Tree of Life

by Sarah Joy Green-Hart

  Cole’s temper was rising a bit, so he wiped his mouth, took in a breath, and blew it out slowly. He slipped a tin of currant-cinnamon pastilles from his pocket and popped one into his mouth. Without words, he offered some to Hesper and Alan.

  Loudly sucking on a pastille, Alan leaned forward to see Hesper. “What do you think, dear?”

  Cole’s eyes widened, and he caught himself clenching his pant leg, white-knuckled. Hesper took it well, though, and didn’t skip a beat.

  “I can see that they want to get rid of us. I do not understand why, though. They might wish to eradicate some of the behaviors many of us have developed due to their treatment, but if they would stop oppressing us, that might end.”

  “Ah, but that wouldn’t be as fun! Or let them feel superior or suit their goals! Too reasonable! You notice they only take women. They could never manage the men, and ladies are, through their anatomy, more vulnerable to quiet attack. They’ve got fancy little wombs to mess around with. So, fiddlesticks on the men, let’s take the women, get our jollies, keep the strong genes and Gentle genitals away from each other, then we’ll get them pregnant and use that means and excuse to destroy those glorious forest people beneath the radar.”

  Cole cleared his throat. "I have never done—”

  "Sh, sh, boy. I wasn’t speaking of you. Don’t get so defensive.” Alan shrugged his shoulders up and down, wiggling his custard-pouch jowls. He grinned. "Loosen up and listen.” Driving with his knee, he counted on his fingers as he spoke. "They allow polygamy with Gentle women, forbid the old-fashioned pill form of birth control—and almost any other type—they mandate abortions and avoid sterilization until it looks too ridiculous not to do it—you’ll notice that they first look for every possible way to get into that woman’s body without cutting her open—then . . . then they got a grip on the prophylactic industry”—he pinched his own earlobe—"what industry there is anyway. Making and distributing the good ol’ rubbers themselves! I tell you, m’boy, they are intentionally making bad condoms—I kid you not—I have dealt with many a mixed couple suffering from the trauma of a forced abortion. Some of them experimented with the government issued prophylactics after that. One out of a hundred has a tiny pinprick of a hole.

  "It’s a long, slow approach, but the Kyrios know folks are watching! Passive-aggressive is the best approach when there’s an audience! There are lines that must not be crossed out loud, or the Kyrios’ enemies’ slow, calculated approach will become a swift uprising of passion. It’s chess, m’boy! Don’t force your enemy to jump your queen while you’re trying to maneuver her to jump their king.

  “Plus, they get a chance to make dough in the slave trade and enjoy beautiful women while they do it. The slave trade practically pays for the process.”

  "You said there’s an audience. What audience?”

  "The Earth People, clearly!”

  Cole couldn’t help but laugh. "That seems too complex a method just to avoid the anger of a pest like the Earth People. You believe the Kyrios fear an unarmed rebellion to such an extent, sir?”

  "I know they do!” He flicked his nose.

  Cole laughed again, incredulous. “Can you give a solid explanation as to how this uterus theory produces the desired results?”

  “That’s a question we have not yet been able to answer. We don’t know what they’re doing with these abortions and such, but son, have you ever left the country?”

  "Yes, sir. Many times.”

  Alan squinted. "Uh-huh. Do you know those ‘impoverished nations’ send aid to the Earth People? By that old ‘impassable’ bridge across the northern strait.”

  "The strait that divides us from the eas—”

  Alan pointed at him. "Yes, sir!”

  Ridiculous! Impossible. The man was a lunatic. "How would they do that? The rest of the world fell to pieces after The Conquest, and we shut them all out. I’ve seen the poverty with my own eyes.”

  "Have you now? Perhaps you’ve just seen the wrong countries? Been in the wrong locations?”

  Deemed hostile, some countries no one ventured into. It seemed reasonable to believe the Kyrios’ warnings and avoid those regions, but . . .

  "Mhm, I can see you’re thinkin’, boy!” Alan chuckled. "The Earth People are practically invading the northern country! Connect the dots, son, connect the dots!” Alan’s devious giggle served as bizarre, comedic punctuation.

  "People are watching, so the Kyrios can’t order a gargantuan genocide that would toss the table, though the Unified are building alliances and garnering sympathy like caviar and crème fraîche for my blini!

  "In the meantime, the women—those poor dears”—he glanced at Hesper—"have the Kyrios tap dancing on their self-worth. It’s done a-one-and-a-two on the perception of the young ladies. These once-strong women now view themselves as the beneficiaries of a righteous, holy directorate of Gentle welfare and happiness.” Alan slapped the steering wheel and honked the horn. He huffed and puffed and honked again.

  "I apologize, but it’s the truth.” He gave Cole a double-take and laughed. "And you’re wondering what kind of a lunatic you’re working with. I tell you, m’boy, a raving one! A raving lunatic! Some call me a conspiracy theorist, but I will proclaim the truth as loudly as I can. If I’m loud enough, perhaps the Kyrios will hear me, and I’ll go down in a boisterous blaze of conspiratorial glory. I hope you’ll find it amusing at the least.

  "Honestly, I’m sure they watch me closely for my outspoken chatter. If they weren’t, I’d be dead by now.” He shouted at the dashboard vent, "They want something from me! Hear me, Kyrios? I know you’re listening!

  "Now, as for why they really want to get rid of the Gentles?” He smiled. "I’ll save that for another bout of insanity. The next full moon, I suspect. You’ll have to come to me for that. They tie me to my bed when the beauteous la full luna appears.” Clearing his throat, Alan went quite suddenly silent.

  The Kyrios were bent on tormenting the Unified, but Alan’s hypothesis seemed a bit deeper and more diabolical. Illogical, too. Perhaps he could lay out his thoughts in a more orderly fashion sometime. It would be nice to write Alan off, but the words resonated. It would be simple to prove or disprove these claims about the strength of the Earth People if he obtained permission to leave the country, though proving that abortions and polygamy were being used to destroy the Gentles . . .? Cole rolled his eyes. That was the stupidest thing he’d heard in a long time. It sure wasn’t meant for their good, but depopulation? No.

  * * *

  Pomo Gate centered around a ruined Unified city that contained the bulk of the business district. On the outskirts, a fenced base housed local judges, military, and law enforcement wardens. The rest of the city sprawled low to the ground, mostly residential except for the large grassy square of market booths. Just as they passed the booths, Alan slowed and pulled up to a fine home in a well-treed neighborhood.

  "Here’s the palace. It belonged to me and my wife. Bought and paid for,” Alan explained. "When she passed away five years ago, I didn’t see the need to stay. It was too much for one old man, but I haven’t had the heart to try to sell it. Too many good memories there.

  "I’ve rented it out a few times, but I’m fussy about who! Just pay for your utilities, and I’ll keep a hundred meras of your pay each month. Deal?”

  Cole smiled and took the previous conversation off like a coat. "A generous one, sir.”

  Alan’s workers pulled up behind his vehicle and, quick and efficient, carried Hesper and Cole’s luggage into the house while they stood in the yard chatting with Alan.

  "I have a car for you to use until you’ve acquired your necessities, Brock,” Alan said.

  "That’s kind of you, Mr. Bandello. Thank you.”

  "If you’d like, I can drive you over to my humble domicile, four doors down, to pick it up.”

  "I’ll walk there in twenty minutes.”

  "Let us synchronize our watches. It’s about nine o’clock.” He twisted hi
s earlobe and flicked the tip of his nose. "Yes, twenty minutes is just fine. See you then. It’s the blue house with my name in front of it.” Alan hopped into the driver’s seat of his truck and drove away.

  Cole took Hesper’s hand and they followed the stone path to the door. The last worker smiled and waved as he rushed past them on his way out.

  After touring the house, they exited through the back door where they stood on a terrace and looked out on a yard filled with mandarin and mulberry trees. The place had been tended well.

  "You smell those?” Hesper asked, taking a deep breath. "I have never smelled that.”

  "The citrus doesn’t grow by us. Much of the fruit we get at home comes from other places.” He pushed up his glasses. "Quite the tale he tells, hm?”

  "Mr. Bandello? I do not understand it all. A lot of words he used are words I do not know, but I understood he thinks they are intentionally letting women get pregnant so they can justify executing them somehow? Correct? Meros men bringing us in because they can, not realizing it is so the Kyrios can kill us without drawing too much attention.”

  "Well done. That’s the gist. Enlisting hunters in pursuit of pleasure. It’s a far better method than mere loyalty. No one would be loyal to the Kyrios if they weren’t afraid or promised a reward.”

  "You think it is a tale?”

  He squeezed her hand. "Let’s just say, I have a lot to think about.”

  Twenty-Eight | Post-Conquest: 232

  Crumbled, burnt pyres dotted the grounds in tight rows. Soldiers laid Trinity atop a fresh pyre, cloaked in red velvet. David stood among the Kyrios, holding young Tom’s hand while the assembly sang a dirge.

  The soul whispers to God in death,

  Accept me, Great One, I pray.

  Upon the flaming pyre, I rise,

  Rise to see Your face.

  Not by the spirit, nor by the water,

  And not by the blood.

  By the death-light, the lightless flame,

  Through Your Glorious Ones.

  Vincent extended his arm, lifting the death-light for all to see. The miraculous lightless flame held the loyalty of believers across the nation. The Kyrios claimed to harvest it through a spiritual experience in a place of power in the afterlife. Since no one knew of any natural explanation, the Kyrios’ story stood as the most likely.

  Not hot, not bright, the death-light acted as a drain in a sink, swallowing light around it like water. Its destructive capabilities matched that of natural fire, but if it set you ablaze, you were bound to lose bits of your soul until it was put out. Some years ago, a man had burnt a bit of his finger with it and he was never the same again.

  People paid a fortune to have the death-light for deceased loved ones, and it was a right for the military, but most Meros civilians did not have fortunes, and some were unwilling to become soldiers. Even if they did, if their loved ones happened to be Gentles, they were out of luck. Only the wealthiest could afford eyeglasses, cars, indoor plumbing . . . the afterlife.

  Now, more than ever, the idea repulsed David. The thought that Trinity would be in the afterlife, but Jade wouldn’t. . . That wasn’t the kind of spiritual atmosphere he wanted for eternity.

  Vincent set the pyre ablaze and all waited for the moment when Trinity’s soul would begin its journey to the afterlife in the smoke.

  Ah, there it was.

  The smell of human flesh. Going into the afterlife was always a bad-smelling affair.

  As the dark flames engulfed Trinity, the crowd dispersed, but David had to stand watch ‘til only Kyrios remained. Tangled in the smell, the sound, and the all-too-hypnotic movement of flames, he fell into a pensive mood that bordered on black. Despairing thoughts of the afterlife and of his present life consumed his mind.

  Could he escape? Retire. Leave in the night and never return? Maybe start a new life and marry a normal woman from a small gate. He almost married a small-gate girl once . . .

  Whatever he chose to do, the Kyrios would hunt him down with astonishing speed. He’d seen it done before.

  Medals, badges, missions accomplished, successful and efficient opportunities for the delivery of justice, and even a few humanitarian efforts got shoved under his belt. A legacy worth leaving, a history to be proud of—or so they wanted him to believe.

  As things stood, being a charred body on a red velvet pyre would be the greatest honor he would receive, but like his sister, he’d be a nobody in his heart.

  He’d feel better in a couple of months . . . or years.

  * * *

  David had almost run out of childhood memories to share with Tom before the boy finally conked out at five A.M.

  Running on three hours of sleep, David spiffed up and dragged himself into the Bastion for his induction. In the Judgment Room, with a few canned blessings and prayers, he received the title of Reverenced One.

  Thrilling.

  "Just don’t let your brother influence you, David,” Vincent warned. "Only the Glorious Ones need to know about the contents of the Book of Light.” He gestured to the doors. "The more people know, the harder it is to govern them. The more people know, the less they understand. It’s unnecessary trouble, stirring up the pot. Are we clear?”

  Who brought up the Book of Light? David hadn’t thought much of it since Jade’s trial.

  "Clear, Glorious One.”

  Vincent extended his hand. "Congratulations, David. We’re happy to have you on board with us. I recommend that you spend the evening in prayer. It is essential to clear the mind and soul of past trauma and vices as you enter into this new relationship with your god and country.”

  "I’ll consider it. Thanks.”

  Vince’s gold chain bracelet quietly jangled as they shook hands, and, for the first time, David allowed bitterness to have its place. Shaking the hand that killed his wife was like making peace with murder. Peace with murder was getting kind of annoying. He drew his hand back and smiled. "Have a good day, Glorious One.” Overtired and annoyed, he needed a smoke.

  Outside, he leaned against the Bastion and lit his cigarette, then he slipped the lighter back into his pocket.

  First, letters of resignation must be written and sent to the gate boards in Sections Twenty-One through Thirty, abandoning the oversight of the small-scale responsibilities for his part in legislation and governance of Theocracia as a nation.

  Second—what was second? How was Hesper? How long would it be before she was sterilized or executed?

  Hesper was Cole’s darling now, and even if she weren’t, David had never been the type to make a woman his world or get overly protective. He enjoyed what little freedom he still had.

  She delighted him, though, and it would make his heart sick to see her wind up as another unrecorded statistic. Some days, he truly wished he hadn’t given her away. She deserved to be taken care of and kept safe. Not every woman needed that, but she did. She would deny it, but only because of the things she didn’t know about life with the Kyrios.

  Nevertheless, she wasn’t his, she was Cole’s—zealous, high-energy, bulldoze-you-over Cole’s. And now that his position had been elevated from that of an honored senior officer to successor, the potential for getting into real trouble skyrocketed. David had to start behaving when he became a successor, Cole would, too. It was time he believed whatever the Kyrios told him and lived life with a clean conscience. Sometimes it was best not to know the full extent of corruption you could do nothing about. Especially when you had a wife to care for.

  Cole had accused David of cowardice for years, but why bother to defend himself when it was clear that Cole couldn’t understand why passion wouldn’t fix anything? Not a single thing.

  David snuffed his cigarette on the Bastion wall and dropped it. Blowing out the smoke, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and went inside.

  Crossing the red carpet to get to his office, several stopped him with congratulations on his promotion. Numb, he nodded and faked a smile as he thanked each one and did the polit
e things he was supposed to do.

  He stopped at the stairs to the Judgment Room.

  The normal noise of the Bastion carried on as people passed this way and that, but for David, the surroundings were fading to black, and his heartbeat fluttered in his chest like little more than a dying butterfly.

  Was he shivering or trembling?

  He’d never trembled before.

  Braced against the staircase’s balustrade for support, his body quivered, but at least he’d remain standing.

  Maybe.

  He closed his eyes and took a few breaths. Perhaps stress and too much alcohol were getting to him. Dehydration?

  Opening his eyes, he looked up to the Judgment Room doors and a noiseless scream forced itself from his mouth. He couldn’t feel his heart. Or his toes. Or his face.

  Several naked, genderless people, with flaming shocks of hair and eyes that shone moon-white, stood in a row before the entrance to the Judgment Room. Hot-iron bones glowed through the ghostly pallor of their flesh, covered with beautiful, unique designs, like tattoos. One had an eye on its chest, another had a hand on their face, a vine wrapped around the waist of still another.

  Together, the beings opened preternaturally large mouths to reveal roiling fires, hungry for space to grow. The flames licked at their lips and curled around their faces until, writhing, they rose into the air.

  A blast of hot wind threatened to knock David over, drying his skin and stinging his face as he clung to the balustrade to keep himself upright.

  An oddly musical dissonance of terrified screams of men, women, and children poured from the flaming mouths, growing in intensity the longer they screamed.

  They stopped abruptly, closed their mouths, and looked at David.

  Synchronized, they thrust out their hands and a light appeared over his head. When they moved their hands up, it went up, when they moved them down, it went down. Involuntarily, his own arm released the balustrade and jutted out. The light moved with his hand’s motions, too.

  The strange beings lowered their arms and retreated single-file through the Judgment Room doors, leaving the sparkling light still hovering above David. The orb, alive with the appearance of swirling smoke and gas—a thing of beauty—offered glimpses of jewel-like colors that made his heart leap each time they tapped at the orb’s barrier with muted clicks.