by Rori Shay
“Can you talk, Aloy?” asks Vienne. “Thank goodness you’re all right!”
All right? I’m far from all right.
Vienne is on the opposite side of me, her knees in the dirt to my left. She bends over me, running a hand through my hair and putting a cool, wet cloth on my brow. I try to sit up, positioning a hand in back of myself. It’s hard, but I force myself to balance on my arm and once again try to open my eyes. I see Griffin, Vienne, Tomlin, and four guards all encircling me. I’m sitting on the ground underneath the big oak tree.
“Be careful,” Vienne insists. “I think you bumped your head.”
Bumped my head? I glance around, trying to get my bearings. And then I remember using the Multiplier and thrash my arms around, feeling for it next to me. When I can’t feel metal under my fingertips, I make myself move my head down even though it causes waves of pain to crash through my brain.
I need to find that helmet! If they know I’ve used it, then I’m just as bad as Imogene. I’ve used technology! I flinch in big awkward spasms.
“What are you looking for, Elected?” Griffin asks, using my formal name now, to jar me back into acting composed.
I look up at him with wide eyes, trying to convey my needs without saying them. But he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t know the Multiplier even exists, so he can’t decipher my strange actions. Instead, he looks at me with concern.
I scan the ground in front of me and to my sides, but nothing’s there except for the empty canvas bag. It lies dirty and open a few inches away from me. The helmet is nowhere to be found.
I look over at Tomlin, thinking he’s taken it. He’ll wink at me or give me some sign he’s taken care of it. But he just looks at me with worry on his face—his eyes innocent of any knowledge I’ve used the helmet.
Everything feels fuzzy. The images of last night still flash across my brain, but thankfully the bright, earth-shattering colors have dissipated. Griffin and Vienne help me to my feet. They walk me at an exceedingly slow pace back to the house with Tomlin and the guards making a semicircle in back of us.
I spend the rest of the day indoors with either Griffin pacing at my side or Vienne gingerly stepping around, offering me mint tea. I need to be alone to digest the images of last night—the implications of Mid Country arming itself or killing off a defector who was hoarding weapons—the picture of my parents holding hands in a green forest. When the sun is finally setting, Griffin and Vienne make their excuses, mumbling something about eating in the dining room. They leave the room, and I’m alone for the first time all day. I sigh, sitting back on my elbows.
I try to concentrate on the images I can remember, but they’re still just pictures roaming in and out of my consciousness. I can’t seem to grasp them fully. What I need is real information. And so, without thinking further, I stand up and exit the room. I tell the wary guards this time I’m staying within the borders of the estate, so they let me leave without them.
I’m not lying to them. I make my way past the foyer, through the conference room on the first floor, and out toward the kitchen. On my walk, I glance past the open door of the dining room, but I see no one inside. No matter, I think. Griffin and Vienne probably already finished. The good thing is I have at least a few minutes more to myself. They aren’t around to fuss after me or follow me where I’m going next.
I nod at the kitchen staff as I pad through on soft soled shoes. I grab a couple of apples from a satchel and a few sugar cubes from a bowl on the counter. And then I proceed out the side door into the stables. My mind is still foggy, but as I guessed, Griffin’s father, Maran, is the only one in the stables, washing off the horses and grooming them until their coats shine. I’m reminded of the gruesome picture of him piercing one of our horses with a long arrow, but I blink to rid the ridiculous thought from my head.
“Hi,” I say as I walk up behind him.
He turns slowly, a water bucket still in his hands. When he sees me, he doesn’t smile as I expect. I watch as he flinches slightly, like he’s not sure whether to lower the bucket or let its water splash all over me. I furrow my brow for a split second and this seems to snap Maran out of staring. He lowers the bucket to the ground, water sloshing out of the side in a wave.
“Shouldn’t you be inside, Elected?” he asks. “I heard you suffered a nasty fall. Bumped your head.” His words are careful. They are devoid of warmth or comfort, like I’m talking to a different person from the caretaker I’ve known for years.
I absently drag a sugar cube across the bottom of my lip, feeling the course texture, tasting just a hint of the sweetness.
“No, I’m fine,” I say. Then I lift my hand with the food in it. “I brought you an apple. And some sugar cubes for the horses.” I hand him the red fruit and wordlessly walk to the closest horse, offering a treat. I turn back around and see Maran rolling the apple over and over in his hands. I suddenly wonder if he’s upset Vienne and I somehow stole Griffin from him. Since Griffin started living in the White House, he sees his father less. He’s no longer Maran’s veterinary partner. Maybe this accounts for his cool demeanor. I start to say something about it but then decide to leave it up to father and son. Griffin is his own man. He can make his own decisions.
So I delve into the main subject of my visit instead. “My parents’ horses,” I start, “can you tell me more about their condition?”
Maran leans against the side wall, still rolling the apple in his left hand. “They’re both in good shape. I already told the guards all that for their report.”
“Yes, I know. I read it. But I was hoping you could tell me more. Like their hooves, for instance. Did they have anything unusual caught in their feet? Blades of grass maybe? Or pine needles stuck in their coats?” I’m thinking of the lush forest where I saw my parents.
“Needles? Where would they have run into pine trees?”
“Who knows what’s out there in the wilderness, where my parents went?”
“I didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Why do you want to know? It’s not like you’re looking for your parents so you can make them return and tell you how to run the country.”
His voice is like an accusation. I look up, surprised at his tone. And at the fact he’s guessed my intention.
“That’s not your concern,” I say, my words flowing slowly over my tongue.
Maran continues, unruffled. “Because the Electeds before you relied on their own minds and the thoughts of their own people to make decisions. They didn’t go running back for their parents.”
“Maran?” I’m taken aback by his rudeness.
He is undeterred. “Because the Electeds before you knew where they stood on the issues. And if they didn’t, they got their advice from the people themselves, not from their parents. They were not dictators.”
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but I wasn’t expecting this line of conversation from him.
It’s my duty to listen to individuals. So I force myself to listen to Maran now, even though my head is still throbbing, and now I desperately want to leave the stables.
Maran’s voice strengthens, growing higher with his obvious frustration. “You don’t listen. More of the people want to start bolstering our defenses. You don’t hear them out. We should be manufacturing weapons. We are left like sitting ducks.” He tosses the apple into a stack of hay at his side.
I stare at Maran for a minute. When I do speak again, my voice is measured. “We haven’t been attacked by anyone. There’s no need to manufacture weapons.”
His voice is almost a growl. “That’s incorrect.”
I look over at him skeptically, wondering what information he has that I don’t. “No one’s been attacked,” I say again.
His response is stark. “You have.” Maran meets my eyes directly.
“That wasn’t an attack on our people. Only me.”
Maran looks back at one of the horses, idly running his hand over its flank. “You’d think that would be enough to incit
e you, but still no.”
“I won’t be incited to create technology easily. Not even by that.”
“A real leader would take action.”
“I am taking action. Setting up shifts to patrol the hills. Destroying the bullets.” I choose my next words carefully, trying to distill truth from him even though it is hard for me to hear. “You don’t think I’m a good leader?”
He looks at me again. His lips edge into the slightest indentation of a smile, happy to have the opportunity to finally tell me to my face. His one word is crystal clear as it comes out of his mouth.
“No.”
I turn on my heels, not wanting to hear more right now. I know I should ask Maran more questions. Or stay and just listen. My father told me he often didn’t agree with the views of his people, but he always listened to everyone... except the Technologists. It goes with the office, he’d said. But the thought that Maran, my parents’ trusted veterinarian and Griffin’s father, should think this low of me is too much right now. I will follow-up with him later when my head is in a better condition.
I walk around the back of the house, shuffling my feet as I go. I can’t reconcile the two personalities my people expect of me. I can’t be decisive but also waffle back and forth on the whim of the crowd. I can’t bend to the tyranny of the minority, the Technology Faction. I remind myself the majority of my people still want to follow the Accords. I can’t be the puppet of the Technologists, forfeiting the Accords of long ago.
But maybe there is some way I can provide a concession. Some way to show them I’m taking defensive action to protect us. Some way to make them happy. Bring them hope. I think of my plan with Margareath. That would suffice, but people won’t know the outcome of that endeavor for a long time, and it still needs to be a secret. They need something now.
I’m racking my brain, walking back and forth in front of one of our park benches. That’s when I hear giggling coming from a shed on the grounds. I walk toward it fast, thinking it’s some kids messing around on the property.
“Hey, you guys, come out of there,” I call as I get closer. The giggling stops immediately.
I venture closer and pull hard on one of the shed doors. It doesn’t give; something’s pushed up against it. I stand on my tiptoes, rubbing through years of dirt filmed on the shed’s one window. When I see skin, I jump back. It’s white and creamy, and I’d know it anywhere.
“Aloy!” comes Vienne’s startled voice as she throws open the shed doors to peek out at me.
I stand open-mouthed as she buttons her shirt, and I watch as Griffin fumbles, tying the drawstring of his pants.
“We thought you were in bed,” she says, guilt written all over her face.
“Enjoying yourself, are you? Sounds like you’re both having a pretty good time. And you certainly weren’t kidding about over and over again.”
“It’s not like that,” Griffin says, his voice gruff.
“Not like that? I heard you two laughing back here. Having the time of your lives.” My words are like tiny pins, each one pricking my lips as I say them.
Vienne moves to my side, reaching for my arm. She holds out a stick of paper. “It’s this. This is why we were laughing. Out of joy. I’m pregnant!”
She thrusts the paper under my eyes. It’s a thin sheet of litmus with neon green in the center.
“I don’t understand,” I say, quieted. “I don’t know what this is.”
“It’s a birth predictor. You lick it right after... after... you know.” She doesn’t want to state out loud that she and Griffin just finished having sex. “It lets you know instantly if the woman’s egg was fertilized.”
I swallow hard. The paper in front of me flaps in the soft breeze, but I hold onto it like a lifeline so it has no chance of flying off. “It’s really true? You’re pregnant?”
“Yes!” Vienne jumps up, wrapping her arms around my neck, her elation bold and bright now that I seem to grasp the import.
I swing her around, forgetting everything about Maran, my anger at Griffin and Vienne’s stolen moments, or even my aching head. Madame Elected is pregnant!
“And after only two times,” says Griffin, a devilish smile spread over his face. “Not over and over again.”
I look over at him and set Vienne down on her feet. I walk to Griffin, so we’re standing straight in front of each other. “Thank you, Griffin. Thank you so much.” I say it slowly so he’ll feel the depth of my gratitude down to his core.
He smiles wider, embarrassed. “Sure thing. No problem.” He brushes a hand through the hair in front of his eyes, trying to take the attention off himself, break my intense gaze.
I am so happy it’s finished, I can think of nothing else. This will be what unites our people. Gives them something to hope for. How can they not band around Vienne and me after this? This is what will stave off the Technology Faction, letting them know there won’t be chaos after my term is over.
I reach up and hug Griffin hard. He’s surprised at my sudden, whole-hearted embrace and even more surprised when I let him extend the hug into something more. He pulls me closer, burying his face in my neck. After a moment Vienne clears her throat, and I let go of Griffin, almost embarrassed Vienne has witnessed this moment between us.
The largest smile bursts through my cheeks as I take Vienne’s outstretched hand. “Come. Let’s go tell Tomlin,” I say.
The three of us walk as a happy trio back to the house. We ask where Tomlin is, almost bursting to tell the first people we see. Instead, we hold back, wanting Tomlin to hear it first.
A maid points us in the direction of the old oval office. I almost run over to it, with Vienne and Griffin quick on my trail. I fling open the door, ready to pronounce our good fortune before Tomlin can read it on our faces and guess for himself. But, as I heave open the heavy wooden doors and the three of us look into the stately room, we realize there is no good fortune waiting for us inside.
25
I see Tomlin first, his back to us, one hand on his hip, the other on his forehead. Then I see five guards. They’re crowded around Tomlin. For a second I have a sickening feeling they’re arresting my tutor. My friend. This is the second time now I’ve been worried for him. I want to reach out and pull him away from the guards. I’m about to do so, with one arm already outstretched to him, when I see the guards surrounding someone else. Someone else has his hands tied behind his back in thick ropes. Someone else is the prisoner.
And before I can actually see who it is, Griffin pushes past me into the room.
“Apa!” he exclaims.
Vienne puts a hand to her mouth, suppressing a gasp. I don’t speak, but I watch as Griffin pulls the guards apart so he can get to Maran. Whatever Maran has done, I’m suddenly worried Griffin will do something now to defend his father and throw himself in harm’s way. That he’ll attack the guards to get his father free.
But he doesn’t. Once in front of his father, Griffin closes in, standing with his face mere centimeters away from his father. He growls much like his father’s voice sounded when speaking to me in the stable less than an hour ago.
“How could you?” Griffin asks. “You promised me you’d stop after the town hall attempt!”
Maran gives a harsh, guttural laugh. “You would protect this weakling? This one who will pull our country down into the mud? I step up for righteousness. I take action to give us a future.”
I walk up close to Griffin and Maran. The guards stand by to protect me, even though Maran’s hands are sufficiently bound.
“Maran, you were the assassin?” My voice is tight.
“I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out in the stable today,” he says, expelling his words so spittle lands on my cheek.
I wipe it off roughly. “No, I would never have guessed that about you, no matter what your opinions. You’ve worked loyally for my parents for years. And this whole time you’ve been plotting against us?”
He guffaws. “Plotting for this country. I thou
ght the assassination attempts would confuse you into blaming Mid Country. Then you’d have at least begun building defenses and using technology again. But no, still you did nothing. You protect your precious Accords, but you do nothing to propel your people to greatness. You would rather uphold an outdated policy than begin building again—begin creation of technology that will let your people survive. That will let your people procreate safely. Griffin’s mother could have been saved! We could be years ahead of the other countries if your family just let us build unfettered. East Country could take back the entire continent, if you’d only let it!”
My voice is thick as I respond to him, wanting everyone in the room to hear my side. My reasons. “This is exactly why the Accords must be upheld. You talk like you’ve walked straight out of the twenty-first century. When countries competed to see who could build the bigger weapons. Machines that caused our eventual destruction. You would send us straight back to a time when pollution, oil consumption, war, and greed caused the collapse of our environment. My goal is not to rise up against Mid and West Countries so East Country can rule the continent. My goal is for East Country to live in peace. In isolation. You are in the minority, Maran. You alone want these things for us. Even the Technology Faction doesn’t wish for what you do.”
He laughs, a high pitched, crazy hoot. “They are weaklings too! I go to them, angry at you, ready to make a real attempt right this instant with their help, and what do they do? Instead of banding behind me, giving me the recognition and help I deserve, they turn me in. They lead me straight into the hands of the guards.”
“Enough!” yells Griffin. “You do not speak to the Elected like this! Apa, I stood by you. I didn’t turn you in when I found out you were the assassin. Because you got down on your knees to me. Promised no other attempts would be made. Said you’d made a mistake. But you were lying! I came here to be the Electeds’ bodyguard, to specifically guard them against you. To make doubly sure you would cause them no harm. And you try again? Damn you to hell!”