Marie's Journey (Ginecean Chronicles)

by La Porta, Monica

  “As you can imagine, it’s not something we like to bandy about.”

  “Well, of course… but how…?” Marie was at loss for words. Rectors didn’t have kids. It wasn’t a social rule per se, but propriety demanded a woman in charge of girls to be celibate at best. To have a daughter and employ her in the same establishment the rector directed must be a grave infringement of the rectors’ code of conduct.

  “She couldn’t bear to lose me and forged some papers when I was a toddler.” Rane interrupted Marie’s history lesson by conversing with a studied calm. “I was raised at Redfarm under her vigilant eyes.”

  “Have you been living there the whole time?”

  “No, when I was of age, I was sent to work at Callista’s family-owned medical practice as an apprentice. Callista’s mothers saw potential in me, and fathered women need doctors too. As soon as I finished the training, I asked to be sent back to Redfarm where I knew the rector would let me work without interference.”

  “So, Madame Lana knows of your… ideas?”

  “Of course. She’s covered for me all these years. How do you think I was able to keep a men’s infirmary that rivaled the women’s?” The hint of a genuine smile appeared on the doctor’s face.

  Marie was stunned by the revelation. She had gotten everything wrong about the rector. “I have no idea. I never worked in an infirmary, men’s or women’s.”

  “I was so pleased when she sent you to me. Mom has always chosen wisely. She’s great at reading people.” Rane was visibly relaxing.

  Conversely, Marie was utterly confused, a state she disliked greatly because normally led her to tense up. She regretted having asked. She had expected a more plausible, although highly inconvenient love story. “Nobody ever suspected?”

  “A few people know, but they are loyal to my mother and would do anything for her.” Rane sounded proud.

  “I’d never thought the rector would inspire anything but fear.” Marie couldn’t stop herself. “Forgive me. I mean no disrespect—”

  The doctor laughed and raised her hand to stop her. “Don’t worry. I grew up having my mother as the rector. I thought the worst things of her at times, but she’s a great humanitarian. I wished you had the time to get to know her. You would’ve been surprised.” She raised her knees on the bed and laid her chin on them, the joyous moment gone.

  “I’m already surprised.” Marie had the good grace not to say she was indeed shocked. What a scandal it would have been if such truth had been discovered.

  “You would’ve loved Redfarm, I know.” Deep sadness tinged the doctor’s voice again. “I’ll never forgive myself for your involvement in this… nightmare.”

  The door opened before Marie could say anything.

  Margareta entered with a big smile and another tray. A minty aroma invaded the small room. “I thought you might want some cookies with your tea and I already baked a coffee cake earlier this morning and I had some left.” She laid the tray on the bed where Marie was sitting and then asked if they wanted milk, sugar, or lemon.

  “Why are you so nice to us?” Marie answered instead.

  “Because it’s my mission.” Margareta didn’t seem offended by her abruptness.

  “The half-house thing?” She took a cookie from the white plate on the tray.

  “I pledged several years ago to bring a modicum of solace to the fathered women destined to the waste plants.” Margareta gently sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to upset the frail balance of the sloshing teapot towering on the tray.

  “Why?” Marie asked between bites. The cookie was light and with a citrus aftertaste. She savored the way it dissolved on her tongue.

  “Someone dear to me was sentenced to a waste plant and I was unable to say good-bye to her. She left without the comfort of a friendly embrace.” The older woman’s eyes went to the curtained window, out of focus for the slightest moment, and then her smile reappeared. “Did you have a chance to look at the view?” Without waiting for their answer, she stood up and went to part the heavy curtains.

  She revealed a sight straight out of a travel magazine. Both Marie and Rane went to the window.

  “Listen to Ginecea.” Margareta opened the glass panes and inhaled the cold breeze rushing in from outside. “Sorry for this.” She tapped the metal bars forming a grate over the window’s frame. “Again, safety reasons.”

  Before them, on the other side of the river Taber’s bank, lay the political center of Ginecea. Ancient spires of white marble mixed with sleek glass and modern iron created a breathtaking landscape.

  Marie’s eyes filled with tears. She wasn’t sure why she was crying, but couldn’t stop. The wind froze the tears on her skin, and for a moment, her sight was sharper than usual and she thought that whoever had named Ginecea City “the beautiful” was wrong. She had been wrong before. The pure breed city was majestic, elegant to a fault, and very intimidating. A place that reminded you constantly of your station in life and she instinctively hated it. The placid blue waters of the river Taber reflected the lights from the streets and the clouds from above, creating an ever-moving tableau; a few barges anchored to the pier just under the half-house undulated with a sloshing sound. Marie was reminded of the port in her beloved Trin, but the smell was different. It lacked that salty quality that was typical of marine water. And she hated Ginecea for that too, for bringing back memories of a place she would never see again.

  9

  The morning came too soon and neither of them gained an iota of sleep. The city lights illuminating the room to a pale glow, Marie saw Rane turning and tossing on her bed, but she didn’t need the conversation that would follow had she said anything. Instead, she breathed slowly and didn’t move, her eyes focused somewhere outside the window they had left open. At some point during the night, the cold breeze had mellowed to a gentle rustle, almost pleasant on her skin and certainly useful to cool her troubled thoughts. She watched as the light outside changed from a pale yellow radiance to a whiter, sharper reminder of the day ahead. When the timid knock on the door was followed by the rattling of keys against the wooden panel, she finally closed her eyes to savor darkness if only for a second.

  “I brought you breakfast and prepared some lunch you can eat later.” Margareta didn’t waste time in saluting them; she strode inside with another of her trays and laid it on Rane’s bed.

  The doctor nodded, maybe a thanks. Marie acknowledged the older woman’s presence, but besides having opened her eyes as Margareta had entered the room, she didn’t move.

  “You think your lives have ended, but it isn’t true. People will remember you. I will remember you. Live to the fullest.” Margareta stood between the two beds, and when Marie, finally stirred by her speech, raised her head to better look at her, she saw the woman had meant every word. Margareta’s eyes were shining with unshed tears, her hands hidden in the pockets of her gown designed for practicality and not beauty.

  “How many?” Marie caught the flicker of understanding in Margareta’s already mournful expression.

  “It’s a cruel number. I remember all of your names, faces, ages.” The older woman sighed and then went to sit at the edge of Marie’s bed. She absentmindedly patted the surface, her expression unfocused. “I can see all of you.”

  Marie had the feeling Margareta saw only one face and pitied her. Whomever she was remembering was probably gone—she’d been gone the moment she put a foot in a waste plant—but she couldn’t forget and that must have been painful. “I don’t want you to see me.”

  “But I will.” Margareta locked gaze with her for a moment and a sad smile rearranged her features. “The guards are coming in half an hour. Be ready by then.” She stood and left, her gait tired and slow.

  “I don’t know if I’d want to be in her place.” Rane had waited for the door to close and the key to be turned in the lock before speaking. “It must be exhausting living with so many ghosts keeping you company.” She leaned over the tray, took one of the two plates,
and started eating.

  Marie reached for the tray and looked at her breakfast. The plate was laden with colorful morsels that smelled of rich pastries. She had never tried one, but the few times she had been out back in Trin, she had wandered to the bakers’ district.

  She brought the flakiest of the treats to her lips, tried a small bit, and laughed. At Rane’s raised eyebrow, she answered, “I always hoped one day to be able to eat one of these. I never thought it would be like this.”

  “When I was about your age, I hoped one day Callista would pay some attention to me, although I was only one of the many fathered girls she flirted with and then threw away. I got my wish after all.” Rane laughed too, a humorless sound.

  “I wish we hadn’t stopped here.” Marie finished the pastry and then ate everything else on her plate. Although it felt wrong to her that she would be hungry when the situation required a somber attitude, Madame Carla had instructed her not to waste food, even when it was plain and just meant for sustainment.

  “I agree with you. This half-house is more to assuage a wealthy pure breed’s guilt than to help fathered women to meet their destiny.” Rane had already cleared her plate and raised one of the fuming cups from the tray. She drank slowly, her face turned toward the sunrays inundating the room.

  “It’s easy to forget Margareta is a pure breed.” To Marie’s eyes, the older woman was nothing if not the opposite of a pure breed. She was gentle, unassuming, caring, all qualities the haughty pure breeds didn’t have.

  The doctor nodded. “She’s a Corelli.” She said it as if it explained the whole story. “As in Margareta Corelli.”

  The name was famous, the Corelli family was one of the most influential in Ginecean politics, but other than that, Marie had no clue as to what Rane was referring to. She shrugged and went for her cup of tea and was surprised to find it wasn’t tea, or at least it wasn’t just tea. Spices, milk, and sugar had been added to the hot beverage.

  “Chai,” Rane said. “Callista was fond of it and asked Cook to prepare it for her when she was still at her mothers’ house.” She inhaled the aroma and then finished her cup.

  Marie drank hers in small sips, sure she would never savor something as refined as this chai.

  “Of course you wouldn’t know her story, but Margareta’s scandal was on every newspaper’s page when I was a kid. She fell in love with a fathered woman who was her maid and made it public, uncaring for decorum and what her family thought of it. She wanted to change the world and her family taught her a lesson.” Rane put her now-empty cup and plate back on the tray and then went to the window to look outside, her hands on the bars.

  “The fathered woman was sent to a waste plant to die.” Marie stacked her plate on top of the other.

  Rane turned to face the room. Whatever was outside didn’t interest her. “She was sentenced to a waste plant, but never reached it. When the guards came to pick her up, they found both Margareta and the girl lying unconscious on the floor of Margareta’s bedroom. They had barricaded themselves inside and then drank poison. Margareta was brought to the nearest hospital and saved.” The doctor started stretching, methodically moving her arms and then her neck and torso.

  “The girl was left to die.” Marie had to say it out loud.

  “I remember the other fathered women at Callista’s house commenting that it was a blessing. They would’ve preferred that…” Rane finished her stretching by bending over her feet, effectively hiding her face from scrutiny.

  Marie wondered about her words, as she had always done when her friends had commented on that topic. For a moment, her mind went to a few happy afternoons spent with Idra and the other girls, answering what-if kinds of questions. It had been great fun imagining herself in dire situations, but now it was real. It wasn’t a game anymore. The answer to that question was the same though. “I don’t want to die.”

  Rane smiled. “Despite my attempts to the contrary, me either.”

  Marie was strangely relieved to hear that. For all her talk about being fifteen and mature, she knew she needed an adult by her side. The door lock rattled without a warning knock, and the guards entered the room, Margareta at their heels.

  “It’s time.” She spoke from behind the two women, anxiety laced with sadness in her voice.

  Rane stepped out of the room before one of the two guards would make her. Marie soon followed. The five of them formed a somber procession from the hallway to the main door. Once on the doorstep, Marie turned to salute Margareta and saw she was silently crying. “Thank you. I will remember you too.”

  The older woman was startled by her words, but when the meaning of what Marie had just said sank in, she smiled and wiped her tears. “Thank you.”

  Later, when Ginecea was long lost behind hills, Rane whispered to her, “It was kind of you.”

  Marie knew right away what she was referring to. “She deserves to know she won’t have to pray for my soul as well. As you said, that house is crowded with too many ghosts already. Mine won’t be one of them, if I have any say in it.”

  “Still, you’re a kinder person than you want others to believe. I know you hated the half-house as much as I did. You kept staring outside, fury in your eyes.” Rane lowered her voice when she heard the guards complaining they were being loud.

  “I didn’t realize you were watching me.” She had thought to be so clever to fake she was sleeping.

  “Not the whole time. I stopped when I realized you weren’t in the mood for chatting.”

  Marie started to protest, but Rane stopped her. “It’s okay. I didn’t want to talk either.”

  “What’s it going to be like? Living in a waste plant?” With her nose against the cold glass, her breath misting up the surface, Marie wondered if the word “living” was the right one. She wasn’t ready to die, but wasn’t sure being stranded for life in a waste plant was considered living.

  “We’ll know soon enough.” Rane pointed at the window. “Vasura is somewhere over there, behind those mountains.”

  “How long will it take to get there?” Despite her former desire to reach Vasura as soon as possible, now she would’ve given anything for another hour back at Margareta’s. Fear rode from her stomach to her throat in the form of something unpleasant, panic rising within her at every breath.

  “I won’t leave you. I’ll be with you.” Rane took her hand in hers and gently stroked it.

  The gesture meant to soothe her fear didn’t work. For a fleeting moment, Marie imagined someone else’s fingers caressing her, but it was neither Idra nor Verena, and she gasped, not wanting Grant’s memory to come along for the ride. She was already miserable; adding a sense of shame to the mix wasn’t what she needed. But Grant’s face floated before her eyes when she closed them for a reprieve from the unpleasant reality.

  The terrain changed several times. After the hills came the lakes, then a river valley, then the placid waters of the blue sea in the faraway distance. Then the hills again, the desert, and mountains peaks as far away as the sea had been. Finally, the bus started climbing toward an imposing plateau surrounded by thick forests resembling a green ocean, the foliage from the majestic trees undulating to the wind as waves.

  “I always wanted to travel,” Marie said to no one in particular. A nervous laugh would have followed, but she was becoming numb, as she had when the captain had announced she was to be deported to a waste plant.

  “Be careful what you wish for…” Rane’s voice had a singsong quality.

  She turned toward the doctor and saw the same detachment she felt. “Because it could come true. “ After that small exchange, she bore the remainder of the geography lesson in silence. Although she sat still the whole time, her eyes stung a little when she realized they were five hours from Trin and understood the doctor’s heartache when she had glimpsed her city.

  It took several more hours—stars were visible—before the driver left the main road to an unused-looking gravel path. The woman carefully navigated the r
oad, slowing down as she skirted a trench full of rainwater and other hazards on their way. Finally, illuminated by an army of tall street lamps bordering the perimeter, a woman-made edifice came into view. Not a lot to look at in terms of architecture, but big and square. At closer proximity, the building turned out to be an enclosed wall. A big, gray, unforgiving structure. The driver brought the bus to a full stop by a high column that interrupted the monotony of the equally tall wall stretching forever in either direction. Idling the engine, the driver rolled down her window, reached out to push a button on the column, and when a buzz-like sound answered, she asked permission to enter Vasura. Around the perimeter, all the street lamps started pulsating.

  “How big is it?” Marie looked at the gray barricade and shivered at the thought of what awaited her on the other side.

  Rane shrugged. “I don’t know. But my guess is quite big.”

  Not a sound accompanied their waiting. Minutes passed. The plateau on which the waste plant stood was silent, no animals cooing or wind raffling leaves on the nearby tree. Maybe it was just her imagination, but when a portion of the wall slid sideways to reveal a large courtyard, she could have sworn even the sound from the bus engine had been muted. A moment later, two guards exited a gate on the opposite wall of the courtyard. They were fathered women, no pure breed by the uncultivated look of them.

  They both positioned themselves by the bus door and one knocked on the glass panel. “Release them,” the guard ordered, her shadow made intermittingly longer by the sharp, pulsating light that increased the hard lines on her tan face and left everything else in the dark.

  The driver opened the door and the two guards who had escorted Marie and Rane went to exchange a few words with the fathered women. Marie was too scared at this point to retain the meaning of what they were saying and simply obeyed when she was asked to exit. Once Rane was outside too, the door closed behind them and the bus left. The bag with her meager belongings hanging from her back, she stared at the wall sliding back in place and the lights immediately stopped pulsating.