by Tahereh Mafi
“Let’s get settled before we keep talking,” he says. “This is a long conversation, and it’s an important one.”
“Let’s have it now,” Aaron says.
“Yes,” Kenji says angrily. “Now.”
“She tried to murder me,” I say, finally finding my voice. “Why would you bring me here? What are you trying to do?”
“You’ve had a long, difficult journey,” Castle says. “I want you to have a chance to get settled. Take a shower and eat some food. And then, I promise—we’ll give you all the answers you want.”
“But how can we trust that we’ll be safe?” I say. “How can we know Nouria isn’t trying to hurt us?”
“Because,” she says steadily, “I did what I did to help you.”
“And how is that plausible?” Aaron says sharply.
“It was the only way I knew how to get a message to you,” Nouria says, still staring at me. “I was never trying to kill you—and I knew that your own defenses would help protect you from certain death.”
“That was a dangerous bet to make.”
“Believe me,” she says quietly, “it was a difficult decision to make. It came at great cost to us—we lost one of our own in the process.”
I feel myself tense, but otherwise betray no emotion. I remember the day Nazeera saved me—the day she killed my assailant.
“But I had to reach you,” Nouria says, her dark brown eyes deep with feeling. “It was the only way I could do it without rousing suspicion.”
My curiosity beats out my skepticism. For the moment.
“So— Why? Why did you do it?” I ask. “Why poison me?”
Unexpectedly, Nouria smiles. “I needed you to see what I saw. And according to Castle, it worked.”
“What worked?”
“Ella—” She hesitates. “May I call you by your real name?”
I blink. Stare at Castle. “You told her about me?”
“He didn’t have to. Things don’t stay secret for very long around here,” Nouria says. “No matter what The Reestablishment has you believe, we’re all finding ways to pass messages to each other. All the resistance groups across the globe know the truth about you by now. And they love you more for it.”
I don’t know what to say.
“Ella,” she says softly, “I was able to figure out why your parents have kept your sister a secret for so long. And I just wanted t—”
“I already know,” I say, the words coming out quietly.
I haven’t talked to anyone about this yet; haven’t told a soul. There’s been no time to discuss something this big. No time to have a long conversation. But I guess we’re going to have it now.
Nouria is staring at me, stunned. “You know?”
“Emmaline told me everything.”
A hush falls over the crowd. Everyone turns to look at me. Even Haider, Stephan, and Nazeera finally stop talking amongst themselves long enough to stare.
“She’s kept in captivity,” I say. “She lives in a holding tank, where she exists almost permanently underwater. Her brain waves are connected to tidal turbines that convert the kinetic energy of her mind into electricity. Evie, my mother, found a way to harness that electricity—and project it outward. All over the world.” I take a deep breath. “Emmaline is stronger than I’ve ever been or ever will be. She has the power to bend the minds of the people—she can warp and distort realities— Here. Everywhere.”
Kenji’s face is a perfect encapsulation of horror, and his expression is reflected on dozens of other faces around me. Nazeera, on the other hand, looks stricken.
“What you see here?” I say. “Around us? The decay of society, the broken atmosphere, the birds gone from the sky— It’s all an illusion. It’s true that our climate has changed, yes—we’ve done serious damage to the atmosphere, to the animals, to the planet as a whole—but that damage is not irreparable. Scientists were hopeful that, with a careful, concerted effort, we could fix our Earth. Save the future. But The Reestablishment didn’t like that angle,” he says. “They didn’t want the people to hope. They wanted people to think that our Earth was beyond salvation. And with Emmaline they were able to do just that.”
“Why?” Kenji says, stunned. “Why would they do that? What do they gain?”
“Desperate, terrified people,” Nouria says solemnly, “are much easier to control. They used Ella’s sister to create the illusion of irreversible devastation, and then they preyed upon the weak and the hopeless, and convinced them to turn to The Reestablishment for support.”
“Emmaline and I were designed for something called Operation Synthesis. She was meant to be the architect of the world, and I was to be the executioner. But Emmaline is dying. They need another powerful weapon with which to control the people. A contingency. A backup plan.”
Aaron takes my hand.
“The Reestablishment wanted me to replace my sister,” I say.
For the first time, Nouria has gone still. No one knew this part. No one but me. “How?” she says. “You have such different abilities.”
It’s Castle who says, “It’s easy to imagine, actually.” But he looks terrified. “If they were to magnify Ella’s powers the way they did her sister’s, she would become the equivalent of a human atom bomb. She could cause mass destruction. Excruciating pain. Death when they please. Across tremendous distances.”
“We have no choice.” Nazeera’s voice rings out, sharp and clear. “We have to kill Evie.”
And I’m looking out, far into the distance, when I say, quietly, “I already did.”
A collective gasp goes through the crowd. Aaron goes still beside me.
“And now,” I say, “I have to kill my sister. It’s what she wants. It’s the only way.”
Warner
Nouria’s headquarters are both strange and beautiful. They have no need to hide underground, because she’s found a way to imbue objects with her power—an evolution of our abilities even Castle hadn’t foreseen. The Sanctuary’s campsite is protected by a series of twenty-foot-tall pole lights that border the edges of the clearing. Fused with Nouria’s power, the lights work together as a barrier that makes it impossible to look in the direction of their campsite. She says her abilities not only have the power to blind, but that she can also use light to warp sounds. So they live here, out in the open, their words and actions protected in plain sight. Only those who know the location can find their way here.
Nouria says that the illusion has kept them safe for years.
The sun begins its descent as we make our way toward the campsite—the vast, unusually green field dotted with cream-colored tents—and the scene is so breathtaking I can’t help but stop to appreciate the view. Fire streaks across the sky, golden light flooding the air and earth. It feels both beautiful and bleak, and I shiver as a gust of wind wraps around my body.
Ella takes my hand.
I look at her, surprised, and she smiles at me, the fading sun glinting in her eyes. I feel her fear, her hope, her love for me. But there’s something else, too—something like pride. It’s faint, but it’s there, and it makes me so happy to see her like this. She should be proud. I can speak for myself, at least, when I say that I’ve never been so proud of her. But then, I always knew she would go on to greatness. It doesn’t surprise me at all that, even after everything she’s been through—after all the horrors she’s had to face—she’s still managed to inspire the world. She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever known. My father might be back from the dead, and Sector 45 might be out of our hands, but Ella’s impact can’t be ignored. Nouria says that no one really believed that she was actually dead, but now that it’s official—now that word has spread that Ella is still alive—she’s become more notorious than ever. Nouria says that the rumbles underground are already getting stronger. People are more desperate to act, to get involved, and to stand up to The Reestablishment. Resistance groups are growing. The civilians are finding ways to get smarter—to get stronger, t
ogether. And Ella has given them a figure to rally around. Everyone is talking about her.
She’s become a symbol of hope for so many.
I squeeze Ella’s hand, returning her smile, and when her cheeks flush with color I have to fight back the urge to pull her into my arms.
She amazes me more every day.
My conversation with Kenji is still, despite everything, at the forefront of my mind. Things always feel so desperate these days that I feel a new, nagging insistence that this window of calm might be my only chance at happiness. We’re almost constantly at war, either fighting for our lives or on the run—and there’s no guarantee of a future. No guarantee that I’ll live to see another year. No promise to grow old. It makes me feel li—
I stop, suddenly, and Ella nearly stumbles.
“Are you okay?” she says, squeezing my hand.
I nod. I offer her a distracted smile and vague apology as we begin walking again, but—
I run the numbers once more.
Finally, I say, without looking up, “Does anyone happen to know what day it is?”
And someone responds, a voice from the group I can’t be bothered to identify, confirming what I already thought might be true. My father wasn’t lying.
Tomorrow is my birthday.
I’ll be twenty years old.
Tomorrow.
The revelation thunders through me. This birthday feels like more of a milestone than usual, because my life, exactly one year ago, was nearly unrecognizable. Almost everything in my life is different now. One year ago I was a different person. I was in an awful, self-destructive relationship with a different person. One year ago my anxiety was so crippling that five minutes alone with my own mind would leave me spiraling for days. I relied entirely upon my routines and schedules to keep me tethered to the endless horrors of my job and its demands. I was inflexible beyond reason. I was hanging on to humanity by a thread. I felt both wild and nearly out of my mind, all the time. My private thoughts and fears were so dark that I spent nearly all my free hours either exercising, in my shooting range, or in the bowels of Sector 45, running training simulations that, I’m not proud to admit, I designed specifically to experience killing myself, over and over again.
That was one year ago. Less than a year ago. Somehow, it feels like a lifetime ago. And when I think back on who I was and what that version of myself thought my life would be like today—
I’m left deeply and profoundly humbled.
Today is not forever. Happiness does not happen. Happiness must be uncovered, separated from the skin of pain. It must be claimed. Kept close.
Protected.
“Would you prefer a chance to shower and change before reuniting with the others?” Nouria is saying.
Her voice is sharp and clear and it shakes me from my reverie. “Yes,” I say quickly. “I’d really appreciate the time to rest.”
“No problem. We meet for dinner in the main tent in two hours. I’ll show you to your new residences.” She hesitates. “I hope you’ll forgive me for being presumptuous, but I assumed the two of you”—she looks at me and Ella—“would like to share a space. But of course if that’s not—”
“Yes, thank you,” Ella says quickly. Her cheeks are already pink. “We’re grateful for your thoughtfulness.”
Nouria nods. She seems pleased. And then she turns to Kenji and Nazeera and says, “If you’d like, I can arrange to join your separate rooms so that y—”
Kenji and Nazeera respond at the same time.
“What? No.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Nouria says quickly. “My apologies. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
For the first time ever, Nazeera looks flustered. She can hardly get out the words when she says, “Why would you think we’d want to share a room?”
Nouria shakes her head. She shares a quick, confused glance with Castle, but seems suddenly mortified. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. You seemed—”
“Separate rooms are perfect,” Kenji says sharply.
“Great,” Nouria says a little too brightly. “I’ll lead the way.”
And I watch, amused, as Castle tries and fails to hide a smile.
Our residence, as Nouria called it, is more than I could’ve hoped for. I thought we’d be camping; instead, inside of each tent is a miniature, self-contained home. There’s a bed, a small living area, a tiny kitchen, and a full bathroom. The furnishings are spare but bright, well made and clean.
And when Ella walks in, slips off her shoes, and throws herself backward onto the bed, I can almost imagine us together like this—maybe, someday—in our own home. The thought sends a wave of disorienting euphoria through my body.
And then—fear.
It seems like tempting fate to even hope for a happiness like that. But there’s another part of me, a small, but insistent part of me, that clings to that hope nonetheless. Ella and I overcame what I once thought impossible. I never dreamed she’d still love me once she knew everything about me. I never dreamed that the heartbreak and horrors of recent events would only bring us closer, or that my love for her could somehow increase tenfold in two weeks. I grew up thinking that the joys of this world were for other people to enjoy. I was certain that I was fated to a bleak, solitary life, forever barred from the contentment offered by human connection.
But now—
Ella yawns soundlessly, hugging a pillow to her chest as she curls up on her side. Her eyes close.
A smile tugs at my mouth as I watch her.
I’m still amazed at how just the sight of her could bring me so much peace. She shifts, again, burrowing more deeply into the pillows, and I realize she must be exhausted. And as much as I’d love to pull her into my arms, I decide to give her space. I back away quietly, and instead use the time to explore the rest of our new, temporary home.
I’m still surprised by how much I like it.
We have more privacy here, in these new headquarters, than we ever did before. More freedom. Here, I’m a visitor, welcome to take my time showering and resting before dinner. No one expects me to run their world. I have no correspondence to attend to. No awful tasks to attend to. No civilians to oversee. No innocents to torture. I feel so much freer now that someone else has taken the reins.
It’s both alien and wonderful.
It feels so good to have space with Ella—literal and figurative space—to be ourselves, to be together, to simply be and breathe. Ella and I shared my bedroom back on base, but it never felt like home there. Everything was cold, sterile. I hated that building. Hated that room. Hated every minute of my life. Those walls—my own personal rooms—were suffocating, infused with awful memories. But here, even though the room is small, the tight quarters manage to be cozy. This place feels fresh and new and serene. The future doesn’t seem improbable here. Hope doesn’t feel ridiculous.
It feels like a chance to begin again.
And it doesn’t feel dangerous to dream that one day, Ella might be mine in every way. My wife. My family. My future.
I’ve never, ever dared to think of it.
But my hope is snuffed out just as quickly as it appeared. Kenji’s warnings flash through my mind, and I feel suddenly agitated. Apparently proposing to Ella is more complicated than I’d originally thought it might be. Apparently I need some kind of plan. A ring. A moment on one knee. It all sounds ridiculous to me. I don’t even know why it sounds ridiculous, exactly, just that it doesn’t feel like me. I don’t know how to put on a performance. I don’t want to make a scene. I’d find it excruciating to be so vulnerable in front of other people or in an unfamiliar setting. I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.
Still, these problems seem surmountable in the pursuit of forever with her. I would get on one knee if Ella wanted me to. I’d propose in a room filled with her closest friends if that was what she needed.
No, my fear is something much greater than that.
The thing Kenji said to me to
day that rattled me to my core was the possibility that Ella might say no. It’s unconscionable that it never occurred to me that she might say no.
Of course she might say no.
She could be uninterested for any number of reasons. She might not be ready, for example. Or she might not be interested in the institution of marriage as a whole. Or, I think, she simply might not want to tether herself to me in such a permanent way.
The thought sends a chill through my body.
I suppose I assumed she and I were on the same page, emotionally. But my assumptions in this department have landed me in trouble more times than I’d like to admit, and the stakes are too high now not to take Kenji’s concerns seriously. I’m not prepared to acknowledge the damage it would do to my heart if she rejected my proposal.
I take a deep, sharp breath.
Kenji said I need to get her a ring. So far he’s been right about most of the things I’ve done wrong in our relationship, so I’m inclined to believe he might have a point. But I have no idea where I’d be able to conjure up a ring in a place like this. Maybe if we were back home, where I was familiar with the area and its artisans—
But here?
It’s almost too much to think about right now.
There’s so much to think about, in fact, that I can’t quite believe I’m even considering something like this—at a time like this. I haven’t even had a moment to reconcile the apparent regeneration of my father, or literally any of the other new, outrageous revelations our families have thrown at us. We’re in the middle of a fight for our lives; we’re fighting for the future of the world.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe I really am an idiot.
Five minutes ago, the end of the world seemed like the right reason to propose: to take everything I can in this transitory world—and grieve nothing. But suddenly, it feels like this really might be an impulsive decision. Maybe this isn’t the right time, after all.
Maybe Kenji was right. Maybe I’m not thinking clearly. Maybe losing Ella and regaining all these memories—
Maybe it’s made me irrational.
I push off the wall, trying to clear my head. I wander the rest of the small space, taking stock of everything in our tent, and peer into the bathroom. I’m relieved to discover that there’s real plumbing. In fact, the more I look around, the more I realize that this isn’t a tent at all. There are actual floors and walls and a single vaulted ceiling in this room, as if each unit is actually a small, freestanding building. The tents seem to be draped over the entire structure—and I wonder if they serve a more practical purpose that’s not immediately obvious.