Withered World

by Sara Kincaid

  The needle buzzed when he pressed a button on the handle and I saw drops of dark ink glint in the bright lights as he leaned forward. I bit my lip and braced myself, unsure of what was to come. The pain was sharp and constant. Alors hummed softly while he worked and I found myself lost in the nameless tunes he breathed as the dots and lines became so much more.

  We sat like that together, him unmoving save for his hands as they wove the colorful design on my skin. I looked away from my arm and off into the distance, as if something beyond the walls that enclosed me could possibly save me from the fate at which Alors had hinted.

  When he finished, Alors sat back and admired his handiwork. There was an elegant beauty in the art of his mark on my arm. Wings swooped in graceful V shapes. Delicate feathers of alternating colors, a tail of impressive length and color. “It is not much, but it is the only gift I have to give to you.”

  I looked down at my arm and beheld the colorful plumage of a phoenix, bold and bright, rising from the ashes with strength and determination, a masterpiece among the ashes of my life, of the fates of myself and my brethren. I looked up at Alors, who was slowly cleaning his tools and avoiding my glance. If he had seen the figurine dangling from the chain about my neck and knew anything of its meaning, he gave no indication. “I will remember you, Vea of South Farm. And I will think of you fondly.”

  I covered the mark that snaked about my forearm as best I could with my three-quarter length sleeve and followed a silent brigade of guards. They had been waiting for me on the other side of Alors’ door, but said nothing as they led me silently back through the snaking hallways. It was like walking in the sharp facets of a diamond. The design I wore looked nothing like any of the others I had seen and I worried about what that meant.

  This time as we walked, no one spoke to me. No one urged me forward with their rifles. I was marked and therefore forever identifiable as a Curare. There was nowhere to hide. The world would always know me for what I was.

  When we approached the familiar doorway, barred and blocked by guards, I gave a sigh of relief, for I feared the hour when I’d find myself back in Kade’s office. The gate lock grated, metal on metal, as they wrenched it open and escorted me inside. The sleeping quarters for this batch of Curare was much less crowded, and I glanced about my prison with fresh eyes. Trayvor saw me as I entered and waved at me to join him. His bunk was situated in the middle of the room. He sat with his feet flat on the floor, but hunched over as the bunks above him were rather low. He took my hand quickly. “You were gone a long time. I was worried.”

  I hadn’t the heart to tell him about meeting Kade. So I rolled up my sleeve and held my hand out to him wordlessly. “Alors is peculiar.”

  Trayvor nodded, his eyes wandering the lines of my tattoo. “Yes. There are rumors.”

  “What kind of rumors?”

  “Rumors that he isn’t loyal to Kade. That Kade has blackmailed him into being here.”

  I stared at the thick dust collected near one of the legs of the bed. “How so?”

  Trayvor sighed. “It’s just hearsay. I wouldn’t read much into it. But, some believe that Alors is a transplant and that he has a sister who is Curare. To keep her from being taken by the CPA, Alors offered himself up instead. But as torture, Kade assigned him to mark every Curare who arrives here.” I nodded. “Vea?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why is your mark so different?”

  I looked down at the artful design on my arm, feeling once more the prick of the needles against my skin and remembering the burning sensation that each burst of ink delivered. “I think it’s best that you don’t ask me that.” My tone was apologetic and Trayvor’s glance flickered up at me and back to my arm. There were deep circles under his eyes.

  “You bear every color of the Curare. Does that mean…”

  I fought the urge to flinch. The less he knew, the better it would be for him. “It means only that I am Curare, just like you.”

  Trayvor stopped pressing. “Of course. I’m sorry.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it. Is there an open bunk somewhere? I’d like to rest now.”

  “Yes, there’s a lower bunk in the corner.” He pointed to the corner opposite of the entrance to the room.

  I didn’t want to ask why the bunk was available. “Thank you.” I walked away, quickly pulling my sleeve down over my arm.

  Bram,

  After many months of waiting, our baby finally made his cautious way into my arms with your mother at my side. He came between the agony-filled rolls of labor pains, my body curling in on itself in an effort to bring him forth into this uncertain world.

  His eyes are gray like yours and his hair is straight, but his skin is dark and rich like my mother’s. I worried for some time how I would feel when I saw him. Would he bring me only sorrow, reminding me of you? But I find instead that he will be an interesting combination of our two heritages, the farm and the City. I am eager to watch him grow and to guide him as he builds his life.

  It has been so long since you died, I wonder why I still write. Somehow, writing to you brings me a bit of peace.

  Aster

  Chapter 14

  The heat of No Man’s Land was thick and unrelenting. It clung to my skin and draped itself over me until I staggered beneath its weight. I shifted uncomfortably in the shoes that had been issued to me by the CPA. They wrapped awkwardly around my feet and laced from my big toe up to my ankle. I wiggled my toes inside their strange tombs and sighed.

  Two large groups of Curare loitered on the transport grounds just outside the CPA facility. The soldiers were mostly preoccupied. A number of them stood huddled together, talking in earnest. I moved my awareness to the void, seeking the earth beneath the thick pavement upon which I stood. Navigating through the shoes I wore on my feet proved challenging, so I sank to my knees and placed my hands upon the hot ground. At first, all I could hear was the strange song of the dozens of Curare who stood around me. Though our songs beckoned to the earth, nothing answered our plea.

  Forlornly I called to the sleeping energy flowing like sludge beneath me until I felt the withered tendrils reach up to me. They climbed up my fingers, tentatively at first and then quickly multiplied until I felt myself covered by them. Cocooned in their embrace, I felt a great heat fill me, greater even than the heat of the desert that imprisoned us. Around me I saw Curare pause in their conversations, each turning their awareness inward and then glancing discreetly in my direction. Whether they knew what was happening or not, I couldn’t say. But they all sensed something shifting.

  I gave myself over to the earth, to the song I heard bellowing from somewhere deep within that shell, and felt my heart align with the pulse of our distant mother. Slowly, my energy reserves began to renew. The ache within my belly and my leg subsided and I knew that the earth, though she could not satisfy me completely, had healed me and given me what she could. I breathed a silent “thank you,” unwilling to even form the words on my lips lest my action draw attention to me.

  A tap on my shoulder brought my awareness out of the earth and the tendrils of energy that surrounded me quickly melted away. I knew that the presence of so many Curare in one place had helped me draw the earth from her hibernation and allowed me to replenish myself. I was not strong enough to do this alone. With no indication of what was in store next, I wanted to be as ready as possible for whatever the CPA and Kade had planned.

  The Curare who had tapped me on the shoulder gave me a sidelong glance beneath a thick wave of lashes and she strained for a view of my forearm, which I kept stiffly against my side. I was an unfamiliar face and had caught her interest.

  Finally, the soldiers returned and started pulling people out of line. Three people were grouped together and sent to see a senior soldier who spoke to each group and grabbed a pack from a box for each group. Before receiving the pack, each Curare would ho
ld out their left arm and receive some sort of injection. Curious, I watched as the Curare made their way out into No Man’s Land, each group fanning out through the desert heading in different directions.

  A soldier approached me. “Vea Algana? Follow me.” Apparently news not to touch me traveled quickly throughout the encampment. Bemused, I followed in the soldier’s wake, where I was grouped with two Curare whom I had not seen before.

  The first Curare was a young woman with warm, brown skin, a flat nose and straight, black hair. Her mouth was a grim line and her round eyes were empty. She had high cheekbones and held her chin high, refusing to meet my gaze.

  The second Curare was a man with eyes that smoldered. He met my curiosity with indignation. His hair was spiky and dark, his chin and other features narrow.

  I fell in step with my new companions and waited in silence as we stood in line to receive our directions from the soldier. When we came to the front of the line, my companions held out their arms and were given an injection. I followed suit and winced as a needle pricked my skin just above my mark. My companions each glanced at my peculiar mark as I received the injection. Once my arm was released, I quickly covered my arm once more, wishing that Alors hadn’t been struck with his stroke of genius the previous day.

  The head soldier handed the other woman in our group a pack. “Okay, you three are assigned to the northwest quadrant. Your trackers have been set for three days. Return to your drop-off site before then or you will receive a dosing of Pop. You don’t want to face the punishments that will await you should you refuse to comply.” I looked askance at my companions but neither of them cowered, meeting the soldier’s menacing gaze.

  Dozens of transports sat humming on the tarmac and small groups of Curare loitered around them awaiting permission to board. I followed my companions up to a shiny transport. The pilot looked up from his digital notepad and nodded once before resuming his task.

  Once all Curare had received their assignments, our pilot took his place in the cockpit and opened the cargo doors to allow us entrance. I sat on the dirty floor and brushed dust from my hands, reclining against the smooth wall of the vehicle. The door closed and we were bathed in the dim glow of a single utility light that swung overhead.

  Beneath the shadows of my bangs, I assessed the other Curare. The man was young, barely older than me, I wagered, with deep brown eyes and black, spiky hair. His face was flat and his lips wide. My eyes strayed to his left forearm, where I saw the distinctive splay of red feathers bound with a leather thong. An Igni Curare.

  The two Curare clearly knew each other well. They sat in close proximity, their heads bent together. The woman was smooth skinned, with high cheekbones and heavy eyelids.

  “I saw your mark,” the man hissed quietly as he tossed hair out of his eyes.

  I tensed. “What of it?”

  He shrugged. “No need to be defensive. We’re working together, you know.” He and the woman exchanged glances. Then, he slid across the room, sidling up beside me. His forwardness surprised me as the aloofness he displayed in front of the guards on the tarmac dropped away. “I’m Micah. Micah Grange. I hail from North Farm. What about you? And keep your voice down. They’re likely listening in on us.” He gestured to a blinking light coming from the corner of the cargo hull and then regarded me with his strange, dark eyes, waiting for a response.

  I lowered my voice. “Vea Algana of South Farm.”

  “Nita,” the woman mouthed. She grinned, revealing a gap between her front teeth. “We’re both Igni Curare.” She held up her arm. Seeing their two marks side by side, I realized that there were notable differences, though they both wore the red feathers of the Igni Curare. Nita’s mark bore aqua colored beads while Micah’s contained more feathers. I chewed my lip wondering what the significance was, if any.

  The transport shuddered slightly and lifted us into the air. My stomach dropped and my palms began to sweat, still unused to the strange sensation. Personally, I preferred having my feet on the ground and would pick the louder ground transports I had grown up with, given the choice.

  “What’s in the north quadrant,” I asked, sidestepping the unspoken question about my mark.

  “It’s outside of the City. They’re building a farm,” she replied conspiratorially.

  “A farm? What are you talking about?” Disbelief filled me. There were already four farms. What possibly could Kade and the CPA want with another farming community? What would it mean if they built their own?

  “No one knows what it’s really for,” Micah answered.

  “But you’re sure it’s a farm,” I pressed, leaning forward.

  “We don’t know for sure. But why else would they use Igni Curare out there?” Nita shrugged her shoulders.

  “What do you mean?”

  Nita clapped her hands together roughly and then peeled them apart, revealing the bud of a flame. My eyes widened in surprise. This was why the City and the CPA were fearful of the Igni Curare. Their abilities manifested differently. “Igni Curare don’t clean. We burn.”

  I cocked my head to the side, considering. “I’ve never thought about it. You’re the first Igni Curare I’ve ever met.”

  “Wait. Is this your first cleansing?” When I nodded, Nita continued. “You didn’t look familiar. But you’re not fresh out of school, either, are you?”

  “No.” I stopped going to school when I was fifteen. It was better that way and I had all the books and schooling I needed at home in the safety of my room.

  Nita slid over so that the three of us sat in a circle, our knees nearly touching. I felt a curious humming from the void and wondered if they heard it, too. “Your mark is different.” She gestured at my arm where my sleeve only partially covered Alors’ work. Reluctantly, I rolled my sleeve up to reveal the whole of the picture. Nita raised her eyebrows, clearly dazzled. “Wow. He really outdid himself on you.”

  I shrugged, remembering the sad look in Alors’ eyes and the reluctant warnings that curled from his lips. “He was odd.”

  Micah lowered his voice even more and I had to lean forward to hear him. “He’s a prisoner, too, you know. He’s from North Farm like me. He knew my grandfather and my father. You’ve seen his tattoos, right?”

  I thought of the dizzying array of designs that grew from his fingertips until disappearing under his shirtsleeves. Not an inch of bare flesh was visible. “Sure. There are so many.”

  “Yes. The rumor is he gives himself a new tattoo for each person he marks.”

  “But that would mean that he has hundreds of tattoos!”

  “Well he might have them all over. We can just see his arms,” Nita reasoned.

  We sat in silence for a time, our knees nearly touching. The vibrations from our close proximity were distracting. But, with nothing to do and no windows in our prison, there wasn’t much else to focus on. Instead, I dove into the void and watched the energy of my two companions flicker, licking up their limbs and through their bodies like flames. The songs streaming through their blood were not identical, but burbled a strong harmony. I twirled my consciousness around those strands, teasing the energy through my fingers, and thought longingly of Leo.

  Our dark prison finally began to descend, and though I knew we were to be taken out into the depths of No Man’s Land, I craved daylight and a chance to dig my toes into the earth. I had been too long separated from my true home and I yearned to remove the shoes that covered my feet. The clunky shoes frustrated me and I had little patience for soles and arches. All I wanted was my bare feet in the dirt.

  We landed with a quiet thump. The whirring of the engines dwindled and eventually died away. Nita slung our pack over her left shoulder and scooted to the back of the transport. Micah and I followed. The rear of the transport opened slowly and harsh light rushed in, blinding us. I followed Nita and Micah into the light and slid down the ramp, landing in a hea
p on the ground.

  Immediately, the ramp retracted and the transport closed up before leaping into the air again and flying away. “I guess they don’t want us to get the wrong idea,” I joked. Nita and Micah each gave a rough laugh.

  Wind from the retreating transport tickled the empty branches of nearby trees so they appeared to wave at us. I watched the transport until it was out of sight before hastily removing my shoes. I tied them together and threw them over my shoulder before planting my toes into the earth.

  After so many days separated from my beloved land, I nearly shook with anticipation. I acknowledged the hunger that I had kept at bay, though tamed and greatly diminished before our trip, wanting nothing more than to be satisfied in my body and my soul.

  The CPA stronghold was a metallic fortress that cut me off completely from the land, and my time in the City had also left me all but isolated from nature. I opened myself up to the earth fully, not caring that the land was twisted with poisons and marred with abuse. I dug down farther, willing my energy to plunge farther into the depths of the earth like roots, only wanting to feel safe and to remember the power I had been granted. Finally, as I sifted through the layers of life and death, through the ashes of our past, I found what I craved. The song of the earth. Faint, but as beautiful as ever, I allowed that soft voice to wash over me, each note cleansing my sorrow-filled heart.

  Slowly my awareness traveled out from the connection I made with the earth, and though I wasn’t fully healed or satisfied, I felt reassured in my path. I sensed my companions watching me curiously, and their energy flickered in the void. When I opened my eyes and dialed back my connection with the earth, I found each of them staring at me. I breathed deeply and waited for someone to speak. “What exactly are you?” Micah asked.

  “I am Curare just like you,” I answered quickly, alarmed.

  “Are you sure? I…What was that?” Micah’s eyebrows creased.