In the end, I go for some sort of sorghum flat bread, thinking it will be a neutral flavor. I can’t stomach anything strong at the moment. As I chew, I somehow get caught up in a conversation about how they only just managed to get the latest yam seed tubers planted before the many Turnings began.
The old man nods, smiling a semi-toothless grin. “You have to get ’em tubers in the mounds at the start of the rainy season, you see?” He wrings his hands out in front of him. “And the rainy season’s always worse for spirits. My grandson nearly got caught out once, nearly got trapped too far from the tubes when the sky turned purple….”
After a while, his words seem to drain away. It’s noisier now too, so busy, more drums. I push through the crowds, need to find Corin again. But there are people everywhere. I head into a new room, see Nyesha on a bench in the corner, breastfeeding a baby. But after a quick surveillance, I see Corin’s not here.
I set off back down the tube, in the direction I think leads to the area with the drape divisions, where most people sleep. I take the second branch on the right. I pause for a second, my eyes lingering on the nearest torch. Its flickering light is therapeutic. I take a deep breath and keep going.
But the more I walk, the longer the tubes seem to get before they branch off and the more certain I am that I’m going the wrong away.
The pounding music becomes a distant hum, but the ground beneath my bare feet is hot and still pulses. I keep walking, taking the next right turn and then the following left. But I should have got to Corin’s room by now, I am certain. Biting my lip, I turn back and look down the tube. It looks darker than it did when I came up here; the torches are growing dimmer, and everything’s melting into shadows.
I keep going. Logic tells me I can’t be lost in these tubes forever, but my head tells me something else. Still, I keep walking ahead. I should turn back. I should try and find the gathering room… But I don’t. I keep walking.
A few minutes later, I hear voices ahead—loud voices, shouting—and I falter. Their tones are deep and gravely. Male voices. I feel adrenaline pouring through my body. They’re close. Very close.
I want to turn back. I should turn back. I need to turn back.
Then I see them: eight Zharat men, each wearing very little clothing, showing off their muscles and tattoos—not that any of them have many of each. They’re heading straight for me, eyes lit up with interest. I recognize one as Mart—his red hair is obvious—but that’s it.
I lift my head higher, place one foot in front of the other, don’t meet their eyes. I force myself to keep going—need to seem confident—and hope that they won’t stop me, that they’ll let me continue on through the tube.
“Come and join us, Sev!” one of them shouts. He’s holding a cup, and dark liquid sloshes over the sides. “Let us welcome you here properly.”
Several laugh, and Mart shouts something I can’t make out. I shudder, keep walking.
Can’t show fear. Mustn’t show fear.
I concentrate on my breathing.
Six feet away. Five feet away. Another one yells something at me, but it’s in the other language, in Zharat. I glance at their faces. They’re leering at me. I clench my fists by my sides, trying to mask my shaking.
“Come on, Seven. Come with us. If you’re good, we’ll even feed you.”
More raucous laughter.
Others join in. The shortest one makes a gesture at me; he’s the one who’s the most clothed, but even his garments don’t cover much. I look away. But my pace has slowed.
And now they’re right in front of me, spreading out, blocking my way.
I stop, realize I should’ve run when I had the chance. Oh Gods. I look around, but there’s no one else here. Just them. And me.
“Seven! Come and play!” One of them yells at me, his face contorting as if he’s in pain.
“Take my ring as well!” Mart yells.
“Aaaaand mine!”
They grab me.
I kick out. But there are too many of them. Another hand’s on my back. I turn and hit at the man behind me, but he just laughs, and my movement’s too slow, clumsy. Automatically, my hand reaches for a weapon in my belt… But I’m wearing the dress, the dress that’s too short. And there’s no weapon.
Oh Gods.
I scream, lunge forward, feint to the right, step backward. But there are too many of them. I see a pair of teeth getting closer, snapping, snapping, and I’m reminded of how my terrier tore a chunk out of Raleigh’s arm.
The men’s hands pull at me.
“Oh, Seven, you’re so beautiful! Look at her!”
“Can’t see much,” Mart says, and his red hair drips with grease. He suddenly looks more like Manning—he is the chief’s son, isn’t he?
“Get the dress off.”
They push me up against the cave wall; cold stone presses against my back. I try to turn, try to get a kick in somewhere, but I miss. I’m too slow, too weak. One of them gets my hands, forces them above my head. Eyes leer at me.
I feel skin against my leg, and I jerk my knee upward, aiming for one man’s crotch, but he moves, laughing. More hands push my dress up. I scream loudly.
“Oh, look—you’re not as brave and courageous now, are you?” Mart says, and his eyes fill with mock sympathy. “Poor, little—”
“S’ven!”
“Hey!”
The men all turn, and I see the other people coming. Men and women, a child?
And then the man next to Mart grabs me, his hands around my throat. He shoves me into the wall again. Something sharp cuts my back. I struggle, eyes watering, try to pull his hands away from my throat. But can’t. He’s too strong. And my arms—they’re too heavy.
I gasp, his fingers dig into my skin. Nails, sharp. Pain. I choke, spluttering. A string of phlegm flies from my mouth. Can’t breathe.
“Leave her!” a female voice shouts.
And then more are shouting. And male voices—ones I recognize.
The man lets go of my throat, but a hand suddenly grabs me around my upper arm, pulls me to the right. I scream. Stumble, fall, and it’s—
It’s Jed.
And Manning. And others. Others I don’t recognize. Women, who don’t look happy.
Jed lets me go, then strides forward, limping badly. His staff is gone. Then he punches the nearest man.
The man falls, sprawls backward.
Manning grabs another man by the arm, shouts at him. Others are fighting.
“Take her back.” Manning points at Jed.
I turn to Jed, shaking. He smiles at me, his dark skin shiny with perspiration.
“Come on.” He holds his hand out, and I smell alcohol on him. But it’s on everyone, that smell. It’s on me.
I go with him, chest pounding.
“Are you hurt?” His voice is thick.
I shake my head, speed up. Can hear Manning shouting at the men.
“Come on,” Jed says. “We will get you sorted.”
Jed hands me a cup of something warm, once I’ve finished changing into the red T-shirt and dark pair of jeans he found that are both roughly my size. He turned away when I put them on, and I was glad, but the fear that he somehow might’ve seen my Seer pendant before I made sure it was safely tucked out of sight is high.
“I am sorry those are not red.” He indicates the charcoal denim of my jeans as we sit down on the floor, facing each other. “But I have asked for some red clothes to be made for you. Some day-dresses. They should be ready soon. I did not realize we were so short, but like with any clothes they get holes and need repairing. And, if a high-status woman dies, it is not unusual for some of her clothes to be sent off with her so the Gods know her power and take her directly to the New World. That must be why we are running out of them.”
Jed’s eyes are still wild, but his overall expression is calmer. He presses his hands to his injured thigh for a few seconds, grimaces. But the action makes me feel better. He’s hurt, so he can’t hurt me.
“It’s fine,” I say. I feel more comfortable in jeans anyway.
We’re in a small room off one of the lava tubes. And it’s a proper room, with proper walls—I almost can’t hear the music from here; the near-silence makes me feel calmer. Calmer than I should.
We’re alone. The thought sends chills through me, and, for some reason, I think of Raleigh. That doesn’t make me feel any better.
I flinch.
Jed’s drawn the drape across the doorway, enclosing us in the space together. Something tells me despite what Manning said about their rules, if he heard I was alone with Jed he wouldn’t make half the fuss that he had when it involved Corin.
Corin. I bite my lip a little. He won’t like that I’m here alone with Jed. Jed who was so antagonistic toward him.
“Are you sure you are okay?” Jed looks at me, eyes scanning.
I nod, take a sip of the drink. It tastes peppery, but after a few minutes my head’s not hurting as much. In fact, all the pain starts to go. My skin tingles, a little numb, but it feels better. I drink some more of the peppery water.
Jed watches, his expression neutral. I look at his eyes, so dark, and the deep grooves around them; the tattoos there look paler now—grayer—and smaller as if the animals have shrunk. I study them. Lizards. An antelope. Goats. The animals disappear under his collar.
“You’ve got lots of tattoos,” I say, then I feel silly for stating the obvious.
Jed smiles, then pulls his sleeve up, revealing more ornate patterns. “Tattoos are a sign of our power. Our status. Only, unlike most men here, I do not feel the need to constantly wear skillfully knotted rags that show off my tattoos and reinforce my status. Manning neither.” He pauses. “Everyone knows he is Chief, and he only shows off his torso tattoos if his status needs to be emphasized or displayed to newcomers. Manning and me, we only take our clothes off when it is important. Only the men who are less secure in their own power wear less clothing all the time. Intimidation. Their method of dominance.”
I nod, then frown. “I haven’t seen any women with tattoos.”
His smile gets deeper, rivals Nyesha’s. “Tattoos are a symbol of male power. Female power is marked through the color of their clothing—that is why us men wear dark or neutral tones. Girls usually inherit a starting color from their mothers, when they are six years old—before that, girls may wear what they like.” He pauses. “The colors are ranked in their hierarchy based on the bands of the rainbow. Red is the highest, violet is the lowest. And the brightest red indicates the highest female status—you. That is why Manning was upset earlier—you were wearing an inferior color, and it would have indicated a lower status to the Gods, dropped your rank—and in your welcoming ceremony too! But Manning asserted your status to the Gods—so do not worry. Just remember, he cannot do that again. And not in day-to-day life. You must dress appropriately.”
I frown, thinking of the yellow wrap-dress Nyesha was wearing the first time I met her and how I’ve not seen her wear another color. I lean forward. “So I always have to wear red then?”
Jed nods. “You must always wear something red over your heart. Most women wear day-dresses of their color all the time, but shirts are acceptable too. Just make sure your other garments are always dark—grey or black—so you are not introducing another status-color as well, as that would weaken your position, and your rank would subsequently drop. It is very hard for a woman’s rank to increase. That is why women must guard what they are given.”
I nod. “Right. So a red dress, or a red shirt and dark clothes…” Then I frown. “Do any women try and wear a color that indicates a better status? I know I can’t if I’m already red, but….”
He shakes his head, anger suddenly in his eyes. “No. If a woman does that, and her new rank has not been authorized, her greed will anger the Gods, risk them activating our Fire Mountain.” A slight pause. “Be careful though, S’ven. Some women may be jealous of your status. They might leave out clothes of a lesser hue for you, in the hope that you would wear those garments and your rank would become that color.”
I frown. That hadn’t been what Soraya had done, was it? Tried to trick me into losing status?
“Don’t worry, Soraya is kind,” Jed says, as if reading my thoughts. “She did not do that on purpose, I am sure. And you still had the red flower in your hair. That helped.” He reaches forward and touches it, then pulls it out. “Your status is safe. Manning made sure of that. Just make sure you protect it from now on.”
His eyes widen as he tucks the flower back in my hair.
“You have an inquisitive mind, S’ven. Like my youngest daughter, Jeena. But you also look like my oldest, Zoe.” Jed looks away. “She and my wife were killed in a hunt two years ago…and then my son died a year later, fell down the mountain… My youngest daughter, Jeena, is the only one left. I have been affected badly by grief. Lost a lot of myself. For a second, back there, with those men, I thought you were Zoe.”
He tries to smile, but I get the feeling darkness is trying to overwhelm him now.
“Tell me about your family,” he says.
I shudder, feel the air around me go cold. “My father’s either dead or Enhanced. Same with my siblings.” I swallow hard, try not to think of Three…and how I’ve left him with the Enhanced. No. “My mother’s Enhanced.”
Jed nods. “Then we have something in common. My parents both converted when I was seven years old.” There’s darkness in his voice now that I don’t like.
I look up. “They didn’t take you with them?”
Jed shakes his head. “It was my father… I can understand why he did not want the girls, but I thought I was important. He named me after him…” Then he looks at me. “The Zharat renamed me when they found me because I could not bring myself to say my name when it was his.”
The look in his eyes gets sharper; he’s staring at my chest. No. Not my chest, at the shape of the Seer pendant beneath my T-shirt. I pull my knees up quickly and rest my chin on them, blocking the pendant from his sight. He asked if the pendant was calcite crystals before. But he can’t suspect what I am because he hasn’t tried to kill me.
“It was as if he knew something—knows something,” Jed says. “I still hear his voice. My father’s voice. He tells me things, and I know I am going mad… But I still follow what he says… He must know stuff, and I want to hope that he is trying to tell me what will happen, that he does want to save me.”
His words make me feel even more uncomfortable, because I don’t understand what he’s talking about, but something stops me from asking.
Jed coughs. “I would never leave my children like that…out in the open. We were lucky the Zharat found us…” He turns, a far-away look in his eyes. Then he takes the now-empty cup from me, places it next to him. “They will not get away with it—those men who tried to hurt you. Manning will punish them. Even Mart, his son. But the men will blame it on the drink and the party. They always do.” His eyes darken. “It is safer for females not to walk around here alone.”
His words hang between us, and I swallow hard.
I want Corin. But the walls are heavy, shutting me away from him. My chest hitches. More nausea. My legs are shaking.
“Come on,” Jed says. “I am supposed to collect the next food from the grill. I believe they are cooking the freshwater crab now. They got them from the lakes a few days ago. We will go and get them.”
I stand up, shaking. “But what about the Turning?” My words are slow, a little groggy. I blink hard.
“It is coming to an end,” Jed says, sounds certain. He reaches into the shadows and pulls out a rucksack, then he slings it onto his back. A moment later, he grabs a thick stick, uses it to help him walk with more ease. “The spirits will be going back to the skies. And we are not going far. The Gods will protect us as we are getting food for the welcomings, and a lot will be left for them tonight. Come on.”
My skin burns as I follow him, and my chest gets tighter and tigh
ter.
Words begin to whisper their way to me, but they don’t feel right, and I can’t think, can’t understand them. Everything feels different, as if I’m floating. Yes. That’s right. Or swimming. I picture a leaf floating carelessly down a stream, start to smile. Part of me wants to laugh. I frown. I don’t know why.
It doesn’t take us long to get to the entranceway that leads up the mountain to the grill, and I listen to the click click click of Jed’s stick all the way. It’s a different entranceway from the one we came in through. This one is nearer to Jed’s room, and there’s a man sitting at it, cross-legged. Fresh air blows against my skin, makes me shiver, but it’s a good kind of shiver.
“Bring me some food,” the man says to Jed.
Jed says something back, but his words blur in my ears. Then he steers me through the entranceway, a hand lightly on my upper back.
I start to slow, drag my fingers against the rough volcanic rock. There’s something…something somewhere…something that’s trying to tell me….
I frown. But then the breeze pulls through my hair, lifting it. It feels good. Fresh.
I step outside, after Jed.
Click. Click. Click.
The sky is still purple in places, but it’s the remnants of the Turning. No shrieks fill my ears, and I hold a hand up to the weak sun, trying to see any lingering spirits. But there are none. It’s just cloudy with a hint of purple, low sun intensity. It is safe. The Turning has ended quickly.
“It is this way.” Jed uses his stick to hold back foliage, points uphill with his right hand. He sways for a few seconds, but doesn’t lose his balance.
I follow Jed up there, my eyes glossing over. I stare at the plants. Something tells me I know their names, and I search for them. But thinking makes my head hurt. So I just look at them. Most are moist, broad-leaved plants that creep low. But there are taller ones too.
And thistles. Nettles. Yes, those names come to me.
The air is humid, thick. And the light is bright, even looking at the ground. I take a few steps forward, eyes still on the ground.
I turn around, look, can’t see much. We’re on the side of a mountain, not that far up. The ground is surprisingly dry. Sandy and dry. Weathered volcanic rock? I stare at it. It shouldn’t be that dry—not after the rain, the Turning. I frown.
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