by James Huss
My proposal was more of a call to action, and it was a shot in the dark if there ever were one. But it was a shot nonetheless, and one I had to take. I didn’t know what else to do. I walked proudly through the streets, right past the school where I should have been, straight to Meeting Hall, where my fate had pushed me. I paused outside those great double doors, hoping my stomach would settle its churning. I gave up hope and slipped inside, trying to attract as little attention as possible.
The ancient door creaked on its closing swing, and all eyes in that hall of elders turned to me. The attention was short-lived, except from Blake, who would have killed me with his stare had he the power. I tried not to let him rattle me. I had important things to say.
I fidgeted on an uncomfortable bench in the back of Meeting Hall, waiting for my turn to speak. Citizen Appeals were held at the end of every meeting—I endured two hours of formalized bickering before presenting my case to the elders. They debated everything from maintenance of public spaces to the standardization of our bartering system. For every elder who offered his support, there was another who leveled his criticism. I sat patiently, trying to calm myself, running arguments through my head, visualizing the success of my persuasion.
Presiding over the debates was Elder Spencer, the oldest in the village by mere days. It wouldn’t be long before he left town on his Pilgrimage, and he would pass the gavel to the next in line. When all the issues had been laid on the table and thoroughly vetted for their profit and loss, he moved on to the next of the formalities.
“Citizen Appeals.” A collective groan echoed through the chamber. My heart flew like a hummingbird’s. Blake stared me down, nearly freezing me on the spot. After a brief pause I summoned my courage and overcame my apprehension, rising to my feet just as Elder Spencer raised his gavel with the intention of dropping it again.
“Elders and citizens,” I announced myself in the traditional way. “I have a Citizen Appeal.” I followed our parliamentary procedure closely. I wanted them to take me seriously from the very beginning.
Elder Spencer spoke, “Approach the podium.” Blake leaned over and whispered something in his ear. Spencer dismissed it with a wave of his hand. Blake did not look happy. As I walked toward the front, I scanned the crowd of elders, not one a day older than twenty-five. The elders were men of tradition. When the time came to don their Shrouds and leave on their Pilgrimages, they did. Only once, many years ago, did an elder forgo the custom—he was immediately and unanimously voted off the Board. That’s how important our traditions are, even though we know not whence they came, nor their true origins. Life was already difficult without the Pilgrimage, which meant that even the elders left our village prematurely, serving but a brief time before their candles were extinguished by the Light. Yet we still maintained those troublesome ways.
The elder died not long after. Maybe that was legend. Nonetheless, these elder statesmen, young by the standards of the Ancients, took their positions and their traditions seriously, and upon their faces hung an air of solemnity. It was intimidating.
I stepped up to the podium, took a deep breath, and then addressed the assembly. “Elders and citizens, I stand before you with an appeal to action. This Great Disease our people have suffered for so many generations has soiled the very fabric of our existence: it binds us to this life of toil and hardship; it divides us into sects of wanderers and outcasts; it takes our lives before their times and snatches our love away in its infancy.” I paused for a moment—the elders all were listening closely, waiting patiently for my appeal. I imagine some were merely curious. But at least I had their attention.
“There are some who say there is no Cure. There are some who wander about the weal, searching for the so-called Tree of Truth, the unfulfilled prophecy still lingering in our legends. There are tribes of warriors, poets, and priests who believe the answer lies on their own privy paths. There are as many unsure answers as there are unanswered questions about this pestilence that plagues us.” The speech was going well, but I could tell by the looks on their faces that their patience was wearing thin.
“Everything we know we owe to the Ancients, and the Ancients knew, above all else, that science was the answer to the unexplained. There are scientists in the city, and they have been studying the Disease for years—the Pilgrim I found in the meadow wrote about them in his Book, and upon his path their laboratories lay. But like so many of us, he died too soon.
“Perhaps there is a Cure, or at least a medicine that may stay the effects. But we will never know, hidden away here in our country village, going about our lives oblivious to the work and progress of those men of science. The way to the city is fraught with peril—a lone traveler would be foolish to attempt the journey. If we wish to discover the secrets of the city scientists, we must travel as a team, a company of men who could well protect each other from the bandits and nomads who roam that path.
“I stand before you today with this appeal—that we assemble a troop of the strong and the wise, brave villagers who would spare a few days from their farms and their families to dare the dangers of the unknown, perchance to discover that those stories of the city ring true, or, if not, to bury them with the long-forgotten legends of the Ancients. Our loved ones are dying. It is our duty to try. This is my appeal.”
The elders sat motionless. The silence was deafening.
Elder Spencer broke the silence with procedure. “The elders have heard your appeal. You may step down from the podium.” I retired to the familiar bench in the back of the hall. The Elders discussed my appeal. There were those for and those against. Most against were not convinced that anything had been learned about the Disease. They did not believe the stories of the city (they had heard many fantastic stories in their lives). They did not believe in technology, for as far as they knew it had not advanced since we were first plagued by that redoubtable sickness. Those for were mostly the younger of our brood: adventurous, optimistic, energetic. I think I could have assembled a team right there from among the elders themselves. But age and wisdom won the day—the senior elders quelled the “impractical” appeal and sent me on my way.
I moped about the front of Meeting Hall—I could not bear the thought of returning to school, defeated, to face the one for whom this hopeless endeavor was launched. I heard the loud crack of wood on wood as the gavel dropped to adjourn the meeting. They filed out one by one, patting me on the back, offering their condolences, some even praising my eloquence.
Blake and Emerson were the last to leave. They were engaged in businesslike conversation. My brother abruptly cut away the moment he noticed me still standing there. He was oddly supportive. “That was a great speech, a noble effort. I’m proud of you.” For a moment I actually thought I had convinced him. “But you cannot save her. No one can.”
The anger welled up within me and lifted my arms, thrusting them into his chest. I had no control over my body—my mind sat helpless, a mere observer to this foolish and impetuous act of defiance. Blake stumbled backward, lost his balance, and tumbled to the dusty ground behind him. “Marlowe!” He was angry and astonished. Elder Emerson helped him to his feet.
Blake brushed himself off casually, like the boxing champion caught off-guard by a glancing blow from a junior opponent, knowing his prowess superior and still confident the fight was his. His face strained to suppress his rage. Before he had a chance to utter another word, I sprinted as fast as I could, far away from that miserable hall and my overbearing brother.
Chapter X
I didn’t stop running until I was completely out of breath. I stooped with my hands on my knees and heaved the air in and out until I could stand again. When I looked up, the Library lay directly in my path. Something had led me there—perhaps fate or my own mind or the Ancients’ mysterious god—I did not know. But I was compelled to cross that sacred threshold and search those crowded shelves for answers.
I thumbed through dozens and dozens of bootless Books, dismissing the endeavor
s into the realm of ancient legend and returning to the shelves those failed missions for that elusive Tree of Truth. I had no interest in mythology—I was on a quest for science. A scarce few of those Books had anything to offer. One described a particularly interesting theory about a conspiracy of ancient scientists believed to have invented the Great Disease to control the rampant population growth. Another suggested that it was not even a disease, or at least a disease as we knew it. But what other kind of disease is there? Those dubious tales were of little help.
I read more of Benjonsen’s Book. After all, it was interesting, and he was the one Pilgrim I had encountered who knew science was the key. I wondered what happened to those books he read that gave him such ideas. I wondered if I could still find those books in some dusty, ancient library somewhere. I thought about the love he had for his Tiesse and how lucky he was to have a wife to say goodbye to as he departed on his Pilgrimage. I imagined leaving Shelley on our own porch and saying goodbye to our own children, and I imagined returning years later with the Cure, the children grown and longing for their father, she on the porch with open arms awaiting her beloved husband. It was all a fantasy.
The fantastic vision broke when I heard the creaking of the Library door. It was Blake. “I’ve been looking for you all afternoon. Why aren’t you at school?”
He wasn’t angry, even after what I did to him, even after the embarrassment and the frustration. There was a silver lining to his cold nature—he rarely lost his temper. Still, I trod lightly with my words. “I just needed to think. I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
He sat down at the table next to me. For the first time in a while, he seemed more like my big brother than my stern father. “I know it’s hard. We all have to make tough decisions. In the old days, people had more choices, more freedom. But the Disease—”
I couldn’t let him finish. I just blurted out, “Shelley saw the Light. It was the other night. I snuck out to see her, and we went to the old theater together. She saw the Light. I don’t know what to do. I really love her, Blake, and she’s dying.” I started crying. He put his arm around me.
“There is nothing you can do. This is the way. I know that in a few years I will have to leave my precious Charlotte and our little girls and even you, and I know that it will break my heart. But this is our world. This Disease is our burden, and we must bear it with strength.” He gave me a hug, a real, brotherly hug. “Take the next few weeks and spend them with the woman you love. Stay with her until she passes. I’ll talk to Sylvia and her family. They will understand. When you finish your grieving, then we will talk about the wedding.”
“Wedding? What wedding?” I pulled away and stood up, glaring down upon him.
“We want you to marry Sylvia. She likes you, and her family likes you, and she will make an excellent wife. What other choice do you have? You’ll have to marry soon—you’re nearly sixteen.”
“You don’t know that Shelley will die! You don’t know if there is a Cure! I am not marrying Sylvia!” I stormed from the Library and ran straight to school, where I knew Shelley would be waiting.
I sat on the bench by the exit she used in the afternoon. Even an hour after leaving the Library I was still fuming. I tried not to make eye contact with any of my peers—I didn’t feel like explaining where I had been or what was wrong. I only wanted to talk to Shelley. I caught her by the arm as she strolled past me.
“Marlowe! Where have you been?”
“The Library.”
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you so upset?”
“Can we take a walk?”
She nodded and hooked her elbow inside of mine. I told her about everything: the meeting, the Library, the fight with my brother. She listened intently, and when I finished she turned to me and grasped both of my arms. “You did this all for me?”
“I love you.” I just blurted it out. I couldn’t help myself. I was nervous and a little embarrassed, but felt this great sense of relief. I wanted to say it a thousand more times, but that look she gave me told me not to. I couldn’t figure it out. It was like flattery and sympathy and uncertainty all fighting for control of her confused countenance. She hugged me.
“Let’s go home.” We walked quietly the rest of the way to her house.
I dropped her off at her doorstep as I had many times, but after the door closed I couldn’t bring myself to leave. I tapped on her window. She opened it. “Forget something, Marlowe?” I kissed her quickly. She giggled. “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make you feel weird.”
“It’s okay.” I felt confidence in my veins, like it was the end of the world, and I could say anything without consequence. “I still love you, and I will love you no matter how you feel about me. And one day, you will love me too. I know you will.”
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “I do love you, Marlowe.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
The tears streamed down her face. “I saw the Light again—I’m dying. It’s not right to tell you I love you. It’s not right to let you get your hopes up. You should marry Sylvia. She will make a good wife.”
“You don’t know that. You don’t know how long you will live. It’s the Early Onset—nobody knows what it will do.”
“Move on with your life, Marlowe.”
“What if there were a Cure? What if we could find it?”
“There is no Cure.”
“You don’t know that. There are scientists in the city. They study these things. I read it in Benjonsen’s Book.”
“We read a lot of stories in books, Marlowe. How many of them are true?”
“Let’s find out. Let’s go to the city together. We can leave in the morning.”
“Go home, Marlowe. I’ll see you tomorrow. At school.” She closed the window slowly. I stood in disbelief at all that had transpired. Before I turned to go, the window opened again. “I love you, Marlowe. I do. But you have your own life to live.” Then she closed the window on my aching face. I wanted the house to fall on me. But it didn’t. So I sulked my way home.
I said nothing at dinner. I ate very little. I avoided my brother. I went to bed, but did not sleep. It was a long and miserable night.
Chapter XI
I tapped lightly on Shelley’s window before the sun had even hinted its uprising. I paced in the cool morning air and stared at the twinkling stars above. There were no lights in the village between dusk and dawn, not like the luminous cities of the ancient times. I had seen pictures—brilliant displays of all shapes and colors. That must have been a sight. All I had ever seen in my short life were those same stars that stared at me night after night—I knew them by heart.
The window slid slowly open. The moonlight enhanced the blush of her cheek and the slant of her delicate jaw—she was beautiful, even with her mussed hair and groggy expression. “Marlowe? What are you doing? Do you have any idea what time it is?” She rubbed either side of her face up and down with both hands, on the final stroke gliding them up across her forehead and brushing her hair back with her fingers.
“I’m leaving for the city. I packed food and supplies for both of us. I’ve been up all night.” I had a pack on my back and one in my hand. I raised the one in my hand for her to see. “We can visit the doctors there. We can ask about the medicine.”
“What medicine? There is no medicine.” She leaned against the window sill and stared blankly into the starlit sky.
“We don’t know that. The Pilgrim Benjonsen, he thought there was something there. There must be—there are scientists in the city. They’ve been researching the Disease for years. I read so many stories about it in the Library.” I leaned in close and clasped her arm gently. The warm and tender skin on the back of her arm made the hair on mine stand at attention. “I have it all planned out. We’ll use Benjonsen’s map. We can get there in three days, and I have plenty of food and supplies. I even brought money to buy more food and supplies when we get there.” I dropped my bag to one shoulder and dre
w a small pouch from it, holding it high and shaking the currency inside. The coins rattled with muffled clanks against the soft lining of the pouch. “It’s my life’s savings.”
She stared at me with her chestnut-brown eyes. A subtle squint and a slight furrow of her brow betrayed frustration and bewilderment. “What if we go all that way and find nothing? What if there is no medicine? What then?” I could sense the desperation in her soft, sleepy voice. What had I to offer but a fanciful dream of life beyond these fleeting teenage years, a dream based on legend and fantasy gleaned from the scribblings of the walking dead?
“Then we’ve had the adventure of our lives. We’ve slept under the stars, we’ve been to the big city, we’ve seen strange things we never thought we would, and we’ve experienced life outside this dismal village. And we can spend the rest of that life, however long or short, knowing that beyond the hills that surround this town lies a world we never knew, a world that most of us in our toil and trouble never get to see, never even glimpse. Why not?” I gazed at her longingly. She turned away.
“I just don’t believe—”
I stopped her mid-sentence. “One who has no hope should know no fear.” She looked back at me, head tilted with that look of bewilderment, but this time not so subtle. It only took her a moment to make up her mind.
“Let me get my things.”
* * *