by Keira Drake
“My extended family,” I say. “And my friends—my dearest friend, Evangeline Day—”
“They need never know of your survival and subsequent suicide. I shall send you back to the natives, if that is what you truly desire. But I warn you to think carefully on this, for if you choose this path, you will never again be welcome to return. The Spire will be lost to you forever.”
“Make the arrangements,” I say. “I will happily leave this place behind.”
CHAPTER 29
AS I CLIMB INTO THE CAR, MY SHIELD OF ANGER and confidence all but evaporates. I sit sobbing, crumpled against the fine leather seat, my heart aching with the sting of lost opportunity. How truly I believed that the Spire would rally for the Aven’ei—all those years in school, the values of kindness and generosity so deeply encouraged, all those years, believing that the Spire truly was a pinnacle of freedom and hope. How desperate I was to return to the Continent with good news, like some champion of the people. I am a fool.
A gentle patter of rain begins, drumming a melancholy beat upon the roof of the car as though to commiserate with me. The driver waits patiently on the other side of the glass partition, no doubt wondering why I have not given him an address. But I don’t care. I can’t bring myself to go back to the estate just yet. Sitting here so near the Chancellery gives me a false sense of security, as though I could dash back up the steps, return to the Grand Hall, and somehow convince the officials to change their minds.
But I can’t change their minds. Save for Mr. Lowe, not one of them so much as considered my request. And why should they listen to me? A girl of sixteen, barely a woman—one who was left to die on the Continent, only to inconveniently survive and return to tell the tale. I suspect they would have offered me a handsome package of compensation, had I stayed to listen. As though money, opportunity, or position would somehow erase the Aven’ei from my memory.
And Noro…oh, Noro. What will he say when I return? Will he truly be angry with me for coming back? Does he not understand that my fate is bound to his as surely as the sun must rise each day? For he and Keiji are my family now, all that is left to me in the world. And if they must suffer death at the hands of the Topi, I will not stay in the Spire to survive them. All may be lost, but love remains.
A soft knock at the window startles me, and I peer out to see Mr. Cloud ducking down, a newspaper held over his head. I open the door at once and scoot away from the window.
“Mr. Cloud,” I say, wiping the tears from my face. “Get in, please! You’ll catch your death out there.”
He bustles into the car, closing the door behind him and exhaling deeply. “What a lot of charlatans they are at the weather bureau,” he says, scowling. “‘Clear skies throughout the afternoon,’ eh? I should think not. Anyhow, I saw the car still parked at the curb and I thought I would just check—why, Miss Sun! Whatever is the matter?”
He pulls a clean white handkerchief from his breast pocket and hands it to me; I accept and dab at my eyes, feeling all the more miserable for his kindness.
“The Spire won’t help,” I say. “Only the West was willing to offer any kind of assistance. The rest overruled it, and in a terrible hurry.”
His face is grim. “I feared as much. There’s no gain to be had in helping the Aven’ei, and if there’s anything a politician cares about, it’s what good a thing can do for him.”
“Oh, Mr. Cloud, what am I to do?” I begin to cry again, sobbing softly into the handkerchief.
He puts a firm hand on my shoulder. “You just go about your business, and sleep well at night knowing you’ve done all you could do.”
I sniffle. “But I’ve got to go back now and tell them what has happened. Any hope they might have had will be dashed forever. I’ve failed them all. And every last one will die, because I could do nothing to save them.”
“Dearest girl,” he says, “if the Aven’ei are to fall, it is because the Topi insist on making it so. You are not responsible. And…well, I don’t like to overstep, but I do wish you would not be quite so determined to go back there. Is it your heart that compels you? The young man who brought you to Ivanel?”
“It is Noro and all the rest,” I say. “I do not belong in the Spire, Mr. Cloud. I feel at odds with the very air here in the East.”
“Well. I can’t say I’m glad to hear it. But I think I understand.”
I sit quiet for a moment, my eyes fixed on the little rivers of water meandering along the windows. “I shall be dead soon,” I say finally. “It’s a strange thing to know.”
“Is there truly no hope?”
I give him a sad smile. “Once, I would have said that hope is unceasing—that it is born of the goodness in the world, and nurtured within our hearts.” My voice falters, for I am on the brink of tears once again. “But I feel no hope now, Mr. Cloud—only certainty that there is none to be had. The Topi have seen to that. And so has the Spire.”
The Chancellor, as it turns out, is in no hurry to accommodate me. For two weeks, I wait with a restlessness that borders on insanity. I pace the hallways of the estate, doing my best to avoid the sour-faced butler and the retinue of servants. Each day, I am assured by the Chancellor’s secretary—an obsequious man called Mr. Vane—that my travel arrangements are well in hand, and that he will notify me as soon as the matter has been settled. And each day, no plans are announced.
When night falls, I ache for the comfort of Noro’s arms. I miss the cozy security of my little cottage, and the vastness of the southern plains. I long to walk beneath the trees of the Continent with their leaves of gold and red, savoring a few moments of beauty before winter comes. Before the Topi come. Autumn is full upon us now, and the days slip through my fingers as I wait, and wait, and wait.
I think of defying the Chancellor’s order to conceal my survival. I have an aunt in the South, and cousins who live there as well, although I’ve never been terribly close to my extended family. My friends, though…it hurts to know that they are here, but I cannot reach out to them. To all, I am merely dead: a tragic story, a girl who once was. I ache to tell them that I live, that I think of them still—especially Evangeline—sweet, lovely Evangeline, who was so excited about my grand adventure to the Continent. But as much as I hate to agree with anything uttered from the lips of the Chancellor, I know he is right: to be resurrected only to die a second time would be a cruel thing, a conscious inflicting of further grief. It is better that no one know I survived the crash.
On the fifteenth day after my meeting with the Heads of State, Mr. Vane telephones to inform me that I shall depart on the following day. I pack a few new things into my satchel—a phototype of my mother, father and I, a sack of expensive candy (for Keiji, of course), and eight pairs of elegant silk undergarments. If all that is left of the Spire in me is the desire for pretty underthings, I can live with that. I shall take my pleasures where I can.
This indulgence includes a long, long bath in my mother’s enormous tub. I soak until my fingers and toes are like soft pink raisins, and my skin smells of jasmine from head to toe. How much we take for granted here in the Spire. Hot running water, modern amenities, an abundance of necessities and luxuries alike. And yet, I do so miss the simplicity of life in Hayato. I only wish I were returning with better news.
As darkness falls, I climb into my parents’ bed, thinking of how many times I did so as a child. A nightmare, a shadow—the smallest thing would send me running to the safety of their bedroom. My mother always welcomed me with open arms, her voice the most comforting thing in the world. What I would give to lie beside her now and listen to her sing the sweet lullabies of my youth! What I would give for just one more day with my mother and father, for a lifetime with Noro and Keiji. A life without fear—a life of peace.
I drift to sleep, warm and safe beneath the heavy blankets, and dream of the life I shall never know.
CHAPTER 30
ABOUT A MILE FROM HAYATO, THE HELI-PLANE shifts to a hover in order to set me down. I
descend the swaying metal ladder without any trepidation, my feet scarcely touching the ground before I turn and run toward the village. I am invigorated by the musty scent of damp earth and the kiss of the brisk autumn air against my cheeks. With a whisper of a breeze behind me, I race across the plains. The long grasses of the flatland—now the color of burnt cinnamon—crunch noisily beneath my feet as I fly through the valley. The wind moves amongst the trees, rustling sparse golden leaves as though in welcome, and joy stirs within me. For no matter what the future may bring, I am home.
Before long, I come upon the little hilltop that looks down upon the village—the same place where Noro once set me upon my feet—and come to a breathless stop. The late afternoon sun has cast Hayato in amber, and long shadows stretch lazily toward the east. I pause to marvel at the loveliness before me—at the sheer beauty of the Continent—but my eye falls almost at once upon something else: a figure standing just outside the gates below. He is dressed all in black, his hair drawn into a slender, spiky strip along the center of his head, one long leg planted firmly on the ground, one foot up against the wall behind him. He does not see me—not at first. I watch him in his casual repose, his eyes scanning the hillside, his hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers.
And then he looks up.
We are still for a moment, a thousand questions passing silently between us. I feel his rapid assessment of me, sense his tension. He has worried for me—I can see it in his face—perhaps even as much as I have worried for him. And here we are now, each of us safe, each of us returned to the other.
The foot comes down from the wall and Noro thunders up the hillside toward me. I clamber down the slope at an equal pace, and when at last we meet, he lifts me full off the ground, his lips pressing hard against mine, and I almost weep for the joy of it.
“Noro,” I say, my heart nearly broken by happiness, but he only kisses me again. Beams of scattered sunlight pierce the trees above, dancing around us like twinkling stars. Words can wait. I am home.
Night falls, bringing with it a wash of silvery moonlight and a chorus of insects calling out into the darkness. Noro and I sit atop the hillside, our fingers tangled together, our words soft and whispered. We speak of many things: Keiji’s recovery, the turn of the season on the Continent, the patrols moving in and out to monitor the activity of the Topi. The evening slips by, yet neither of us is willing to go home just yet; in this special place, we have only to savor each other’s company.
“You look tired, miyake,” he says. “Did you not sleep well in your time away?”
“Not very well.”
He gives me a nudge. “Too many fine dinners and extravagant hotels?”
“Too many politicians.”
“Ah.” He gestures to the valley. “And yet, the world still spins.”
I laugh. “It’s a wonder it does, I assure you.”
“Help will not come, then?”
I look up at him, my eyes shining with regret. I have dreaded this moment.
My silence says everything, and Noro nods. There is no rebuke, no acknowledgment that this is what he said would come to pass. There is only a softness in his expression, a certain tenderness reflected in his eyes.
“It is just as well,” he says. “Why should others sacrifice for our survival?”
“I did try, Noro. But they…it was not to be.”
“Do not blame yourself.” He gives my hand a squeeze. “Teku Ana and the others did not expect that the Four Nations would intervene. You know this.”
I shake my head. “I still think it shameful. They could do so much good with only a small effort.”
“I only wish you had stayed where you might be safe.”
“Noro…”
He gets to his feet, dusts himself off, and extends a hand to me. “Come, miyake. I cannot keep you all to myself. Keiji would wish to know that you are home. I expect Yuki and Takashi will want to see you as well.”
I take his hand, wishing that I could file my sadness away in some deep corner of my heart. It is the beginning of the end now, and there is no way to pretend otherwise.
CHAPTER 31
BEING HOME AGAIN MEANS GOING BACK TO WORK. One unusually warm autumn morning—hot enough that I’ve broken a sweat by the time I arrive at the farm—Shoshi is in a devil’s mood. I don’t know if it’s the heat that troubles him, or the fact that several of the animals have taken ill, or if he just woke up and realized he was himself, but he has spent the better part of the morning stomping all about the yard, complaining and shouting at everyone in his path. Naomi, the young woman who feeds the animals, is in tears before lunchtime, and Shoshi has actually kicked a man called Zoa—my counterpart; he helps with the manure and usually only works in my off weeks, but is trying to earn more oka for his family—at least three times.
Even as I watch, Shoshi storms out of the small building where he does his record-keeping and roars at one of the feral cats we often see around the farm. The poor animal, its fur sticking up on end, races away and climbs the large oak tree next to the barn. If he’s smart, he’ll stay up there.
Shoveling manure is distasteful on a normal day, but on a hot day, it seems to stink twice as much. Working together, Zoa and I clean the pen long before the animals are to be returned from the pasture. Together, we stand in the shade of the oak, drinking water from our jugs and making small talk. Shoshi, having just flung a pail through the paned glass of his office window, goes rigid when he sees us.
Zoa, probably quite tired of being kicked in the seat of his pants, makes off at once for the barn, where I’m sure he will find some industrious task or other to take on. Me…I am not so quick, and once Shoshi sets out toward me, I feel trapped. I’d bet an unzi he would chase me if I fled.
He bears down on me like an angry bear, and spits on the ground at my feet. “What have I told you about standing around?”
“I’m sorry, Shoshi. I was just having a bit of water—it’s so hot today.”
“No—really. I want you to answer me: what have I told you about standing around?”
I take a deep breath. “You’ve told me that the farm is not a place to be idle.”
“So—you know the rules then, and just choose to flaunt your indolence in front of me? In front of the other workers?”
I bristle. Shouting at me to move faster is one thing—though I still hate it. Calling me lazy is another. “I am not indolent, Shoshi Kaken. I work very hard, every day I am here. I work late when there is more to be done. I never shirk, or fail to come. I am one of the hardest workers in your employ.”
His expression is one of stunned rage, his mouth hanging open as though he simply cannot believe what I have just said. “The hardest worker…” he repeats, and nods his head. “Yes. You work very hard. Every day, you try to make it known that you’re too good for this life, so much better than—”
“Is that why you hate me so much? You think I look down on you? On the Aven’ei?”
“Everyone thinks it! You go about the village like a queen on a litter—”
“I walk, Shoshi!”
“—with your hair smelling of flowers, your fine jewel draped around your neck—”
“I smell like manure two weeks out of every month—and I have never complained about it, to you or anyone else!”
“You’re an outworlder. An unwanted guest. You weren’t here a season before you took up with Noro like a takaharu.”
I don’t know what this word means, but I can guess it isn’t kind. “Watch your mouth,” I say tightly.
His nostrils flare. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it? Death trails your footsteps, Vaela Sun—where you go, people die.”
“Stop it!”
“Noro will be dead soon enough—he can’t evade the Topi forever. Then what will you do? Dupe another fool into warming your bed, into keeping you safe?”
“That’s not how—”
“Every last one of us will be dead—by your hand.”
“And all
will be mourned except you!” I say, hating the cruelty of my words even as I speak them.
He laughs. “None will be left to mourn! The Aven’ei will be no more.”
“You’re a monster,” I say, my voice shaking. “It’s no surprise that you’re alone, that everyone despises you—all you want is for others to share your misery.”
“SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” he says, and lurches toward me, his hand raised.
I drop to the ground and guard my face with both arms. “Shoshi, no!” I peer up at him, my hands trembling, my elbows still high in the air. “Don’t! Noro will kill you.”
The muscles in his face twitch, the vein at his temple pulses madly. But he lowers his hand. Through clenched teeth, he says, “Get off my farm, and don’t come back. You can clean the privies for all I care. Don’t ever set foot on my land again. You understand?”
“Shoshi, please—can’t we settle this once and for all? You wouldn’t think such terrible things about me if you just—”
“GET OFF MY FARM,” he bellows, “before I have a mind to beat you bloody and to hell with the consequences.”
I get to my feet, my chin quivering. “I hope one day you’ll see that I’m trying here, that I’m really trying.”
He points to the long, winding path.
I go.
Even after the long walk back to Hayato, I’m still trembling with anger—and with fear, for I was truly afraid that Shoshi might kill me right there on the farm, in the shade of the old oak. I make my way to Yuki’s, for I can’t bring myself to go home just yet.
“Do you think it’s my fault that the Topi have come?” I say, when she answers the door. “Will the Aven’ei die because of me?”
Yuki, ever practical, ushers me into the washroom and puts water on to heat for a bath. I forget sometimes how bad I smell.
“Vaela Sun, how can you ask such a thing? What’s happened?”
“Shoshi,” I say, and that is explanation enough.