by Beatty, Cate
Duncan gasped when she approached. Their eyes met. Joan quickly looked away from Duncan and slid her arm around Reck. She whispered something into Reck’s ear. A slight smile crossed his face, and they kissed. Arrow Comes Back had told them that Reck was not invited to sit, but he could stand behind them. Then Joan and Arrow Comes Back joined the circle, opposite the soldiers and the snatchers.
Nox spoke first, “23, I told you I’d find you.”
He had no hold over Joan anymore—no power—as she unequivocally stated, “You said you had news for me?”
She spoke without fear and without respect.
“Yes, a friend of yours is visiting us at the fort—number 42.”
Reck broke in, “Kaleb? What’re you doing to him?”
Crooked Arm raised his arm to silence Reck, and Arrow Comes Back turned and did the same.
“Nothing. He is my…guest. For the time being,” Nox replied.
Nox searched Joan for her weakness, the chink in her armor. She didn’t speak. She stared at him—her eyes meeting his, not turning away.
“Joan,” he said, watching her.
She didn’t flinch—didn’t react upon hearing him utter her name. It would be a challenge for Nox here, with all her friends for support.
“Joan, he’s quite comfortable. For now. But he is scheduled for an…invitation to the machine.”
He analyzed her reaction. He saw it. For a split second, concern flashed in her eyes.
He continued, “But you can save him, Joan.”
She still said nothing. Her gaze shifted to Duncan—her eyes drawn to him. He looked at the ground. She noticed the bandage was gone from his arm, but he had a scar over his left eye. She returned her gaze to Nox.
“We’re willing to exchange him for you. We will give him his freedom, if you come back.”
She raised her eyebrows, ever so slightly. Nox noticed.
“What makes you think I’d do that?” Joan asked.
Joan tried to seem unconcerned, but she was new at this—new at the art of negotiation. Subterfuge did not come easily to her.
“23,” he reverted to her number, trying to keep her off guard, “do you want to be responsible for any more deaths?”
Reck couldn’t be quiet any longer. “You killed her father. That’s your fault, not hers.”
Reck believed he was defending Joan and coming to her aid, but he had just given Nox the ammunition he searched for. A smile briefly passed over Nox’s lips. He realized no one knows about her mother.
He raised his eyebrows. “There’s no need to dredge up the past, is there, Joan? We don’t have to discuss it now, unless you want to.”
Joan stared at the ground in front of her. Her breathing increased, almost imperceptibly. She shook her head.
“I didn’t think so,” Nox stated with a triumphant edge to his voice. “Joan, it’s so very simple. You for him—”
Reck interrupted, “I’ll do it. Me for Kaleb.”
Nox looked at Reck. “No one wants you.”
Enraged, Reck charged across the circle and jumped on Nox. The two rolled on the ground for a moment, struggling, but the Children and the other soldiers separated them.
“No violence at a meeting,” Crooked Arm pronounced.
Nox straightened his shirt and tie and sat down again. The attack threw off his momentum.
“That’s the problem with you donors. You have no respect for the law or for rules of any kind. You wonder why you’re inferior.”
He took a minute to calm his breathing and said to Joan, “As I said, you for him. Your friend will be released immediately. You will come back to the Alliance.” He had to offer her something else. “There’s no threat of the donation any longer. Your benefactor changed her mind. There won’t be any tax, Joan. All will be as it was.”
It could never be as it was. She was not the same person, not a number. But that didn’t matter. It was Kaleb she worried about.
Bash, who had been with the watching crowd, stepped forward near the circle and raised his right hand.
Crooked Arm said to him, “He Smiles wishes to speak. You may.”
Bash turned and faced Nox, “I don’t see the point of this. Why did you travel over a thousand miles? For what? If a few of your people want to leave and live their life away from the Alliance, then let them. She’s not hurting anyone out here. Why not leave her alone? Show a little compassion. Mercy.”
Nox shook his head. “She broke the law. It’s my job to enforce it. The law isn’t merciful. Besides, I don’t think the West wants a bunch of donors escaping to them. One or two may be OK with all of you, but believe me, you wouldn’t want to live with a lot of them. They’re not like us.”
He turned back to Joan. He would never break her here. He had to get her alone.
Kindly he said to her, “Think about it, Joan. Me and my fellow TEO officers are camping out in a place called Hidden Canyon. Just us. It’s half way between this camp and the fort. Neutral ground. I’ll have 42 brought there. Perhaps you’d like to see him, even talk to him before you make your decision? I’ll allow that.” He used that fatherly tone of voice again, “Or if you just want to talk to me, I’m always willing to talk to you, Joan. You know that.”
He stood up but stopped and turned to her. He knew the importance of the last word in any interrogation—a lingering thought to leave with the subject. After dangling in front of her a little hope, he would leave her with a little fear, “Oh, and don’t do anything rash or impulsive. If you disappear, then the same will happen to 42.”
Nox and Duncan sat in the durable, bouncing roughly across the dirt. Duncan stared into the hills. The kiss between Joan and that other man devastated him. All this time, Duncan convinced himself that Joan loved him.
He had been certain of her affection, especially after downloading the computer chip from her phone to his. On it were photos, mostly of her parents, but some were of Duncan. Joan took photos of him when he didn’t know it—running at the Center, exercising, and so on. There weren’t any photos of the other man, the one she kissed today.
“I think we’ve got her. Don’t you, Starr?” Nox interrupted his reverie.
“Uh…I guess, sir. Is that true, about the donation being cancelled?”
Nox shrugged, “Who knows? But I had to say it, to give her something to grab onto. It’s alright to lie to criminals—to donors.”
Nox leaned forward to the soldier driving the durable. “When you drop us off at the canyon, can you leave immediately for the fort? Have them send number 42, along with the platoon Major Henworth promised me?”
Stunned, Duncan asked, “Sir, what do you mean ‘platoon’?”
“Henworth’s sending a platoon. We’re going to be ready for her when she comes to that canyon.”
“What about the exchange? Or your offer to talk?”
“Starr, there isn’t going to be any exchange. There won’t be any talking. I never intended to hand 42 over. And I’m not letting her get away, either.”
31
The flames of the small fire cast dancing images across the folds of the tent in a playful carefree way, belying the tension of those sitting around it. The flap swung open, causing everyone to jump. Arrow Comes Back crawled in and sat with them. He warmed his hands for a moment over the embers, while everyone waited for what he had to say.
“The chiefs have decided. The Children can’t help you, Lionheart. We’re at peace with the Walled Nation, and we will not disturb it.”
Everyone remained silent. Joan sat quietly.
“But if you choose to go to the canyon, I’ll go with you,” Arrow Comes Back said.
“Well, of course, I’m going,” Reck chimed in.
Bash was conspicuous in his silence.
“Have you decided your course of action, Joan?” Bash finally spoke.
Reck answered, “It’s obvious, isn’t it? Joan can’t do the exchange. We have to try to rescue Kaleb. We can’t leave him there.”
“She doesn’t have to do anything,” Bash countered forcefully. “I’m all set to take her west, to Seaton. She doesn’t have to deal with this—”
Joan abruptly stood up and left the tent. Reck started to stand, but One Who Sees stopped him with her arm and a brief shaking of her head. She stared at Bash and nodded at him. He held up his hands and mouthed the words, “Why me?” One Who Sees gently put her hand on his. Bash sighed and crawled out.
Joan stumbled toward the river. Water, she wanted to be near the water, hear its calming voice. She had struggled to relax and to rest with the Children. Her fear came back. It forced itself out from where she buried it, like a poisonous weed it wrapped around her. Her legs went out from under her. She fell to the ground, her head in her hands. Bash came up and sat beside her. They sat in silence for a while.
“Joan, it’s your life—your decision. Don’t let anyone tell you what to do.”
“You don’t know what they do to people.”
“We hear the stories. Dreadful.”
“They’ll torture him. The machine. He’ll suffer. And Kaleb was involved with the underground, so what if they find out about all those people? All of this because of me. Why? Why?” she wailed.
“Joan, it’s not because of you,” he put his arm around her.
She brushed his arm off. “You don’t know anything about me. I’m not…”
Her voice trailed off momentarily, then it spilled out of her. Her secrets opened. Her past poured out from her. The dam had broken. She told Bash everything—about her betrayal of her mother, her father, Duncan, Nox, the Governor, Garth…
Bash held her in his arms. This time she did not push him away. She wept.
He comforted her, “That shouldn’t have happened to you—none of it. But it did happen. Terribly it did. What happened yesterday can’t be changed. Go ahead. Let it out. My shoulder’s here.”
After a while Joan, spent, exhausted, and all cried out, shivered in the night air. Bash took off his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.
His unhurried, agreeable voice calmed her—gently persuading her, “You’ve certainly been through a lot—more than your share. I read something a lady wrote once. She was the wife of great leader, oh, a couple hundred years ago or so. She wrote that we gain strength and courage by every experience in which we look fear in the face. And you can say to yourself, ‘I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’”
He shook his head. “That Nox, I watched him today. And what I hear of this Governor of yours…well, there are many men who deserve to die, but they live. I can’t see the end, the purpose. Even wise men can’t. We can put a barrier, a wall, around ourselves, but try as we might, we can’t keep the world out. I don’t know what’s going to happen to your friend, but I suppose his destiny is tied up with yours. That’s a fact.
“It’s up to you, Joan.” Then Bash—the smuggler, the businessman, the man who always looked out for himself—said, “Whatever you decide, I’ll help you.”
She leaned against his arm. “I’m going to go and at least see Kaleb. And Reck is probably right; we should try to free him. But I’m certain about one thing—I don’t want any of you hurt in the process. I can’t have any more deaths…and if I have to give myself up…”
She took a deep breath, but she didn’t say anymore.
“Joan, I’ll help you. But…” He stopped and struggled for words, as if some power were stopping him. Then suddenly the words came rolling out of him—from deep inside him. A dam holding back secrets had broken within him, too. He spoke swiftly—with a speed to his words he usually never had—as if he was trying to convince himself, “Don’t do anything out of guilt. That doesn’t make anything better. Guilt is just anger at ourselves. It won’t fix anything. Sometimes…well…sometimes guilt can lead to something useful. But then it’s not guilt anymore—it’s the beginning of knowing ourselves. You have to know yourself.”
He took her hand in his and pressed. She returned the grasp, clasping tighter. When she stood up, she faltered, and he put his arm around her. She leaned her head to his chest and wrapped her arm around his waist, and the two of them walked in silence toward the tent, with the light of the stars guiding them.
Duncan should not have been surprised by Nox’s dishonesty and double-dealing with Joan, but all the same he did not expect it. Nox was a stickler for the law, for the rules. He was dogmatic and unbending. Duncan assumed these qualities existed in his moral side as well and that he wouldn’t tell untruths to succeed. In Nox’s mind it was OK to lie to succeed; it depended on the circumstances. All these months Duncan spent with the man, and he still didn’t understand what made him tick.
Many plans drifted through Duncan’s thoughts. One recurring plot was to kill Nox there at the camp, then leave, and join Joan. Of course, he wasn’t sure he could kill a man, and he was terribly unsure about killing Nox. The recollection of how he had risked his life to rescue that one soldier were still fresh in his mind—the contradictions of that man with the one who had manipulated Joan wavered in his mind.
But seeing Joan with that other man—kissing him, embracing him…Obviously Joan loved that other man.
He tried to work out a strategy for freeing 42, both of them escaping, that was unworkable. At the fort Nox had a throng of guards around the donor, and it would be the same here.
Duncan could escape by himself and go to the Far West. His parents had contacts there. He could not live under the darkness of the Alliance anymore. Luckily his parents supported him, even though they had their own reasons for staying. That’s what he would do. Go to the Far West.
But Joan still invaded his thoughts. There was a part of him that couldn’t forget where her fingers still lingered on his forehead and her breath still whispered softly on his face. Nox had set a trap for her. Before he escaped to the Far West, he had to warn her.
Arrow Comes Back, Reck, Bash, and Joan formulated a possible rescue plan. Isabel was there, too, for she had volunteered to help, “Madre de dios. Of course, I’ll go, hija.”
They decided Joan would enter the canyon, staying at the edge of the camp, where she could talk to Kaleb. The others would remain hidden among the rocks, covering her and keeping the few officers at bay.
Bash and Isabel pulled Joan aside.
“We should assume it’s a trap. What makes you think you can trust Nox?” Bash asked.
“I don’t,” Joan sighed, “but I don’t have a choice.” She began to turn away, then added, “Bash, promise me something?”
“If I’m able,” he eyed her suspiciously.
“If …” she paused for what seemed an eternity, her words suspended in the dry heat of the day. “If I stay there, if I do the exchange, don’t let anyone stop me. Don’t try to get me out. Don’t let Reck try. Just get everyone out. I told you, I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Joan, I told you the other night. Don’t do anything out of guilt.”
She shook her head, “It’s my fault. My parents…Just promise me, will you?”
He didn’t reply.
“You told me it was my decision. That you’d do what I wanted.”
“Indeed, I did. I just don’t want your decision based on—”
“My decision, you said!” she exclaimed with determination.
Bash took a deep breath and said with resignation, “I promise.”
“Thank you.” She turned to Isabel, “You heard him.”
Old Owl arrived and motioned to Joan. “Come with me,” he ordered, holding his rifle.
As Joan walked off with him, Isabel looked at Bash questioningly, “What was that about her parents and guilt? Is this going to be some sort of suicide mission?”
“Arrow Comes Back and I’ll make sure it doesn’t turn into that.”
“But you promised her.”
“I have to go with her Isabel. I don’t know why…I want to help her. Have to,” Bash said.
Isabel nodded in understanding.
She hugged him.
“I’ll be there with you,” she vowed.
Bash slipped his arm around Isabel’s shoulders, and they watched Joan and Old Owl disappear into the trees. “She’s thinking for herself. That’s a beginning at least.”
Isabel questioned, “Beginning of what?”
He took a breath. “Wisdom? Freedom?” His voice trailed off. “I can’t tell her to be free and then tell her what to do.”
Joan and the old man walked for twenty minutes or so, when Old Owl stopped. “This is good for shooting. Here, take this.”
He handed her the gun and the bag of bullets.
“Let’s see how you do. I’ll hang this up on a tree. You try to hit it.”
He walked about twenty-five yards away and fastened a small tin cup to a tree. As he walked away, Joan placed a cartridge in the bolt. She waited until he was a safe distance, off to the side, and raised the gun. Hitting a target at twenty-five yards was child’s play for Joan, especially with this long-barreled rifle.
“Wait!” he yelled, excitedly waving his hands, “Not yet! Let me get farther.”
Joan smiled. After a minute, Old Owl, way off to the side cried, “Now.”
She brought up the rifle, nestled the butt into her shoulder and regulated her breathing. She aimed and fired. A small explosion erupted inside the barrel of the gun, immediately followed by the ding of the bullet hitting the cup.
“Back up and try it again,” he called.
She did, and a booming report again rang through the heretofore-quiet meadow..
“Go back, farther.”
This time Joan backed up much farther, to about seventy yards.
“What are you doing? Ah, that’s too far,” Old Owl called. “Crazy girl.”
The ding rang out again.
Old Owl shrugged and walked back to her. “Not bad.”
Joan laughed, “Not bad?”
She handed the rifle back to him, but he pushed it back to her.
“It’s yours.”
“I can’t—”
“Take it with you, Lionheart. Use it, if you must.”