Sparrows & Sacrifice

by Nellie K Neves

  I hoped I wouldn’t overstep my bounds as I asked, “When does that happen?”

  Fern’s face remained unchanged, happy to explain her life to me, eager to help me assimilate. “Boys are transferred to the opposite side when they are eleven, sometimes as late as twelve, but before they begin to show physical interest in the girls.”

  “You don’t want them coupling up?”

  She turned to face me. “Touch between a male and a female is forbidden, unless it is sanctioned and in an appropriate setting, and only if the couple is promised to each other. Children should not be allowed to experiment in that fashion, it would poison their minds with the ways of the outside world.”

  “How exactly do you mean—” I kept my voice low and controlled, careful to keep it from any listening ears.

  Her mouth tightened, as a mother’s often does when she’s explaining a difficult concept to a child.

  “Females are made to work as a helpmeet to the men. If we allow our presence, or worse, our touch or physical hunger, to distract the men they will never be able to perform their superior work. We must allow them space and clear heads in order to become who they need to become.”

  It took all of my self-control to nod. Satisfied, she pressed on and continued down the path. My stomach growled with hunger, but my mind wouldn’t rest.

  Superior work?

  What did they do on their side of the compound? What had I sent Ryder into? What did they have planned for him?

  The garden cropped up in the distance. We’d passed it on our way into camp that morning. I knew that meant we were close to the shed, which meant we were close to the men’s side, which ultimately meant I was closer to Ryder.

  “What do they do exactly?”

  She stopped again, jarred by my constant barrage. “Stop asking things. It is not your place, Sparrow.”

  The name reminded me of my true identity. Asking things was in my nature. Questions would lead me to Tasha. Questions would keep Ryder safe, but I had to give her the persona she expected.

  “I am curious as to what Ryder will be doing while I am gardening.” I mimicked her sweet tone and hoped my real motives would remain hidden.

  She softened and even smiled a little. “He will be trained by Cyrus and the others in their specialties. Shooting, hunting, keeping guard, and mechanical work if he has the aptitude.” Fern paused before she spoke again, as if she was afraid I might disagree with the words that would follow.

  “They will help him to forget the way he was raised in the world and return to a more natural order. Obedience. Self-control. Strength. They will make him better.” Her eyes reminded me of my loony grandmother. “They will heal him.”

  Chapter 18

  The garden wasn’t like my grandmother’s had been. My grandfather used to turn the earth with his rear-tined tiller until the soil was soft as velvet and slipped through my fingers, light as chalk dust. The muddy earth at Eden’s Haven harbored little rocks that caught under my fingernails and tore my skin. Fern gave me a couple small tools so she could work with her hands. I pulled weeds, typically checking every third plant or so to make sure I wasn’t uprooting food. My stomach growled, but there was no mention of lunch so I kept quiet. After a while, even the dirty lettuce began to look like filet mignon.

  There were more beds than I’d originally noticed. At least six large uncovered beds, plus another five beds with crimped fiberglass covers I was sure helped to keep the frost from the leaves of the delicate plants. They weren’t the vegetable varieties I was used to from my childhood. Grandma grew squash, juicy tomatoes, crisp cucumbers, and rows of corn where Eleanor and I used to play hide and seek.

  Fern’s garden consisted of rows of green leaves, all shades, all sizes, and lettuce was the only plant I recognized. She threw around titles, chard, kohlrabi, fennel, spinach—okay I knew that one, but I avoided it—collard and mustard. Who knew that mustard leaves were edible? I preferred the yellow version on a burger.

  I spotted broccoli, cauliflower, and celery and felt a little relief that there was something there I occasionally ate. My hands clamped down on the stalk of a prickly weed. I felt eyes on me. Raife, thirty feet away, semiautomatic firm in his grasp but resting against his shoulder, watching us. Well, no, not us.

  Fern.

  His stare never wavered, fixed and obsessive, never lifting or veering, always on her. My skin prickled with fear. As much as Fern had spouted off about the men’s clean hands and clear minds, I wagered by his hooded eyelids, the flare of his nostrils, and the slight shifting in his lower jaw that there was nothing clean about his thoughts.

  Fern must have felt his stare because her head popped up from where she worked on the broccoli. I expected alarm, maybe discomfort. I didn’t expect her mouth to curve into a smile, or her hand to rise in a shy greeting. He wasn’t alarmed, completely unaffected it seemed, that she’d caught him.

  The clouds surrendered defeat and little droplets of rain sank into the already saturated mud. The fabric of my skirt turned grimy beneath my knees, but I paid it no mind. Instead, I watched the silent exchange.

  Raife’s jaw tightened, but it wasn’t anger that I saw. His eyebrows drew together. His shoulders rose and fell once, slow and deliberate, a breath for self-control. Before he left, he nodded once to Fern, proper but distinct, and then he moved beyond the outbuildings and out of sight.

  The tempo of the rain increased, but Fern remained hard at work. Nothing was out of place for her. Meanwhile, I found myself drowning in questions again. I tried to stay quiet, tried to keep to myself, but I had to know.

  “Is he allowed to look at you like that?”

  The head of broccoli snapped in Fern’s hand as my words broke the soft patter of rain. Her sandy blonde hair stuck to her wet face, and the faintest curl developed within its length.

  “What do you mean?”

  I’d shocked her once more. Innocence personified, wrapped in a package of naivety, with an idealistic bow on top—the definition of Fern’s character. I considered holding back. A part of me didn’t want to embarrass the only ally I had on this side of camp.

  “He was staring.” I wished I could communicate telepathically with her. “He had that look in his eye?”

  She almost laughed. “Look? What look?”

  My cheeks puffed out as I held my breath in frustration. “I don’t know, like a wolf when it sees a lamb.”

  Fern did laugh, a light, pleasant laugh, void of hostility and gentle as the breeze. “Raife? A wolf? Hardly.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes and remind her that he’d happily beaten me into the ground only a couple hours before. “I’m telling you he was staring at you like you were next on the menu.”

  Fern resumed her work, but giggled again. “I belong to him, of course he can look at me like that.”

  I doubted the term would ever be okay to me. Speaking of women as if they were a car or a favorite pair of sneakers; it sickened me.

  “You belong to him?”

  She must have realized the need to translate, because she explained, “He’s my husband.”

  Couples intrigued me. I was often surprised by the people who chose to be together. Fern and Raife were no different. After all, her soft disposition was a complete contrast to his dark, angry nature.

  “How long? I mean, were you married here, or…” I let my voice trail off, unsure of how to continue. It didn’t seem polite to question the validity of her marriage.

  While she was easily shocked, Fern wasn’t easily offended. “Some are matched here, and a ritual is performed by Cyrus, as our spiritual leader, to show their commitment and promise to each other. But Raife and I were married before we came to Eden’s Haven.”

  “So, your daughter is his?”

  She nodded as she continued to work, steady as the rain that fell around us. “He adores Moonlight. She gets away with far too much because her father is the guard. He never says it, but I know it’s the reason she’s never punis
hed for forgetting her chores.”

  The idea that the glowering beast had anything, let alone anyone, he cared for was laughable. It felt more likely that Fern was delusional.

  I was about to ask her another question when a branch cracked and fell from the tree over my head. Looking up, I almost screamed as I saw a set of dark legs hanging from the tree. As I scrambled backward, I smashed a few carrots in my haste. It wasn’t until the legs swung back up, the body twisted, and a smiling face peered down at me, that I calmed my heart.

  “Oh Sparrow, did Seabreeze startle you?”

  An empty stomach, bruised body, and a culture shocked mind, yes, the little girl hanging from a tree branch startled me.

  “I’m okay.” I tried to hide the fear in my voice. “I thought she was hurt.”

  Again, her eyes stared back at me as if I was the crazy one.

  “She’s a lookout guard for the south side.”

  I spoke before I had time to edit my words. “But she’s a girl.”

  Seabreeze’s high-pitched snicker bounced through the trees. I wished desperately she would find a better grip where she perched on that branch.

  Fern understood my confusion. “She is young, and she climbs higher than any of the little boys. When she’s older, we will teach her other skills, but for now her talent is needed.”

  I filed it away, a little gem of information I somehow knew could be used to my advantage. There were moments when talents and strengths weren’t considered a weakness, even in a woman.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  By the time we went back to the cabins, I was soaked, frozen, and covered in mud. Somehow, though she was wet, Fern was relatively clean. Harmony retrieved our vegetables and disappeared on a trail I didn’t recognize. Worried that I still had no nightgown, Fern led the way to Willow’s cabin. I secretly hoped I could beg for something with thicker fabric before I froze solid.

  Moments before Willow’s cabin, Raife barred our way.

  “Did you teach her to garden or roll in the mud, Fern?”

  Fear replaced the coy smile she’d worn earlier in the day. While she claimed his devotion, his role as enforcer and chief guard took obvious precedence.

  “She is learning, but it is new to her. I don’t think she is used to working in a skirt.”

  Raife weighed her words once before he turned on his heel and stalked away.

  “What was that about?”

  “A shower.” Her lips pinched shut before she said any more.

  Giddy fantasies of warm water and soap flooded my thoughts. “I wouldn’t mind—”

  Fern whipped back to face me, expression grim. “You would mind this. They would scrub you until your skin is raw. The water is ice. It is better to keep clean the best you can.”

  “You never shower?” Dirt built pressure beneath my nail beds that I ached to release.

  “There are times, better opportunities with less pain and embarrassment. I wait for those.”

  She started up the trail again, but I caught her arm and pulled her back. “Why’d you do it? Why’d you speak up for us?”

  The reality of her risk became clearer with every passing moment. She’d taken a chance on two strangers, but why?

  Fern narrowed her eyes, as if searching my subconscious, looking for some sort of redeemable quality. Immediately, I felt the panic that I’d come up lacking.

  “I am tired of watching bodies fall into the pit.” Her whispered confession was as much for herself as it was for me. “I am tired of the death we are drowning in.”

  It was the first glimpse I’d seen of something real, something raw and human. For that brief instant, I was no longer as isolated as I felt.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  During dinner, I watched for Ryder, but he never came. None of the men came. A pot of creamy green soup sat on a stump. Bowls passed from hand to hand, but as I searched, I spotted no table, and no place to shelter us from the constant drizzle. Women and children settled in on stumps, rocks, even beds of leaves to eat.

  I held mine for a few minutes despite my ravenous hunger. Warmth ranked higher than hunger. The chipped bowl scorched my fingers, but I hoped I could absorb enough heat to warm my entire body.

  A small girl with long, tangled blonde hair settled in next to me. “This is my stump,” she said with an authority I didn’t expect. I glanced down into her hazel eyes and started to apologize, but her smile lit up her face. “I’ll share it with you, if you tell me your name.”

  Her bargaining spoke to my spirit. I was always up for a barter.

  “Lin—” I stopped myself. “My name is Sparrow.”

  Her eyes squinted with a scrutiny beyond her years. “I meant your real name. What they called you before you came here.”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled in warning. Was it a test? Was she going to report my indiscretion if I wasn’t careful?

  Her lips pinched together, and her head bent toward me. “I used to be Chloe.”

  Enlightened, I realized she knew was a prisoner. In that sense, we were kindred spirits. Eager to bond, I whispered back, “Lindy. Lindy Johnson.”

  Her impish smile hinted her approval. “Good to meet you, Sparrow.”

  Playing along I asked, “And what shall I call you?”

  “Moonlight. They call me Moonlight.”

  Chapter 19

  I hadn’t shared a room with anyone since I was a kid. Frozen to the bone, and displaced by chirping snores, bodily releases, creaking wood, and at least sixteen other people’s breathing, sleep wasn’t an option. Every gasp and chortled wheeze exchanged what little fresh air I had left into the stale air that rose up to strangle me.

  Morning came and, though I’d waited all night for it, it still felt too soon. Breakfast consisted of nothing more than an apple from Harmony’s basket before we traveled to our respective chores. Again, I saw no sign of Ryder. My nose caught the scent of something delicious cooking, bacon maybe? But it never appeared. I moved throughout the garden, more cautious than I had been the day before.

  At lunch, there was still no bacon, though I was positive that I’d smelled it. One small loaf of homemade bread arrived for Fern and I to share. Moonlight joined us for the remainder of the day. I found that the more time I spent with the mouthy imp, the more I liked her.

  By the third day, I still hadn’t caught sight of Ryder and had no leads on Tasha. I wanted to ask Fern, but for the most part she kept to herself, only occasionally breaking from her work in the garden to spend time learning with Willow. The fourth day, I know I smelled barbequed ribs while I ate watered down broccoli soup made with goat’s milk. I learned on the fifth day that the wonderful food I smelled, but never tasted, belonged to the men.

  At least Ryder was eating.

  It would have been easy to fall into my cover. The endless drone of each day made me wonder if it would ever end, or if I’d ever had a life or purpose before Eden’s Haven. But the medallion that hung around my neck kept me grounded in my mission. I watched for Tasha, listened for any whispered mention of her name, eager to escape before anything horrible happened.

  On the sixth day, while I harvested lettuce seeds from a dried blossom, a gunshot split the air. Then another. And another. Different guns, different calibers from what I could hear. I scrambled to my feet in an instant. Tiny lettuce seeds tumbled to the ground, quickly forgotten. His name fell from my lips.

  “Ryder.”

  I searched the tree line as the distant shots continued, simultaneous at times and then other shots staggered and staccato. I wasn’t scared for my own life, but Ryder could be in danger.

  “Sparrow, what’s wrong?” Fern asked as she returned from Willow’s cabin.

  I looked like a spooked fawn, shifting side to side, weight on the balls of my feet as I tried to lengthen myself enough that I could see through the wall of trees and brush.

  She remained unaffected. “Don’t worry, it’s only target practice.”

  It might have been my imagination,
but I swore I heard my 9mm fire twice. I thought about Ryder’s abhorrence of guns and silently prayed he could deal with the situation.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The rain never ceased. Each morning I changed back into my damp clothes from the day before. Every night, I looked forward to changing into my warm nightdress I’d learned to store at the base of my bed beneath my wool blankets.

  Ivy doled out my shots dutifully on the days I needed them, but she only let me have the syringe long enough to deliver the injection. While I took deep breaths to manage the pain, she broke off the tip of the needle and set it in a rusted tin can. She guarded that can as if it held a switchblade.

  The eighth morning, I held my thin muslin top, still wet from the previous day’s downpour, but I couldn’t pull it over my head. It slapped the cabin floor as I dropped it. I was too tired, too hungry, and too emotionally spent to endure one more day in damp linen. Despite Fern’s objections, I yanked my bag from beneath her bunk and fished around in the depths until I gripped the textured waffle of my black thermal long sleeve top and tore it free. Pure rebellion motivated me as I slipped it over my head, but I didn’t care. I was warm.

  I replaced my bag, carefully made my bed with hospital corners and ignored the gaping mouths around me. Before I stepped out, I motioned to my bag. “There are three more if any of you are cold.”

  I lived in fear that my covered arms might mean I’d earned another lesson, but it never came. Raife’s glower was no more sour than any other day. I did notice Genesis wearing my quick-dry long sleeve top as she led the children to their lesson. Harmony had taken my navy thermal and her cheeks were rosier than normal, her lips less pale. The only top left was my red quick-dry. It was likely too racy for Eden’s Haven to handle after years of muted colors. Still, I reveled in my small victory and warm arms.