Sapient Salvation 1: The Selection (Sapient Salvation Series)

by Jayne Faith

  *

  Later after Sytoria had left, I sat cross-legged in front of the altar that occupied one of the small chambers in my quarters. I didn’t always pray in the nude, but considering my fate, it felt right. The welts across my back throbbed in time with my pulse, and somehow that felt right, too—another apt marker of the anniversary of my abduction.

  The two urns in front of me—one containing soil from Earthenfell and the other containing ashes from the burnt wood of seven varieties of Earthen trees—were among the plainest things in my chambers and probably in the entire palace. But they seemed to call to my very cells, inviting me to reunite with the sacred land of our ancestors.

  We would return to Earthenfell, to our ancestral home, but not until our enemies had been destroyed so that we could live there in peace.

  It never failed to strike me how ironic it was that our slaves were allowed to live and work on the sacred soil of our homeland, but we, their overlords, were forbidden to touch the ground. It was our punishment for abandoning Earth so long ago, for leaving our home behind to range far out into the galaxy. And hundreds of years ago, it became our motivation—we battled for the right to let the shield fall and reclaim our sacred homeland for ourselves.

  I clasped my hands and bowed my head. After several breaths to allow my mind to silence, I quietly recited prayers to Mother Earth. I asked for forgiveness for our ancestors’ abandonment of Earth. Forgiveness for their hubris in thinking that there was a better home somewhere out there, so many generations ago. I asked for strength for our military commanders and our soldiers fighting for our homeland. And I asked for relief from the demons of my past.

  “Toric!” a rough voice jarred me from my meditation.

  Every muscle in my body strung tight at the sound of my brother’s voice and tighter when he barged noisily into my prayer room.

  “Did Sytoria manage to quench your desire this morning?” The corner of my brother’s mouth lifted ever so slightly in the subtlest of sneers. His eyes grazed my back, and I suddenly wished I’d gotten dressed. He smirked openly. “I see she gave it her best effort.”

  His loathing toward me was nothing more than a replay of countless similar scenes between us. But it was still gratingly unpleasant.

  When I’d disappeared all those years ago, Jeric had been named my father’s heir. The palace, the harem, the servants, and the title of Guardian Lord of Calisto and Earth all would have passed to my brother if I hadn’t returned home. He hated me for surviving and resented me for returning to Calisto to claim the title, and he never let me forget it.

  All Calistans learned in childhood to mask their energy signatures, and it became as natural as breathing. If I could sense Jeric’s, I had no doubt I would feel hot, rolling waves of hate-filled envy.

  I rose, facing him with my hands on my hips. Despite the anger flaring through me, I regarded him with cool detachment. “What is so important that you’d interrupt my worship?”

  Jeric snorted. Nothing in his expression or stance held a shred of apology for the interruption. He didn’t put much credence in worship, though he always went through the motions for the sake of appearance.

  “Mother is insisting the council move their daily forum up an hour to accommodate the arrival of the Earthen Offered this afternoon.” Jeric lifted a shoulder as if the subject bored him. But I knew better. He coveted Earthenfell women. But they were not for him, and it drove him nearly mad with a jealously that blazed up like a solar flare at the time of each Selection.

  I brushed past him and went into my bed chamber. “Fine,” I said, hoping a brief, ambivalent response would give him the hint to go.

  Of course, it didn’t. He followed, sat on the edge of my bed, and then flopped back, mussing the silken cover that one of the servants had straightened while I’d been in prayer.

  He stared up at the ceiling. “How many screws have you had in this bed since father passed?” he asked in a mild, musing tone. I knew that voice. It wasn’t nearly as harmless as it sounded.

  “Not the sort of thing I would track,” I said.

  I went to the small dressing chamber that was just outside my bathing room, where one of my servants had laid out underclothes, loose-fitting pants, and a shirt made of natural-dyed cotton. Another perk of my station: I was the only Calistan allowed—required, in fact—to wear clothing made only of Earthenfell-grown fibers.

  “The notches across your back might help with a rough count.” Jeric’s voice was still mild, but his words were cutting and meant to provoke me. He knew that any lashes on my body were mended and erased each day.

  I emerged from my dressing chamber fully clothed, my patience used up. “Tell Mother I’ll be on time. Get out—now.”

  “Ouch, you’re so touchy.” He sat up and winced with mock pain, curling his shoulder inward as if I’d made a move to strike him. “Sytoria should have worked you over a little longer.”

  I stood with my fists at my sides and glared while he took his time standing up and slinking to the door.

  I turned away and inhaled deeply as violence tried to rush up through me. The Guardian Lord of Calisto and Earth was supposed to be grounded and noble. My father had embodied those characteristics with ease, it had always seemed to me. But my father hadn’t endured what I had—four years of torture at the hands of our enemies.

  I forced my thoughts away from my brother and the Offered who would be coming. Perhaps among them would be a woman who could cure me of my dependence on Sytoria. I should have included that in my morning prayers.

  6

  Maya

  THE DAY AFTER the Selection was always a highly anticipated day of feasting, but I found that I could not eat. The delicious smells of cooking meats, arrays of colorful fruits and vegetables, and a variety of crusty breads and rolls were enticing, but my stomach had been clenched into a hard knot since I’d awakened on the sofa.

  Lana had stayed on the sofa with me all night and comforted me when I burst into tears as soon as I awoke. For some reason, the realization that I’d spent my last night on Earthenfell on the sofa instead of in the bedroom Lana and I had shared since birth made me desperately sad. I couldn’t explain it to her, but she seemed to understand all the same.

  I’d composed myself by the time Mother was up. She kissed my forehead and patted my cheek, and if not for the haunted look in her eyes, it might have been any other Saturday. I drank a bit of the coffee she made, trying to avoid the awful realization that I’d never experience another Saturday morning at home, but of course unable to think of anything else.

  When a knock came at the door, my heart clenched and then my pulse took flight on the wings of the irrational hope that someone was coming to tell me there’d been a mistake, that Obligate Belinda was alive and well and ready to go to Calisto.

  Mother answered the door, and though I could see from my position near the fireplace that she tried hard to stay composed, a tiny gasp slipped out before she pressed her fingers to her mouth.

  I went to her side to find a boy—the same one who’d come to tell Mr. Arsen that Belinda was dead—holding up an old sack on a hanger. Except it wasn’t a sack, I realized as I looked down and saw a swath of black fabric peeking out from the lower edge. It was the dress I would wear to Calisto.

  I reached for it, vaguely wondering if we were supposed to tip the boy and then deciding it wasn’t important.

  Mother closed the door while I turned to take the dress to my bedroom, walking carefully and holding it away from me as if it were a dead rat that might suddenly reanimate and snap at me.

  In my room, I took a deep breath and then pulled the sack off the dress. I dropped the sack, placed the hanger on a hook near the door, and stepped back.

  My pulse throbbed in my temples as I looked at the dress. It was identical to the wrinkled and dusty white Obligate Elect dress that I still wore, except it was a black so deep it seemed to absorb and obliterate the faint light in the room. A stark white cord was slung around
the neck of the hanger. White—blank—to signify that I would no longer be part of a clan.

  The dress had been made for Belinda, but it looked as if it should fit me well enough. We were about the same build, though she was a couple of inches taller than me if I remembered correctly.

  I’d turned my back on the dress with a shudder.

  Later, as I sat with Mother and Lana among our neighbors who were enjoying the feast, the black dress still hung in my room. I wouldn’t have to put it on until the afternoon. Instead, I wore my favorite dress—a short, lightweight shift in a delicate robin’s egg blue, a color that contrasted nicely with my hair, which was the dark brown color of a cacao bar.

  Occasionally someone came to place a hand on my shoulder and offer a murmured prayer of strength or gratitude. Every time it happened, Mother stiffened. I’d kept an eye out for Rand but didn’t see him or his parents.

  I watched children chasing after each other with food in their hands, laughing and shouting and staining their clothes on the grass. A few boys knelt in the dirt, drawing shapes with sticks in a game I vaguely remembered. Would any of them grow up to be Obligates, someday sitting in my place with their mourning but brave-faced families?

  After an hour or two had passed and I hadn’t managed to eat a single bite from the plate in front of me, Lana leaned close to Mother. “Can we go home?”

  My twin looked as exhausted as I felt, and Mother’s face seemed to have aged a decade since yesterday morning. Mother nodded, and we rose from the table, one of many pulled from nearby houses into the small courtyard in our neighborhood.

  Just as we turned toward our end of the neighborhood, I caught a glimpse of a familiar face. “I’ll be right back, I need to speak to someone,” I said to Mother and Lana, my eyes on the muscular young man who was walking alone. It was Orion.

  Without waiting for their responses, I left them at a quick walk, not wanting to lose Orion in the crowd.

  When I caught up to him and touched his arm, he started and whipped his head toward me, his piercing, pale blue eyes guarded. I didn’t realize he’d been so deep in thought, and I felt a twinge of guilt for disrupting him.

  I pulled my hand back and retreated half a step. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, Orion. I just wanted to tell you, well, I actually just wanted to say thank you.” I took a breath, trying to compose myself under his steady gaze. “You came to my aid during the Selection in a way that was kind and profoundly generous considering what you were going through yourself.”

  I fidgeted, tweaking the fabric of my dress between my fingers. I suddenly wanted an excuse to talk with Orion, or at least walk with him a bit. He was one of the only people on Earthenfell who understood what was going through my mind and heart. And he’d brought me a shred of comfort in what was the worst moment of my life. Even though we’d never really known each other, our situation gave us a connection, and I suddenly felt as if surviving the rest of the day depended on acknowledging it.

  “I’m pleased I could do something for you, though I think you’re giving me more credit than I’m due.” His eyes softened, the guarded look from a moment before fading. His voice was quiet but resonant, the type of voice that made people want to listen precisely because it didn’t demand attention. “How are your mother and sister coping?”

  I gave him a tiny, grateful smile for acknowledging how difficult the day was for my family. Then I shook my head and closed my eyes for a brief moment. “They’re being very brave. But . . .” I trailed off and shook my head again. “What about your family?”

  He drew a heavy breath. “My parents are quite devastated. I have no siblings,” he said simply.

  His frank way of speaking was such a relief, and it seemed to cut free some of the heaviness dragging at my heart.

  “And you?” I asked softly. “How are you doing?”

  He pressed his lips together and his eyes went distant for the briefest of moments, and then he focused back on me. “I will face what’s ahead, and I will throw myself into what I must do to survive. But I worry about my parents. I have something to focus on. But they face only the emptiness of my absence.”

  I stared at him in awed silence, my lips parted.

  They face only the emptiness of my absence.

  Orion was much too eloquent to have been stuck in machinery. Not that he had to worry about his job on Earthenfell anymore. “I’m sure your strength is giving them strength,” I said.

  His shoulders relaxed in a subtle shift. “Thank you for that.”

  I sensed that he needed to be on his way, probably to his family as I needed to get back to mine.

  “Would it be okay if I look for you later? At the Departure?” My stomach churned at the mere mention of leaving Earthenfell and also at making such a request of someone who was practically a stranger.

  His eyes warmed. “Yes, I would like that.” He said it as if we’d make plans to walk through the orchards together at dusk, and I tried to hold on to that thought.

  He lifted his hand in a little wave and then turned and tucked his chin against his chest, already back in his own thoughts, as he strode away.

  I turned toward my own neighborhood and set off at a quick pace, hoping to catch up with Mother and Lana. For some reason, the thought of them arriving home without me tore at my heart. One last time, we should all go home from Feast Day together.

  When I saw them up ahead, strolling with their arms linked, my breath rushed out in relief. I caught up to them and went to Lana’s other side. My hand found the crook of her elbow.

  They both turned to me, curiosity on their faces.

  “Orion was so good to me before. I just had to tell him thank you,” I said. I brightened as an idea came to me. “Do you think you could do something for me after I’m gone?”

  My heart dipped as I heard myself say the word. Gone. But I was trying to follow Orion’s example, trying to be frank about it.

  “Of course,” Lana said.

  “Anything,” Mother echoed.

  “I think it would be nice if you could visit Orion’s parents. He has no brothers or sisters. I think, well, I think they might find comfort in your company. Or maybe not, I don’t really know them. Perhaps I shouldn’t presume . . .” I trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

  “No, I’d like that,” Lana said.

  Mother nodded, and a faint smile passed over her face. The energy between the three of us seemed to lighten. It took me a moment to realize that my suggestion had given them something to focus on. Purpose. It was so important to feel a sense of purpose.

  What had my purpose been, before the Selection? My life before felt like a faded, years-old memory. Before the Selection, my purpose had been Court. Yes, marrying Court and living my dream of a future with him.

  In the space of a day, I was losing Court, my family, my life on Earthenfell, and my future.

  One of the things that cut deepest was the knowledge that being an Obligate meant I’d lost any control over the path of my life right when I was on the verge of being able to make meaningful decisions about what kind of life I wanted. I no longer had the freedom to choose a husband, create a home of my own, or have a family.

  I turned my eyes to the sky, and my gaze hardened. My new purpose would be survival, proving myself to Lord Toric so that he would take me into his harem. But I didn’t want only to survive. I would find a way to gain some sort of freedom. There was no point in surviving if I had no control over my own life. I would find a way.

  *

  I stared into the wide eyes of the black-clad young woman in Mother’s narrow mirror, my stomach gripped into a tight ball. It still did not quite seem real. How could that be me? How could I be standing in Mother’s room, wearing Departure black and readying myself to leave Earthenfell for Calisto?

  Obligate Maya. That’s what the people offering me prayers throughout Feast Day had called me. Every time, the phrase had dropped like a weight into my ears. Every time, I had the urge to turn a
nd say, “You’ve made a mistake. Obligate Belinda is the one you’re looking for.”

  But Belinda was dead, and I was wearing her black dress and her white cord looped around my waist. As I’d expected, the hem of the dress dragged too long on the floor. I’d have to walk carefully, perhaps gather the fabric in my hands and hold it up to keep from tripping.

  It was odd to think that her family had been preparing to lose her for months, years. But instead of passing through the portal to Calisto with the other fifteen Obligates, Belinda would remain on Earthenfell, but gone from life. I’d heard she would be buried the next day.

  Part of me wondered: was Belinda’s fate preferable to mine? Only nineteen years of life, but at least she didn’t die in a strange alien land.

  There was a rap at the door.

  “Maya?” Lana’s soft voice interrupted my macabre thoughts, and I was relieved to have the distraction.

  “Come in.”

  I took a deep breath and turned from the mirror. Mother stared at me, her mouth pinched and her eyes squinting. Lana couldn’t see me, of course, but pain was so clear in her eyes it made it feel as though she could.

  I suddenly hated that Mother’s last memory of me was the image of a pale-faced girl clad in black Departure garb. In a dead girl’s dress.

  I knew it was time to go, but my feet were rooted to where I stood, refusing to take a step.

  Lana left Mother’s side and moved to me. She felt for my hand and wrapped her fingers tightly around mine. Only with her hand gripping mine was I able to unstick my feet and force myself move. She led me out of Mother’s bedroom, through the living room, and to the front door. There, she stopped and half-turned her head, listening for Mother behind us.

  Lana felt for the doorknob, opened the door, and walked outside ahead of me with her hand still firm around mine.

  I held my breath as I passed through the doorway, trying to numb my heart to the knowledge that I would never pass through it again. I kept my body rigid, refusing to look over my shoulder to watch Mother close the door.