Pure

by Karen Krossing

  My body had taught me how to draw, how to heal, how to find Mur. Now it was teaching me to listen to the shifting current within — the pain and the subtle changes in temperature, muscles, tension, mood. Like currents reveal the movements of water, maybe my body would show me how to heal again.

  I sunk further into the pain, letting it overwhelm me. I coiled around it, then stretched out long until the hurting was no longer my enemy. Gradually, it began to empower me, like Mur used to do. I was strong, directed. I reached out for Mother again, with hope as my guide and pain as my strength.

  Then, Mother was before me, without Mur’s help. Mother’s energy body. I pushed my way inside. Her defenses were like a fortress of stone, but I’d learned to worm past.

  Mother lay sleeping, her head resting to one side and one arm thrown up over her eyes as if shutting them was not enough. She was not terribly injured. A dark energy hugged her head, but it was graying already, without my help. Mother would recover from this latest fainting spell.

  Then I noticed a woman in long silver robes standing at Mother’s feet. Mur! Those fathomless eyes! The silver glow of her hair! My heart twisted in horror. How could Mur be with Mother?

  I stood at Mother’s head, facing Mur. Mur hadn’t come back to me. She was here with Mother. How could she betray me, too! I stared from Mur to Mother and found my arms raised, ready to strike down a blow on Mother. I could crush her. Take back Mur. I had the strength.

  No. I glanced at Mur’s face, examining me now with cool observation. That was not the way.

  I froze, stiff, and thought of my water stone. What had Elyle said? It could guide me to myself? Then, like a flash of lightning, understanding came. The stone hadn’t shown a girl reaching out. Her arms were offering a gift.

  Give Mur to Mother? I couldn’t. A swath of memories unfurled. My first moments with Mur. Mur guiding me to the commons to discover intuitive drawing. Mur piloting me toward Jonah. Giving Mur to Mother would be almost impossible.

  But I had to. Saving Mother would liberate us both. I lowered my arms, stretching them wide, my hands open. I bowed to her sleeping form.

  You can have Mur, Mother.

  I opened my eyes to Mother’s hospital room. My head was spinning, and lights flashed and twinkled on the edge of my vision. Not another seizure!

  Mother sat up, shook her head, and looked about.

  “Who’s there? Lenni? Did you hear that voice? Where am I?”

  I didn’t know if I could forgive Mother for all the things she’d done. But I could show her that I wasn’t going to fight for control. If Mur was with her, she would stay there. Maybe she was there for a reason. I began to sob great heaves. Mother had Mur now. Oh, how I missed her.

  “Good-bye, Mur,” I whispered.

  “What are you crying for?” Mother sounded concerned.

  The anti-seizure device in my head began to throb. I rubbed my fingers over it. It was warm. My skin had puffed out around it.

  I became powerfully hot, as if a roar of fire had flamed up around me, as if my fever had intensified to unimaginable proportions, the heat of it licking my skin. The ground beneath me began to rumble. Cracks opened and traveled along my skin like snakes. Tiny cracks widening into crevices, threatening to break me apart.

  Then the waves of heat slowly subsided. I became aware of Mother, sitting beside me on the floor, feet splayed, rubbing her eyes as if she’d just woken from a long, refreshing sleep. My skin was cooling; my body recovering its strength. I stared at my weak, still-trembling hands. I had reached out to Mother, and I had connected with her. Without Mur. It was an empty victory.

  “Lenni? You all right?” I heard Dad’s voice.

  I pulled my eyes from my hands and saw Dad with a cluster of medics gathering around. Was Mur in each one of them, I wondered, or just in Mother?

  I stood up. My pulsing fever, my aching muscles were fading. “I’m fine.”

  Could Mur have been only in my mind — a subconscious dream to guide me through my days? But no, Mur had been too real. She’d shown me the vast distances beyond my small existence. I’d known the joy of sketching with her, the emptiness of being only one, and, now, the bittersweet certainty that I was whole without her.

  Or was I without her? I was full, complete, stronger than before. Perhaps she was still with me, just in another way. Perhaps she’d always been there, even when I’d thought she hadn’t been. Perhaps the trick was learning to make decisions without her — to guide myself in faith with her.

  classified

  Mother was fully cured; the medics confirmed it. She sat up brightly and chatted while they examined her. They reported to Dad that her heart rate had slowed and her muscles relaxed. They said the chemical change in her brain was a result of drug therapy that morning. Dad stared at Mother’s healthy glow, at her attempts to apologize for deceiving us. It was bizarre, surreal, something out of a childhood dream. The only person missing from this happy family picture was Elyle.

  I hoped Rylant would release her soon. She just couldn’t hold Elyle, I told myself. Because Elyle had nothing to do with it. She hadn’t even known Mother then. Yet Purity didn’t play fair, and I knew I’d worry until I saw Elyle again.

  The trip back to my floor was a blur. I marveled at the newness of the world, at the feeling of strength within me again. I knew that, with the twist of a thought, I could heal others. I could see into them with only a glance, turn up the dial to hear their subconscious. Their voices crowded into my mind, competing to be heard.

  In my room, I devoured my lunch with a hunger I hadn’t felt in weeks and pondered what had happened. I thought about the device in my neck — it had probably saved me from another seizure. And I thought about Mur — how I would never hear her voice again, feel the swirl of her breath through me, or look into her fathomless dark eyes. But I refused to mourn Mur. She wasn’t gone; I had changed. I didn’t need her in the same way anymore.

  I played with my slate, making sketch after sketch, enjoying the pleasure of drawing again, until I felt refreshed. Yet I was careful to draw only objects or myself. Drawing other people could change them, and I’d learned from healing Elyle that it was not a power to use lightly. Professor Fwatt had said that an artist should be free to paint any subject matter, but art as healing was different. In a way, I’d lost my carefree days of art for the sheer joy of portraying the world around me. Now, my art had more serious consequences. If I went around healing anyone I wanted, wouldn’t I be the same as my parents, creating people as I wanted them to be? Or was I just helping out people who were ill, like Doctor Frank did?

  Then I remembered Redge. His procedure had been that morning. Maybe Doctor Frank had found a way to fix his legs. I hoped so, because then I wouldn’t have to debate whether it was right or wrong for me to heal him.

  My guard in the hall was new — a woman this time, with sharp eyes and pursed lips.

  “I’m going to visit my friend,” I told her, turning toward Redge’s room.

  She stepped in front of me. “I have no authorization for that.” Her eyes flashed and she had one hand on her slate, ready to signal other guards.

  “What? I’ve visited him before.” It was a harsh reminder. I was still a prisoner.

  “Not on my shift.” She shook her head.

  “It’s in the same ward!” It wasn’t like I was asking to go to the cafeteria to see Rae.

  It took several transmits, and many frustrating conversations, but finally I was allowed to go.

  I fumed down the hall beside her, hating Rylant and Purity with a new vengeance. I had to get out of this place. I couldn’t stand being captive, a criminal because of my parents’ crimes. But where would I go? Everyone in Dawn would know I was skidge by now.

  Boom-buda-buda. Boom-boom-boom. Redge had jacked the volume of his Blass game so loud that the bass thudded in my chest as I entered his room, leaving my prissy-faced guard in the hall.

  “Ready, Dawg?” he yelled over the music.
/>   Even though I doubted Doctor Frank’s abilities, I’d still hoped to see Redge walking. But he was in his bed wearing a hospital robe, his chair abandoned in the corner and his fingers plugged into the game controls in his lap. Not a good sign.

  “Ready,” Dawg answered.

  “Let’s go ’til it hurts.”

  Redge didn’t hear me come in or even see me until I stood near him, watching the Blass opening visuals side-by-side on Dawg’s slate and Redge’s game screen. The Blass logos twisted and turned like two dancing clones, then divided into jagged pieces and blasted apart.

  “How did it go?” I asked, without much hope, when the opening music had died down.

  “Oh, Len. You’re just in time to watch me blow past level sixteen.”

  “You’re doing level sixteen? What, are you crazy? You’ll destroy your fingers.” His fingers were still scarred from the last time he’d played.

  “Shh. If you’re going to stay, be quiet.”

  I almost left then, but I knew he was hurting. I tuned into him and saw swirls of pain like clouds of angry red vapor within him. He wasn’t ready for help. I sat down in his wheelchair with a sigh and pulled it over to watch the game.

  Twin puzzles began to form — one on Dawg’s display panel and the other on the game slate that Redge held. Jagged pieces streamed in from the edges of the screens as the puzzles began to spin and wobble.

  Redge lassoed a piece, then positioned it in his puzzle. After a while, I could see that Redge was forming a complex 3-D tree shape, while Dawg had chosen a simple diamond. I didn’t know much about Blass, but I knew that more points were awarded for complex shapes and that the penalty for losing became worse with each level.

  A few minutes later, the pieces were whirling in faster, and pink bombs were swirling in to blast gaps in the puzzles. I gripped the arms of Redge’s chair.

  “Your strategy is flawed. You are not likely to win this level,” said Dawg, as Redge’s tree began to show gaps.

  “Never say never.”

  Redge squinted at the screen. He positioned a blue piece to take the hit of a pink bomb.

  “Yes!”

  The blue piece exploded, but his incomplete tree was safe. He maneuvered a few more pieces into place. His tree was still riddled with holes, as if a woodpecker army had attacked it.

  Dawg easily completed his diamond. I held my breath as I watched Redge struggle. He managed to blow off three pink bombs in a row, awarding himself a slew of green molded pieces. He filled in his gaps and finished the tree.

  “Pure! I am better than Blass today! Level sixteen! Yeah!”

  I took in a long breath. “Your fingers could have been shredded.”

  “At least I can feel my hands.”

  He sucked at one of his fingers. His previous puncture wounds were almost healed and I wondered if they were tender.

  “Does that mean…?”

  “That I can’t feel my legs. Good guess.” His voice was sarcastic, stinging.

  “Look, I’m sorry that it didn’t work, but you don’t have to take it out on me.”

  Redge sighed. “You’re right. Sorry.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Nothing. Doctor Frank injected regenerative cells into my legs and nothing happened.” He sighed again. “Last night I dreamed that I was climbing a rock face at the ridge — the one by the waterfall. My toes wedged into a crevice, sunlight in my eyes — I made it to the top. Then I woke up.” He punched a fist into his thigh, under the blanket. “Doctor Frank says give it a few days. He says the nerves might kick in later.”

  “I don’t know about that, but I do know what could help….” I still wasn’t sure if I should heal him, but I couldn’t resist when he was so down, so wounded.

  “No, Lenni. Don’t,” said Redge. “I can’t think about trying anything else. Not right now.”

  “But, Redge, just listen to me. I’ve got to tell you “

  “Stop.” His voice echoed off the bare walls. “I can’t.” He shook his head, closing his eyes. His message was clear. He wanted to stumble around in his own despair. He couldn’t hear me. Maybe he would be better off without my help anyway.

  “Lenni! I thought I might find you here.” Doctor Frank entered the room, looking worried. “We need to talk.”

  “Doc! Aren’t you going to check my legs?” Redge’s voice had a hard edge. “Wait. Let me update you on my condition.” He slapped his legs again. “They don’t work!”

  “Redge, please. I told you that the effects might not be immediate. After a few procedures, we should begin to see some progress.”

  “No, we won’t. I’m not having another procedure. Ever.”

  “We’ll have time to talk about this later, Redge. I really have something quite serious to discuss with Lenni. If you will please….”

  “What is it?” I could tell that Doctor Frank was nervous because the rash on his head was raw in one spot from where he’d been scratching it.

  “I’d like to talk where we can’t be overheard,” he lowered his voice to a whisper and glanced at Redge then at the speaker near the door, “but I’m afraid we haven’t time.

  Redge gave me a look. What was going on?

  “Music,” I said. “We need some music, Redge.” Doctor Frank had admitted that people were listening.

  “What?” Redge squinted at me, confused.

  “So no one can hear,” I whispered.

  “Oh.” Redge fumbled with his slate. Soon, an upbeat, jazzy tune began to play.

  Doctor Frank leaned closer, continuing to whisper. “Yes. Good. Well. Uh, I’m not supposed to be telling you this, but… Purity has completed their evaluation of your test results. The changes made to your DNA cannot be reversed, Lenni. We couldn’t effect a change on a genetic level.”

  I nodded. It was no surprise, really. I never had confidence in Doctor Frank’s methods.

  “Well, uh, Purity has determined that your genetic mutations would be passed onto future generations if you were to have children. If fact, Purity is concerned about what damage you could do to others if your healing powers returned.”

  Redge gasped. “No!”

  A chill blew through me. “What does that mean?”

  “Yes, well, Lenni. Your reproductive classification has been revoked. That means no reproduction of any kind. You’ve been reclassified as a restricted. Do you understand? Purity will sterilize you.” He spoke with finality.

  “No!” I leapt up, sending Redge’s chair spinning against the wall.

  “You will be registered and all your actions and your whereabouts will be monitored.” Doctor Frank was still talking. “You’ll likely live here until your symptoms are under control, then be transferred to Detention Block or a work camp.”

  Detention Block! Work camp! A monitor! My head spun. After recovering my strength, how could this happen?

  “Lenni, you’ve got to escape!” Redge blurted.

  “Keep your voice down!” Doctor Frank hushed Redge, but he didn’t warn me against escaping.

  I was numb. Escape to where? Anywhere. Just get out. I glanced frantically around the room, finally settling on the window. The afternoon sky was clouded now, and I wished desperately that I could vanish into the billowing haze.

  I should leave. I had to. Yet I was leaving so much behind: Elyle, Dad, Redge, and even Mother.

  “We’ve got to help her, Doc.” Redge was wiggling over to the edge of his bed, motioning for me to roll his chair closer. “We’ve got to get her out of here.”

  Yes, get out. Redge could help me get out. Then a stab of guilt hit me. What about Redge? I had the power to heal him! Escaping didn’t help him, Elyle, or anyone else left behind. But what could I do? Purity was coming now, for me.

  “I should get my slate.” I said, positioning the chair for Redge, my hands shaking.

  “No.” Doctor Frank was firm. “Do nothing to arouse suspicion.”

  “Then you will help,” Redge said.

  D
octor Frank scratched at his rash. “I can’t jeopardize my position here. I’ve got my experiments to think about, and you’re set up nicely, Redge. You don’t know how hard I’ve worked to do that. But, Lenni, I can give you the name of someone to smuggle you out of Dawn. And I can promise to look the other way while you arrange things.”

  “You know how to get out of Dawn and you never told me?” Redge’s face grew red. “Why didn’t you ever help me get out?”

  “Redge, you were taken from me shortly after you were created, and, remember, I was in Detention, too. I never had a chance. Why do you think I’m working so hard to fix your legs and get you educated? I know I can help you walk. Maybe even get your reproduction classification changed. You’ve been sterilized, but there’s always cloning. We can work on you, but, right now, I can save Lenni.”

  “Cloning is illegal, Doc!” Redge sputtered out his words.

  The music droned on, but I wondered if it was enough to cover this heated exchange.

  “Please, Redge. Calm down,” I begged. “I need your help.” I felt terrible, urging him to help me when I hadn’t helped him. But I couldn’t get off this floor without him.

  Redge glared more fiercely, yet he was silent.

  “Listen, Lenni.” Doctor Frank glanced behind him. “You need to contact a woman named Rae Makio. She works in the lower cafeteria. I’ve been in touch with her. She’ll help you relocate.”

  “Rae?” I said, amazed. Then I remembered how she’d said she helped out skidge like me. Had she been dropping clues then? Maybe that was why she’d brought me the room service.

  “From the cafeteria?” Redge gave me a look.

  “That’s right. Now go, Lenni.” Doctor Frank urged. “I couldn’t save Redge when they came for him, but maybe I can save you.” He scurried to the door. “I’m… I’m sorry I can’t help more,” he whispered.

  “Thanks for warning me.” I had no time, but I had to ask about Elyle. “Can I ask you a favor?”