by Jason Letts
“Let’s get this over with,” Mira grumbled.
The foursome entered the temple and squeezed together into a spot on the narrow beam. No matter how they sat, they couldn’t get comfortable. Small recitation books lined the ground in front of them, and the sound of a bell signaled them all to pick one up. Each page had a hymn scribbled on it that was rife with misspellings and illegible words. Still, a second bell dictated that they were meant to sing.
Unlike those around them, they moved their lips without feeling. The sound of this repulsive tune washed over them, inundating them with reminders of all of the things they had fought for and lost. In the center of the temple, which all the rows faced, they looked into the eyes of the one they had lost them to.
But it was not really him. The temple’s crowning jewel was a stone statue of the man who had led an army of the spiteful and conceited for ten years against the peaceful people of Darmen and the surrounding territories. His deadened eyes looked out from under droopy eyelids. Cut into stone, his singed and frizzy hair was like rays of sunshine emanating from his head. No doubt that was done on purpose, recalling how he stopped the Earth’s rotation. The never-setting sun has loomed over them ever since.
Apart from his apathetic face, he towered over them wearing thin rags of a light hue. They stretched tight over his muscular torso, lumping ever so slightly over a spot in the center of his chest. The image altogether was one that sought to both intimidate and command, and virtually all of those who occupied the expansive chamber were far too willing to follow along.
But Mira, Vern, Aoi, and Chucky lazily turned the pages, mouthed the words, and tried to block out the horrors that brought them here. A monitor would walk by every once in a while, and they would straighten themselves and speak up, but mostly they just thought to themselves about anything that would pass the time until they could get on with their grueling day.
Another monitor strutted past them, and Vern eyed him warily before turning his head and whispering to Mira.
“I’ve got another idea,” he said.
Mira’s eyes shot to the left to check on the monitor’s location. Tilting her head toward Vern, she cautiously gave her reply.
“Please don’t. There’s nothing we can do.”
“No, just hear me out! I’ve got a good feeling about this one,” he pleaded.
“Vern, really, we can’t. OK? You’ve got to just forget about it. The only—”
But before she could finish her thought a rough hand gripped her shoulder and threw her onto her back. A heavy boot pressed into one ear to grind the other into the stone floor. Afraid to look, Vern, Aoi, and Chucky couldn’t see more than Mira’s legs on top of the beam, but they knew who had grabbed her. Straining her eyes to the left, Mira could just make out a black uniform, a carefully groomed goatee, and a pair of scornful eyes.
“We’ll have none of your sacrilege in the presence of the King! If you can’t pass the words of our savior through those lips, it’ll be nothing for me to cut them clean off your face,” a man barked over the uninterrupted hymn.
Letting his foot grind into her face even more, he grinned down at her before stepping over and moving down the aisle. Mira put her hand to the red indentations on her cheek. There was nothing for her to do but climb back onto her seat and continue with the rest of the daily ceremony.
“Sorry about that, Mira,” Vern said as they exited the temple.
“I’m just glad he didn’t do anything worse,” Mira replied, rubbing her cheek again.
“Crimshaw really is the worst of them all,” Chucky growled, getting into a huff and causing his friends to look around and make sure none of the guards were around. “A week ago he beat a guy for tying his shoes, then the other day the guy tripped on his untied laces and he beat him again. He said it was his own fault for having shoes in the first place and laughed as he clubbed him. It makes me sick.”
“Just try not to think of it,” Aoi suggested.
“What I would give to have a clean shot at him,” Chucky seethed, balling up his fist. Vern put his hand on Chucky’s shoulder.
“The worst part about it is if you did that the very guy he beat would come rushing over to defend him. We’ve just got no choice but to swallow everything they throw at us, and that’s why we’ve got to—”
“Vern!” Mira interrupted, cutting him off.
Shaking his head, Vern relented and dropped his point. They continued walking amongst the rest of the ceremony-goers along another street. The smell of food mingled with the salty sea air, causing their mouths to water.
“So which one are you going to pick today?” Aoi asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“I took a green one yesterday and that didn’t work out well at all, so I guess I’ll pick a red one today.” Answering seemed to drain Mira’s enthusiasm so completely that she could barely raise her feet to continue walking.
“You know switching doesn’t actually increase your chances of getting something good at all. Chucky, how come working on the farm never teaches you anything about which ones we should pick?” Vern asked.
“I know,” Mira mumbled. “But it makes me feel less stupid if I miss two days in a row.”
“Because I don’t do any of the packing. I don’t think they let any of the residents do it,” Chucky explained.
“Residents?” Aoi spoke up. “Why don’t you just call us what we are? Slaves.”
They passed under a large archway and entered another area of the camp. Looking around at those who exited, they tried to see the results of their choices. All of those before them carried a small green or red sack big enough to hold a gallon of water. They could tell those who had found food in their bags from those who hadn’t because anyone with food instantly ducked away to consume it. Those who didn’t had nothing to hide and instead kept their eyes open for a chance to steal from someone with better fortune.
A small, hungry group cornered someone against a wall off to the right. Mira and her friends joined the line and waited for their turn to pick, shifting to the side and trying to get a gander at what was ahead. The line moved quickly, and soon they caught sight of a man on a platform overseeing the mealtime operation. From on high, Crimshaw scanned the line for any signs of disorderly conduct.
“Keep it moving,” he ordered. “Take your pick and get out. If you lay a hand on more than one, you’ll walk out with a lot less than you brought in.”
Two heaps awaited those in line just behind him. One green and one red, the piles of small sacks stood just a few feet high. They all looked pretty much the same, maybe some lumpier than others, but everyone had long ago learned that nothing their eyes could tell them would guarantee a favorable outcome.
Those in front of Mira reached the front of the line and started to poke around the heaps. Hunched over like a crane, they made the decision that would determine whether or not they ate that day.
One woman gave Mira a watchful eye as she exited with her little green sack. Crimshaw too gazed down at her, forcing Mira to feel self-conscious because anything at all could set him off. After someone else departed and the heaps were almost vacant, Mira followed Vern, Chucky, and Aoi toward them.
Chucky’s chattering teeth competed with his growling stomach for which part of his body could be the loudest. He bent his face down to the cluster of red bags, sniffing wildly. Aoi took the first one she came to, quickly secured it against the back waistline of her ragged pants, and turned to watch the line in case anyone threatened them.
Mira sensed Vern’s tension as he picked over the nearby green heap. He always took it personally when he walked away with nothing, like a personal defect caused him to choose an empty bag. Mira studied the contours and the shapes of the red sacks. They all seemed so porous and thin, and yet they somehow all managed to keep the secret of their contents. After Vern held out his hand and a small green sack jumped up into his hand, Mira reached down for a plump looking sack.
It looked to her like it
could be a nice, healthy cabbage, but it seemed disappointingly soft once she laid her fingers on it. She jerked her head back immediately, and she met Crimshaw’s cold stare. Abandoning the idea of making a quick switch, she tucked it inside of her shirt.
Exiting alongside Vern, they rejoined Aoi and Chucky. Only inches apart from each other, they kept their eyes open for trouble and motored their way past those in line behind them. Criss-crossing bandits roamed the area, and the foursome started to jog, careful to keep their booty safe.
Fortunately, they received only a few glances from the ravenous thieves and were able to clear the archway without any trouble. Their swift jog turned into something more playful as they scooted through the camp past wooden huts and giant ferns. The excitement and curiosity of their fortunes gripped them, urging them to race toward a tall palm tree.
Aoi ran right up its side until the vertical bark could no longer hold her, but Vern’s hand supported her back right before she started to fall. She smiled back at him, and together they marched up into the tree’s leafy top. Once they made it up, they looked down at the pair still on the ground. Steadying himself against a branch, Vern used his power to make Chucky fall up toward him. Their hands caught, and Chucky climbed next to him. Mira joined them in a similar fashion, and finally they all took a seat against one of the four branches.
Crossing their fingers and expressing their optimism, they removed their packets and started to open them. Their mouths watered, and they all yearned for something to sink their teeth into.
“I can smell it,” Chucky said. “We’ve hit the jackpot.”
But Mira ripped open her bag, sunk her hand into it, and knew she had gotten something very different than the cabbage she had imagined. Sighing, she turned the bag upside down and brown leaves flittered to the ground.
“I’m sorry about that, Mira.” Aoi said.
“It’s OK. We never all get lucky at once,” she replied.
Vern turned up a spotted banana, and he smiled from ear to ear. Aoi’s sack contained mostly bark with some berries mixed in. Chucky pursed his lips when he revealed he had nothing more than a few clumps of dirt.
“Well, there’s no use getting upset about it. Let’s dig in!” Vern said.
Before they could eat a single berry, they heard some commotion down below. They leaned over to look just in time to see a woman struggling with Vika over a coconut. Vika lost hold of it and tipped over onto her hands while the other woman dashed away. From their spot at the top of the tree, an ill feeling ate at them.
“We can’t let her go without eating,” Mira said.
They all looked at the ripe banana between them and resigned themselves to do the right thing.
“We’d better give it to her now or I won’t be able to stop myself from eating it,” Vern confessed before he dropped over the side between the branches. Sorry to see the bulk of their meal disappear, Mira, Aoi, and Chucky looked at each other.
“You know, things like that wouldn’t happen if Mary were around,” Chucky noted.
“Chucky, please,” Aoi begged.
“What? She’d be able to tell us exactly when anyone was coming, and then we wouldn’t have to hide here to eat.”
“I know,” Aoi sighed, “but these conversations always go the same way and they always hurt so much. What if Roselyn hadn’t been killed? What if Will were here? My heart has more sting in it than a beehive.”
“Will was posing as a Sunfighter, so we have no reason to think he’s been killed too,” Chucky continued.
“Unless he’s been found out,” Mira added, displeased at having to join the conversation. “Something must have happened to them because they’re not here. Right now there’s only one logical assumption we can make.”
“They’re alive and waiting for us to rescue them,” Vern cheered, hopping up next to them and making the tree shake.
“You know how badly I wish that were so,” Mira said to him. “But the sad truth of it is we’ll probably never know what happened to them. I’d be tempted to say not knowing is worse than knowing for sure, but watching Roselyn die by the Warlord’s hands makes me realize there’s no comfort either way.”
Humbled, Vern sat and they started to pick at the berries from Aoi’s sack. It was a lunch fit for birds, and they all seemed to finish their shares as soon as they had begun.
“We can’t go on like this,” Vern snapped, flicking away the berry stems and shooting his eyes over to Mira, who in turn cast her eyes over to Chucky. He leaned back, immediately becoming defensive.
“It’s impossible. You’ve got to understand there’s just no way for me to steal food,” Chucky shrugged.
“You even said yourself there won’t be enough to survive on. The rules are fixed against us, so we have to break them.” Mira spoke softly to him, coaxing him out of his shell. He looked back at her, torn between the request she implied and his inability to fulfill it.
“They check me coming back from the farm every single day. The farm manager’s power is to smell food—he doesn’t miss a thing—and so you’ve got to believe me when I tell you stealing food would never work.”
Aoi hung her head, and Vern let his roll back onto his shoulder. They had heard this argument from him many times before and it never failed to leave them with a sour taste in their mouths. It seemed like such a logical solution, and their hungry stomachs prevented them from seeing the obstacles in the way.
“We don’t want to see you get caught,” Mira began, “but we can’t let things keep going the way they’re going. Can you keep an eye out? Can you just have it in your mind in case an opportunity arises?” Mira begged.
“Please don’t talk to me like I’m not trying. You know I want to help and I’d do anything, but they keep such a tight lock on that place. I don’t want to let you down, Mira.” Chucky added, appearing hurt.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Mira said. “It’s just there’s been so much going on lately and we’ve been under all this pressure. Somehow things keep building up and piling up and suddenly you’re just trapped beneath it.”
The problems and the worries weighed on her so obviously, and it was hard for the rest of them because no one could offer her a way out.
“We’ve got everything you said Vika will need all ready to go,” Aoi offered.
“Thanks,” Mira said, forcing a smile. “She’ll give birth any day now.”
Late that day, the sound of racing footprints jerked Mira back to her senses. She had been dozing in a small room with her head against a large drafting table when the door burst open and Vern entered. Out of breath, he leaned against the creaky wooden door as Mira sat up on her wooden stool. Knowing why he had come even before he could speak, she got up and started running toward him.
“She’s giving birth!” Vern finally wheezed.
“You mean she’s having contractions?” Mira asked.
“Maybe!” Vern shot back, bewildered.
Knowing they didn’t have a moment to lose, Mira took off through the camp with Vern trailing along behind. She sprinted past other idle slaves wallowing away their free evening hours in hammocks. Some played the drums or walked with rudimentary fishing poles to the coast. None of them knew what she was running for, and none of them cared to find out.
In her mind, Mira ran through all of the likely scenarios she would find when she stormed Vika’s hut and found her in the throes of labor. But for all that she knew to expect when a woman gives birth to a child, the excitement blooming inside her instead stemmed from the promise of seeing something she could never imagine.
Ever since she first heard about them, people had told her they received their powers at the moment of birth. At that moment, the web of the universe imbedded in the night’s sky recycles the powers of the dead into the newborn. Because Mira was never born, she missed this somehow. Her mind wouldn’t let her rest until she found out the reason for it, how it worked that a child joined with some external force to imbue it
with something beyond muscle or mind.
Of course, she had to hope that she would even see a human birth at all because of Vika’s own power. But this seemed like her one chance to figure it all out, and she wouldn’t let it get away.
The sound of Vika’s cries hit her as she whipped around a corner and came within view of her cobbled hut. Almost tearing the door of its hinges, she threw it open to find Vika wailing in a chair. The squirrel squeaked on the wall beside the sloth. The collie met Mira at the door, panting happily.
Aoi and Chucky also occupied the shady, cool room. Chucky used a moist towel to dab Vika’s forehead and Aoi bit her fingernails, fretting and looking extremely uncomfortable. When Mira entered and went straight for the supplies, Aoi looked like she would pass out from the relief.
“The floor is wet!” Aoi squealed.
“That’s from the release of amniotic fluid. How long has she been like this?” Mira asked, without looking up from washing her hands.
“About fifteen minutes, but it seems to get worse every few minutes or so,” Chucky answered.
“Those are the contractions. It probably feels like a really bad cramp, but we won’t be able to tell how far along she is by the screaming. We need to move her over there on the floor where it’s dry. Put some towels down and set the pillows against the foot of the bed. Aoi, can you light some candles so we can see better. I don’t want to miss seeing it.”
“Uh…uh-huh,” Aoi stammered.
She started to fumble with the candles while Mira and Chucky prepared to move Vika, who seemed beside herself for the pain. Vern entered just in time to help. Mira coached her to take deep breaths while Vern and Chucky lifted her into the air. By the time they moved her into position, the collie had settled in her spot and needed to be put outside.
“OK, it looks like we’re pretty far along here,” Mira noted.
“How can you tell that?” Vern asked.
“I’m judging by how dilated her cervix is. Humans have a really big head compared to other mammals, and so it takes ten centimeters for it to get through. Right now she is only dilated about half that.”