by Casey Hays
“I’ll be right back.” Justin says gently before slipping out. I snuggle deeper with a huge sigh and close my eyes. The sickness has not left my body, and the nausea that suddenly dances in my stomach announces this. I hold my breath, fighting the urge to vomit until the feeling passes.
Justin returns carrying a plastic cup. He sits on the edge of the bed, which sags dangerously beneath his weight.
“Time for another dose,” he announces. “Drink up.”
With his help, I sit, take the cup. Tiny green herbs float on the surface. I sniff.
“Elder flower, yarrow, and peppermint leaf,” I say. Justin smiles.
“Just like you said.”
I take a long gulp of the warm concoction.
“We didn’t have time to let the leaves dry, so we used them fresh and hoped for the best.”
“Impressive,” I smile. I drink the rest and hand him the cup. “So you don’t get sick?” I ask. “Ever?”
“Never ever,” he replies with a smile. “Not after the Shift.” He stares into the empty cup where leftover leaves settle at the bottom.
“Thank you.” I reach for his arm, lay my fingers lightly on his skin.
“Sure.”
In my mind, I see him curled on his side in the bed. “Did you . . . stay with me?”
His eyes grow intense. They flit away for a brief second and then settle on me again.
“You wouldn’t let me leave. Every time I tried, you kind of panicked. So yeah, I stayed.”
I swallow. “And did I . . . say or do anything?”
Confusion crosses his features. “Like what?”
Heat rises in my cheeks as the memory of Madame Belle’s lessons in the old stuffy classroom sears me. I was alone with Justin, in a state of delirium, in and out of consciousness. And with all the absurd hallucinations haunting me through the night, I fear that I may have done things I can’t remember.
“Something that would indicate my . . . training.”
A flash of understanding causes him to straighten. “Oh. No, Kate.” He smiles. “You were the perfect lady. Just sick is all.”
“Oh. Good.” Relief fills me up.
After this, we stare at each other for the longest time, until his nearly black eyes feel like a brand on my skin, searching me, burning me with some unreadable feeling. I realize my hand still rests on his arm, and I pull back, force my eyes to fall away from his and rest on the figure eight marking. They linger for a moment, tracing the spiked design.
“Do all of you have that mark?” I nod, and he lifts his arm, and peers down at the symbol.
“The tattoo? Yeah. We all got one when we shifted.”
“What is it? An . . . eight?”
He smiles and shakes his head. “No. It’s the infinity sign. It’s the symbol of Eden, the Eternal City.”
“Eternal?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “The city was supposedly named after the first place to ever exist on Earth. The name represents hope.” He pauses before adding, “'That it may thrive in everlasting peace. And may it never fall again.’ That’s a quote.” He shrugs. “From the Code.”
“Yours is different than Ian’s,” I say, and he nods.
“We each designed our own. To represent, you know?”
“And what does yours represent?”
“Hidden Truth.”
He smiles. It’s fitting.
“I’ll never see your Eternal City, will I?”
My words are an intentional jab, and he suddenly looks uncomfortably apologetic, his lips pursing.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“We should tell Diana,” I whisper. I look at him. “She should know of Jordan.”
Justin straightens. “Kate—”
“No.” I cut him off. “If we are going to be here another day or two, we should tell her. She believes we are taking her to Tabitha. She believes you, Justin. She trusts you. She’s beginning to trust all of you. I can sense this. We can’t keep such things from her and keep her trust intact. I never should have let you convince me otherwise.”
He purses his lips again. “What if the only thing keeping her moving is knowing she will see Tabitha at the end?”
“She was moving perfectly fine before Tabitha became sick.” I focus on him. “And she will, won’t she? She will see her soon enough.”
A hint of doubt flits over his face briefly, barely detectable, but I see it.
“Justin?”
His face clouds. He stands and moves toward the window, his back to me. The sun has shifted in the late morning sky, and it paints its brightness across his skin. He squints in its light.
“Sure she will.”
A sense of hesitation in the phrase. I push up on my elbows.
“Justin? What aren’t you telling me?”
He stares out the window, refusing to face me. I stare at his back, willing him to answer. “You said your father could save her,” I exclaim.
“No.” He leans his hands against the window frame. His head hangs in defeat. “I said my father has saved a lot of babies, which was kind of an exaggeration. Not every baby beats the toxin.” He turns, his eyes full of anguish. “But my dad is the best. If she can be saved, he’ll do it.”
“If she can be . . .” The rest of my words seem to vanish like smoke.
Justin reeks of sincere regret, and for a moment I just stare at him with a kind of muted rage. But it doesn’t take long for my fury to ride in like a beast and knock his regret clean out of the way. I fling the covers off and clamber to my feet.
“We are telling her.”
The dizzy spell attacks just as I spin on my heels, and Justin catches me against his chest right in time.
“Just wait a minute.”
“No, I will not!” I shove away from him and fall clumsily onto the mattress. “This is what happens when we keep secrets. They are silent lies. And others form from the first one until you are buried so deep you can’t find the true way. I have to tell her the truth. All of it.”
He doesn’t budge. He stands there in all his pomp, and just stares at me.
“There’s the firecracker I remember.”
“What?”
He smiles, dropping his eyes away. “Nothing.”
And before I can blink, he takes me up under my arms and scoots me back into bed.
“Don’t touch—what are you doing?”
He ignores me, zipping me up tightly inside the sleeping back. He sits on the edge of the bed.
“Look. You need to rest, or we are going nowhere soon. Telling Diana can wait.”
I huff from inside my cocoon. “Why do you get to decide?”
“Because we aren’t in your village anymore, where everything had a place and very few things changed. This is a different world, Kate. So let me be the one who knows what’s best for now.”
I’m silent, thinking.
“I don’t want to freak her out,” he says plainly. I squint, confused, so he adds. “Upset her. I don’t want to upset her.”
“I think you’re too late to avoid it,” I snap.
“Probably.” He clasps his hands, nodding.
“She is stronger than you think,” I add, still snug in my cocoon. I can’t move my arms, but I fiercely tap my fingers deep inside against the mattress.
He smiles. “I know.”
“I’m going to tell her.”
I hold my eyes steady, frozen on a line with the darkness of his own until he finally nods.
“All right,” he sighs. “All right, fine. Tell her.”
A huge expanding pocket of air inside me suddenly pops, and I know I should feel relief, but I don’t. Because something in his voice doesn’t sit well in my conscience, and it causes me to hesitate. To rethink my sudden decision. In an instant, I harden myself against the feelings. I am going to tell her. I am. I close my eyes, completely exhausted and hoping Justin will leave now. He sits silently. I wait for the mattress to give as he stands, but he doesn’t budge.
“Yes.”
“There’s more.”
I open one eye to peer at him. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees momentarily before he sighs heavily, and stands, moving away from the bed. His back to me once again, he shoves his fists into the pockets of his jeans.
“More?” I lean up on an elbow. Tell me quickly, I think. I can’t bear these shocking surprises much longer. “What?”
“It was Tabitha’s eyes.”
I swallow and the ache in my throat churns to life again. “What about them?”
He turns.
“They looked just like the babies in Eden. The ones that don’t survive the toxin.”
I blink, unsure at first how to digest what he tells me.
“That’s why . . . I’m . . . I’m not so sure she’ll live.” He shrugs, and hopelessness invades his black eyes, deepening them beyond any blackness, and they sweep in on me like the sickness that so quickly attacked my body and left me stranded in a world full of nightmares. “And why we didn’t think twice about sending her to Eden.” He frowns. “She can’t be exposed to something she already has.”
His hopelessness fuels my own, and in it, I realize how wrong I’ve been. These secrets have erected an enormous wall between me and Diana. And even if she doesn’t realize there is a wall, she trusts me more than anyone else, and I’ve been untrue to her as a friend. And now Justin hands me yet another brick to add to my creation.
And the wall is fortified by my silence because it has always been my responsibility to be honest with her. Not Ian’s and not Justin’s.
Mine.
I suddenly can’t breathe in the stifling air that fills the room. It’s as if the walls are moving in an inch at a time. They threaten to tumble down on both of us, smashing us into nothingness. Frantically, I wrestle my arms free from the sleeping bag.
“We had to do something,” Justin says, justifying his actions. “What would I be if I gave up hope and just let her die without trying to save her?”
“And now?” I shake my head suddenly, more weary than before. “She could die without Diana ever seeing her again.”
“Unless I’m wrong. I’m not a doctor yet. Whatever she has may just resemble toxin poisoning. I could be wrong. I probably am.”
Justin sits. I see it all now. The worried glance he’d exchanged with Ian. How they both reacted to the baby’s eyes. And I know. He isn’t wrong.
“I don’t understand how she has the symptoms,” he says more to himself. “It just doesn’t make sense.”
“What are the symptoms?”
“Fever. Unresponsiveness. Cloudy eyes. Eventually blindness. And later, blood seeping from the eyes, the nose. And . . . death.”
I cover my lips, and a trembling rolls through me full of utter despair.
“You shouldn’t have sent her away.” My eyes capture his with certain desperation. “You should have let her die in Diana’s arms.”
“Is that really better?” he asks. “Is that what you would want?”
His sincerity exudes from him, and I can’t answer. When they came for Diana’s baby boy, they took him, and she did not see him die. And still, she mourned for months with an anguish worse than the birth pangs themselves. So which it better?
“You truly think it was the toxin?” I ask.
He shakes is head. “I only know what I saw.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either. There’s no way she could’ve been exposed.” His dark brows furrow with his frown. “My people made sure the toxin was contained a long time ago.”
“How do you know this?”
“Because . . . Eden used to be a compound before the Fall.”
“I don’t know what that means.” I’ve started to shiver again, and I tuck my hands back inside.
“It’s a domed city. Enclosed—with a roof— and sealed tight. It’s like being inside even when you’re outside.”
I crease my brows. Eden is enclosed? Another fact Ian never mentioned.
“I want to be wrong,” Justin concludes. “It’s possible she has whatever you have, only worse. We can hope for that.”
“But were my eyes cloudy?” I ask. “Did I seep blood?”
“No,” he concludes, exasperated. “But I don’t want to be right, because if I’m right. . . .” His words trail, and he creases his brow with sheer concern.
“Tabitha is going to die, isn’t she?” I whisper.
His eyes drift up to connect with mine. He doesn’t have to say anything at all for me to hear his answer.
Chapter 14
Two days, and I’m strong enough to travel. We trudge on, stopping in towns or pitching our tents along the way as we move closer to our final destination. And now that I know the destination—that my future lies with a place called Jordan—I resign myself to it whole-heartedly. Because there is nothing else to do.
I would be lying if I didn’t admit some disappointment. In my mind, Eden was brilliant—a place of mystery and magic. A place where all the conveniences were at my disposal. No more bathing in the river; no more cooking in the open over a firepit. It was going to be a glorious life.
Of course, in truth, I didn’t know what to expect of Eden other than Ian’s brave descriptions. I soaked them into myself, painting my own images of the city full of lights in the middle of the night. But even this was limited, and it lessens my disappointment a degree. I cannot harbor too much loss for something I never had.
We haven’t seen another storm since Ian left, and the sun beats upon us relentlessly until, at times, I begin to wish it would rain again to give us some relief. But it doesn’t, and this, too, I blame on the Archer. He has cleverly devised how to punish me in every way for my disobedience.
Tonight, we’ve settled into a small cabin close to the river, and Diana and I take the opportunity it lends for a bath. The night air is warm and the water feels good on our bare skin.
“How much farther do you think we have to go?” Diana asks.
We are neck deep in the water, which runs slow and calm in this section of the river. She scoops water into her cupped palms and trickles it over her head.
“I don’t know. Far, I think. Justin says once we cross the river, we must turn north and travel several more days.”
She nods, her expression creasing slightly. I’m careful not to mention Jordan. Diana’s mood is better, and in light of that, I hold off. I’ve come to the conclusion, begrudgingly, that Justin is right. I have no desire to flood her with the shocking revelations I’ve endured over the past few days. She’s had enough to handle as it is. But as she turns her back, dips her head beneath the water and surfaces once more, my conscience tugs at me.
Justin believes the toxin is killing Tabitha, as impossible as that may be. Diana may never see her child alive again, and she should know this. It’s what she should have known before Ian took the baby. They should have told both of us.
This, at least, is how I justify my silence. It was never my responsibility to divulge the truth.
I sigh. A poor excuse.
But I close my eyes, lean my head back until only my face is above water, and press every thought of Eden and toxins and Death out of myself. And as much as I hate to admit it, in light of Justin’s latest confession, I must agree with him. It will do no good to hand Diana the news tonight. She can do nothing about what I tell her. And if I tell her tomorrow, she can do nothing. We go to Jordan regardless.
I feed myself these excuses and swallow them whole. And I scowl inwardly at Justin because his reasons for saying nothing have convinced me. I hate what I do.
If Tabitha lives, Diana won’t resent me as much. I can hope for this.
“Where do you think Ian is now?” Diana suddenly asks.
I raise myself slightly out of the water. My hope is that he’s already on his way back to me, but no one can say for certain.
“I’m sure he’s in Eden by now,” I proffer, hoping I
sound confident. Diana nods and disappears beneath the waters—as if to bask in that one statement without interference.
The moon rises just above the trees, and I trace its silvery brightness.
I miss Ian.
The boys have given us some privacy, but I easily see Justin’s shadowy frame where he sits on the edge of the rickety porch of the cabin we’ve chosen for the night. It somehow manages to hold his weight despite its decaying condition. He works with a piece of wood as usual. In fact, there is seldom a time when Justin does not have a wooden work of near-finished art in his hand.
I’ve come to admire this about him. I recognize that the solace I see in him stems from this very activity. Somehow, the concentration needed for his talent has instilled a peace inside him. He is never rash, never hasty with his decisions. He approaches every issue in the same way he approaches a piece of wood: slowly and deliberately rational.
In that moment, Ian crosses my mind. I hope he comes soon. Something is missing without him here. Some dynamic that the other boys lack. Justin is reasonable and kind, and Jesse questions everything. Max is quiet—observant. But Ian—he’s alive somehow, grounded in the moment. With every mistake, every challenge, every argument, every apology, he gives a purpose to life. I chew on my lip, holding back my tears. I am grateful for the boys, but it’s Ian I want here with me.
I glance at Justin. I know that Diana and I are mere shadows glistening under the rising moon, but his head lifts occasionally to assure himself that we have not drowned or been taken captive by some crazed predator. And when he thinks we’ve been away from the cabin long enough, he stands, sets his whittling aside, and peers at us through the veiling night.
“Kate? Are you two done? It’s getting awfully dark out here.” He pauses, and when I don’t answer, he takes a step. “I think you should come in now.”
The water sloshes as Diana scoots to the bank and pulls herself out of the river.
“I’m sure he’s right,” she says. She dries herself and slides quickly into her dress.
“We’re coming,” I call out despondently, not wishing to climb out of the refreshing water or away from my private thoughts.
Justin waits just near the edge of the porch until he sees our shadows clambering up the slope, and he seems relieved when we come into the beam of his flashlight. I toss him a playful glance.