by Kerstin Hall
He had been quiet for most of the walk, but when I caught his eye, he smiled.
“So, how are your spurlegs?” he asked.
“Spurwings.”
“Right. Those.”
I tucked my hands into my pockets. “Not too bad. The adults have finished breeding, so they’re ready to be harvested, and the new eggs will hatch in about two weeks. We’re thinking of increasing the temperature of their habitat; see if it makes them grow larger.”
He tilted his head to one side. “Really?”
“It worked surprisingly well for the waxbeetles, but only when we also lowered the heat during their egg and larval stages. That seems crucial; my theory is that the eggs are usually dormant and buried until the end of winter, so early development occurs more naturally in colder conditions.”
“Like they hibernate?” he said mildly.
“Exactly! It’s quite funny; you should see when they hatch.” I found myself laughing. “All of them worm over to the west-facing trays to catch the afternoon sunshine. The manager thought they’d escaped the first time it happened—it was hilarious. And then, six weeks later, they’re almost twice as large as their parents. So we try it with the next generation: same results. Obviously we can’t let them get too hot either, because that seems to interfere with their reproduction, and they become strangely aggressive.” I paused, and my face grew warm. “Feel free to stop me at any time.”
Finn broke into a sly grin. “So do you name them?”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Make me. How many generations can you breed in a season?”
I tried to look resentful. Unfortunately—as Finn was well aware—I also really wanted to keep talking.
“For the waxbeetles, one, and the spurwings are even slower. But tiris beetles? Two to three.” I resisted the urge to launch into a second lecture on the subject of the grubs’ favourite foodstuffs. “There are a lot of variables.”
“And how much bug jam does that amount to?”
I made a face. “Preserve, thank you very much.”
“Okay fine. How much ‘insect preserve’?”
“We want to fill the Major East warehouse within the next three months.”
He glanced at me, noticing the change in my voice. “Will you?”
“There are a lot of variables.”
“Like how quickly the other food runs out?”
“Well … yeah.” I hesitated, then made an effort to sound more positive. “But some of the harvest is still coming in. And the boreholes are now operational in the Fields, which means we might be able to rescue most of the grain.”
“El.”
I came to the mouth of the Agate Bridge. A steady stream of people flowed past me, heading for the stairs down to Pearl Boulevard. I turned to Finn, and his expression was grave, his usual easy carelessness gone.
“Maybe four months?” I said. “Until our stockpiles are completely depleted. We have enough drinking water for six months, assuming that there’s no rain at all.”
He flinched. “That bad?”
“We’ve been saving for almost a year. It’s just … there are so many people to feed.”
Finn grimaced. “But then why aren’t we rationing? How can Ceyrun possibly afford”—he swung his arms wide to encompass the Moon Tide market below us—“all of this?”
Pearl Boulevard was a riot of music and colour. Hundreds of people flooded the road, shopping, talking, watching entertainers tumble and sing and recite crude jokes, modelling for street artists, arguing about prices. Costumes, children, pork fat sizzling in frying pans, hand-embroidered scarves and shirts stained with wine, hawkers shouting, the smell of spiced lamb, smoke from open fires, shrieks of laughter, and in every direction the festival spread and continued, more chaos and more abundance.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “It’s complicated. Political.”
“So the Council is just going to sit on their hands?”
I made a noncommittal gesture.
“What, you support them?”
“Finn, can we not do this? What I think is irrelevant anyway.”
His expression darkened. “So what’s the plan; they just wait until people are actually starving—”
“It’s not that simple—”
“—and then sit in their mansions and feed on the corpses?”
I lost my breath for a second. Finn instantly realised he had made a mistake; he paled and unconsciously raised his hand like he wanted to pull his words back. I turned away from him.
“Oh, okay,” I muttered.
“I’m sorry, I never meant—”
“No, of course not.” My voice was hard and flat. I crossed the bridge and started down the stairs. Finn had to break into a jog to catch up with me. “That’s just how your friends talk. Of course it rubs off.”
“What … what do you mean?”
I snorted, lengthening my stride.
“El, come on. You know I wasn’t talking about you. Why are you so angry?”
“I’m always angry. And by the way, the first food regulations are coming into effect this week. Feel free to pass that along.”
“What are you—”
“Eater, enough.” I rounded on him. “How stupid do you think I am, Finn? You think I don’t notice whenever you start plying me for information?”
“Wait, what? I wasn’t!”
“Yeah, of course. You’re just really interested in beetles.” To my dismay, my voice cracked. Finn reached for my arm, and I stepped back.
“I get it.” I waved him away, skin crawling. “I get it, I really do. You want revenge for your parents. You want justice and equality and all the rest, everything you feel that the Sisterhood denies you. I know that. But I’m telling you now: if the Order falls, the city will starve.”
He shook his head urgently. “No, you’ve got it wrong. That’s not what it’s about; I’m only involved because I want to help you.”
I couldn’t help it, I laughed at him. “What, by getting your friends to murder me?”
He stepped closer and spoke quickly. “Listen. One of the Resistance’s key goals is bringing an end to Renewals. El, I know how much they hurt you. If we can—”
“If you can what?” My voice was too loud; nearby civilians looked toward us in surprise. I dropped it down to a furious whisper. “Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter who’s in charge. Aytrium will still need Sisters, which means we will still need daughters, and no man is going to be stupid enough to fuck us voluntarily. So what do you propose? There is no way out for me.”
Finn stared at me, mouth slightly open, as if he was seeing me for the first time. His expression only made me angrier—I didn’t want to feel guilty, or awkward, or have to reassure him. We were supposed to be having fun.
“I need space.” Bitterness curdled on my tongue. “Meet me at the Candle in an hour.”
“El…”
“No, I just … I can’t deal with this right now, okay?” I backed away from him. “Please?”
His shoulders slumped. “Of course.”
The crowds swallowed me up. I stopped to buy a cup of spiced wine at a stall. The merchant thrust it out to me, sending hot alcohol sloshing over the rim. I drained half of it in one go. My throat burned.
For a little while, until I had regained my composure, I could not be around Finn. My fingernails bit into my palm. His expression of shock was seared onto my mind. He wanted to help me? He wanted to bring an end to Renewals? The idea would have been laughable if it didn’t also make me feel sick to my stomach. I didn’t understand how he could possibly be so naïve.
Not to mention that he had come within a hair’s breadth of actually calling me a corpse eater. Clearly that was how they all talked behind closed doors. But him thinking it, saying it—that cut deeper.
Coming out tonight had been a mistake anyway. I wandered down the boulevard alone. Moon Tide, the Festival of Lovers. What a joke.
I drained the rest of my wine and left
the cup in one of the collection bins for vendors to retrieve. The stars were dim through the haze of smoke and light; a fat yellow moon climbed the sky above Martyrium Hill. I cut across to Arbour Street, where smaller stalls and blankets were set out on the pavements. A group of children performed a pantomime on the corner, supervised by a flock of parents.
Someone bumped into me. I apologized reflexively.
“Everything all right?” asked Osan.
“I thought you weren’t following me anymore.”
He nodded toward the children. “Correct. I’m with the boss. And the smaller boss.”
“Oh.” I recognised Jaylen in a brown Cat costume, apparently fully committed to her role. Her face was painted white and orange, and she had a pair of cardboard ears. “That’s nice.”
“The word you’re looking for is ‘dull.’ You seem down.”
The child playing the role of the Haunt flexed his fingers into claws. The others mimed terror, clasping their faces and rushing to the opposite side of the set.
“One of those days.”
“Fight with Kamillian?”
I glanced away from the performance. “I didn’t realise that you knew Millie.”
“Not especially well, but we used to move in the same circles.”
For some reason, I found the idea unsettling. Like the different parts of my life were colliding, when all I wanted was to keep everything separate and contained.
“No. I haven’t spoken to her since your lecture.”
“Hm. I made the assumption that you and her…”
I shook my head. “We’re friends. And she’s my counsellor.”
“Then you had a fight with someone else?”
“Her brother, actually.”
Osan’s eyes widened fractionally. “Ah. That would be Finn, right?”
“Yeah.” A breeze tugged at my hair. I wrapped my arms around my chest. “Honestly, it wasn’t a fight so much as him standing there while I yelled at him.”
“Did he deserve it?”
I rubbed my temples. “Not entirely.”
“And that’s why you look like a kicked dog?”
“Why thank you, Osan. You’re making me feel much better.”
He laughed. “Hey, at least you didn’t try to throw him over a balustrade.”
“For the last time, that wasn’t intentional.”
“But I definitely deserved it.”
I sighed.
“Cut yourself some slack.” He nudged me. “Apologise. Make amends to your friend. It’s better than beating yourself up about it.”
“I already have a counsellor, you know.” The pack of Cat children danced around the Haunt. “Besides, I don’t know what to say to him.”
The pantomime ended and the audience applauded. I watched Jaylen as she bowed.
“You’ll work it out.”
Rhyanon hurried over to her daughter, smiling. Jaylen, eyes wide, asked something. Probably whether her performance had been satisfactory. Rhyanon swept her into a hug.
Osan scratched his head. “I shouldn’t ask, but you and Finn?”
I gave him a hard look. “I’m a Sister.”
“So it’s like that.” To my surprise, he gestured regret. Swiftly and formally, as if he were a member of the Order.
I negated his apology with my own hasty gesture. My face felt hot. “No need for that.”
“It must be difficult for you. Is it only men?”
“No, I like women fine. Just … It doesn’t matter. Don’t tell Rhyanon about any of this, okay? She already has enough ammunition.”
“I won’t.” He smiled slightly. “She likes you, by the way.”
“She likes using me.”
“Well, that too.” He watched Jaylen and Rhyanon walk toward the food stalls on Pearl Boulevard. “I need to go. Take care, all right?”
“I will. And thanks.”
“Anytime.”
The conversation had left me calmer, although my sadness persisted. I would apologise to Finn, and then maybe we could just go home. I wandered on down Arbour Street, past jewellers and sweetmakers, merchants hawking timepieces, metal finches and lizards in glass baubles, switchblades with carved handles, enamel bowls. A vendor sold painted wind stones; she waved a wooden fan over the hollowed pebbles, and they produced a reedy whistling.
The smoke of burning sandalwood and rue wafted through the air. Over the heads of the crowd, I could see flaming effigies of the Eater’s enemies rising from the ground. Teams of Oblates dragged the flaming icons upright, and the civilians cheered. Straw and hard-baked mud with crude, painted faces, each figure had the mark of the heretic scored into its chest. A Haunt burned between the renegade Sister and the Denier; the lurid features of the Tempter smouldered beside the Thief. Their bodies were adorned with emblems of their sins: bare bones for the Haunt, woven heretic symbols for the Denier, crude wooden phalluses for the Tempter, coins imbedded in the clay flesh of the Thief.
I coughed on the smoke, and edged closer. Six Enforcers stood to sharp attention in front of the pyres. The heat must have been uncomfortable on their backs; I could see sweat beading their hairlines. They held their hands out in front of them, like beggars, and civilians passed over tokens to be cast into the fires. Beyond the effigies, a queue of worshippers took turns to kneel at the plinth before the Eater’s icon.
I joined the line to pay my respects. The Eater’s opinion of me was unlikely to be favourable at the moment. I seemed, after all, to be working for a sect that intended to undermine the existing Order. Not to mention my attempts to escape Renewal duty. And, well, there was also Finn.
“May your mercy shelter me,” I murmured as I reached the front of the queue. I knelt and gestured reverence. “May you teach me humility and grace.”
I stood and moved out of the way of the man behind me. Over the crackle of burning wood, I heard the bells ringing. I should head to the Candle.
I am not sure what about her caught my attention. It might have been that her bearing struck me as out of place: the easy assurance of her posture, the restraint of her movements. She wore civilian clothing, nothing extravagant, although maybe a little warmer than the weather warranted.
Reverend Celane walked quickly over the Orchard Road footbridge and disappeared into the Lokon District of Major East.
I frowned. What was a Councilwoman, the Chief Archivist of the Department of Memories, doing all alone in the low districts? Usually Reverends attended private functions on Moon Tide Eve. I was sure it was her too; that elegantly styled hair was a giveaway.
How very convenient, then, that I was headed in the same direction.
The road narrowed beyond the bridge. I sidled through the stream of people, standing on my toes to see above their heads. At the corner, Celane stopped. I could see her face in profile; she was scanning the crowd. Looking for someone. I averted my gaze toward a stall selling candied plums and hardboiled sugar sweets. Had to be careful.
When I glanced up again, Celane was speaking to a woman with short, slicked-back hair. The Reverend’s expression was impatient. She shook her head and repeated something emphatically.
I edged closer. The newcomer had her back to me, but looked like a regular citizen. She rested her hands on her hips. I couldn’t see any sign of a Sisterhood tattoo on her wrist, and Celane’s arms were covered by her long sleeves. Interesting. The woman motioned toward the city wall.
Over the noise of the crowds, I would never be able to hear their conversation. I slowed, then wandered over to the leatherworks stall on the other side of the street. Whatever Celane’s business, she meant to keep it quiet. Councilwomen had every resource and luxury on Aytrium available to them, so she must have been after something that was either illegal or embarrassing.
“You like it?” the vendor asked me.
“What?”
“The bag.”
I picked up a satchel at random, still watching Celane out of the corner of my eye. “Very nice. Although I’m not
sure I need one.”
The stranger walked off toward Pearl Boulevard. Damn. Celane watched her go with narrowed eyes, then turned and headed deeper into Lokon.
“Ah, but you can’t have one of such good quality, surely?” The vendor had noted the tattoo on my wrist.
“Probably not,” I agreed, and set it down. “Unfortunately, I don’t really need a bag, and—”
“Thirty set.”
Celane was already at the end of the street. “No, thank you.”
“Come on, you’re with the Order. It’s not like you can’t afford it.” There was a mean glint in the man’s eye. He held out the bag. “Hard times are coming. Some of us are going to struggle more than others.”
I wavered, and he saw my weakness.
“Thirty set, Sister,” he repeated.
“I’m only an Acolyte,” I said. “I don’t earn much.”
“Ah, but that’s all relative, isn’t it?”
Celane had disappeared, but I might be able to catch up to her if I was quick. “I’m sorry, I really am. But I can’t justify it.”
“Twenty-five set, then, but only because I like you.”
It was as if I was talking to a brick wall. I shook my head and turned away. “No, thank you.”
“You think that you won’t need the goodwill, girl?” he said, louder. “Think you’re better than the rest of us? You’ll see.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He smirked. “Buy the bag, and you never need to find out.”
“She said ‘no thank you.’”
Finn rested his hand against the small of my back. I started; I had not heard him approach.
“And while she might not be a high-ranking member of the Order,” he continued pleasantly, “she does have the power to revoke your trading licence.”
Oh Eater. “I won’t!”
The vendor sized Finn up, suddenly guarded. “Who are you?”
“Finn Vidar. Come on, El, you were supposed to buy me a drink.”
I let him steer me away from the stall. I could feel the vendor’s eyes raking my spine.