If I bring you around dirty and starved Lana won't speak to me for a sevennight. Now hurry.”

  Thea needed no urging. But halfway to the wash chamber she turned to Sela and said, “It was you who left me the map, wasn't it Sela?”

  Sela shook her head. “The map wasn't mine to give.”

  The backways were nearly empty, and Thea was silent as their sleigh sped along. She expected Sela to take the pass to the a
rchive, but they flew right past it. Not a minute later, the dogs drew them up into one of the sleigh docks beside the lake path.

  “Here we are,” Sela said.

  Thea looked around. The place wasn't busy. The fishing boats were still out on the water, and the two long docks were deserted.

  “Why are we here?” Thea asked. “Where is Mattias?”

  “Mattias is at the archive,” Sela said. “He is in no condition to skate.”

  “But you said we were going to hear the story together.”

  “I said you would hear the story at the same time. Mat-tias will hear it from his grandmother at the archive. And you will hear it here.”

  “From you?”

  “From Lucian.”

  Thea stiffened. “Lucian? But why?”

  Sela took one of Thea's wrists and squeezed it. “Because he asked that it be him.” She glanced over Thea's shoulder. “Here he is now.”

  Thea turned in time to see Lucian coast the last few yards to the lake path. He was tall and lean, and skated with a grace that took her by surprise. She always thought of him hunched over a desk and scowling. He came to a sharp stop in front of them and nodded once.

  “How are you, Thea?” His eyes were on the ground, but there was the usual intensity to his voice.

  She straightened her shoulders. “Fine, thank you.”

  “Well, I'll be leaving you to it, I suppose.” Sela rubbed her hands together for a moment and then let them drop to her sides. “Thea, don't forget that you're wanted at the breeding grounds this afternoon.”

  “I remember,” Thea said.

  “Lucian—;” Sela started, but then she embraced him and walked off to her sleigh without looking back.

  Thea stared after her. She had never seen Sela at a loss for words.

  “Shall we walk?” Lucian gestured to the lake path that wound away from the docks under the trees.

  “Of course.” Thea inclined her head. She wouldn't embarrass herself by jumping in with a lot of questions.

  “I'll begin at the beginning,” Lucian said, and they set off on the path.