He nods. “That’s nice. Thank you for sharing.” His expression grows solemn. "I have to tell you some information, and it's delicate. It's important that you and each of your friends hear this information on your own, because for each of you, the right time will be different. The others will be ready soon, I think. Grace is sharp. But you, Mina, you’re special. I think you’re ready now."
How does this man know if I'm special or not? He’s known me for less than an hour. But I smile in appreciation, because it sounds as if the sooner we all know his information, the sooner we can all be together again.
"Mina, your people have been lying to you. And I'm the one who's finally going to tell you the truth."
“Many, many years ago, our country was headed toward destruction. The leadership was corrupt and careless. They wouldn't listen to the people, and they only followed their own personal agendas. So the people revolted. Citizens gathered up their weapons, headed to the capital and threw those degenerates out. It was a time of great glory and celebration. The revolution had many great leaders, but one in particular rose to the forefront of the movement: Sarah Palmer.
“I know this story,” I say. I've been told the story of the Dividing since birth.
“I know you do, but please indulge me.” He keeps talking in his casual way. “She led the new government for many years and the people were happy. She understood that God's laws should precede state laws. Those that didn't agree fled to the West. It was a peaceful, golden time.”
“And then She got pregnant,” I say, wanting to hurry him up.
“Yes, She got pregnant. And She announced to her followers that it was an immaculate conception.” He says these last two words with an odd tone. “And She started dressing modestly and covering Her hair, like women of long ago.”
“And all the sinners and people who didn't believe in God tried to kill Her,” I say. “And it led to another revolution, and to protect Her and the baby, our people had to move to Manhattan and blow up all the bridges so no one could bother us anymore.”
“Here is what I need to tell you, Mina.” He looks deep into my eyes. “It wasn't just sinners and atheists who didn't believe Sarah Palmer. Many of Her most devout followers didn't believe Her either. They thought She'd gone crazy with power and was using Her pregnancy as a way to become a dictator. As time went on, She was becoming more and more inflexible and her believers more fanatical.”
I shudder at his blasphemy. His high-pitched voice is grating on me.
“Most of Her original followers abandoned Her. Many people cried out for Her arrest, but Her status as a martyr would've become too great, so the people decided instead to grant Her and Her people a refuge.”
I don't believe a word he's saying. Sarah’s people never betrayed Her.
“She led Her remaining acolytes to Manhattan, and then Her enemies built a wall around the island, blocking them inside. They cut off the water and power . . .”
I look at him, starting to understand what he's saying.
His voice is grim. “They assumed that the Prophet and Her followers would die.”
“But She didn't, because She was chosen by God,” I say.
“What I'm trying to tell you, Mina, is that She wasn't chosen by God. She was an ordinary person like you or me, and She made up an extraordinary story that many people believed.”
I want to cover my ears and scream, anything to tune him out. I’ve lost Nana, Sekena, my father, and my friends, and now this man is trying to take away the Prophet, too.
“The good news,” he continues, “is that we are not the monsters you believe us to be. The Unbound are simple people who believe in the word of God. We are the people who liberated this country from the sinners running the government. And you have a home here with us.” He smiles.
“You walled up the Prophet and wanted Her to die?” I ask.
“Well, not us specifically. Our ancestors. And they didn't want her to die. They thought that her desire to be a supreme leader was dangerous and did what they could to stop it.”
I stand but feel dizzy and sit down again.
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “You’ve had a shock. I should take you home.”
I let him lead me away from the pond, and we walk slowly back toward the road.
I look for the fox we saw on the way here and then think about the pancakes I ate for breakfast. I can’t focus on the story Ram has told me. It’s too much. It threatens to crush me. As we walk, I put space between us, afraid he might start speaking again.
Ram says goodbye at the front door of the house. He’s smiling, but his face is more serious than when we started our walk.
“I know I gave you a lot to think about. Please come see me if you need to talk. Everyone in town knows where to find me. Okay?”
I nod, seeing he’s trying to be kind.
“Don’t despair. All children must stumble before they can walk on their own.”
Stepping lightly off the stoop, he saunters away.
What do I do now? What are you supposed to do when you hear that the center of your life is a fraud?
Five
I tell Bithia I need to lie down, and, although she has lunch prepared, she allows me to go straight to my room. From her pitying tone, I assume she knows what Ram told me.
Shutting the door to my bedroom, I wish I had my own clothes to change into. Anything in my closet would do––even my most hated elastic pants.
I take off the ugly green jeans and top and crawl into bed in my underwear. I pull the comforter up over my head. I want to disappear.
Do I have a fever? I feel like death.
Ram’s story shouldn’t surprise me. We were arrested for believing in the Prophet, so I knew that the Unbound weren’t Her followers, so why was his story so disturbing?
Because he said that She is a fake, a mortal like any other. And if She's a fake, that makes Uncle Ruho, Her descendent, a fake too.
I know Uncle Ruho is a big, fat liar. He was poisoning his own people. What kind of “divine” being does that?
A small groan escapes my mouth. If Ruho is a liar, couldn’t his great-grandmother have been a liar too?
I close my eyes and think about the Book, which talks about doubters. Miracles take great faith, and how can you say you have faith in God and then not believe in his miracles?
What if I refuse to believe Ram’s story? Will he make me leave Kingsboro? Send me back to Manhattan?
I try to imagine life without the Prophet, without the ability to turn to Her each day when things are hard. It feels impossible, like giving up water. I’ve simply never known life without Her. I always imagine Her nearby.
Or is that Nana? Whose voice do I really hear when I’m in trouble? I wonder what she would think of this story. I wish she were here to help me.
Does Ram understand what he’s asking of me? Of Grace and Juda and the others? He wants us to risk damnation, an eternity of unspeakable suffering, based on one stupid story that he’s told us.
Even as I have the thought, part of my brain is saying, it’s not stupid, and I want to turn my brain OFF. What if She did lie about her pregnancy, and it wasn’t an immaculate conception? Who was the father? Why would She lie? To grab power in the way that Nana says men are always grabbing power?
I hate Ram. I hate him for putting this sliver of doubt in my faith, like a splinter left to fester.
I hate all the Unbound. They walk around thinking they’re better than me. I can see it in their eyes. I could see it at the Leisure Center, and I could see it at the meeting downstairs.
Tabby and her friends think I’m some sort of idiot. What do they know about anything? They’re mean and petty. They know nothing about real danger, or pain, or death.
I should never have left Nana. In the moment it felt like my only option, but could I have stayed? Grace, Rose and I could’ve returned to Macy’s, and the Laurel Society would’ve taken us in, but Dekker and Juda would have been turned away, and every Tw
itcher on the island was looking for them. They couldn’t have stayed hidden for long.
How soon will the war begin? How long will it take for word to spread that Mr. Asher was poisoning the water? And how soon will the Convenes connect it to Uncle Ruho? Will they blame my father? Is he in danger?
Will I even know when the war starts? We seem so close, like I’ll be able to hear it or feel it if a war begins, but that’s silly. Hundreds of people could be dead, and I’d have no idea. Will the Unbound know? Will they tell me if they do?
I’d like to take a hot shower to calm down, but I’m afraid of the slick white box and its shockingly cold water.
I need help. I want to talk to Juda. The thought of his absence causes me to curl into a tight ball.
I hear a knock, and then the door opens. I don’t move, staying underneath the blanket.
Bithia whispers, “Mina?” When I don’t answer, she gently places something on the bedside table.
After she’s gone, I peek out and see it’s a package wrapped in shiny paper. An envelope is taped on top, which I peel off and open.
The note inside reads,
Dearest Mina,
I know today is not the easiest of days, but I hope this gift might make your burden somewhat lighter. I am always here for you.
Yours in light,
Ram
Opening the pretty paper, I discover a thick book of worship. I flip through it randomly. Who knows what other parts of my faith will be refuted within these pages? I slam the book shut.
Is it time to run? Get as far away from this family and Ram and the Bees as I possibly can? Where would I go? I don’t even know how big Kingsboro is. Could I find people who would help me find my friends, or will everyone be the same as the Dixons? I can’t sleep all night, my mind spinning over what’s happened and what my options are.
By morning I’m totally spent, a washrag squeezed dry, but I’ve come to some realizations:
I can’t run away as long as Juda and the others are still here.
The Dixons aren’t treating me badly or being cruel, so I should try to behave well so that doesn’t change.
I can secretly continue to honor the Prophet in my heart, no matter what Ram teaches me about his own beliefs.
These revelations make me feel better, but I still have no desire to leave my room.
I’m wondering if Bithia might bring me a meal, when there’s a knock on the door. What a relief, I think, but she doesn’t enter, which is strange. She barges in whenever she feels like it.
After another few moments, I say, “Come in,” thinking maybe Bithia has sent Tabby. But to my complete surprise, Silas opens the door. I pull up the bedspread, mortified.
“Um, hi,” he says. “Can I come in?”
This is highly improper, and I can’t believe he would ask.
“I need to talk to you in private,” he says, chewing his thumbnail. His face looks worried.
I study him distrustfully.
“Forget it,” he says, starting to walk away.
“Can’t you tell me downstairs?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“You’re going to get me in trouble.” A boy in my bedroom at home would get us both arrested.
“I know where some of your people are,” he whispers.
All thoughts of punishment fly out of my head, as I say, “Shut the door. Tell me everything you know.”
He shyly brushes his blond hair out of his eyes. “A guy at Chivalry Group was saying that his neighbor was bragging about having two of the Manhattan Five at his house.”
“Which ones? Who?” My pulse quickens.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” My disappointment must be clear. “I know it’s two boys, or young men, or whatever.”
Juda! It has to be Juda and Dekker.
“Take me to them,” I say. I start to jump out of bed but stop when I realize I’m only wearing underwear.
“Whoa,” he says. “You can’t just charge out of the house. Remember what I said this morning about sirens and not making it past the lawn?”
The Bee. If Bithia and Gilad don’t stop me, the stupid Bee will.
“So did you just tell me to torture me?” I say with hostility. “I have to sit here and do nothing?” I gather the bedclothes around me.
“I didn’t say you couldn’t leave the house. I said you couldn’t do it now.” When I don’t respond, he adds, “They aren’t far. We can walk.”
“Maybe Ram told you to come tempt me, and if I go with you, I fail some test.”
Silas sighs, and it is deep and dramatic, like one of Tabby’s. “It’s up to you. I have nothing to gain, and if I’m caught sneaking out, I’ll be in as much trouble as you.” He walks to the door. “You have until dark to decide.”
After he slips out, my head is spinning. Why would Silas help me? His sister can’t stand me, and his parents treat me like a visitor from another planet. Why should he be any different?
It must be a trick; I just can’t figure out what kind.
Hearing that Juda and Dekker are not far away, that I could actually see them, fills me with a tense energy. I know nothing about Silas. I don’t know if he can be trusted. Even if he genuinely wants to help me, the risk of getting caught seems huge.
I get up and put on another one of Tabby’s pea-green outfits. When I see my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I stop in my tracks. Because I slept with it in a braid, my hair is lopsided and crimped. My skin is pink from the blaring sun yesterday, making me appear permanently embarrassed, and my eyes are bloodshot from a lack of sleep. I look bizarre.
I can’t believe I just sat in bed, looking like this, talking to Silas. How humiliating.
I undress again and enter the shower booth of misery. As much as I hate it, I have to do something about my hair.
That evening, Bithia is thrilled to see me come down for dinner. Making a big fuss, she heaps twice as much food on my plate than I could possibly eat. I stare at the pile of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, a glossy mushroom gravy congealing on top, and feel slightly sick.
Silas barely makes eye contact. He sits quietly, fading into the background, as he did at the last meal. His light hair frequently falls in front of his face, obscuring his hazel eyes, but when he’s with his family, he doesn’t bother brushing it out of the way. He’s good at hiding.
I’m relieved that the family ignores me for the most part. I don’t feel like talking.
I notice that Silas’ parents don’t talk to him much either. They say, “Pass the salt” maybe, but they don’t ask him questions or start a conversation. They can’t seem to get enough of Tabby and Corny and want to hear all about their days.
At home, Silas, as the oldest son, would be the most honored sibling. He would be served before his brother, sister and mother. Not only is Silas not treated as the exalted son at this table, but when Gilad passes him a basket of bread, I could swear Gilad frowns at him.
I wonder what Silas has done to bring such disapproval. Perhaps he has refused to enter into a marriage contract, or he doesn’t want to take over the family business.
Either of these things would explain Silas’ rebellious nature and might explain his offer. But what if he just wants to make his father angry? That would be very bad.
I decide there’s only one way to know what his motivations are.
When we’re dismissed, Silas heads for the stairs and I walk up right after him, whispering, “Why do you want to help me?”
He waits until we reach the second floor, making sure no one else is coming up the stairs. “It’s complicated. But let’s just say I refuse to let someone be a prisoner in my home.”
“Okay,” I say. It’s not the answer I was expecting. “What do you get out of it?”
“If I’m ever in prison, you can return the favor,” he says, with a lopsided smile.
If Silas came from where I did, he would know that such a promise is nothing to joke about.
“So you’re i
n?” he says, eyes growing brighter.
Picturing Juda’s face, I nod. But Silas’ enthusiasm makes me nervous. I don’t trust anyone who wants to help me for no reason, especially if he’s putting himself in danger. Nana would say, “Beware the beggar who’s excited to give you his only coin.”
After the sun goes down, Bithia checks on me three times to make sure I’m feeling okay. I assure her I’m fine, fighting the urge to tell her to get out.
I lie in bed, fully dressed under the blankets, listening to the sounds of the family settling in for the night—doors opening and closing; feet padding across wood floors; faucets turning off and on. And then, finally, the household seems to be asleep.
I wait, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into.
After nearly an hour, I wonder if Silas is coming. Maybe he changed his mind? Or maybe he never had any intention of coming, and he’s downstairs laughing with Tabby right now?
I’m starting to get angry when the bedroom door opens, and Silas tiptoes inside, carrying a large bag. I open my mouth to ask what took him so long, but he raises a finger to his lips.
Opening the bag, he pulls out what looks like two uniforms. Nyek. Does he want us to imitate Sentries or something? Like Grace and I did with the Twitchers? I’m not up for that tonight. It’s too much.
He hands me a uniform, which is thick but surprisingly light. He gestures for me to put it on.
I start to say, “No,” but he signals for me to be quiet. I shake my head instead.
He comes in very close to me, so that I can feel his breath on my face. He whispers, “It protects you from your Bee.”
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