‘Don’t touch him,’ the Vicaress scolded. ‘He’s been tampered with.’
And I froze.
Time slowed down. Then the sound of metal sliding through flesh came. A single whimper, and a small body slumping against the ground followed.
The Vicaress finished questioning the last few girls in our line, and then left the barracks, not once looking back at the lifeless corpse resting against my legs.
Once the main doors shut, I dropped to my knees and wrapped my whole hand around Matty’s birthmark.
‘Family,’ I choked out, gripping tight. The only thing my mind could process was how thin my friend’s wrists truly were. ‘Invincible.’
But there was no response. He was gone.
PART TWO
Chapter Eleven
I only coughed a few times, the Droughtweed smoke mostly agreeing to stay down. After two weeks of coming to the makeshift hut, I was getting used to the burn.
The Roof Warden sat cross-legged beside his billowing cloud, running his fingers up and down his knees. The Jadan Peddler was his own shade of darkness, his skin even darker than Moussa’s, which left me wondering if the Sun had any effect on him. I’d known of his business for years, but I’d never had reason to seek him out before.
‘Don’t give up on me now, Spout,’ the Warden said, lost in the smoke. ‘You paid for six huffs.’
I choked in another breath, leaning over the fuming pile. The embers winked in the belly of the smoke, black plumes tickling their way around my face and neck.
The Roof Warden imported his Droughtweed supply from Belisk. The plant was a special strain that grew along the banks of the Hotland Delta, and inhaling it did things that regular boilweed couldn’t. I held the laced air in my chest, pinching my nose in the hope that I could keep the stuff down. The longer the hold, the longer the numb.
The image of Matty’s lifeless face would soon melt from my mind, and I could go about my errands in peace.
I let out the breath slowly, but I couldn’t quite make it steady. As I coughed, I had to close my eyes, the smoke burning and forcing out tears. But the tingles had already started at my feet, and I knew they would spread quickly.
‘Growing up so fast,’ the Warden said, his eyes like endless pits. I squinted, trying to take another look at his pupils, which reminded me of quicksand. ‘Two more times. That’s all, Spout. And keep it clean. Don’t want to break the magic for the next customers.’
Finding my composure, I turned my head and looked through the crack in the tent flap, watching the row of bodies sitting on the roof, all waiting impatiently to get their daily fix. Some scratched, some rolled their necks, and some looked as if they would throw me off the roof if I didn’t hurry up.
The Roof Warden’s supply box sat by his side, stocked with stolen waterskins, half-eaten figs, and even a few Wisps. It was incredible what a bit of flint, a foreign supply, and loyal customers could earn someone. I desperately wanted to ask him how he never got caught by the taskmasters – a small tent could only do so much to keep a low profile – but I knew he took remarks like that as threats. Rumour had it that the last Jadan who tried to extort free huffs from him never even made it to the dead-carts.
My mind hadn’t yet floated as far as I had hoped, so I took the next dose of smoke through the nose. The oily black burned again like fingers scratching at my brain, but it seemed to do the trick, as my ears had begun to pulse with calm nothingness. After a moment I could barely think at all.
I probably didn’t need the last breath, but I took it anyway. I had to get my trade’s worth. My eyes went to my crank-fan stuffed on the side of his supply box, and I heard a voice in the shadows of my mind.
‘Yeah, Moussa!’ Matty’s voice echoed. ‘We can’t hear you!’
The shock made me lose control of the smoke, spitting out my relief.
I quickly went to sneak a replacement, but the Roof Warden leaped up and wrapped his hand over my mouth and nose, pushing me out of the tent.
His body was larger than mine, and his grip was like a slab of Building stone over my face. Woozy from the smoke, my feet scrambled across the roof tiles as he pushed me. Then his fist jammed into my gut, heaving the stolen smoke out. I dropped into a fit of coughing.
‘I don’t play that, young tears,’ the Warden warned, gritting his teeth, which right now looked too numerous to count. I blinked, and his teeth looked normal again. ‘You better bring me something smart if you want to play tomorrow.’
My eyes narrowed, hate filling the now empty cavern in my chest. ‘I can find my own boilweed to smoke. In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s in every rubbish heap.’
‘Good luck! You’ll be coughing up shit and snot for no high.’ The Warden’s eyes were laughing, but his lips were firm.
‘I don’t—’ My fingers clawed at the colours in front of my face. ‘I’m still alive. Abb is still alive.’
‘Loser kid,’ one of the Jadans in the line behind me said. ‘Junkie loser.’
I spun on my knees, waving two knuckles at whoever had spoken, ready to strike and claw. The emptiness was consuming, and I felt too dry even to cry.
‘Who’s Abb, young tears?’ the Warden asked, a spry grin dancing across his lips.
‘I—’
Matty’s voice cut me off, sharp and distorted: ‘We can’t hear you, Moussa! Whatsit!’
I put my hands over my ears, trying to shake him loose.
It wasn’t my fault. It was Shilah’s fault. She was the one that started this whole mess. She’d tossed the Shiver off the roof; she’d given me that cursed Khatmelon.
It wasn’t my fault.
‘I’m sure I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Spout,’ the Warden said, slithering back towards his tent and waving the next Jadan forward.
One of the other Jadans waiting his turn was scratching at his face. Beetles skittered out from the giant hole he was making in his cheek, but after a moment the hallucination dissolved.
Waves of heat splashed from the sky, trying to knock me on my back, but there was a shield being built now, brick by brick. And silence.
The Sun had no power over me. The smoke was making me invincible.
It wasn’t my fault.
Six months ago, on the final Khatday of the year, Gramble had walked through our barracks doors and ushered in a group of new barracks members.
I remember the group being mostly girls, but there at the end, cowering into himself, was a boy who had arms like sticks and a face that knew joy but had forgotten how to smile. I’d wondered if the Priests had decided to teach him hunger over everything else. Gramble assigned parents, doled out old sleeping blankets, and the girls were gathered into hugs by their new mothers. Hair was stroked and worries were eased, the new Jadans giggling as their mothers preened.
Then it came time for the boy, standing there digging a tiny toe into the dirt. Gramble checked over his list, grumbled a few things as he scratched his stomach, and did the dreadful thing we all knew was coming. Levi was slouching against the back wall when his name was called. His arms tightened across his chest, but other than that he didn’t acknowledge his new child.
I gave a silent groan, knowing how much Levi was dreading the day he would be burdened with a son; but the boy looked up at his new father with a disheartening amount of hope.
His eyes only met empty air.
Gramble left, locking us in, and everyone went about greeting the new Jadans. The boy was ignored by the Patchies, but got hearty handshakes from the Builders, and a few kisses on the cheek from the Domestics – I remember Jardin giving him two. But after the friendly faces came and went he was left alone, blanket under his skinny arm, gaze lowered.
I walked over towards him. ‘Hey,’ I said, waving my hand under his face to draw his attention back up. ‘I’m Micah.’
The boy looked up. His eyes were damp, but they lit up at my voice.
‘What’s your name?’ I asked.
‘Matty,’ the boy said, the first
tear finding the middle of his cheek. ‘Matthew.’
‘A nickname, huh?’ I said, drawing my smile out. ‘I have a nickname too.’ I prodded myself on the chest. ‘Spout.’
Matty’s head tilted sideways. ‘Spout?’
I laughed and pointed another finger at my forehead. ‘Because I sweat. See, we both leak. We’re going to be great friends.’
Matty leaned in. ‘He doesn’t want me.’ We both looked over to Levi grumbling to Slab Hagan in the corner.
‘That doesn’t matter,’ I said, giving him a clap on the shoulder. I made sure not to hit him too hard, because I didn’t want to shatter any skinny bones. ‘The rest of us do.’
Then I noticed he had his fingers clutched tightly around something.
‘What have you got there?’ I asked.
Matty held out his shaking hand, opening his palm. A small carving of a bird rested in the centre, one wing missing and the beak cracked. I recognized it as a piece from a game the Khat’s Priests made us play in the slave schools called Drought. The purpose was to guide the Jadan tokens to spots under the Khat’s sigil in the centre of the board. Some of the game pieces represented the great things our people had ruined by angering the Crier.
‘You like Drought?’ I asked.
Matty sniffed, his eyes flicking back and forth. ‘I hate Drought. I like birds though. I’m going to see one one day.’
I nodded, picking up the piece, hoping he didn’t really believe that. ‘Will you tell me when you do?’
Matty gave a hesitant nod.
‘So look at this. You like birds, I like to make things.’ I held the dilapidated bird carving between my thumb and forefinger. ‘How about we make a new game together. And this will be the first piece?’
‘Can I help with the rules?’ he asked in earnest, eyes filling with life.
I smiled. ‘You can make them all if you want.’
He thought about it for a second. ‘It’ll prolly take me some time. I want to get it right.’
I laughed, gesturing to the barracks. ‘We have all the time in the World Cried.’
The Droughtweed high started to fade as I choked out the last few lines in the ‘Khat’s Anthem’. Usually the floating sensations lasted until the second bell, but the Roof Warden’s fist had speeded up the process immensely.
The Sun was taking advantage of my weakness, striking from every angle imaginable; my lip of stone on the wall was all but useless today.
Metal footsteps replaced the melody, coming towards me, and I begged my forehead to keep the sweat inside. I made sure to tuck in my chin more tightly, and the Sun used the opportunity to bite my neck, its fangs piercing deeper than normal.
Thoth’s shoes came into view, and his voice was a growl. ‘Micah.’
‘Sir!’ I said, too loudly.
Thoth took out his rod from the sleeve on his ankle and my heart started to beat. Heavily. The thumping grew loud in my ears, and for a moment I thought it might be a drumbeat. He tilted my head back, the light stinging my eyes.
‘Why was your hand twitching when you were singing?’ he asked.
I gulped, trying to come up with something believable. Truthfully I hadn’t even realized I’d been moving. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I felt a scorpion on me. I was trying to brush it off, as a sting would keep me from perfection at my errands today.’
Thoth licked his lips, the scar tugging across his face. ‘Considerate, but not allowed. During the “Khat’s Anthem” you show respect. If the scorpion bites you, then it bites you.’
‘I’m sorry, sir.’ I swallowed hard, my head going fuzzy with fear. ‘He wasn’t my fault.’
‘He wasn’t your fault?’ Thoth repeated, his eyebrow arching towards the sky. ‘What do you mean, “He wasn’t your fault”?’
My tongue faltered, begging to be bitten. I hadn’t meant to say he, it had just slipped out.
‘The scorpion,’ I choked, not knowing what else to say.
Thoth tucked his scarf back in place and commanded: ‘Street rule sixteen.’
Easy. I took a breath, relaxing in the knowledge that I’d had all the rules memorized since childhood. Rule sixteen was the one that had to do with—
‘Lemme help,’ Matty whispered from far away, my vision swimming.
My jaw seized up and my mind went blank. ‘Rule sixteen. Rule sixteen is …’
‘Promptly,’ Thoth commanded.
I cleared my throat, my tongue so dry it felt as if it wasn’t even there. I had no idea what rule sixteen was, and I had to spit out something that sounded reasonable. ‘A Street Jadan will make sure that whenever the Khat’s name is said, it is with complete reverence.’
Thoth bent closer to me, enough so that I could smell some foreign spice on his breath. ‘What is happening with your eyes?’ he asked. ‘Why are they red?’
‘I was stung,’ I said, my insides starting to tremble. ‘On my way here. That’s why I thought the scorpion might still be on me.’
Thoth sounded amused. ‘And where were you stung?’
‘My back, sir.’
‘Proof,’ he said.
With a heavy heart I lifted off my shirt and spun around, hoping some old scar might pass as a potential sting. I closed my eyes tightly while I waited, whilst a spectrum of dark colours coalesced across the back of my eyelids, swirling into the Opened Eye. I wanted to scratch it away, but I couldn’t move.
‘Dress yourself,’ Thoth commanded. ‘And spin back around.’
I did as I was told, tense as I waited for his judgement.
The Jadanmaster reached into his pocket and pulled out his bottle of ink and feather quill.
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I said, my voice gravelly and distant. The words pulsed in the air in front of me. ‘I deserved the scorpion bite. I’m unworthy.’
Thoth inked up the quill, the black liquid dripping off it. Lifting the nib to my forehead, he began drawing, each stroke of the brush like the touch of a razor. When he’d finished the symbol, and gone over it twice, he stowed the quill with slow movements.
I knew what would be waiting on my forehead.
A triangle with a vertical line dissecting it in half.
Unusable.
Whenever Jadanmaster Gramble had made a slave unusable, it had been out of kindness, letting them rest for a few bells if they were feeling sick or had had a particularly taxing last errand. I had a feeling Jadanmaster Thoth’s motives might be different.
In the distance, I saw a black streak floating through the sky and I almost gasped, thinking it might be a bird.
Then I realized it was just ink dripping into my eye.
The sweat finally broke free on my forehead and the last of the Droughtweed left my system. Sobriety slammed my mind like a fist. The Sun exploded over Thoth’s shoulder as he brought the rod high, my insides buckling in shame and regret.
It was all my fault.
Chapter Twelve
Abb wiped on another layer of the groan salve, his calloused fingertips scraping against the wounds. ‘Is Moussa still avoiding you?’
I winced as he spread the gel across a painful spot on my shoulder, and my answer came out as something of a snarl. ‘What do you think?’
‘Easy there,’ Abb said. ‘I can talk to him for you if you want.’
‘Abb,’ I said with a warning.
‘Yes, yes. You’re old enough to fight your own battles. You’ve even finally grown your first hairs on your chest. I get it.’
I didn’t fall for his baiting. This was no place for jokes. My body was more bruise than anything else, and my mind wasn’t faring much better. Thoth had decided the beating wasn’t sufficient enough to validate the unusable symbol, so to ensure that I was left a useless wretch, he’d taken away my day’s entire rations as well. When I’d stumbled into the barracks earlier, I had barely made it to the Street wall, gasping with each step, to then stand shoulder-to-shoulder, in a line with my family, yet completely alone.
‘Almost done.’ Abb gave the wound
a final pat. ‘There. Nice and sticky. Just think, when you’re out collecting materials, now you don’t need pockets. You can just roll around in the boilweed and bring stuff back on your skin!’
‘That’s not funny,’ I said, stomach churning with frustration.
‘I think it would look very funny. You crawling back through the panel, all dressed up in—’
‘Just drop it,’ I said, eyes going to my dying tinker-wall. I’d smashed most of my creations in the sands behind the barracks. Now the shelves were practically bare, save for the few things that the barracks relied on me for, and Matty’s board game near the bottom. If I ever saw Shilah again, I’d vowed to wrestle back my Rope Shoes and destroy them too. And then I’d march her straight to the Pyramid. ‘I’m done with that.’
Already the salve was working, a cool tingle replacing the stings, but I felt guilty for the relief. If not for Abb’s insistence, I would have left the salve for those Jadans more deserving.
‘You can’t give up on who you are,’ Abb said, his voice turning serious. ‘I understand you need to take time to mourn Matty, but—’
I spun around, my face heating up. ‘And who am I? A damned slave who spat in the face of the Crier and got my friend killed. That’s who I can’t give up on?’
Abb sighed. His eyes were soft, even though I was being difficult.
‘Seven,’ he said after a long silence.
My teeth were clenched so hard I wondered if they might crack. ‘Seven what?’
He paused, gathering another layer of the salve and going after the rash on my forearm. I tried to pull away, but he was much stronger than me. He slowly drew my arm towards him and began applying the medicine.
I wanted to strike him, to ball up my other fist and hit him, but I knew that wouldn’t make me feel any better.
In circular motions, Abb spread the tingling salve. ‘In the last week, that’s how many Builders have been killed at the Pyramid, two of them I knew by name. I suspect we might have even been friends if we were allowed to have conversations.’
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