The Lotus Effect (Rise Of The Ardent)

by Bridget Ladd

  His jaw shifted from side to side as he took in my meaning, then his cheeks blanched. He looked away.

  I wasn’t naive. The only reason he was speaking to me was to brown-nose his way beside me. The direct—and only path that led to becoming the next Head.

  A presence loomed beside me then. Startled—I looked up. The Blacksmith, Xander, had slipped unnoticed to my side. He crouched beside his broken creation and brandished an unfamiliar tool that stopped the flow of sparks. Pushing his sleeves up, he reached inside the same back compartment that had housed the locket and powered the robot down.

  The hiss of escaping steam filled the room, mixing oddly with the static of the spinning record player. With a final gasping breath, the automaton blinked out and lay still.

  Everything became eerily quiet—my frustrated breathing sounding like thunder to my ears. Even the static hum finally ceased when someone stepped up and pulled the needle from the record.

  Xander, seemingly unaffected by the looks he was receiving, reached underneath the knees of the robot and cradled it into his arms. He didn’t throw it over his shoulder like a piece of equipment. He was gentle . . . as though he truly cared about his creation.

  He received a few jeers for his actions, but the silent anger in his face dared anyone to confront him over it.

  As I stood watching the pair turn to leave, I remembered I still had the necklace the robot had given me. I assumed it was just another prop from the show, and even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be allowed to keep it. The Council always confiscated gifts that had not been sanctioned. They deemed this restriction on personal items a ‘necessary safety precaution’. Or, as I saw it, an excuse to add to their personal treasury.

  I reached for Xander’s shoulder, forestalling him. He turned slightly as I offered the locket to him, but he shook his head.

  “No. Keep it. At least until they take it.” His voice was gravel-laden and firm, its edges sharpened with experience. The kind of voice, I realized, that not many had. Especially not near the opulence of the Estate.

  Still holding the robot, he turned and walked out of the room before I even had a chance to apologize, as if none of this even bothered him.

  My father, who was seated at the head of the table, cleared his throat as though he’d partaken in a private joke and couldn’t hold back a moment longer. “Well, that was . . .” He paused. “interesting.” He made no attempt to hide the amused look on his face. One by one, the guests caught his merriment like a disease, and quiet laughter rippled through the room.

  Staring at the floor, I clenched my fists, my nails biting hard into the skin—even through the gloves.

  That was it. With my resistance already shattered, an angry realization was leaking from me, spreading and melting away the false shell of myself across the room—like spilled blood traversing through the cracks in cobblestone.

  Not only was I overwhelmed by the frustrations of tonight, but from the eighteen years of built up resentment of a flawed system. A realization I tried so long to deny.

  Mrs. Fawnsworth was right.

  Enough was enough.

  Tonight, I was going to prove just how discordant I had become.

  My father, who had his fill of a good laugh, directed his attention back at me. “Lily, I’m sorry my dear, but I find that I must agree with the young Briggins. We’ve wasted too much time already. Come on up here and stand next to your mother. Let’s get this ceremony over with.”

  I lifted my eyes to his, standing as tall and proud as my five foot and nine inch frame would allow.

  The scrapping of chairs sounded across the room as the guests poised themselves to rise as protocol required.

  If they confused the heat in my response to be simple determination, they would be wrong. I had a fire inside that was yearning to be released. A fire that desired change.

  “Yes, Father. Let’s.”

  Chapter 3

  A Wager Of Life

  “We are the architects, the designers of the future. Through our creations we bring prosperity to those less fortunate. With our combined knowledge we can create anything and everything. Intelligence, Ingenuity, Integrity, Logic, and Prosperity are the founding principles upon which we rely every day. We are the Ladies of Science, and we will create tomorrow!”

  My mother always did have a way with words. Too bad none of them had any real validity. I knew for a fact she stood for nothing of what she had just said.

  She stood next to me with her hand upon my shoulder as we faced the crowd of icy stares. It was not a gesture of comfort, but one of duty. Her heavy skirts billowed out in front of her and could have swallowed my gown whole, if to be compared. She wore the small black and lacy Mistress’s top hat which adorned her shoulder-length, wavy blond hair. A pair of workers goggles—which were only for show and had never been put to real use—sat across the hat’s brim.

  “Like any proper organization, it can only achieve great success through its leadership,” she continued.

  The first adequate thing she’s said all night.

  “I have had the honor of being Mistress of the Ladies of Science for almost eighteen years now. And I will respectfully pass this honor over to my . . . successor . . . as tradition mandates.”

  Her successor? How motherly.

  “I stand before you today so that you may bear witness.” She turned her attention away from the room full of tight faces and back to me. “I ask you, Lily Emerson, if you understand the responsibility and are willing to accept this prestigious title? To lead with honor and with duty?” She stared at me with her dull eyes as though she asked these sort of questions every day.

  I did not return her stare, but looked openly upon the faces directed before me. Though not any one person looked like another with the many different mustaches, hats, and lip paints—a blur of faces, a swirl of muddled colors—they all held the same placid expectation in their eyes.

  Annette looked as though she would cry. Not joyful tears, but jealous ones. Scottie, in the wake of our conflict, wore a more sober expression than I had yet seen on his face.

  I took my time, collecting my thoughts, making certain I understood the severity of the path I was about to follow.

  Everyone waited, watching me with growing intensity. Normally, I would shy away from so much potent attention, but the fire that burned inside gave me the necessary courage to continue. Looking above me to the ceiling, I heard the now steady drumming of rain upon the rooftop.

  The sky grumbled ominously in fervent approval.

  I took a deep breath and stepped forward.

  “Before I’m to accept such a prestigious title, I have a few questions of my own, for you, Mother.” My last word was full of contempt.

  I was only her ‘successor’ after all.

  She blinked at me, surprised. We were supposed to follow the pre-determined motions of the ceremony. No Initiate Mistress had ever dictated their own version of the event. She looked flustered, but only for a moment. She would never allow herself to appear weak by not being able to handle a few off-hand questions.

  “I suppose . . . . I can indulge a few,” she replied slowly, glaring at me with those icy blue eyes.

  A commotion broke forth in the crowd as they stared at one another in their confusion, but also with some intrigue. Everyone liked a good bit of gossip to report the next day.

  I turned to face my mother. “Lady Everett, my grandmother, your mother, and the Mistress before you, was considered one of the greatest designers of her time, was she not?” I continued quickly before she could respond, “She was accredited with building the famed and magnificent airships. The airships that you had destroyed. Is that correct?”

  Thunder rumbled above us again, its sound curling out across the sky, making its presence as a witness known.

  She looked at me with hostile eyes, their color seeming to crystalize into hardened quartz.

  “That is correct,” she replied cautiously. “We not only provide for,
but also protect our citizens. The airships were considered a threat to our safety, so they were justly expunged.”

  “You mean to say that they were a threat to the Ladies and the Council?” I continued, pressing my luck. “Leaders are only as good as the fear they instill into their constituents. Heaven forbid what those airships might have found.”

  Gasps all around could be heard for my audacity and yet I continued, “Tell me Mother, what great designs have you created lately?”

  I had struck a nerve. I could tell as her nostrils reflectively flared then relaxed as she resumed her calm facade.

  “Well, that is a silly question.” She grinned, thinking she had the advantage. “The Ladies designed the grandest and most efficient fortifications for the Wall yet, providing a lifetime of security because of it.” She looked back at me with a wry smile, thinking she still retained the upper hand.

  I stared right back at her. The rain continued its steady drumming above us. “I believe what you meant to say was a lifetime of imprisonment.”

  She had fallen right into my trap. Judging by the look on her face she had realized her mistake.

  More grunts and angry chatter circled in the crowd in front of us.

  “You . . .” She stumbled on her words. “. . . are very bold, Daughter. There lies a thin line between boldness and foolishness. Try not to confuse the two.” She looked at me, her eyes narrowing.

  A few heads nodded their approval behind us, coming mainly from the Council’s table.

  I knew I couldn’t keep this up for much longer. I needed to continue before they stopped me. The sound of the rain had become so persistent I had to raise my voice to an uncomfortable level. Tonight, however, I spoke more confidently than ever before.

  “And how many of your earliest designs were overthrown by the Council? Is this why you’ve become so lack luster with your creations? Do you even have any real power after all?” My voice hardened. “Do you Mother?”

  “Stop this nonsense, Lily,” she whispered to me through bared teeth.

  Ignoring her, I continued. “Logically, since logic is one of the founding principles you so adore, the so-called prestigious title of Mistress comes with only superficial power. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  More angry chatter erupted before us, but still, no one proceeded to stop me.

  “How blithely you speak treason, Lily Emerson,” Mother scolded me, her jaw tight. “I, however, know it is only the foolish talk of an adolescent girl. Perhaps you are not fit for such responsibility that comes with the role of being Mistress after all.”

  For the briefest of moments I could’ve sworn my mother was protecting me from something. The feeling left me just as quickly when she sneered at my expense, mouthing the word ‘hormones’ to the crowd.

  With one last protest, the sky cried out its final cracking warning before the rain steadied again into its familiar quiet chorus of reassurance. With a calm that quelled my nerves and a fire that remained kindled within, I faced the crowd and the Council once more.

  A sudden and rash idea formulated itself into the forefront of my mind. I took a deep breath, steadying my tone.

  “Your feelings regarding my capabilities matter not,” I said evenly. “For I, Lily Emerson, as governed by the Laws of Prosper, renounce the title of Mistress.”

  A mixture of shock and dumb confusion filled the faces of all those watching me.

  The locket that I had wrapped around my wrist suddenly fell into my palm. Its smooth contours gave me courage . . . and an idea.

  Nothing beneficial would come of me not accepting the title. The Council would still operate as they always had, and nothing would change for the citizens who were suffering at the hands of the unjust.

  If I did nothing after tonight, I would only be looked upon as the unruly, childish girl, who revoked her responsibility.

  To change the system, I needed something more. Something brave. Something . . . stupid.

  Staring openly into the crowd, I stood as tall and proud as I could, secretly palming the locket for strength—the memory of the broken automaton driving me forward.

  “I, Lily Emerson, shall instead volunteer my name into the Drawing for Sector 8. I will participate in the Barrage Tournament and, in doing so, shall wager my life to have the opportunity as victor to change the Law.”

  I had said the words. The words that were now binding.

  Silence ensued.

  Chapter 4

  Curious Beings

  The piercing sound echoed throughout the silent banquet hall long before I could register that my mother had indeed slapped me. Despite the sting, a slow worry twitched at my mouth. I was in serious trouble come Barrage day if I couldn’t even anticipate such a feminine strike to the face.

  Ignoring the hot embarrassment that flooded my cheeks, I took hold of my skirts, calmly turned away from my mother, and walked the length of the room toward the exit with as much dignity as I could muster. Yet I found myself having no control over the tears that sprung to my eyes from my mother’s left-handed disapproval.

  The last time I had ever truly cried was when my grandmother disappeared. I was only nine, and I had been devastated.

  “Oh yes, due to the distraction of your rude foolishness, I almost forgot to mention: Happy Nameday, dearest daughter,” Mother remarked to me from across the banquet hall, her face full of heat, though her voice devoid of any desperation. “I can only hope you’ll live long enough to see next year’s celebration.”

  I stopped momentarily to process the hurt intended in my mother’s words. I was used to receiving her disapproval, but this was worse than getting reprimanded in front of a room full of onlookers. This was the type of hurt that stung deep into my very core, leaking across any hope that I might’ve once had at having a relationship with my mother. I had seen this coming the moment I decided to speak my mind, but it was a wound for which I could never rightly prepare myself for.

  Once around the corner of the banquet hall and out of view, I picked up my skirts even higher and ran the rest of the way to my room, slamming the door behind me. My labored breathing was faster and heavier than I’d ever felt. Sliding down with my back against the door, I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to regain my composure. The green floral carpet beneath me, soft to my shaking fingers.

  I wasn’t going to cry. I wouldn’t allow it.

  I wasn’t going to pass out either. I could feel the whiteness creeping in from beyond the edges of my vision like an unwanted visitor. A childhood stalker. If I calmed down, it would soon pass. I’d be fine.

  Breathing slowly and deeply, I looked at the carpet as I tried to refocus my mind. The floral designs were mimicked in many of the dresses I was made to wear and even appeared in the curtains over my window, but never had I learned of their origins—which suddenly made me think of my grandmother’s journal.

  I scurried next to my bed and dug my fingers into the unnoticeable slice in the carpeting and raised the wooden plank below.

  Reaching inside, I sighed in relief as I felt the leather bound journal swipe across my fingertips. I removed it and opened it tenderly. Skimming through the pages, I looked upon sketches of individuals wearing primitive clothing who carried odd staff weaponry upon their backs, ruined cities of a time long past, an impressively bold looking woman who carried a flame within her hand. I turned the page, finding the image of another fearless female. Her untamed hair flowed behind her as she stood proud against the wind, her arms at her side, each hand firmly grasping the handle of an axe. I blinked, turning the page again, and looked upon the illustrations that had always fascinated and soothed me the most.

  The trees.

  An Architect’s journal always consisted of straight, no-nonsense lines. This page however had curves and spirals that matched the floral patterns of my room. Cylindrical brown trunks with branches alive with greenery reached and spiraled towards the sky.

  The only person who had ever spoken to me of the trees was my grandmo
ther. These illustrations in her journal—she’d told me long ago—depicted trees from before the time of the Breaking—the birth of City Prosper. Grandmother Everette, always the free spirit, divulged that these trees gathered together and created vast forests that could even block out the power of the sun.

  I blinked, remembering her leaning in close to my ear, making me feel adventurous. “Lily, darling? Did you know the trees breathe life into each and every one of us? That without them . . . we too would soon wilt away?”

  To this day, I still do not understand what she had meant. As a child, I had asked her, and she simply smiled. She then asked me if I was alive. Confused by her question, I had looked myself up and down and nodded uncertainly. She had laughed and bent close to my face, pinching my right dimple.

  “Then so are they,” she whispered in my ear.

  I hold that day clearly in my mind. After what she had told me, she had winked, smiled, and kissed my cheek before finally swiveling on her heels in search of that day’s Council meeting. It was her last Council meeting. That was the day she disappeared.

  I should’ve known better. A Mistress’s journal holds the entirety of their life’s work. They are incomplete without it.

  My grandmother, like myself, was a curious being. And in Prosper, curiosity could get you killed. I had hoped I would be better at hiding it than she was. Tonight however put a halt to that attempt. My beliefs were out in the open.

  And now? Now I had to fight to keep them.

  ~

  I expected them to come for me, but they never did. Having packed a few essentials into my satchel which I now had sitting ready at the foot of my bed, I waited.

  The Council would not look kindly upon the little scene I had caused. But now, under the Barrage’s jurisdiction, I shouldn’t need to fear the assassin’s knife to the ribs or a garroting wire to the throat.

  As a participant in the Barrage, my fate now lay in the Magistrate’s hands . . . an uncertain enough fate, to be sure, but not one the Council dared contradict with their own brand of justice.