by Melanie Tays
No, I tell myself, pushing the thought away. That was a trick—just a cruel part of the test that Eason and the Council were putting me through. The fact that I believed it was my downfall. I won’t make that mistake again.
Vander, Kamella, Ty and I sit in our own little group, which I’m grateful for. My brain has dealt with too many shocks today to be in any condition for socializing—something that’s not my strong suit, to begin with.
I try to eat slowly and savor the flavors, but I’m so hungry that I can’t help shoveling the food in. It’s a shame really, because I’m eating so fast that I can barely taste it before I’ve already swallowed and taken another bite of something completely different. I notice that Vander also isn’t having any trouble cleaning his plate.
I make a few attempts to ask Ty more about the Resistance, but he doesn’t have any interest in talking about it further, and all I discover is that he got his instructions through secret coded notes passed by couriers. He doesn’t seem to know anything about who’s in charge of the Resistance, what the goal is, or—oddly enough—how or why he got involved in it in the first place. Finally, I give up and decide that if he wants to put it all behind him, who am I to blame him? I’ve got my own list of things I never want to discuss—and names I hope to never hear uttered again.
Chapter 4
Once I finish off my food and sate my hunger, Ollie returns with a tall, lanky man with blond hair that hangs to his shoulders and an unkempt beard. He’s chewing a long blade of grass, and mud soils both knees of his dark-blue pants.
“This is Roe,” Ollie says. “He’s in charge of all the crops on the farm.”
“Nice to meet the two of you,” he says in a slow, carefree cadence, and gives me a little wink. I think he’s trying to set me at ease, but it has the opposite effect.
“If you are done with your dinner, we’ll show you around,” Ollie offers.
Kamella takes the opportunity to excuse herself—much to Vander’s obvious disappointment.
They lead us to another building. From the outside, it looks about the same as the dining hall, but inside, it’s divided into smaller rooms. Though, honestly, to call them rooms is a bit too generous. They’re just walls on three sides that open to a central lane running down the middle, giving everyone semi-privacy. In each space, there’s a bed and a small table with a single drawer.
“This is the girls’ dormitory. It’s where all the unmarried girls sleep,” Ollie explains. “You can have this compartment.” She directs me to the space on the left, two beds away from the door. “Go ahead and leave your bag here so you don’t have to keep hauling it around,” she instructs. “Then Roe can show Vander to his room, and we can go on a tour of the whole farm.”
I consider the space, which is honestly cleaner and nicer than my room back home in the Smoke, but I can’t quite imagine it ever feeling like home. “Ollie,” I say, hesitant. “What if I don’t want to stay here?”
“You prefer a different bed?” She looks around, tapping her chin while she thinks. “I believe the one at the end is empty. You could take that one.”
I shake my head. “No, I mean, what if I don’t want to stay at this farm at all?”
She frowns slightly. “Well, you are free to go any time you like,” she assures me. “But if I were you, I’d wait until after we serve bacon. You’ll never look back.” And she laughs, as though this is all some silly joke. I don’t think she’s taking the questions seriously, as if she can’t imagine anyone would ever actually want to venture away from this little utopia. When I don’t respond, she smiles and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Emery, I know this is all a bit overwhelming right now, but I think in time you’ll come to see that being sent to the Ash was the best thing that ever happened to you.”
I strongly doubt that, but I don’t argue.
The boys’ dormitory is virtually an exact replica, except not quite so tidy. Still, it’s nothing compared to the mess that Whyle makes of his room.
My chest tightens at the thought of Whyle, and I turn my back to the others. I don’t want to face any questions about the single tear that rolls down my cheek before I regain control of myself. Fortunately, they don’t seem to notice.
We walk through the impressive compound while Ollie and Roe talk. Everyone has a job here, either in the fields or caring for the animals. Ollie talks up the animals, and Roe extols the virtues of planting and harvesting crops. Both of them slip in occasional jibes at the other’s expense. I can’t quite decide if the two of them actually like each other, or if they merely manage to cooperate out of necessity.
The sun is setting, throwing the sky into a cacophony of colors.
“Just rest and settle in tonight,” Ollie says. “You’ll get assignments in the morning.”
I don’t like how everyone just assumes that we’re staying. I suppose it’s a bit crazy to want to venture out on my own when there’s a warm bed and delicious food in abundance right here, but I don’t like feeling as though I don’t really have a choice.
“Can I ask a question?” I say.
“Of course,” Ollie replies encouragingly.
“Why do you all stay so close to The City? Why not move away from this place?”
“Well, there’re several reasons for that. The first is that if we moved away, how would we find the people sent to the Ash, and what would they do without us? But more importantly, we stay close because we’re still an important part of The City—supporting its mission to protect humanity. These farms supply most of the food that The City needs. Without us, it couldn’t survive for long.”
That brings me up short. “You give the things you produce to The City? But why?” I ask, incredulous.
I remember Eason showing me a small greenhouse and telling me there were eleven others just like it, and that they didn’t produce enough food to feed everyone. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but now I understand where the rest of the food comes from. What I don’t understand is why the people in the Ash go along with it. Why work for The City like slaves? What do any of us owe The City?
“You’ll understand in time,” is all Ollie says in reply.
Vander remains quiet throughout the tour, occasionally stealing sad glances back toward the shining dome of The City in the distance. I wonder what he’s thinking, but he gives no indication, and I don’t feel at liberty to ask.
By the time Ollie and Roe have finished showing us around, the sky has faded to a deep blue, and a large fire burns in the open space at the center of the farm. Nearly everyone is gathered there, singing and dancing. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people who were so carefree and happy all at once.
“What’s the occasion?” Vander asks, the first thing he’s said in nearly an hour.
“Oh, it’s just our little nightly activity,” Ollie says.
“You do this every night?” I ask in surprise.
“After a long day of work, everyone deserves to take a break and have some fun,” Roe explains.
That’s definitely a different philosophy than the Council has, which is more along the lines of: after a long day of intense labor, everyone deserves to observe a curfew under threat of blaster fire.
We join the celebration, but I’m having a difficult time feeling very festive at the moment. I fend off several attempts to draw me into the dance and instead sit watching the sky. The stars hang like jewels sprinkled on a black curtain of fabric so fine it could only be from the Flame. The silver moon is just a crescent, but I think I like it better than the sun because I can stare directly at it without hurting my eyes. But even these treasures that I’ve waited my whole life to see aren’t enough to cheer me right now. The stars don’t even twinkle like I thought they were supposed to.
Soon, I slip away to seek solace in the girls’ dormitory that, thankfully, is vacant for the time being. I feel exhausted and want nothing more than to collapse onto the bed, but when I reach my compartment, something looks wrong. It takes me a
minute to realize what it is.
My bag is missing.
I check the floor and under the bed, but it’s gone. In its place is a single change of clothes—a sturdy blue material that I’ve seen a lot of people here wearing. There might not have been much in that bag, but it is mine, and the thought that someone thinks they can just take it infuriates me.
I march back out to the fire and locate Ollie to report the theft. She’s sitting near the fire, making stitches on some kind of needlework, and looking out over the scene with the peaceful expression of a pleased mother at the sight of her children.
“Ollie, someone stole my bag,” I inform her.
Rather than becoming alarmed or defensive, she just chuckles. “No one stole anything, Emery. All the supplies go to the Supply Barn,” she explains, but makes no indication as to where exactly that is.
“You had no right to take my things. I want them back right now.”
“The Supply Barn is closed up for the night. Fox is in charge of supplies. I’ll have him get your things for you first thing in the morning if you’d like,” she assures me.
Her casual manner and quick agreement to return my belongings doesn’t give me much to argue with, but I’m still not happy about the situation.
“Fine. First thing,” I say, and storm away.
I catch sight of Vander across the fire. He’s holding Kamella’s hand and swaying to the music. Kamella moves like she’s one of the flames, nimble and graceful, and never quite predictable.
I stomp around the circle until I reach Vander, and then I tug at his arm.
He shakes me off like I’m a bothersome insect.
“Vander,” I shout, ripping his attention from the music and...dancer.
He spins toward me and steps back from the crowd. “You know, you’re just as annoying as my sister. What do you want?” There’s nothing friendly or welcoming in his expression.
I persist anyway. “Did you know they took our things?”
“What things?”
“The bags we brought from home. They took them from our beds and put them in some place they call the Supply Barn.”
He shrugs. “So? It’s not like we had much to start with. They’ve already given us way more than we came with.” Then he turns and rejoins the dancing.
I scowl at his back, not sure what I actually expected. I guess I just wanted someone else to see the injustice and realize that something isn’t right here. But apparently, I’m on my own.
I begin trudging back to the girls’ dormitory to be alone, but the crunching of footsteps trails me. I turn, expecting to see Vander following me, either to apologize or to insult me further, but the man behind me bears no resemblance to Vander’s tall, confident form. This man is hunched, with graying hair and drooping eyes the color of deep water. He stares at me with a concerned expression.
“Can I help you?” I say, confused.
“Hi, I’m Beatie,” he says. At least, I think that’s what he says, but his speech is so garbled I can’t be sure. He might have said his name was Beatle, Brady, or something else along those lines.
“Why are you following me?” I demand, not in the mood for conversation or pleasantries.
“Where is he?” Beatie asks, his gaze unfocused.
“Who?”
His lips tremble as though he’s trying to say something, but only a low moan escapes.
“I don’t know anyone here, so I’m the wrong person to ask,” I say.
He shakes his head furiously. “Where is he?” he repeats.
I venture a guess, pointing back in the direction of the fire. “Probably back there.”
He frowns, his eyes turn down, and his shoulders slump. Everything about him appears to deflate, but he doesn’t persist in his questions.
I turn and keep walking, expecting him to go back, but the crunching footsteps continue to follow me.
“Leave me alone. I’m going to bed,” I say, shooting him a look meant to convey how unwelcome he is.
Beatie mutters something, pointing and jabbing his outstretched finger toward The City.
“I don’t want anything more to do with The City. Leave me alone,” I shout, and I take off running. Thankfully, he doesn’t pursue me any farther. I would hate to have to injure the old man just to get him to leave me alone.
When I reach the dormitory, I slam the door against the outside world, but it only partially blocks out the sounds of the night. I pace the long walkway that runs the length of the building, but the action does nothing to dispel the desperate need for action that’s welling up in the center of my chest, pressing itself all the way down to my toes.
Alone in the dark, all the thoughts and feelings that I kept at bay throughout the day begin to overtake me. My hands tremble with emotions that border on disbelief, rage, heartbreak, and hatred, but never quite solidify into anything with a name. Eason is the reason I’m stuck here trying to figure out what to do. I’m glad he’s not here. I’m glad I’ll never have to look into his lying blue eyes again.
Against my will, my heart longs for Eason—reaches for him through time and space. But I push the thought away, along with every speck of love and desire I’ve ever felt for him, and lock them in a vault that I will never again open. I shove and squish and demolish the feelings I’ve harbored for so many years until there’s nothing left to hurt me.
From the window near the doorway, I can still see the outline of The City like an ever-present overlord. Inside The City, Eason is sitting with the other members of the Council—including his dear old dad—probably having a good laugh and planning whose life to destroy next. There are a lot of things I’m confused about right now, but I am positively certain that I will hate Eason Crandell until the end of time.
I sit on my bed, letting my mind wander and running my hands over the rough blanket until my fingertips feel raw. This place may offer food and a warm bed, but every moment I remain here makes my skin crawl with anxiety. Just seeing The City taunts me with everything it stole from me—everything that barrier field separates me from, as though I’m the threat.
Gasping as though my lungs have forgotten what to do with air, I slump down on the bed, hugging my knees to my chest. In the past week—how can it possibly be only one week?—I have gone from knowing with certainty that I would live out my life in the dreary but predictable Smoke with my family, to becoming a contestant in the Burning and very nearly earning a place in the elite of society, only to willfully throw it all away in order to pursue a fantasy in the Ash with Eason. Then to find out that it was all lies. Now Eason’s a member of the Council, and I am here—forever separated from my family and everything I ever wanted.
It’s too much for one human mind to process.
My brain stews in this sludge of angst and confusion.
I have to get away. I need space—to breathe…to think…to scream.
A plan starts to form in the recesses of my mind, carrying with it the tiniest spark of hope. In the morning, I’ll get my bag back, and I’ll go so far that I’ll never be forced to see The City again. I don’t expect Vander will come with me, but at this point, I don’t care.
Comforted by this resolution, my lungs agree to work again. The air seems sweet and fragrant, and my breathing slows to a calm and rhythmic pace. My muscles relax, and I surrender gratefully to the refuge of sleep.
Chapter 5
When I was eight years old, an obnoxious boy named Hail copied my essay on humanity’s escape from the Withers. I had no idea he had done this, and so when my teacher asked to speak to us both after class, I was completely unprepared to explain how the two of us could have turned in the exact same text. Of course, I claimed honestly that I had written the essay myself. Hail, on the other hand, not only made the same claim, but had prepared multiple witnesses who would lie and say they’d seen him writing the essay weeks ago. In the end, I was branded the liar and cheat and forced to write another essay—this one on how dishonesty damages society.
&nb
sp; I came home fuming. Late that night, I was still awake and the clatter of my pacing meant that my parents were still awake, too. Both of my parents had tried to console me earlier, to no avail. But when my mother returned, she said something so simple that I couldn’t argue with it, and it calmed me right down.
She didn’t try to tell me that it would all be all right, or not to care what anyone else thought. She didn’t tell me how to get back at Hail, or that I should just forget about it.
All she said was, “Emery, you’d be surprised how much a good night’s sleep can do to make everything clearer in the morning.”
That was all I needed to hear to finally let myself rest that night, believing tomorrow would hold answers that I couldn’t grasp today, so there was no point in searching for them yet.
I remember the stolen essay—and the smug smile Hail gave me when our teacher’s back was turned. And I remember my mother’s advice. But I don’t remember what happened the next day. I suppose that must mean it all worked out okay.
There were many times throughout the years that Mom reminded me of that simple truth: everything is clearer after a night’s rest. But never have I felt the healing balm of sleep more powerfully than when I awake on my first morning in the Ash. It feels as though I’ve spent my entire life buried beneath enough bricks to construct every building in The City, and suddenly, they’ve all been lifted. I’m left feeling light, and free—as though not even gravity can hold me down now.
In the light of day, yesterday’s plan to strike out on my own seems childish and foolhardy. The other girls, who came in last night after I was already asleep, are cheerfully getting ready for the day, so I do the same—changing into the new clothes I was given. They really are comfortable.
When I walk into the dining hall for breakfast, Ollie greets me with a smile. “How did you sleep?”