Withered World

by Sara Kincaid

  For hours I lay unwilling and unable to move, bent double by the mingling of sorrow and guilt. The grimy smell of the City and the waste left to putrefy in the heat assaulted my nostrils. I longed for the sweet smell of the farm and the glint of the stars, however brief, to guide me. I longed for those simple days when Leo and I worked the land and broke fast with my family, the days when I had taken him for granted. But those days were long gone, as were the people I cared for most in the world. Overhead swirled a gray mass of pollution, back-lit ever so slightly by the moon. The fragile light of the stars was suffocated in the thick smog that blanketed the sky.

  I remained in the shadows until the streetlights burned out and the City was bathed in darkness. As the stifling heat of the day became a distant memory, I breathed easier and reemerged, wearing the shadows like a cloak. My tears had dried, but my mourning had not even begun. I was determined to succeed, to make the loss of Leo worthwhile.

  I used the energy that Leo had given to me so willingly to enhance my vision. No longer was I running blindly through the streets. Instead, I prowled about with the vision of a cat, my eyes illuminated and seeing as if it were daylight, skulking in shadows, looking out for members of the CPA and the City officers, who were certainly searching for me.

  In spite of my anguish, I gave a self-indulgent smile as I watched people walk by my hiding places with no indication that a person hid in the shadows watching their every move. Settled in the crack in the foundation of a building, I waited until the street was clear before sliding from my hiding spot back onto the street. I looked in either direction, trying to determine the best route to take.

  On impulse, I turned left and stepped off the curb. “I wouldn’t go that way if I was you, Miss. There be officers that way.”

  I jumped and whirled around to see Rev standing on the corner, leaning casually against a darkened lamppost, his cane hooked casually over his wrist. “What are you doing here?”

  Rev grinned, ignoring my question. His teeth were luminous in the dark. “A peculiar but clever use of your abilities.”

  Chagrined, I released the energy.

  “No, child. Don’t you be ashamed of what you be doing. You have power. You should use it.”

  “How do you know what I have or don’t have?”

  “How do you think I be standing before you right now and seeing you in the dark?”

  I paused and tilted my head to the side. Concentrating, I felt the subtle blip that ushered forth from the strange man before me. “You’re a Curare.”

  He smiled again. “That I be, child. That I be.”

  “You weren’t taken by the CPA?”

  “Yes. When I were seventeen, just like all the others.” He rolled up his sleeve and revealed the cluster of blue bird feathers and pearls tattooed on his forearm, the mark of an Aquae Curare.

  I took a step forward to examine the tattoo. The craftsmanship of Rev’s mark was impeccable. Though it was given without his consent, there was a strange beauty and artfulness in the strokes. “Then how are you here right now?”

  “I ’scaped. Thanks to the Undergrounds.” The ones who follow the phoenix. And Aster.

  Part of me ached to see her. But I had killed her grandson. How could I face her? “What farm do you come from?”

  “West. My family mourned when I were taken away, when my abilities were discovered. When the CPA came, they desperately sought help. They found the Undergrounds and pledged to join their cause if they would help free me.”

  “And they got into the CPA facility? How?” Perhaps I could get into the CPA stronghold. It was suicide. But there was nothing left to return to anyway. Leo. My parents. My home. They were all gone.

  “It wasn’t easy. Many lives lost. But it was worth it. We’ve an established network in West Farm now and we save as many Curare as we can.” The gnarled cane slid down his arm into his waiting hand and he tapped the tip against the ground.

  “Can you take me to the Undergrounds? I need to get into the CPA facility.”

  “I can take you to the Undergrounds, but I don’t know if they’ll take you into the facility. You’re with Leo, though, so it’s possible. Where is he?” Rev looked around the alley, his dark eyes blinking in dim light.

  I looked to the ground. “Leo’s gone.”

  Rev stepped forward and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. In his touch, I could feel the pull of the tides. “Oh, I’m sorry. A good man he were. Did his best to look out for you.” I didn’t look up. “You cannot have war without loss. But we’ll come out right on the other end. Don’t you worry. They will not have died in vain.”

  I absorbed Rev’s words and I declared war on the CPA; but a war had already started. Leo had been just one more casualty, one that was too close to home. How many more would there be? “Is that what this is? A war?”

  “Yes. It be war. But we’re fighting for the greatest cause there is. Survival.”

  I trailed after Rev, following his broad back through the streets, uncertain. He convinced me to accompany him to the Undergrounds hideout. How would they react when they learned what I’d done?

  Rev’s pale skin looked wan in the harsh streetlights. Together, we plunged through the City, Rev expertly navigating the streets and alleys like a native. I would never have guessed that he had come from humble beginnings on West Farm. He was not deterred by anyone we met on the streets and he shoved past them when necessary.

  Rev was in his thirties, though his time at the CPA had ravaged his appearance so that he resembled someone twice his age. His hair was streaked with gray and his face bore the wrinkles of a man who had lived a much longer life. His face and his body were soft and rounded as if with age.

  “How did you escape from the facility?”

  “It weren’t all that exciting. I think they succeeded because it was one of the first times someone ever tried it.” His cane tapped rhythmically on the ground.

  “So they weren’t prepared.”

  “Right you are. But they will not be fooled again. Now, we’re nearly there.”

  The deserted square was framed with shuttered doors and windows. Bare stakes that ended in jagged edges were all that remained of the street lamps. It was the perfect place for a hideout. He approached a particularly slanted doorway and knocked. The door creaked open, revealing an owlish face. “What’s your business here?” she croaked.

  “Come off it, Burn. You know me. We have business with her.”

  “This be a Pop den, old man. Who’s the lass?” The squat woman blinked at me and looked over the rim of her glasses. I started at the blatant insult.

  “I’m Vea. I have business here. Leo was my escort.”

  “Leo, you say? Well then, come in for a dose and leave all your cares behind.”

  Burn stepped aside and allowed us to enter the Pop den. The thick-waisted woman wore long, curly hair tied up in a knot on her head. Her smile revealed gaping holes and several small teeth. As we entered, I realized we were in a Pop den. All around us people luxuriated on worn cushions, reveling in the ecstasy of the Pop experience. Thin filaments of fabric roped off various sections of the den. The colors inside were bland, just as in the outside world. But under the heady influence of the Pop, the users didn’t notice.

  Burn seemed to take herself as our personal tour guide, pointing out various aspects of the rooms as we traveled farther into the den. “In that room over there, we house the smokers. Pop makes an acrid smoke that tears at the eyes mightily. But if that be your style, we certainly be accommodating.” She paused ceremoniously before the forbidding doorway and thick curls of smoke reached beneath the crack in seeking tendrils. When no one responded, Burn continued. “The Pop is acquired by secret means. I cannot divulge that information to you. But if you’d like a whiff of our product, I can see to the arrangements.” Her green eyes twinkled with merriment in the low light and her
toothy grin swelled with temptation. Her hair was feathered around her head, escaping from the thick knot she had tied at some earlier hour.

  “No, thank you. We’re here on other business, as I’ve already told you. Please take us to see her.” I tried to keep my voice patient because I imagined that Burn was following strict orders to deter any entrants from finding the truth behind the smoke that was the Pop operation.

  “Okay then. Another time, perhaps.” Without another word, Burn picked up the pace and ushered us through a door that was recessed into the wall and lacked a handle. Despite her large frame, she barreled along down the corridor at an impressive pace. Her hemp skirt swished about her knees as she went. The walls were thick-cut stone, remnants of some earlier forgotten century and crafted by caring hands. The mortar was decrepit and crumbled in dusty clouds at odd intervals.

  My feet slapped quietly against the stone flooring. As I walked, I tried to imagine Leo as a Pop dealer and wondered if he had debt collectors. I couldn’t picture him as an angry drug lord, though this is how the Pop dealers were frequently described.

  I realized then that there were many things about Leo’s life that I would never know; things about his childhood, his family, their ties to the Curare. The heaviness overtook me and I almost fell to my knees. But I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to get back up again. Not now. There would be time for grief. But not now.

  Instead, I swallowed my sorrow and followed Rev and Burn meekly, but in the recesses of my mind, the weight of what I would never have began to take their toll. Likely I could learn some of these things from Aster, but it would not be the same as hearing it from Leo’s own lips. Again unrelenting guilt rose to constrict my breathing like a coiled snake.

  Burn led us through another doorway into a well-lit room. The chill cut to my core. I felt no connection to the earth through the thick walls and floors beneath my feet. I was tempted to rely on the precious energy that Leo had given me to warm myself, but I didn’t want to waste the gift I’d received.

  Four people sat at an old wooden table with thick boards, rough with age. When the door closed behind us, conversations slowed and silence rose like smoke.

  Burn approached a lady, who appeared to be in her sixties. Her hair was thick and stuck out in wild curls, streaked with silver. Her skin was dark and matched the tint of her eyes. “Mizz Aster,” Burn addressed her with a flourish and a bow. “I bring you visitors. They have business with Leo.”

  Aster’s eyes lit up at the mention of Leo. “Thank you, Burn. We’ll take it from here.” Burn bowed before turning to exit the room. As she walked past, she gave me a quick wink.

  Rev remained at my side. Aster walked slowly up to me, a smile spreading across her face as she approached. She was clothed in undyed fabrics that were draped artistically around her thin frame. “Miss Vea. It is so wonderful to finally meet you. We have been searching for you for so long. You hid very well for a long time.”

  I was unaware of the awe in Aster’s voice for I was overwhelmed by my own feelings. “Are you Aster? Bram’s Aster?” I breathed.

  She smiled, her eyes crinkling around the edges. “I am one and the same.”

  There were so many things I wanted to tell her. How Bram had inspired my life up to that point. How I had thought of her and wondered what had happened to her when we were taught about the history of the Curare. I gazed at her, taking in her wrinkles and the tired circles about her eyes, her stomach rounded by the child or children she had carried there, and age. She was beautiful still, her eyes luminous behind the wrinkles and her skin soft and rich in color. “I thought you died.” I don’t know why I said it. But those were the words that burned to the surface when I came face to face with her.

  She smiled down at me. “That is what the CPA and propagandists would have you think. We did not try to counter the claims. It was safer for our family and for our cause to let them think they had won. All this time, we have been plotting and getting people in place to end the reign of the CPA once and for all. We’ve been waiting for you.” Aster placed her hand over her heart for a moment. “But now that you are here, we have so many questions and plans to make. I do hope we can help each other. I believe that our plots are one and the same.”

  “I hope that they are. I am willing to give everything.” For Leo.

  “As are we. My grandson is not with you?”

  I looked at the stone floor beneath my toes. My soul cried out in anguish. I killed him. It’s my fault. I’m so sorry. “Leo died.”

  Aster winced, and pinched her eyes closed. When she opened them again, she then placed her hand on my cheek. There were tears in her eyes when I looked up. “It’s all right, dear. I love my grandson and I know he would have given himself up for you. He spent his whole existence searching for you. He was so sure that the strange footprints showing up around South Farm and in No Man’s Land were from a Curare. We were skeptical.”

  I nodded and felt the burn of tears in my own eyes. “He was right.”

  Aster swallowed hard. “So he was. You cannot have war without loss. But it certainly hurts when it is someone so dear to your heart.”

  “I think Rev said something like that,” I responded, glancing at the man who stood silently beside me, his head bowed.

  “It has become a mantra for us, I suppose. Unfortunately.” She wiped her eyes and sniffed, pulling all of her sorrows into a hidden place. When she looked at me again, her face was filled with determination and she reminded me of a general. “Now, Miss Vea, if you would be so inclined, we would like you to join us. We hope that our causes and goals can be aligned and that we can help one another.” Aster ushered me to the table where three other people sat silently, watching us. “Please, sit.” She gestured at the one empty chair left at the table. Had this been Leo’s chair, I wondered? I ran my fingers along the armrests.

  An elderly looking man with long, white hair stood as we approached the table. “Miss Vea. It is an honor to meet you. I am Janus Weatherby.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad to be here.” I sat down awkwardly at the table and conversation resumed, though only a mere trickle at first. There seemed to be a great deal of dissent about the Curare taken from South Farm on the recent raid.

  “They took children,” a woman with long, brown hair declared emphatically. Her voice quavered with indignation and suppressed rage. “How can we wait to act any longer? It will only get worse!”

  “We can’t act rashly, Brenna,” Janus urged. “We want to help. But we have to be careful. Every move must be calculated or we will lose more than we already have.”

  I watched the faces of these strangers around the table as they debated this event, debated how and when and where they would strike. Finally, my curiosity won out and I reached out, testing their energy gently, curious to see if anyone at the table bore the mark of the Curare. None did.

  “How can you talk of time and measure at a moment like this? I have had communication from families in South Farm. They treated those people abysmally. Needless killing. Stealing children before they are of age, not that being of age makes it any better,” she continued. Brenna’s passion reminded me of Leo in the hard-nosed, no questions asked manner in which she spoke. I squeezed the armrests tightly, willing back the gulf of my sorrow.

  “Are we sure this actually took place? Surely the people of the City and the farms would see the lack of justice in this? Surely they would demand restitution?” a bald man asked.

  “The people on the farms have been brainwashed, Argus,” Janus stated, chewing on his cheek. He wore his hair longer than I was accustomed to seeing on a man and the gray spikes stood out from his head. He and Argus exchanged heated glances.

  “The farms cannot be held accountable for their actions. No one can, except for Kade and the CPA,” Aster asserted.

  At the mention of Kade, I pictured the man with his hawkish nose and cruel eyes
, the source of all our agony. As a child, I had nightmares about him, dark dreams where he would sic his soldiers on me like dogs. They chased me ravenously through the streets and fields. My mother would rush into the room and wipe the sweat and tears from my face when I woke. Then she held me tightly with promises of protection dribbling from her lips as she rocked me back to sleep again. Tears came unbidden to my eyes as I thought of the young girl Leo and I had seen tossed carelessly into the back of the transport vehicle, living my nightmare. “Leo and I saw it happen with our own eyes. They administered Pop tests and took a girl who failed the test even though she couldn’t have been more than eight years old. And people on the farms do care. Some of them. They killed the girl’s father because he tried to rescue her.” I looked around the table then, staring down each person before continuing. “They likely murdered my own family when it was discovered that I wasn’t there. I’ve no way to know for sure. This is not the time for debate.” Tears filled my eyes and I bowed my head, forgetting the need for strength.

  The buzz of conversation around the table came to an abrupt halt as the leaders of the resistance absorbed my words. Aster placed a tentative hand on my shoulder. “Thank you, Vea. I’m sure this was terrible to witness. Why don’t you rest for a while? We can talk more tomorrow.”

  At first, I felt indignant at her response. Why were they sending me away? But instead of asserting myself, I simply accepted the gift of escape.

  An unnamed attendant—an ally, I should say, for this woman was no Curare—led me out of the meeting and down a dank hallway. She’d been waiting in the shadows and likely witnessed my interruption of the meeting. But wasn’t that I why I was there? I’d been in the field. I was a witness. Why had Aster sent me away? Suddenly, I was too tired to give it more thought and allowed myself to be led into the darkness. As we walked, my ears strained for sounds of Pop addicts and I gathered that we were headed farther into the enclave, for I heard nothing. The Pop users were simply a barrier to this strange labyrinth where Curare and non-Curare mingled with apparent ease.