“As far as Keirna is concerned, you’re never going to be First Leader, prophecy or not.”
“Fine. I’ll gladly pick another vocation. What’s the big deal?”
“The prophecy, Astrea,” he says, his voice growing impatient. “Keirna may not believe the story, but most people do. Think about all of the families she has wronged over the years. The goddess of Justice, partnered with her scales of Balance? Literal or not, you and Lexan are power. Power that Keirna can’t touch.”
“We don’t even know what that means, though. Symbolic power isn’t going to stand up to her.”
“There’s more to it than that.”
I snap my eyes up to him. “What?”
“Nobody really knows what, but think about it: Justice always had weapons. She fought against evil, like many other gods. This power might already be in your nature, just waiting for you to join with Lexan.”
I shake my head in frustration: more vague promises and nothing real. “Well, what can Keirna do now? Kill me in my sleep?” I reason, still thinking there must be a rational move here, something that belongs in my ordered, prescribed world. “Wouldn’t it be easier just to wait until I’m partnered, and I don’t get any super magical powers, and the whole prophecy is proven wrong?”
Brenn’s stretched silence catches me, snips away my bravado.
“You think she wants to kill me before I’m even partnered.” This time it is not a question.
“I’ve been asked – and no, I won’t tell you who – but I’ve been advised to give you extra combat training, plus survival training. You’ll stay after class every day from now on, and we’ll train, in addition to the small amounts you get in Vocation Studies and regular training. Your Choosing Day is less than a month away, Trea. We don’t have much time. We don’t know what Keirna might do, or when.”
“But what will I tell everyone?” Incapable of determining why, my brain moves on: how to fool my parents, how to lie to Isa.
“It’s normal for First Leader to be trained in combat. After all, the First Leader is head of the protectors. Just tell people it’s your Vocation Studies. Anyway, I know you can’t lie worth Styx,” he smiles, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work.
“Just tell me the plan." I'm feeling sulky. Again with the lack of choice.
Brenn launches into an astoundingly ambitious outline of our training schedule – running, strength-training, rock-climbing, archery, hand combat, knife-throwing.
“Knife-throwing?” I stop him with a short bark of laughter. “Are you training me to be an entertainer now?” In quiet Asphodel, knife-throwing is for pageantry.
Brenn smiles softly. “Keirna has soldiers everywhere, Astrea. Not just in the protectors. Don’t leave yourself exposed. We have no idea who she’ll choose to help her, or who she may have already chosen.”
The laughter is gone. Brenn squeezes my shoulders in a sideways hug, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I need to calm the angry fire in my chest. I leave without another word, feeling Brenn’s eyes follow me until I slip through the door. I hurry along back corridors and unused stairs until I reach the hallway leading to the Ministration Room.
Unfortunately, my hidden calming water is unreachable – the ministry must be running late. I sink into a small, cool alcove further down the hallway and try desperately to compose myself, listening to the singing drift through the open doors of the Ministration Room.
Again, the thought of tearing the crystals from my face seeps into my brain. What if I just renounce my birthright? Couldn’t that solve everything? Is it even possible?
I have too many questions, and nobody to answer them.
The only thing I do know is that I have to start paying attention. Tomorrow, I will ask questions in Community History. I must be careful, but I must know.
THREE
Fates – daughters of Night – hear our prayers. Lachesis, Clotho, and Aisa: listen to our cries. Send the lady of Justice with her burnished scales of Balance. Weavers of life and death, make this city forget its misfortunes and rejoice in the new sun.
From The Book of Ministry, Chapter Seven: Prayers
Head Minister Charles, year 2068
Leader Augus releases me a few minutes early from Vocation Studies, so I am the first one in our classroom the next morning. I listen to everyone trickle in, pretending to study my notes. There were eighty-four of us born in 2168, and after the Initiation Ceremony we were divided into three groups for classes. It’s supposedly random, but it’s easy to tell they divided us by our exam scores. I can tell that my teachers wonder why I’m in the highest group: I never ask questions except to ignite a challenge, and I never do extra work.
Before, these subjects have only bored me.
As everyone settles for Community History, Teacher Renata begins the review. “Can anyone tell me why we will have a special memorial on Choosing Day this year?”
Garna answers without raising a hand. “To celebrate First Leader Lakessa’s birthday.”
“Well, that’s true, Garna, but there is a second part to the memorial this year.”
I raise my hand. Renata narrows her eyes, then nods reluctantly at me. “Since Lakessa was born on the Spring Equinox, is that why all First Leaders must be born then?”
“Yes, we only allow First Leaders to come from those children, like yourself, born on that most special of days. It is a way to honor First Leader Lakessa.” She emphasizes the title, reminding me that I neglected it.
Then Lexan says, “But isn’t it a little egotistical, to say only people who are just like you can be First Leader? I mean, didn’t First Leader Lakessa write pretty much all of our rules about Leaders?” His question sounds more like what I wanted to ask.
“Well, Lexan, that is somewhat accurate. I can see you’ve discussed the matter with Pasia. But First Leader Lakessa did not write all the laws by herself. I imagine there was quite a team of Leaders who helped.”
“Who were they?” I ask without hesitation.
Her cheeks pinken, and she shuffles a stack of papers together. “I’m sure their names are recorded somewhere, but the only one who comes to mind is Head Minister Charles, Lakessa’s partner. I know they worked together closely to create Asphodel. They are, after all, our founders. Which brings me back to my original question of the memorial.” She glares in my direction, as if it’s my fault we got off track.
“The prophecy?” Dalen offers, earning a smile from Isa.
“Yes! In 2068, Head Minister Charles used the sacred stars to predict that one hundred years later, two children would be born: one on the Spring Equinox and one on the Autumn Equinox. That did indeed happen,” she pauses and smiles in Lexan’s direction, “and so this year, Choosing Day will celebrate the fulfillment of that prophecy. Now, take out your notes from yesterday, and we’ll add to them.”
I glance back at Lexan and hold his gaze for a second. If he has been talking to his sister Pasia about the history of our Common Law, I need to know what he’s found out. Maybe this is why Brenn wants me to play nice with Lexan.
I smile, just a little. Lexan winks exaggeratedly, as though he knows exactly what I’m thinking. I scowl at him and turn back to Renata. He is impossible.
At lunch, I slump next to Isa and Garna, barely listening to their chatter. I can’t quite keep my eyes away from the public cells, anchored at the far end of the Common Area. The small, rusted cages contain three young protectors today. Protectors who I effectively put there.
I push away from the table, my stomach sick. “I’m going on to training, Isa,” I say, then hurry away before she can question me. Just before I reach the edge of the Common Area, a woman blocks my path.
“Do you know how much food a week’s pay can buy?” she hisses at me.
“What?” I focus on her. She is young, with a tiny baby cradled in one arm.
“That’s my partner up there,” she shoves a hand at the cells. “And you cost our family a week’s pay. You’re going to be just like Keirna.”
She pushes past me, her shoulder jarring me sideways. The baby begins to wail as I stumble into the passage, mind spinning in anger and hurt.
She’s right: I will be a horrible Leader.
Later that day, as I complete running drills with Brenn, I’m unfocused and distracted. I keep thinking about my friends, gathered together in the Common Area. And then I think of the protector’s partner.
Brenn finally stops me. “I want to start you on hand combat today.”
“Are you joking?” I’ve trained with punching bags in class before, but only people planning to be protectors do more than that. “I hope I never have to fight for real, Brenn. I’d be hopeless.”
He smiles, then grows serious. “I hope so too. But you’re a lot stronger than you know. And not just physically. You Ariens want to be able to do everything after just a few training sessions. You just have to be tougher on yourself. I get the feeling you aren’t taking this seriously.”
I open my mouth to argue, but he holds up a hand.
“No, I know you’re working hard. I just mean you don’t believe this is real – you don’t really think you’ll have to use these skills.”
“And you think I will.”
“I hope not. But yeah, I think there’s a strong chance that you will someday have to defend yourself. It might not be this month, or even this year. But Keirna is not the type to back down, and violence is her currency.”
I lower my eyes, knowing in my heart that he’s right, wishing he wasn’t. I grind my teeth a little and decide to do what I’ve always done: just trust him. “Let’s get started, then.”
Mother and Father have already eaten when I finally haul my body through the door – an unusual situation that should result in punishment. But Father only works his mouth, as if words struggle to stay behind his lips, then he leaves the kitchen.
Mother looks at me carefully, worry lined on her forehead. She doesn’t say anything, just hands me a plate of food. I wish I could talk to her about what I’m doing, or ask her more questions, but Brenn warned me again today not to question people, even Mother. He doesn’t want me to upset her with questions she can’t answer and problems she can’t solve. Looking at her wobbly expression, I have to agree it’s safer this way: I fight to control my fiery anger, but Mother fights a deep-water sadness.
Friday passes just as quickly – I move through the day in a dream, waiting. I go to class. I pay attention and ask carefully-designed questions without starting arguments. My teachers compliment my intelligent comments and newfound calm. I still don’t learn anything of value, although Renata looks shocked when I ask if anyone has ever been born under the wrong sign, and stammers a reply: of course not, impossible. Glancing at Lexan, I notice his cheeks are pale and his jaw clenched, and I think of what I heard my parents say.
Throughout the day, I make the effort to smile at him at least twice more. He still exasperates me, but as Brenn cautions, it will take time.
I hope I have enough of it. I still don’t know what I’m waiting for, but Brenn makes me feel like time is running away from us.
Saturday brings a small reprieve, and I hope for a glimpse of my normal life: the one where I’m just another teenager, dozing through class and laughing with friends in the Common Area after school.
Tomorrow will be our monthly gathering, and instead of classes today, we are all assigned to help the adults get ready for the festival and the feasting. Isa and Garna both draw cooking duty. They hurry away, and I sigh, wishing I could have drawn the same.
Instead I enter the Growing Rooms. My disappointment seeps away as I inhale the tranquility that always drapes this space. The rooms are bright, with hundreds of tiny growing lights suspended from the ceilings by thin wire. Plants of all sizes thrive in clear containers with holes in the bottom. A crystalline stream follows tiny carved channels to reach every part of the room, and the pots rest right in the icy water, providing constant care to the plants we depend on.
In many ways, it’s very much like my sanctuary pool, and I enjoy the sense of calm that finds me. My meditation has nearly stopped, replaced instead with fighting and training. Anger hovers near the surface; my nerves are like a heap of dry leaves waiting for a spark to ignite them.
Grandmother would not be happy, but I have no real solution.
I watch the growers circulate: each person is part of a web of responsibility. Some look for pests and some for disease, some add nutrients, some trim the plants gently, some gather fruits and vegetables, some gather seeds and pollinate, some graft, some plant new seeds. There is a constant change, yet everything still looks the same each time I enter here.
“Astrea, come help me, please!” I follow the voice and am surprised to find Hetta, Lexan’s mother. My future Second Mother. Can’t wait for that.
“I’m gathering herbs for the feast. Here,” she hands me a tiny pair of scissors, and shows me how to trim only the ends of the plant before her. “Fill up these containers, and don’t take too much from any one plant. It must stay balanced,” she cautions, then moves on to the next row. Soon, I am working automatically, focused only on each tiny leaf I must snip away. My mind grows blank.
“Are you nearly finished? Good. Leave the container there, and come with me.”
I glance around, noticing we are abnormally alone. Hetta beckons me through another door, and I follow, alert.
I find myself standing too close to this tall woman, in a small, dark room, filled with tubs of sweet-smelling growing medium and an entire wall made of tiny seed drawers, each carefully labeled with a different plant name.
“How is your training going?” Hetta whispers, though nobody else is here.
“Oh, I’m learning lots of interesting things,” I stall. “First Leader needs to know so many things about the protectors, after all.” I try out the lie Brenn and I have devised.
She just looks at me, her dark blue eyes unnervingly similar to Lexan’s. “I want you to help Lexan.”
Nope, she isn’t buying the lie.
“Help him with what?” I feign innocence, still hoping.
“He lacks training. He is strong and quick, but not as skilled as he needs to be. Ever since Witter died...well, a First Leader’s partner should have all the same skills as the First Leader.” Mentioning Witter has caused tears to pool in the bottom of her eyes. Lexan’s father died a little over a year ago, from an accident during a training exercise with the other protectors.
I’m still avoiding her gaze when she grabs my hand and presses a small paper packet into my palm, crushing my fingers around the paper. Her nails press half-moons into my wrist.
“After training, make these into a tea. It will help with your muscle aches. Astrea, I know you don’t trust me, and you don’t like Lexan any more than he likes you. But if you two are going to stay alive, you have to work together.” At that, she darts out of the room, leaving me staring at the crumpled white packet.
She knows. She knows as much as Brenn does. And she believes it, too. I finally, suddenly start to believe his warning, and a tiny jagged bit of fear rips at my stomach.
Then a new thought almost makes me snort with laughter – Lexan doesn’t like me either! I’m not sure why this is funny, but it is.
Just as suddenly, I’m not amused. Why shouldn’t he like me? I’m perfectly easy to like. A frown creeps onto my face, and traces of it still linger when I meet Isa later. She chatters about the wonderful cakes she helped bake, and I brood over why Lexan doesn’t like me, and why I care.
“Astrea, you have to snap out of whatever mood you’re in. This is ridiculous,” Isa’s irritated voice finally reaches me.
“Sorry, you’re right. I guess I’m just tired.”
“So anyways, I was saying I’ve made a choice. For partner?”
I grin at her, forcing my melancholy away. This is important. “And?”
“I’m going to choose Dalen! Or, I mean, he’ll choose me because he’s older, but whatever, our par
ents have already talked it over. They think it’s perfect! He has the sweetest brown eyes...”
She continues to list all of Dalen’s wonderful qualities, and I keep smiling as hard as I can, nodding and giggling when she needs me to, reminding myself that I’m happy for her. And I am, but with a pinched jealousy.
I would never wish Isa’s happiness from her, but I would like to share it.
Some couples are happy together, I think, even without that bubbly sort of love. Maybe Lexan and I could learn to work together, just like Hetta said. That is, if we can get around not liking each other.
FOUR
Prophecies can be both comforting and frustrating. It soothes our confused humanity to believe that there is a plan for us, that all the trials and suffering we experience have a higher purpose. Yet the inevitable failure to understand a prophecy can cause disbelief and mistrust in our faith. In years of darkness, we must keep our blind faith and trust in the wisdom of the stars far above us.
From The Book of Ministry, Second Edition,
Chapter Four: Prophecies
Head Minister Charles, year 2086
At breakfast, Mother gives me a thick stack of point cards she has been saving. I don’t want to take them, knowing how many other things they could buy, but her brown eyes sparkle as she describes her vision of me in a beautiful dress, dancing with my partner after the Choosing Ceremony. Suddenly, all I want is to make her happy, to keep her sadness from creeping back in.
This morning, I resolve to be happy, too. Vivacious. Dynamic. Just like Brenn wants – and it’s true – Ariens are naturally like this. It’s only lately, with the ceremony crouching in my mind, that I’ve become so withdrawn.
And I meet with Counselor Hali tomorrow morning. At our last session, she warned me that if my attitude doesn’t improve, she will recommend that medicine be added to my required daily vitamins. She must suspect I never swallow the pills she presses into my palm.
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