My satisfaction is short-lived. The next instant he’s pulling my head back by the hair and screaming at me. He cocks back a fist, but his brother stops him, saying something about being too obvious, the elders will know. He manages to get control of himself.
“You’re going to fail tomorrow, understand?”
I shake my head no.
He smiles, which I know is a bad sign. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He holds my hand, almost tenderly. Then he gives my pinky a vicious sideways jerk. I hear a sickening crack, feel an agonizing stab of pain that seems to travel up my arm and settle in my belly. The moss muffles my screams.
“Are you going to fail tomorrow?” he asks, taking hold of my next finger.
I shake my head, though tears are streaming down my cheeks.
He looks at his brother. “See, I told you Eden scum is stupid.” Without even looking at me, he breaks that finger, too, closing his eyes in bliss at the loud crack of bone snapping. “We can do this ten times. Pretty soon it won’t matter whether you agree or not. You won’t be able to take the test with all your fingers broken.”
I need to take it, to be accepted here, to have access to information I might need to free my friends . . .
Reluctantly, I realize that I have to play along. It might hurt my pride to give in . . . but it will hurt my fingers far worse if I don’t. I nod.
“What’s that?” he asks, moving on to the middle finger. “I can’t understand you.”
I nod more frantically, trying to say yes through the moss.
“Good girl,” he says, patting my head. “I thought you’d listen to reason. I’m just glad it took you a while. Now, I know you’re thinking as soon as we let you up you’ll run right to Elder Night and tell her what happened. But remember, we can find you anytime, and accidents do happen. A lot can kill you out here. And if you don’t care about your own safety, think of your mom. If you tell anyone about this, I’ll . . .” He leans in to whisper again, the most filthy things, and this time I don’t dare try to retaliate.
The three brothers run off, and when they’re gone I spit out the moss, choking and retching. Then I hug my injured hand carefully to my belly, rocking, feeling in shock.
This is supposed to be a peaceful paradise.
* * *
FOR A WHILE I’m too shaken to walk. Finally I drag myself to my feet and walk in a daze back toward the heart of Harmonia, cradling my injured hand. I can’t go to Mom. She’d know right away that something is wrong. Part of me wants to scream to the entire village what just happened. They’d have to believe me, right? My broken fingers, his broken nose, the dirt and tears . . . there’s ample evidence. But I haven’t heard of any kind of punishment system here. It really isn’t needed. What would happen to him, so that I’d be safe? He wouldn’t be imprisoned or banished. He’s right—he can find me, or my mom, anytime he likes. And in a world that’s supposed to be without crime, with hardly any laws, what’s to stop him?
I never thought I’d say this but—what I wouldn’t give for a greenshirt and a couple of securitybots right about now.
I realize with a start that too much peace and harmony can have its own dangers in a civilization. All it would take is a few more like Zander and his kin to turn this from a placid egalitarian society into a violent dictatorship where might makes right. Maybe a society needs prisons and punishment.
For now, though, I need to pretend that everything is okay. I’ll put in an appearance at the Wolf Moon ceremony, go to bed early, and then do my best on the trials. I’ll face whatever consequences come later.
If I didn’t have any intention of telling Mira or anyone else, I probably should have looked in a mirror before going back to the village.
At first they don’t notice. Mira and Carnelian are sitting near a bonfire, so I join them. The flickering firelight dances over me, and I try to make normal conversation, holding my throbbing hand in my lap.
“Do you know, there was really no such thing as a fire inside of Eden,” I tell them. “We didn’t have much that could burn. Everything was man-made—no wood, of course—and it was made to be fire-resistant and safe.” I chuckle. “Couldn’t risk a big fire in a closed system. It’s still so remarkable to me to see real logs burning.”
“Oh, they’re not real logs, Rowan,” Carnelian says.
Mira snorts. “Did you really think we’d sully the Earth with ash and carbon monoxide and all the garbage that comes with burning wood? That we’d chop down trees just to see the pretty fire?”
Abashed, I scowl at not having figured that out myself. I don’t take the slightest offense at Mira’s directness. That’s just her way. She might be a little bit abrasive, but she’s already proven herself to be a caring, loyal friend.
“What are they burning, then?” I ask.
“Totally synthetic,” Carnelian explains. “They bring them in from . . .” He breaks off, biting his lip.
“From where?” I press.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it,” he says, looking away.
I roll my eyes. “You know how I love secrets.”
Mira nudges me with a laugh, and I manage not to wince as she jars my injured hand. “You don’t think I’ve tried to make him talk? And I have methods you never even dreamed of!”
“You’ll find it all out after the Passage Test,” Carnelian says with confidence. “I’m sure the two of you will come out in the first or second tier. There are about a dozen participants this year, a bigger than normal group, and you two easily outclass most of them. After you rank, you’ll know everything I know, more or less. Believe me, it isn’t that interesting. Just maintenance stuff for me so far.”
Mira’s a nature lover like me, always wanting to be running in the woods like a deer, studying animals, climbing things. Carnelian, on the other hand, is completely into tech. He always begs for me to tell him about all the innovations in Eden.
Carnelian goes on, “I can’t wait until I’ve progressed far enough they let me get my hands on the coding, or ride the hypertubes to other facilities!”
My heart is thudding hard at what Carnelian just said. Hypertube access! Other facilities? That must be how they get to distant Eden so fast. And I knew there must be places besides Eden and Harmonia, and Carnelian just confirmed it! But I don’t dare ask any direct questions. For one, if I do it will remind him that he’s said too much and he’ll be more careful next time. For another, I don’t want to give him a clue to what I am planning. Later I’ll ask Mira not to tell him, though I’m guessing she assumes that anyway. I don’t think he’d like the idea of her helping me with my foolhardy plan.
The more I learn, the more seems to fall into place. It’s nothing like a plan yet, but I feel closer than ever before.
“You look lost in thought,” Mira says. “Bet I know what you’re thinking about.” She shares a conspiratorial wink.
“No, I’m just . . .” I begin, and turn to face her. The firelight illuminates my face fully for a moment, and Mira gasps.
“What happened to you?”
“Nothing. I . . . I fell down.”
“Yeah, right. Your tunic is torn. And . . . is that blood?” Carnelian notices, and peers at me, too.
“It’s not mine,” I say.
“Like that makes it any less of a story!” she says with a snort. But I can tell she’s really concerned. “What happened?”
“Your hand is hurt,” practical Carnelian says.
I try to hide it, but he takes it carefully in his and starts talking about how to set the bones, the best way to bind the fingers to each other for proper healing, exercises to do to maintain mobility after they mend.
“Yes, Carnelian, that’s fascinating,” Mira finally interrupts. “But what we should be talking about is exactly how this happened.” She glares at me. “And don’t you dare tell me again that you fell down!”
“I don’t want to talk about it. It’s better if I just take care of him myself.”
“Him?
Who would dare . . . Oh! Zander?”
I don’t want to confess, but she reads me perfectly.
“I’ll kill that bikking . . . Ugh!” She seethes. “We need to go to the elders.” But when I tell her why I’m against the idea, she reluctantly agrees. “Then we need to teach him a lesson ourselves. Between the two of us we can take him on.” Her hands are balled into fists.
I don’t know about that. He’s a big guy, strong from a lifetime of hard outdoor work. He makes the residents of Eden seem soft by comparison.
“Please, just go along with me on this, guys. We can figure out what to do after the Passage Test. I think if I tell anyone I’ll just make things worse right now.”
She can see things my way, though I can tell she’s itching to take action. Even Carnelian argues for telling the elders, but he respects my wishes.
“Just don’t let your mom find out,” he says. “You know no force on Earth would keep her from telling the elders. Or more likely beating up Zander herself.”
“Then help me act normal by having fun tonight!” I say, forcing a smile. “For now, I need to try to put Zander’s attack out of my head. Tomorrow, though, I’ll be alert for more treachery.” Carnelian won’t let me go without getting me a cup of herbal tea he swears will lessen the pain. It tastes bitter and strange, but a few minutes later the agony has subsided to a dull ache.
All the lights of Eden’s fanciest entertainment circle can’t compare with the warm dancing glow of a bonfire out under the stars. The fire crackles, and if the logs aren’t made of wood, well, I can’t imagine anything more realistic.
Somewhere, a reed pipe is playing a haunting melody. Elsewhere, someone sings. Closer to the fire, a group of people beat drums in a complicated rhythm. Most of the villagers are dancing on the close-cropped grass.
I try to remember the happy crowds I saw on my first night of freedom. Neon colors, garish lights, gaudy clothes, smiles so huge they couldn’t be real . . . Everything in Eden was fake. Maybe even the emotions. After all, with EcoPan having its electronic finger in everyone’s brain, how could anyone know what they really felt? Maybe all that fun of the elites of Eden was an illusion.
Here, though, I believe that people are truly happy. They don’t have half as many possessions as the people in Eden, but what they have is real. Including their emotions.
Mira rises to dance, pulling Carnelian along behind her. He slouches and stomps with no sense of rhythm, and I have a feeling he’d rather be sitting somewhere talking instead of dancing. But I also see the glow in his eyes when he looks at Mira, and I realize that making her happy is what makes him happy.
“Join us?” Mira asks.
“I like watching,” I say.
“You’re not stuck behind a wall anymore, Rowan. You have the whole world—you might as well be dancing in it!”
She’s right, but it’s still hard to escape that feeling of isolation and separation imbued into my childhood.
“You need some time alone, without me hanging on,” I say.
She looks quickly serious. “Rowan, don’t ever think that! There’s enough love and friendship for everyone.” Then her eyes crinkle in laughter. “Besides, we wouldn’t be such a good couple if we didn’t have other people to distract us from each other.” She winks at Carnelian, then looks back at me. “We can’t fight in front of you.”
I know she’s kidding. Different as they are—she active, abrasive, and fiery, he calm and introspective and logical—they still seem to be a perfect match. I like being with them just to watch their happiness, the way they tease each other, the undertones of affection behind every word. They give me hope.
As I watch them dance, subtle memories of Yarrow come to the fore, and I realize that she has memories—false, implanted memories—of a lifetime of dancing and socializing. I let her take over, and she makes me join the other dancers. I show my friends some of the popular dances of Eden, and they laugh at them, but before long I see them being copied by people all over the village green. I don’t like to let Yarrow out too often. I lost myself in her for so long that I worry she might take over again. But sometimes she can be a useful ally.
Night deepens, and I pull Mira aside and say, “Shouldn’t we call it a day? We have to get up early, and who knows what’s in store for us tomorrow.”
She shakes her head, and the movement turns into a sway, then a shimmy of her irrepressible body. She can’t help dancing, moving. In the woods she runs as fast as me, and is an even better tree climber, though I’m better at rocky walls. Lately she’s been teaching me a series of tumbling exercises she’s mastered, and though my body still doesn’t feel like it’s obeying me, I can do basic flips and handsprings now.
“Tonight we live, for tomorrow we may die,” she says merrily, but her words make me shiver. I wish I knew what we would face tomorrow. Every year has different tests, so Carnelian couldn’t tell us much anyway, but he could give us an idea. If only he wasn’t sworn to secrecy . . . or his ethical standards were looser. “Besides, you have to stay for the presentation. Look, it’s starting!”
THE REVELRIES HAVE calmed as if by mutual agreement, though I heard no signal. The full moon has risen directly overhead. Drawn by the sudden movement of the villagers, I follow toward a dais at the edge of the village green. Elder Night mounts the stage.
She picks her way carefully, deliberately up the steep stairs, but needs no assistance. With a sense of utter calm she paces to the center of the stage and waits for quiet.
“Another Wolf Moon has come,” she intones, and though she doesn’t shout, her voice is easily heard even where I am at the back of the crowd. “And we celebrate the benevolence of the Earth that has allowed us to be part of nature, not separate from it. Every year when the full moon rises red in the sky we come together and remember the sins of our ancestors, the crimes of our species, and we renew our solemn vows to never fall into the same trap as they did. May this bloody moon remind us of our blood deeds, so that we may never repeat them. May it remind us of the wounds the Earth has suffered because of us, so that we may heal them.”
She flings up one arm, the sleeve of her linen gown falling back to reveal lean muscle and sinew as she points at the huge russet moon. The call it a blood moon, but I have seen blood in its every variety, flowing and freshly spilled crimson, slick and vital, as well as the blood of old wounds, dried and rusty. No, the moon is not quite like blood. It is more like blushing bone, a ghostly, ominous red, a bloodshot eye looking down on us.
Elder Night steps to the side of the stage, and new figures mount. For a moment they look perfectly normal to me, and I can’t figure out why a frisson of nervous laughter runs through the gathering. Then I realize they are dressed like people of Eden, in loud colors and synthetic fabrics. The clothes don’t flow like our soft linen garments do here in Harmonia. Instead they have odd angles, features without function, stiffness and creases.
The essence of Yarrow that remains in me looks on them with approval. Last season’s fashion, she murmurs in my head, but she admires the tight boned bodice, the square lampshade skirt, the fairy lights imbued in the fabric that make it seem even more alive than the wearer. Not bad, fashion-conscious Yarrow thinks from her refuge in my head.
I stroke the thin, comfortable wrinkles of my linen tunic, pale green, dyed with lichen, and think how lucky I am not to have to wear plastics against my skin.
Seeing those actors pretending to be in Eden makes my heart ache with a painful mixture of mourning and hope. Realistically, I know that some or all of them are back in prison, or dead.
Or worse.
Which would be worse, really? I know the Chief wants to have second children for her mind-altering experiments. They never felt the interfering touch of lens implants, were never meddled with by EcoPan, and Eden’s head of intelligence came up with unique and torturous ways to alter a person’s very identity, to give them new memories. Or even, as she did with poor manipulated Pearl, to wipe them completely c
lean.
I’d almost rather Lark and the others were dead than tied down with wires probing their brains, stripped of their true selves.
And Lachlan, where is he?
I always think about him before I fall asleep. I think about the night I spent in his bed, chaste but so intimate. I think about the way he’s saved me, the way I’ve saved him. We’ve fought side by side. Every night as I look out through the glass that barely separates my bed from the natural world, I imagine laying in his arms, safe.
But every morning when I wake up, the first person I think of is Lark. The joy of her smile. The wonder of her kiss . . .
And the rest of the day—whenever my mind wanders from agriculture demonstrations, Natural History classes, and the hundred tasks and lessons I have to get through to catch up to the natural-born—I think about Ash. My twin brother, my other half.
Once, my love had been mixed with resentment that he had been firstborn, condemning me to the life of an illegal second child, always hidden, always in danger. But after I found out that I was really the firstborn, that he had taken my place because he could never survive his debilitating lung condition without extensive medical care, I was proud that I had been able to sacrifice myself to save him. Later, I learned that his lung injury had been caused by our own father, when he tried to solve the “problem” of twins by aborting one of us. He chose Ash to live, but accidentally hurt his unborn son, while unwanted I was born healthy and whole.
I told Mom how my dad tried to redeem himself by saving the imprisoned second children. I don’t know if she forgives him. I don’t even know if I do. What does it matter, though? We’ll never see him again. If against all hope I manage to break back into Eden—and even more improbably break out again—it certainly won’t be to rescue him.
I shake my head and try to focus on the Wolf Moon ceremony. The actors put on a pantomime of high living and excess. One mimes driving a car that belches out acrid fumes, while another has a little device that seems to let her inhale toxic smoke directly into her own lungs. People around me shake their heads at the stupidity of our forebears.
Rebels of Eden Page 5