Guardians

by Susan Kim

  “About Esther. It all a lie.”

  Trey started to make something up, but before he could speak, Gideon spat on the floor. “Never figure you as soft.” His voice was full of contempt. “Maybe you think she sweet. But she ain’t.”

  Trey glanced up. From the tone of his voice, Gideon seemed more a spurned lover than anything else.

  “You get out,” Gideon said. “Hear me?”

  Although he said nothing, Trey couldn’t keep from sneering. Gideon was short for his age and bone thin, with no muscles to speak of; his neck was like a barren twig. It would have taken Trey no great effort to kill Gideon where he stood, and for a moment, he was tempted. But as the idea flickered across his mind, he could hear in the near distance the clamor of the boys outside the rooms.

  What Gideon provided was not merely popular; it had become the very life and blood of the District. He had grown too powerful to kill and get away with it.

  “I hear you,” Trey said in an even voice.

  Hours later, Gideon stood in his tiled office, his eyes closed to ease his throbbing head.

  He couldn’t bear to think of what might have happened between the assassin and Esther. Instead, he concentrated on what he knew for sure: that Trey’s departure had left him two very real problems. There would be no one taking care of order in the District. And his enemy was still upstairs plotting against him.

  Was it his imagination, or were there fewer people buying proof and girls ever since Esther had started caring for the sick and teaching others to read? Were people turning against him and what he offered, siding with her?

  He was so preoccupied, he didn’t hear the knocking at the door.

  “Go away.” Gideon assumed it was Eli. He had little patience for the boy and his pathetic needs and was in no mood to hear his drunken questions about Trey.

  But the knocking came again and was more persistent. Gideon sighed and turned around. When he unlocked the door, he saw no one at first. Then he glanced down. He was astonished to see a child standing before him.

  She was no older than eight or nine, and tiny for her age. With delicate features and pale skin that seemed almost translucent, she had dark curly hair that framed her face like a halo. She looked like an expensive doll or a toy, and as finely made. Yet she stared up at him with eyes that were shrewd, fearless, and strangely knowing.

  Gideon let out a bark of incredulous mirth. “What you want?”

  “I want to talk,” the creature said.

  Again, the boy laughed. He started to close the door in her face, but she had already slipped inside.

  “Out,” he instructed. She shook her head, even as Gideon reached forward and gripped her by the bony shoulder. “I told you, out.”

  “I’m Saith,” she said. “And I can help.”

  Gideon hesitated. Then with an abrupt move, he released her. “What you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Depends. You need sellers?”

  “No.”

  “Gleaners?”

  “Every day, I got more than I need.”

  “I see.” She glanced around the Spartan room, at the white tiled walls and metal stalls. “You need someone count that?” She nodded at a heap of green glass that glittered in the corner.

  Gideon was impressed. “You count?”

  “No. But someone teach me, I learn.” Saith looked back up at him with a cool gaze. “I learn anything.”

  Despite himself, Gideon was amused by the child’s arrogance. “That nice. But I ain’t needing anything.”

  He had already taken her by the shoulder again, to push her out. But Saith held back, her pretty brow furrowed in a frown.

  “Ain’t nobody don’t need things.” She slipped from his grasp and moved out of reach. “Even the ones got everything.”

  “What you know about that?”

  “Plenty. I watch it all my life.”

  Gideon hesitated. The girl’s weird confidence was impressive. Still, what could he do with her? “You ain’t strong enough to help. ’Less you got a gun and can use it.”

  To his surprise, the little girl smiled.

  “Oh,” she said, “it ain’t about guns. Who can fight, can kill. It about who knows things.”

  Gideon grunted. “How you mean?”

  Saith took a step closer. “There other ways to control folks,” she said. “I see what Esther do. I been upstairs.”

  The boy paused a minute.

  “You interested now,” Saith said.

  “Yes,” Gideon had to admit.

  “I seen her baby. The mutant. You know it’s a mutant?”

  “Yes,” he said, taking a seat.

  She came close. Gideon was aware she had even placed her hand, a tiny, slim paw, on his arm. He didn’t shake it off. Her voice was soft, insinuating. “I know how to make her do what you want.”

  Gideon didn’t scoff; her manner forbade him. He studied the little girl again. “I listening,” he said.

  Saith was gazing off, her eyes clouded in thought. When she smiled, the boy noticed that her teeth were white and a dimple flashed in one cheek; her innocent appearance was strangely at odds with her knowing words. “I hear what you do . . . downstairs.”

  At that, Gideon felt a new flare of rage at Esther and her spy, the boy Silas. He leaned forward.

  “I think,” she said at last, “we give them something even gooder.”

  And with that, Saith winked.

  Several days later, there was a commotion on the main floor of the mall.

  Like the other information he had conveyed, Gideon had arranged to release a rumor in a judicious way. At first, he told only his favorite vendors, whom he instructed to provide hints to just a few key customers. At every step, people were urged to keep the news strictly confidential . . . and so naturally, it soon spread throughout the entire building.

  Most people were both too suspicious and too stupid to trust anything resembling an official announcement. Yet overhearing something from people you didn’t trust or even know was a completely different matter. Gossip made even the most scurrilous report believable.

  A girl had come to the District who was either witch or prophet.

  She could see the future.

  She had visions of an afterlife.

  Watching from the fourth floor, Gideon could almost see the exciting news fly from one person to the next. It fascinated him, this glimpse into the strange workings of the ignorant mind, the avidity and glee with which people hoarded then shared what was to them precious: the promise of something better than this short and painful life.

  Saith had told him this would happen. She was right.

  She spent the entire time hiding in his office. Because no one could know of her, Gideon was the only one who slipped her food and water. He also procured for her clothing: a fine silken robe of white, a silvery scarf that she draped over her hair. She gave specific instructions, and he fulfilled them to the letter. Then she spent the remainder of the time resting and preparing herself for her first appearance.

  Soon it would be time.

  THIRTEEN

  A BOY STOOD BEFORE ESTHER. HIS NAME WAS NOAH, AND IN HIS SWEATY palm he held out a single object. The others who had been learning how to read were already on their way out the door, talking and laughing.

  Noah was heavier than the others, big for his age, which was about twelve. He had had a brief stay in the sick rooms with an injured ankle; then he had started coming to Esther’s classes.

  From the beginning, Noah struggled to learn. In fact, his stumbling and halting attempts reminded Esther of herself. Today, she had helped him sound out and write the letters of his own name for the first time. She had seen his eyes brighten with pride and a smile of discovery sweep across his face.

  For this, he was now offering a piece of glass.

  Esther had always made it clear she didn’t want anything in return. “Please,” she told him now. “I said no.”

  The boy didn’t move, only looked at Esther with
a furrowed brow.

  “But,” he said, “you deserve it.”

  “And I told you,” Esther said, her patience ebbing, “that’s not the point of this.”

  Noah put the glass piece back into his pocket. Still, he didn’t leave. Then, to her shock, he sank to the floor and threw himself at her feet.

  “Thank you.” His voice was muffled. “Thank you.”

  For a fleeting moment of pure confusion, Esther thought he was sick. Then as the boy clung to her calves, she became flustered and appalled. Trying to keep her temper, she reached down and unwrapped his fingers from around her legs. With an effort, she pulled him upright again.

  “That’s enough,” she said, her face flushed.

  Noah looked at her, truly baffled. She knew that the boy was slow compared to the others. But what he said now astounded her.

  “But that how we thank Saith.”

  Although Esther said nothing, her mind was whirling. “All right,” she said in an even voice. “But that’s not how we do things up here.” As the words sank in, Noah glared at her with resentment.

  After the boy had left, Esther let out a long breath, surprised at how unnerved the encounter had made her.

  Since Saith had disappeared, Esther had heard many speak of the younger girl with awe and reverence. That alone was disturbing. But what bothered Esther most of all was that as a result, fewer people were coming to the ninth floor: The little girl claimed to alleviate their ailments by a simple touch. Even Noah had not waited for his ankle to heal and had opted for Saith’s approach instead.

  This worried her. The more Esther read and the more she spoke with Joseph and Uri, the more she was convinced that the only things that cured illness and injury were rest and knowledge, not superstition and magic. She had also heard of predictions the girl had made, performances she gave, and devotions she encouraged. Yet Esther suspected that real prayer was a personal matter, a private dialogue between one’s soul and a greater power.

  The young girl was clearly working with Gideon now—that much was certain. Esther went over and over it in her mind: Had there been some clue she had missed? Was there any way to have realized that the little girl’s desire to please had in fact masked bold calculation and ruthless ambition?

  Esther tried to put the whole situation out of her mind, for she had other things to attend to. It was even later than usual due to her work with Noah. For although she spent each day working, Esther always made sure to tuck Kai and Sarah into bed.

  Tonight, as often happened, she was too late: They were already asleep. Michal, who had dozed off beside the children, stirred at Esther’s touch.

  “Thanks,” Esther whispered.

  Michal gave a sleepy smile. As she stretched, something fell unnoticed from her lap. Idly, Esther reached down and picked it up.

  “What’s this?”

  When Michal saw what it was, she gasped. She tried to seize it, but, her curiosity aroused, Esther held it back and tried to examine it by the moonlight.

  It was a doll baby, no bigger than her hand, made of light brown plastic. Whatever hair it once possessed had been plucked out; tiny, empty sockets covered the bald skull in a neat pattern instead. It wore a crude outfit, obviously hand-stitched from a piece of brown cloth: a baggy and shapeless tunic.

  “Give it back.” Michal’s voice was louder than she probably intended, and Sarah flinched in her sleep. “Ain’t no need to see that.”

  “But what is—”

  Then Esther fell silent. In the dim light, she saw that the doll was covered with scars and symbols carved deeply into its plastic limbs.

  Like a variant.

  A deep chill ran down Esther’s spine. “Where did you find this?”

  Michal shook her head. “It was here when I come. Lying on your bed so no one could miss it. I was going to throw it out.”

  “Did you see anyone come or go?”

  “I wish I had.”

  Michal was trembling, and Esther realized it wasn’t just for Sarah’s sake. After all, Michal and Skar knew firsthand what it meant to be the object of derision and hatred; the doll must have felt like an especially painful and personal attack. Esther moved forward and placed a hand on the other girl’s shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” she said.

  She hugged Michal, who clung to her for a moment. Then, adjusting her veil, the girl slipped away, back down the hall to the room she shared with Skar.

  Alone, the meaning of the doll hit Esther like a physical blow. It had clearly been left as a warning and perhaps even a threat.

  Still clutching the hateful object, Esther stepped outside of her room; she needed time to think. Then she recoiled.

  Standing at the far end of the dark hallway, silhouetted against the night sky outside the window, was a small figure, gleaming in immaculate white like a ghost. It seemed to be waiting for her.

  “Saith,” Esther said.

  She had recognized the girl at once, even without seeing her face. Yet as she approached, Esther noticed that Saith had in fact changed.

  Wearing silk robes that gave out a faint glow, the little girl stood with her back straight and a faint smile on her lips. Her hair was newly brushed and radiated around her pretty, doll-like features like a soft cloud. The scent of roses and jasmine wafted from her skin. She seemed to have aged years, not weeks. But when she spoke, her voice was still that of a little girl, high-pitched and ingratiating.

  “You got my gift,” Saith said. “That make me happy.”

  Esther had forgotten she still held the revolting doll. She almost threw it on the ground but managed to hold herself back.

  “I made it,” Saith added.

  “I couldn’t have done it,” Esther replied, and that much was true. “I never could sew. That’s what my sister always said, anyhow.”

  “Your sister, Sarah?”

  With a sinking feeling, Esther realized she must have mentioned her sister at some point and Saith had remembered. What else had she revealed about herself without thinking? What other information had she unwittingly supplied? With reluctance, she nodded.

  “That why you call her that. That nice.”

  Esther said nothing, just kept her eyes on the young girl. Saith held the gaze, then eventually glanced to the side.

  “I’m glad you trusted me to show me your baby,” she said.

  Esther refused to look away. “I did trust you.”

  Saith kept going. “People talk about you all the time. When they come to me. They say such nice things.”

  “I’m glad.” Esther’s voice was flat.

  “But you know what funny? No one mention little Sarah. No one.”

  Esther felt chilled.

  “Don’t be scared,” she heard Saith say. “I bet people still like you even if they know you got another baby. And it a mutant.”

  At the hateful word, Saith giggled.

  Despite herself, Esther could remember the child’s appeal. There was something clear and piercing about her gaze, whether sincere or not. And like before, she seemed so sweet and eager to please. Yet it was clear that Saith had hidden behind this innocent-little-girl image when in fact she had never been one.

  Still Esther said nothing. As if impatient, the little girl reached forward and, without asking, took back the doll. She cupped it in her hands and rocked it; the gesture seemed like a nasty parody of love.

  “Maybe one day I forget no one know. And I just let it slip out.” Saith glanced up, her black eyes glittering like coal. “That would be bad. Maybe people might not like it. They get angry. What you think?”

  “I don’t know,” Esther said. “You tell me.”

  “Maybe I ask Gideon what he think.” Saith smiled. Then she expelled her breath, as if surprised, and glanced down. “Oh no,” she said. “Look what I done.”

  She had twisted the head off. Now she let the pieces fall to the floor and kicked them to the side. “Well. I like to see you, Esther. I think about you.”

 
The little girl gave one last smile. Then she turned to the stairwell and was gone, leaving nothing but the scent of flowers.

  “I’ll be thinking about you, too,” Esther said, to no one.

  That night Esther couldn’t sleep. After hours of tossing and turning, she slipped out of bed. The hallway was dim, lit by the window on the far end, and the air in the stairwell was unusually cool. She sat upon the steps, her mind whirling with thoughts about Saith.

  How seriously should she take the child’s threats? she wondered. She was just a little girl, after all; was it just a malicious prank? Or was there something more sinister beneath her words and if so, why? Had Saith in fact been set up to do it by someone else . . . namely Gideon?

  Esther did not know how long she sat there. But all at once, she heard a far-off door close and the sound of someone approaching from far below.

  The figure made the light of Esther’s candle waver. When she saw who it was, she drew a quick breath and the flame ducked and danced.

  It was the boy with the white streak in his hair.

  Even as she tensed up and readied herself to escape, Esther had to admit that she wasn’t completely unhappy to see him. She knew that Gideon was mounting some kind of campaign of intimidation against her, sending Saith and this boy. She knew Trey had no scruples and would kill for pieces of glass. Yet for reasons she could not explain, she trusted him.

  Was it the look of regret he had given her the night they met? The way he had played with Kai? It was as if Trey were at odds with himself, aspiring to be better than he was. Even his white stripe of hair suggested there was someone older and wiser inside, trying to get out. It was silly, she thought, but true.

  “Evening,” he said. When Esther nodded a greeting, he indicated the step beside her.

  “Mind?”

  Esther made room for him on the cement step. “Don’t think I don’t know why you’re here.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “Gideon sent you.”

  “It was just my job.” Esther began to respond, but he cut her off. “And I don’t work for him no more. He don’t even know I’m here.”

  Trey now moved his hand and dug in his pocket. He took out a palmful of glass pieces, which sparkled in the meager light. “It’s all junk, anyhow.” He let them spill at his feet and they rolled and bounced down the stairs and over the edge, disappearing into the darkness below.