Ah, here it is! I hear the melodious sound of water, and part a wall of ferns to find a broad but shallow stream. Tumbled rocks line the bed, and bigger boulders lay scattered across the waterway. My face lights up. I can jump from stone to stone and cross without even getting my feet wet! I’m over within a minute, scaring silvery trout with my shadow.
Upstream, where Mira must be crossing, it looks like the stream narrows. It is probably deeper there, with a swifter current. She won’t have such an easy crossing. She can swim very well, of course, but when she comes out wet on the other side it will slow her down. Not much, but maybe enough to give me an advantage.
For just a moment I pause, listening. I don’t hear her. For a moment longer I wait, picking up one of the smooth oval river rocks and tossing it restlessly from hand to hand. Well, this is a competition, and I’m sure she made it safely across. I jog off in the direction where I’m sure my first trial awaits, squeezing the smooth stone in time with my pace.
I notice a change in foliage again, then the woods seem brighter. The trees are more slender, farther apart. Soon I have to shade my eyes when I step out of the shadowy forest into a bright meadow.
In the middle is a slab of stone. On that stone is a woman dressed in a white dress, lying with her arms folded over her chest like a sleeping princess in a story. There’s no one else in the meadow.
I start to walk up to her . . . then break into a run. I can see a huge red stain spreading across her white dress. I know it isn’t real, but something takes over in me.
“What happened?” I ask, but of course it doesn’t matter. I do this first thing, the most important thing—I press the heel of my hand hard into the deep crimson stain that is blossoming from her abdomen. She makes a low moan, but doesn’t speak. The blood is warm beneath my palm. It feels so real!
I check the rest of her body while I keep applying pressure, but this seems to be the only wound. What could it be from? There are no guns here. A knife? Was she gored by a boar? I have to shake my head to make myself focus. It’s just a sponge or bag of blood hidden beneath her dress, to simulate bleeding.
“Don’t worry,” I can’t help but tell her. “It will be okay. I’m here to help you.”
Only then do I finally look at her face.
It is the face of a stranger.
In my astonishment, I accidentally let up pressure on her abdominal wound, and I feel hot blood seep against my palm. Harmonia is small, with only about three hundred people. I don’t know them all well, but I thought after a few months here I was at least familiar with everyone.
But I’ve never seen this woman before in my life.
Her eyelids flutter, and her lips move as if to speak. “It hurts. Cold . . . so cold.” With my free hand I feel her forehead. It is cool and clammy with sweat. “What happened to me?”
“I don’t know.” Whoever this woman is, she is an excellent actor. I completely believe that she is disoriented and in pain.
“There was a knife . . .”
“Hush,” I tell her gently. “It’s going to be fine.” Of course it is. When I’m finished with this test, the next person will come and do the same thing. I look at the white dress, the bloodstain, and realize that there are no other fingerprints on the white linen fabric. The blood has welled from what appears to be a fresh wound. That must mean I’m the first one here!
But that is only half the battle. I still have to save her.
I press down for a while longer, but when at last I dare to take my hand away and check, the blood wells up again.
“Bik! This isn’t working!” I want to ask her what to do. After all, Elder Night said we can use any resources, and this unknown woman, probably a natural-born, surely knows more than me. But as soon as I look into her startlingly blue eyes, they roll back in her head and she passes out. I need to do something else, and soon.
I look over my shoulder, feeling frantic. She’s dying! I press two fingers to the side of her neck and feel her pulse growing slower as her life ebbs away. How is she doing that? Did they give her some drug?
There has to be some herb I can use. At least if I try I might get some credit. Even if whatever I do wouldn’t save her in real life, I was first here, and if I can just make a good show of trying, I should be graded well. Is anyone even watching? Is my patient the one grading me?
Think, Rowan! Remember your lessons from Elder Night, or your walks with Mira. She’d babble on and on about this plant and that, and I’m ashamed to say I tuned out the details sometimes.
I know there are plants that can help stop bleeding and keep wounds from getting infections. One of the best, Elder Night said, is cobwebs. Yet somehow it doesn’t seem that a bundle of stuff that came from a spider’s rear end would be too sanitary, and I don’t see any spiders right away, so I skip that. The only other thing that comes immediately to mind is honey, and that isn’t any help either.
“Why couldn’t you have had a broken bone?” I ask the woman, who appears to be unconscious.
I turn as far as I can while maintaining pressure, scanning the sunny meadow. There has to be something here. I recognize chamomile, and even remember what it is used for . . . but this woman doesn’t need a tea to help her sleep. I see at least twenty other kinds of plants in the field, but my brain won’t latch onto any of them. Some look vaguely familiar, though. I remember a couple of names, but not a single thing about their medicinal qualities.
Yarrow, says a stealthy voice inside my head.
“Quiet,” I say out loud. Am I going totally crazy? My implanted alter ego is having way too active a role in my life.
Yarrow, she says again, and I can’t believe the fabricated version of myself is actually trying to have a conversation with me.
“Yeah, I know who you are, now be quiet!” I hiss as I think. Great, now my patient will report that I’m a crazy girl who talks to herself.
Then, with a little gasp, I realize what she means. What I mean.
Here and there, scattered amid the grasses and daisies and thistles, I see plants with tightly bunched clusters of tiny white flowers and feathery leaves. The plant is called yarrow, and now I remember Mira pointing it out. It’s one of the best herbs for staunching blood flow, she told me on one almost-forgotten walk. I noted that I could have used some multiple times in the last year . . . and promptly forgot that tidbit of information. Luckily, the other person living in my brain didn’t.
Sheepishly, I say, “Thanks, er, Yarrow.”
I can feel her roll her eyes inside my skull.
Oh, great Earth, is this the new normal for me? I truly hate to admit it, but I might almost be getting used to her. She can be helpful, and it’s nice having someone who understands me. For all our differences, we have the same core.
Finally, I have something helpful I can do. But then I realize it’s no use because I can’t just walk away to pluck them. Even if I run, she might bleed to death while the pressure is off. I sigh. Do they have to make this so hard? Since all this is fake, why don’t they just have one of the elders here so we can just tell them what we’d do in a real-life situation.
I guess that wouldn’t achieve the super-high stress level I’m feeling now. That’s part of the test, too, I’m sure.
I turn, gauging the distance, the time it would take me to run there and back, and realize the risk is too big. I better just apply pressure and say reassuring things until the test is over. I switch hands, wiping the very realistic blood onto my pants. My hand brushes something hard. It is the river rock I absently picked up earlier. I’d slipped it in my pocket when I found my target. Suddenly, I see what I need to do.
My linen shirt is finely woven, and once I worry a frayed piece with my teeth the hem tears in a long strip. Carefully, using the three functional fingers of one hand and any other body parts I can to brace and angle the fabric, I shift the angle and keep tearing until I have a long strip. Shifting quickly, I move my hand and put the stone over the place where the supposed wou
nd is, where the blood is flowing under the ruined white dress. Then I carefully wind the strip of cloth around the woman’s abdomen. The first strip goes around twice, and I tie it over the rock so that the pressure is concentrated on the injury. That buys me enough time to tear off another long, narrow strip and reinforce the first.
There, that should hold enough pressure to give me time to gather some yarrow plants. The woman lets out a low moan. “I hope I didn’t make it too tight.” It must be uncomfortable having a rock pressing into your gut. She doesn’t break character, though, and her eyes stay closed. Okay then.
I run to the edge of the meadow where the yarrow is growing, pluck a few of the feathery fronds and crush them until my fingers feel moist from the juices. The leaves smell bitter, but good, too. I grab up another handful. Elder Night says that to be a good steward of the Earth you should only take a little bit from each plant. Never pick so much that the plant dies. Now I grab at them so eagerly that I pull up the roots, too. Well, maybe I’ll be deducted a few points, whatever the grading system is. I’m just proud that I came up with yarrow in the first place.
I jog back and unwind the bandage just enough to reach the wound. Looking closely for the first time, I see a rent in the fabric. Will she change to a fresh dress for the next person? I wonder. If this was real, I’d have to get the herb right on the wound, so I hook my fingers in each side of the hole in her dress and tear.
Her pale bare skin is marred by a gaping hole. I can see a thin layer of yellow beneath the skin, then the dark red of muscle tissue. With a gasp, I recoil. No makeup or sponge soaked in red dye can give that kind of realism. That looks like a real wound.
But . . . that’s not possible.
Feeling sick, my hands trembling, I pack the crushed leaves the deep gash and bind the wound up again. I watch the wound anxiously. Soon the blood flow ceases.
I did it.
The woman opens her startling sky blue eyes and sits up, perfectly at ease.
I realize I’m breathing hard. This was as strenuous as running, as fighting. Having someone’s life in your hands is completely draining. Even if it is fake. As it must be.
“Well done, Yarrow,” the woman says serenely.
For a second it doesn’t register. Then I blink hard and say, “I’m Rowan.”
She frowns for a moment, seeming to look inward. Then her face breaks into a broad smile. “Of course, how silly of me.”
“Are you . . . okay?”
“Of course,” she replies.
“Who are you? I’ve never seen you in Harmonia, have I?” I don’t want to seem rude, but I’m sure I’d remember her.
“Of course,” she says again, absently, and reaches out for my arm. At first I think she’s patting me, thanking me, congratulating me. Then I feel a sharp sting and the world goes blurry.
“Not again,” I say in exasperation as I slip from consciousness . . .
THE AIR IS cooler, crisper here. When I open my eyes, the blue of the sky seems somehow translucent. For a moment I lie here, knowing another test awaits, but enjoying the clarity and simplicity of the moment.
I hear a moan beside me. “What now?” someone says. I roll over and see one of the other candidates, an apple-cheeked girl named Lotte. There’s someone else lying just beyond her, still unconscious.
Looking around, I find we’re all here, in various stages of waking up. I count, glad to see that all twelve of us made it this far. Well, I’m glad about eleven of us . . .
“Mom!” I cry, and jump to my feet. She rubs her eyes and gives me a sleepy smile.
“How did you do on the first test?” she asks.
“I don’t know. I found the injured girl, and treated her, but . . .”
“A girl? I had an old man with a broken leg.”
That’s strange. I thought we’d all headed to the same person and place. “Did you know him?”
“I . . . I’m not sure. I think it must have been one of the elders in disguise. He didn’t look familiar, but I mostly focused on the leg. I was so glad I managed to cross that huge river.”
“What? The place I crossed wasn’t deep or wide at all. I was worried about you climbing down the cliff, though. I’m glad you made it.”
“Cliff? I didn’t have to climb.”
I realize we must have had slightly different tests. I wonder if we were all directed to different locations, if we were even all in that valley.
“Wow!” I hear Mira say behind me. She’s on her knees, looking out over a vast blue body of water that stretches as far as the eye can see. There’s not even a breath of wind, and the water’s surface is like a mirror, reflecting the pellucid blue of the sky.
“Is it the ocean?” I ask in wonder.
Mom strides to the edge and dips her fingers in, smelling and then tasting the droplets. “Fresh,” she announces to everyone. “It’s a lake.”
“Shut up, City,” Zander says. He’s sitting a little bit away from the rest of us, hands on his knees as he looks over the lake. “Of course it’s not the ocean, and we don’t need a subhuman like you to tell us that.”
I clench my fists, but the pain in my two broken fingers convinces me that this might not be the best time to challenge him. Get through this, I counsel myself. There are more important things to think of, like your friends in Eden.
“What do we do?” Lotte asks. “Are we supposed to work together on this one?” Her knees and knuckles are scraped bloody. Whatever her first challenge was, she had a hard time of it. I bet she’s hoping for a little help now.
“Tests are always individual,” Mira says, coming to stand beside me. “But there are some of you I’d be willing to help.” She glares at Zander. At least I have people on my side this time. I decide to ignore him.
We’re interrupted by a gentle hum that draws our attention to another silvery ball. I watch an image of Elder Night form, the hologram strange and ghostly in this clear bright light.
“Good afternoon, my children,” she says in her soothing, serene voice. “You have completed the Trial of Earth, and now you come to the next trial. Your task is to go to the ancient city and therein recover an artifact that symbolizes a reason our old civilization fell. You must complete this task by nightfall. You will be judged not only by your speed in reaching the city, but also by your choice of artifact. In this trial you must learn to know without seeing, to look beneath the surface of things. You must also trust that the wisdom of the elders will not allow you to come to harm. My only further advice is this: when you find the city, go beneath the domes and your path will be easier. Good luck, and may the Earth bless you, my children.”
For a moment we are silent as the image flickers and is replaced by a scoreboard showing our respective ranks. We’re divided into two clusters. Mira, Mom, and I are in the highest ranking so far, along with Zander and several others.
“That just shows our relative positions in two general sets,” Mira says. “The top competitors, and the bottom tier. We’re doing well, but there’s no way of knowing if we have any hope of getting ranked in the first category at the end.” The display fades and vanishes.
“No map this time?” Mom asks.
“Great,” Lotte says. “The city could be anywhere.”
I look around. Before us, the lake spreads uninterrupted. Behind us, curving around us, are mountains. The tallest ones are farthest away, with snowy white caps.
“We’re a long way from home,” I say in an undertone so only Mom and Mira can hear. “Have you seen mountains like this before?” Mira shakes her head, and I try to calculate the distance. I’ve been on daylong excursions from Harmonia, and when I tried to run away I was gone for two days. If we were within fifty miles of this place I’d surely have seen the tops of these mighty peaks. “We must have taken one of the hypertubes,” I realize. “Here, and to the first site. We could be hundreds of miles away from Harmonia.”
“I just hope they let us be conscious for the ride home,” Mira says. “Think h
ow fast those things must go! We’re missing all the fun.”
A network of hypertubes! There must be some way to take advantage of such a huge system. If I can find an access point . . .
“They should have given us a map,” Lotte whines, and most of the others seem to agree. “How do they expect us to find a city out here without any hints?”
“They don’t expect you to find it,” Zander says as he stands up and scans the mountains. “But I know I can. Ancient cities were scars on the Earth. A city will leave signs for hundreds of years if you know what to look for. Don’t any of you even think about following me,” he adds as he starts off away from the river.
“Forget him,” Mom says. “If we have a system and work together, we can cover a lot more ground. I bet that’s part of the test—to know when to cooperate. Quinn, Lotte, if you take the south then Rowan and I can scout north, and the others can branch off in between. When we find any traces, we let everyone know. That way we start on equal footing, and we can work independently to find our own artifact.”
It’s a good idea, and I applaud Mom for her ability to organize people. Only, I think Lotte’s wrong. I think Elder Night did give us clues. There’s a nagging feeling in my head that the answer is more simple than anyone thinks, if only I could see it. If only I could—what was it Elder Night said? Learn to see beneath the surface of things. It is a lesson everyone should learn. If the Center officials had been able to look past the letter of the one-child law and see the second children as valuable people, things inside of Eden would be different.
Of course, I think wryly, if they had been able to look beneath the surface, literally, they would have found the Underground, the second children’s hidden shelter, and then the illegal residents of Eden wouldn’t have had a chance.
As Mom is organizing the expedition, and I’m thinking about the Underground, I suddenly break into a laugh.
“Beneath the surface!” I say. “Know without seeing. I know where the city is!”
Rebels of Eden Page 8