by Sara Kincaid
There were dozens of messages on my PID even though I removed that horrible thing from behind my ear weeks ago. I waded through all of them, and finally came to hear your voice. “I’m coming,” you assured me. And you did, somehow towing allies in your wake, strange large men who look like the bodyguards of a Pop dealer who are keeping the reporters and protesters at bay. They will help bring me peace for now. But when the City officials mobilize, there will be a massacre. I cannot have their blood on my hands or my heart.
Aster, your shining face always brings me joy, but I fear it is too late. You have asked me to run away, to hide. But how can I spend the remainder of my life in hiding? How can I live knowing that so many fear me, that so many want me dead for the threat I pose to their safety?
Thank you, Aster. Thank you for being here, for standing by my side.
Bram
Chapter 9
Admitting to murdering the central figure of a movement isn’t the best way to make friends. But I couldn’t lie to them about what had become of one of their beloved leaders, and I wore Leo’s death like heavy shackles in the eyes of his followers.
Word of my presence and my role in Leo’s death spread quickly from the War Council’s table throughout the compound and I existed in isolation in the crowd. Even the Curare shunned me. They believed themselves incapable of inflicting horrors on one another. Though part of me seethed at being an outcast among my own people, I also understood their revulsion, for I had often felt such disgust with myself.
In these quiet moments, I longed for my parents or anyone who would accept me. Kerria was my ally, though, and she often grasped my hand in solidarity in the face of her companions.
One evening, I sat beneath the glow of a tiny light at my bedside. The light created a short ring, bathing my head and torso in its beam, but leaving my legs and feet coated in darkness. The Undergrounds’ stronghold, hidden within the depths of the Pop den and down many stories into the old City of the past, buried beneath the streets and walkways, seemed almost reminiscent of times gone by. We were many steps away from the open sky. The masonry of the stronghold hearkened back to a time when things were made by hand and humanity had a closer relationship with the earth and their craft. These little details brought my thoughts to the home I had left and I wondered what my family would think of me being in the City, of the ways I had used my abilities to achieve my own end. I found that I had no answer because we simply could not have imagined it.
Lost in the tumult of my reverie, I didn’t hear the young boy approach me until he was standing at the foot of my bed, waiting patiently for me to notice him. When our eyes met, he smiled, his eyes luminous beneath a mop of red hair. “Sorry to bother you. Aster would like you to join her and the others.” He didn’t have to say it, but I knew that he meant that I had been summoned to a meeting of the War Council. The summons surprised me, and though I had longed for time to speak to Aster alone since my arrival, I hoped that agreeing to meet with the council would lead to a private meeting.
The young boy led me clumsily down the hallway before taking me deeper into the heart of the stronghold. I lost count of the steps in the stairwell and kept my eyes off the shifting shadows on the walls. Tentatively, I entered the meeting room for a second time, aware of how my outburst had possibly tarnished my reputation as someone worth consulting. Heads turned quickly as we entered and a hush fell over the room.
The council was relatively small. The four people I had met my first night sat on benches surrounding a round table. They were each different, varying in age, color and experiences; none of them were Curare. It seemed that the people who sought to free us did not believe in our own abilities beyond the possibility of cleansing the earth. Uneasiness overtook me.
Conversations resumed and the members of the council talked in hushed voices in spite of the many stories that separated them from the surface. Despite the heat that blistered outside on the surface, we were nestled coolly in the bosom of the earth. When I sat down at the table, Madriss eyed me skeptically. I knew that when I looked at him, I beheld a machine of war. His body was sleek and toned, his hair cropped short.
The other members of the council represented a wider range of experiences. Janus Weatherby was the only representative of the farms present besides myself. His skin was dark and wrinkled from years of working the land. He reminded me a bit of my father with his gentle eyes and demeanor. He had prominent cheekbones and a narrow jaw. He wore loose pants and a long shirt, his feet covered in heavy shoes reminiscent of the work boots worn by many farmers out in the fields. His hair was long, stringy and gray.
Brenna was small and fair, another City native who had never set foot outside of her home. Her skin was so white, I wondered how she survived at all in the harsh light outdoors. She would have instantly blistered. Her hair was luminous, a blonde so light I’d never seen anything like it. She had worked in the City government offices and thus appeared to have coveted knowledge of the alliance between the City and the CPA.
Aster presided over them with a careful air. She tapped her knuckles roughly on the table to gather attention and cleared her throat. “Thank you for joining me today, friends. I believe we have achieved a major victory over the City and the CPA. Vea hails from South Farm and is the Curare who has been in hiding all her life. It has taken great sacrifice to get her here and we have Leo to thank for that.”
“Leo, our greatest asset is gone, thanks to her,” Madriss growled. “We lose someone who can handle a physical fight and gain a pacifist instead. I hardly count that as a win.” His thick shoulders tensed.
My mouth went dry and I stared at my hands, unwilling to meet the hostility. “Madriss!” Janus interjected. “Show a little respect. Curare are capable of more than you know. Leo’s loss is a great tragedy. But the woman is blameless.”
“Really, Janus? Have you ever seen any of the Curare here wield a weapon successfully? How long have we been in training?”
“They have the farms in their blood. They are strong people. You just aren’t seeing it,” Janus assured him, smacking his palm against the table.
“Are we really going to have the same argument again?” Brenna asked with a flick of her braid. “Is it time to act or isn’t it?”
“Will it ever be?” Madriss echoed. “Your forces are meager. How do you expect to take on an entire army, a militarized front, with this load of civilians?” He tapped his fingers in irritation on his knee.
“We have Igni Curare in our ranks. The CPA are fearful of them,” Brenna reminded the group, her thin frame silhouetted against the sconces on the wall.
“The Curare have been enslaved for half a century. No one is truly afraid of them beyond being fearful of that which they cannot explain. Why do you think Kade has been experimenting on them for so long? In my dealings with the Curare, I haven’t witnessed any action that suggests one need fear them anyway, and I didn’t need to do experiments to figure that out. Damned scientists.”
“Kade experiments on the Curare because he hopes to create more of them,” Brenna spoke matter-of-factly. “Both the CPA and the City know that the numbers of Curare being discovered are dwindling and they are afraid.”
“How on earth would they create more Curare?” Janus asked. His gray brows came together in confusion, deepening the wrinkles on his wide forehead.
“They’re harvesting their eggs,” I replied softly, my eyes growing wet with the memory of Trina. It pained me to say it, to admit this heinous act aloud, even to these strangers, for the hideous nature of the act was undeniable, inescapable.
Four heads swiveled in my direction. “How do you know this?” Aster asked, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“Leo and I found a Curare who had escaped the compound. She was dying. She was desperate to keep them from stealing her eggs. She raved about it.” My arms felt the weight of Trina’s frail body and I remembered the brush of her pap
er-like skin. The thought of this being the fate of all Curare stirred my resolve and I lifted my chin once more.
“But the CPA believe the Curare to be sterile!” Janus cried in disbelief.
“We all know that’s not true and there’s no reason for them to be unaware of it, either. Kade’s a scientist. He’s not stupid.” Madriss growled. It seemed his anger was directed at me. His arm muscles bulged as he shifted his position in his seat, laying a grubby fist on the table before him.
“We have hidden ourselves so well and for so long. My son and my grandchildren gave up much because of their heritage.” Aster shook her head regretfully.
“We have much in common,” I replied evenly, locking eyes with Aster. My boldness shocked me and something passed between us in the silence that followed.
“Back to the matter at hand,” Brenna urged. “Clearly our need to stand up is more desperate than ever before. We must act now!” She spread her fingers wide on the table.
Madriss’s eyes were dark and he was still as stone. “As I’ve said before, they’re not ready. You have no army. Your people will be slaughtered in the first wave.”
“Surely the training has made some difference,” Aster muttered.
I looked about the room in confusion. This council seemed half-formed. They were at odds with one another, disorganized and couldn’t agree on anything. It was not the salvation I had been hoping to find. Without me, there would have been a single empty chair at the table and I was sure now that it had belonged to Leo. He would have brought a voice of reason to this chaos. Leo’s loss clearly rippled through the lives of so many and his death might have been the greatest hindrance to the cause of the Curare.
“Your cause is great. But your army is filled with pacifists who don’t know how to wield the simplest of weapons. The CPA carry air guns and are combat trained. We are no match for them,” Madriss insisted. “It would be a bloodbath.”
I thought of the heat I had wielded to escape the prison, of the anger filling me like poison and the memories of my fellow Curare used and brutalized by a people who did not deserve the beauty they were given. This is why I exist and this is why Leo had brought me to the City. “Curare are not pacifists,” I stated simply.
“Your kind have done nothing but lay in wait for rescuing since the beginning. Some soldier you’d make.” Madriss huffed, turning his anger back to me. The rest of the table blistered at his implication and in Aster I saw a great shift as her memorialized beloved bore insult.
“Curare are not pacifists.” I repeated again as much for myself as for the others sitting around the table beneath the guttering lights. It was there, deep within the earth, far from the home I loved and the world I understood, occupying the chair of the man whom I had both loved and killed that I began to accept who I was and to embrace the power that coursed through my veins.
I met Madriss’s unwavering gaze and in his eyes, I read his silent challenge. Prove it.
I found the small stairway that wound back to the surface and slipped away while the Undergrounds were filing into the hall that served as a makeshift dining room. At the top, I found a door, which gave way after much jostling. After being so long underground, I craved the open space, the sunlight, even if it was in the concrete and steel jungle.
Through a cloud of dust and smoky residue, I found myself in one of the dozens of Pop rooms and the people lying prostrate there reacted little, if they had even noticed my presence at all. The acrid smoke curled about me, stinging my nostrils, and I suppressed a fit of coughing. My toes met the cool stone and I shivered slightly at the sensation, longing for the warm pulse of the earth beneath my feet. I covered my face with my hand and crept around the stream of bodies lying in hammocks and on makeshift beds on the floor. The room was awash with excess, bathed in denial and occupied by bodies that did little more than exist. It was relatively quiet save for the occasional cough or tapping of a pipe.
Drawn by a dim light, I worked my way to the front of the room and out into the reception hall where I had first set foot in the Undergrounds’ stronghold. Burn stood at the helm, typing something into a ledger. Her face was round, her hair dark and limp. She had a large scar behind her left ear where a PID once had lived. The skin was mottled and no hair grew there. When she heard me step over the threshold she looked up from her work. “And where do you think you’re going?”
“I need to get out. I’m not used to being packed away underground like that.” I headed to the door. “I won’t be gone long.”
“You can’t be leaving here, dear. Especially you. Soldiers are crawling through the streets looking for you. Besides, we’re closed right now. No one comes in or goes out.”
“Who is looking for me?”
“I hear talk. When new patrons come in, I hear things.” She shrugged her thin shoulders. The hemp clothing she wore was shredded, nearly in tatters. But filling the holes were scraps of bright colored fabric. She appeared spotted with red and orange dots. She gave a toothy smile.
I sighed, disappointed and glanced at the dirty window. “Perhaps I’ll just enjoy the sunshine from here.”
“There’s no sunshine out there. At least, not the kind you’re talking about.”
“I know. But it’s better than nothing.” I closed my eyes and reached out, hoping for a taste of the earth. I needed time to think. The reality of the War Council filled me with disappointment, and while the majority of the members of this organization were well-intentioned, their ability to take on Kade and the CPA was questionable. It was time to make a move.
Many sounds and sensations danced across my awareness as I dug deeper into the void. In the background, Burn began chattering again, oblivious to the fact that I wasn’t listening. I hunched my shoulders and tuned her out, concentrating on a world that she could not see or hear. Through the noise and static of the City, I eventually found a small thread, a trill of the tune of the earth that I was familiar with. It was faint, but it was enough. It tickled my ears and rekindled the fires within me. Just as I was about to break the connection and return to myself, I heard something more, a song I recognized but hadn’t heard since our paths diverged in East Farm. Adem.
My eyes snapped open and I lurched toward the door. “You can’t go out there!” Burn cried, though she never left the safety of her podium to stop me. The door swung open with a mighty groan and I shut it firmly in my wake with barely a glance behind me as I plunged into the tumultuous waters of the City once more.
I quickly left the obscure alley behind and stepped onto a busy, main road. At first, I was overwhelmed by the people, each person stumbling along with their own purpose, their own agenda. Transport vehicles whizzed by, emitting their high-pitched whir. Lights flashed and traffic shifted. People jostled me from another direction and more transports careened past going the other way. Concentrating amid all of this was nearly impossible; and yet I clung steadfastly to that thread of song, determined to find Adem in an ocean of chaos.
As I walked, the song got stronger. I paid little attention to where I stepped, bustling between people and ducking under archways as I strove to carve my own path, aware only of Adem and the need to find him. The concrete scraped my toes as I sought a strong connection. A rushing transport vehicle brushed too close and my hair flushed in a wave from the wind from the passing vehicle. I peered out from beneath my disheveled locks and spotted Adem hunched in a corner, talking to someone whose back was to me. He must have sensed me too, for his eyes snapped up and met mine as I crossed the street. What did my own song sound like?
In that short second, I got the message. I slowed my pace and began to amble along the street, peering into store windows, pondering the messages that flashed on the vid screens. I didn’t stop to speak with him and pretended I had another purpose for my walk. People began to fan out in waves, eager to pass me.
I balanced on the edge of a curb, watching the lighted
directional signs, waiting for permission to cross. Adem was still on the previous corner and the distance between us was growing. For a moment, I considered circling back, but then worried that the person with whom he spoke would notice that I had passed them a second time.
Eventually, I fell into the groove of the crowd, succumbing to the monotony and was swept along the street. It was strange to be anonymous and unknowable, just another face in the crowd. Perhaps hiding in the City would have been a better plan all along.
A hand on my shoulder brought me quickly from my reverie. I turned in surprise, though I knew already from the contact that the person behind me was Adem. We quickly stepped out of the flow of traffic and onto a less-crowded street. I embraced him heartily and when I felt his arms encircle me, I felt tears watering my eyes. He held me at arm’s length. “What is it?”
I covered my mouth with my hand and fought back the storm of anguish rising in my chest. “Not here,” I managed. Adem nodded his understanding and we returned to the streets. I led him back to the Undergrounds stronghold.
When we returned to the dusty window front of the Pop den, Adem hesitated. “You know this place.”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “The Undergrounds were the ones who freed me.” He looked about him, clearly concerned. “We shouldn’t loiter. Let’s go inside and I’ll explain.”
When I entered the Pop den, Burn looked up, an angry reprimand on her lips. But when the door opened wider and Adem followed, her eyes bulged in surprise. “You’ve come back.” Her voice was subdued and her words clearly directed at him. Adem nodded. “You should head down. We’ll be opening our doors soon.”
We descended the dank staircase in silence, our footsteps echoing on the cold walls, mingling with the sounds of our labored breathing and the flickering buzz of the dusty lights that lit our way. With each breath, I practiced pushing away the sorrow that Adem ignited, puncturing a hole in the flimsy dam I had built.