by Casey Hays
“So?” Mia sits down on the mat, her eyes bright with anticipation. She stretches out her long legs, bronzed from the sun, and I know she plans to stay awhile. I brace myself for her cascade of questions. “Tell me everything.”
I hesitate and move about the hogan doing what I can to avoid answering, hoping she’ll drop the matter. Doubtful. I walk to my basket and open it, unfold and then refold my small supply of clothes. I dump the water from my basin out the window. I even try to straighten the blanket around her on the mat. She watches me in silence until she can take no more of the suspense.
“Kate? What’s wrong? Did something happen in the Pit that you’re afraid to tell?”
“No,” I reply quirkily.
She frowns.
“Yes. No—nothing happened, but—”
With a defeated sigh, I sit next to her, crossing my legs up under me in a protective kind of way, as if I’m trying to conceal a secret—which I am. But Mia leans in suspiciously, her dark eyes full of curiosity, and I know I’ve evaded long enough. If I don’t tell her today, I will tell her tomorrow or the next. It’s only a matter of time. I swallow once.
“You cannot repeat this,” I whisper, my eyes fixed on her.
She frowns again, nodding, and I hesitate, wondering if I’m making a mistake by telling her the truth. Mia tilts her head curiously. She looks like a cat for a minute, waiting to pounce near a mouse hole. Not to hurt it, but just to play. I hold my breath.
Time stops, suspended between us, as I consider what I’m about to reveal. To my knowledge, no one has returned from the Pit untouched. Every girl meets her mate and on that night fulfills her duty to the Village. Only two things will come of telling Mia the truth: I’ll gain an ally, or lose my friend.
“What is it, Kate?” Mia furrows her brows in concern and reaches out a hand to rub my arm. “Did your mate hurt you? If so, we need to report it to Mona immediately. She will—”
I shake my head furiously and grab for her hand. “No. No, I’m fine.”
“Then what?”
I chew on my lower lip. Mia is my best friend. There is not a time in my life where Mia was absent. We made mud pies together on the nursery grounds, climbed trees, played tag. She pulled my first tooth for me, and when we were ten, I cut her hair for the first time with large shears we stole from a storage closet in the main house of the nursery. We’ve shared everything. And we can share this as well. I can tell her. I can! I glance at the door to make sure that no one is lurking, listening. Then . . . I simply say it.
“I didn’t mate.”
She stiffens. Only her eyes move, widening in disbelief. She doesn’t blink for a least a minute, and I wait—nerves twisting in tight strands, threatening to choke the life clean out of me. I nibble on my lower lip, waiting. Waiting for her to hug me or scold me or run away in fear of my disobedience. And finally, after what seems a long and agonizing time, although it was only a few minutes in reality, she bursts into laughter.
I lean back in abrupt shock. She’s laughing?
“Oh, Kate. Everyone mates. You must be mistaken.”
I raise a curious brow at the humor of her words.
“I think I would know, Mia. Trust me, it didn’t happen.”
“But how can that be? Maybe you just don’t know what it’s like.” She leans her head to one side, a sympathetic tone flooding into her voice. “This is your problem. You don’t realize that you did mate.”
Frustration wells up inside me. She doesn’t believe me. Of all the reactions I might have expected, I never dreamed she wouldn’t believe me. I have never given her any reason not to, and yet here she sits, looking at me with eyes full of a kind of sad compassion, as if she needs to gently coax me into an understanding of my own experience. Because in her mind, we are all the same. She accepted her fate, and I must do so as well. I look at her, and I don’t know what to feel.
“Mia!” I stand, exasperated. “I’m telling you, I did not. I’m not such an idiot! Give me some credit.”
Guarded belief washes over her as she weighs the truth of my confession, but it’s tinged with uncertainty still. “But—I’ve never heard of that happening before. What did you do for three days then?”
“We talked,” I say hesitantly.
Her eyes narrow, cutting into my conscience, and I read her thoughts. Quickly, I turn away. The last thing on Earth that should ever happen between a breeder and her mate: a conversation. It’s a pure waste of time and effort. And it very well may have wasted away the time, but it was no effort.
“The stock do not have personalities . . .”
“You talked? About what?”
“Everything.” I shrug, letting the trace of a smile grace my lips. “He told me about his home, and I told him about ours.” I stop, gauging Mia’s reaction. She’s a statue, staring at me incredulously. I fear I’ve said too much, but I lower my voice to a whisper anyway and give her one last surprising piece of information. “He’s not from here.”
Mia’s mouth drops open slightly before tightening back into a hard line, and I can’t blame her. I didn’t believe it myself when Ian first said it. There is no other place from which to be. We are all from here. Her eyes glint with suspicion.
“Not from here?” She half-chuckles, shaking her head. “Yes, of course. Because we have so many visitors to the Village.” She rolls her eyes and focuses again on me, a sarcasm filling her voice. “So? Where’s he from?”
“Eden.” I make my voice sound casual as I say this, as if I’m only telling her that the river has flooded the bank again, and the wash will have to wait. She loves when this happens. It means one less chore. “That’s the name of his village. He said over a thousand people live there. Men, women, and children all mixed together in families.”
“All together?” Her eyes slant distrustfully, and she huffs beneath her breath. “He’s lying to you, Kate. You’d better be careful. Some mates can be sly. Don’t you remember Madam Belle’s warnings? Don’t listen to him.” She leans in closer and whispers, “That’s what got Meg into trouble. She believed her mate.”
I stare at her, and even as I fight it, her words penetrate me. They hold some truth. Meg is a sure example of what happens when a mate finds a way to overpower a breeder. The end result is never good. Ian is a stranger, and for all I know—and should indeed believe—he is lying. A shred of doubt sprouts, almost imperceptibly, and waits for my cue.
Mia and I don’t talk about Meg—ever. But now she’s opened the door. I walk through it.
“What did he tell her?” I ask tentatively.
Mia shrugs and toys with the edge of the blanket. “She wouldn’t say, exactly. But she spoke endlessly of how much she loved him.”
Her nose wrinkles in disgust, and I shudder. This much, I already know. It is a strange and curious thing to love in the Pit—to love at all—and it was rumored that this is why Meg had to die. Love does nothing to prosper the Village or keep it safe. Loyalty, obedience, and resilience must come first. Love is no matter.
“How could you love a dog?” Mia openly shudders at the thought. “I didn’t believe her, of course.”
I nod. “What else did she tell you?”
Mia shrugs. “She was afraid I would get into trouble along with her if I knew more, so she wouldn’t say anything else.”
The story goes that a bloody battle in the woods took the life of Meg’s mate. The details are unclear although many people died in the fight that day. But the most important part of the story is Meg’s execution. She was named a traitor for what she’d done, which has never been fully disclosed by the Council, and which is the real point: The Council used her as an example, but didn’t explain the crime associated with the punishment. In this regard, it was not an example at all, and it only left her friends baffled and wading in grief and confusion. And there’s nothing more to discuss. In the eyes of a majority of the villagers, Meg never existed.
But she did exist, and the memory of her death haunts me; it
haunts Mia. For us, Meg is alive and well in our memories—which is why we don’t talk about her very often. We just can’t.
I sit and take Mia’s hand, squeezing it. A tear drips down her cheek, and my own eyes grow moist.
The Council has forbidden us to speak Meg’s name. This is how they operate. They keep everyone under their control with threats and examples. In fact, if I had to guess, Mona will not miss her opportunity to make a prime example of my own small rebellion if need be. It is her way.
Mia suddenly wipes at her tears with a heavy sigh and stands, pulling me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s go get some supper. Rachel’s celebration is far from ended. She became a guard today.” She smiles. “We’ll forget we ever had this conversation.”
This is easy for Mia. She is good at turning off her emotions when the mood strikes her—something I wish I had more skill in at times.
I clasp hands with Mia, and she drags me from my hogan. The smell of roasted boar drifts on the air. Music wails from the clearing, and the sky is alight with the orange glow of a bonfire, its flames flickering in the night sky above the trees. The celebration is in full swing.
“How are things with you?” I realize I haven’t asked about Mia at all. “Have you . . . you know.” I nudge her gently as we walk toward the noise. “A baby?”
Mia’s face contorts. She shakes her head. “No. Mona’s beginning to wonder if my mate has a problem. It’s been three months, and nothing. If nothing happens in a year’s time, she will give me a new mate.” She lowers her voice and raises a brow, her eyes suddenly filled with fright. “What if it’s Bruce?”
I gasp. Bruce is every breeder’s fear. Bruce is a big, hairy man with missing teeth and bad breath. Nobody wants to be mated with Bruce. But he has fathered the most children in the Village, and most of his offspring are girls. If a breeder is having trouble, Bruce can usually correct the problem.
I’ve never seen him, but I’ve heard enough about him to know that I never want to meet him. And the thought of my poor friend being trapped in a cell at the Pit with hairy Bruce disgusts me.
“What about your mate?”
Mia looks at me with fearful eyes.
“He’ll be paired with another girl more than likely. And if he has the same problem with her, he’ll be . . . disposed of.”
We both know what this means.
“Does that bother you?”
Mia shrugs. “He’s just a dog. If he can’t do what’s needed, someone else has to. I sure hope it isn’t Bruce. Anyone but him. My mate, he’s adequate. He doesn’t even smell so bad most days. How can I go from him to Bruce with all that hair?” A shiver runs up both of our spines simultaneously.
The conversation is uncomfortable, and I’m sorry I brought it up. I don’t like talking about such private matters so openly, especially when I have no intention of participating in any of it.
But for Mia, it’s the way of things. She is loyal to Mona. She always has been. I don’t understand it, but Mia idolizes Mona, which means she will not refuse her, even if Mona matches her with Bruce. A pang of sadness stings me. If only Mia were braver.
“Well, you have a whole year to try, right? Anything could happen.”
“Let’s hope so, Kate.”
Tonight, I actually enjoy a semblance of my life before sixteen. Before the threat of being forced into breeding and childbearing had become a reality for me. I laugh over dinner with Mia and Diana, who has not yet delivered her baby. And with Layla, who is also due any day.
“How does it feel to be one of us now, Kate?” Layla leans in close to be heard over the pipes and drums. “A woman.”
She smiles encouragingly, and I try to smile back. But I’m not so encouraged. I don’t want to talk about it. I want to keep pretending tonight that we are still little girls playing “Ring Around the Maple Tree” in the grass. I shrug off her question.
“I’m still getting used to it.”
“It won’t take long. Before you know it, it will feel natural. Comfortable even. It’s nice to know you are contributing to the Village, anyway.” She rubs a hand across her swollen abdomen. “I’ve learned how to cope with the Pit.”
I glance at her. “How?”
“Simple. You just close your eyes and think of the most beautiful thing you’ve ever experienced.” She pats my knee affectionately. “Before you know it, it’s done and you can go home. It’s all about focus.”
I nod. “I’ll—I’ll try that. Thanks.”
“No problem, Kate. I know it’s a difficult adjustment, but there are worse things. I’m not displeased with my mate. At least he’s not Bruce.”
We laugh. Poor Bruce. He has quite the reputation.
“Now Rachel? She’s the lucky one.”
Layla points at Rachel still seated on the high chair of honor. She is not dressed in a white sarong. Instead she wears a plain black dress. It touches the ground when she walks. Her long black hair, thick and glossy, flows down her back nearly to her knees. Strapped to the front of her chest is a breastplate made of thick wood and covered with fine carvings of what we believe the Moirai to look like, although none of us really know. The three sisters of Fate reach their hands toward the wooden center of the shield where a pattern of stars makes up the outline of the Archer. Rachel, like myself, was also born in the eleventh month. Her new sword is sharpened to a point and glistens in the firelight along with her satisfied smile.
The Archer has chosen the guard life for Rachel and the life of a breeder for me. Why would he choose with such a difference? The answer escapes me.
I watch Rachel raise her sword in a victory salute, and the women dancing at her feet roar with approval. Even her celebration is different from my own. She is pleased with her new position, and the smile broadening her face is a clear indication.
“Why is she lucky?” I ask Layla.
“For one. She gets to carry a big sword.” She smiles mischievously. “And I think you know all the other reasons,” she says, indicating her stomach.
I nod. She tilts her head. Her blonde hair reflects the firelight.
“If you had a choice, Kate, what would you be?”
I chew on my bottom lip, pondering her question. Mia and Diana join us at the long table.
“Well, Kate?” Layla asks again.
“What’s the question?” Mia chimes in taking a long drink from her cup.
“If you could choose your duty,” Layla raises her brows. “What would you be?”
“Not a breeder,” Mia says. “I’m terrible at it. But you, Layla? Look at you and Diana? Obviously, you were both made for the role.”
Layla laughs, and her eyes come to life. “What can I say?”
Layla has always been different from the rest of us in one distinct way: She takes life as it comes and deals with it when it gets here. Because of this, she is never surprised at what it brings. She fell out of an elm tree on the nursery grounds when we were very little and broke her arm. Diana grabbed for her just before she slipped, but it was too late. Layla sailed to the ground with a grunt and a crack. When the physician arrived, she shook a finger at all of us for being so foolish as to climb a tree in the first place, but Layla only smiled with two missing front teeth and said, “This is one thing you should expect might happen when you climb a tree.”
I wish I was more like Layla, but I am far from it. I live my life with my defenses up, always ready for the worst. The only thing that ever surprises me is how relieved I am when the terrible thing that should have happened doesn’t happen at all.
It’s a very tiring existence.
“I never would have chosen to be a breeder,” Diana says quietly. We all turn to gape at her.
“But Diana,” Mia objects. “This is your second pregnancy, and I’m sure more babies will come after this one.”
Diana only shakes her head. “I wanted to be a nanny. They are truly the lucky ones. They may not give birth to the babies, but they get to raise them. I see no better destiny in the
world.”
I study Diana for a minute. It is true she has the compassion it takes to care for children. It’s a shame the Bull didn’t choose that life for her.
“Well, I don’t know why we’re talking about any of this.” Mia stands. “It really doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.” She turns and disappears into the crowd while we all watch her go. Layla shrugs.
“You never did answer the question, Kate,” she says over the music.
I smile, and in defiance to the Archer, I say, “I would be a hunter, with a golden bow and silver arrows. And I would never miss my mark.”
Layla’s smile brightens, and she winks. “Good choice.”
As the fire crackles and the music plays on tapered with intermittent drumbeats, I don’t think much about Ian, locked inside the tiny cave at the back of the Pit. He seems to be only part of a bad dream, and nothing more. And with the tambourines clashing and the voices of the singers chasing his memory out of my head, it is very easy to forget him altogether.
But after the music ends, and I lie on my mat desperately willing sleep to come, his bluer than blue eyes pierce my conscience—the one feature that brands my mind distinctly. I remember those eyes. I squeeze mine shut as tightly as I can, but it’s no use. I can’t get the blue out of my head.
He’s there, alone in the darkness of the Pit.
I roll over, huffing. Why should I care? I don’t know him. He should mean nothing to me. And he’s probably made up all those things about Eden, just as Mia said. There is no reason for me to care about what happens to a dog.
And so why can’t I stop thinking about him? I know the answer without having to think about it. I do care. I care that he’s desperate and scared. I care that he thinks he’s going crazy. And I hear my name in the memory. He calls to me as I flee from his cave making promises—promises I don’t want to keep. His voice plays itself over and over inside my head until I think my brain will burst.
Meg and her demise flashes through my mind more than once, and I fight with every ounce of my strength to stay put—safe on my mat in my nice, clean hogan. But restlessness gets the better of me, and soon I can’t stay any longer. I dress quickly in the dark and slip out into the cool night. I go against my will. Something deep inside draws me toward Ian like a moth drawn to light.