Taru, Synch and I live in a small house with a few children from the orphanage and a local family. Synch is different since the containment, since his mother was taken into custody.
Synch’s files reached the satellites and were transmitted to the GHO and Planet Watch. President Liu of the Planetary Alliance Commission and his counsel will need them to run a proper trial. That is, if they aren’t corrupt. The Minister of Comms was taken into custody and is being transported to the PAC now, on the Northern District’s only air-transport. General Shankar made sure of that. We wait. In hiding.
The tragedy in Central and the Narrows has already been cast across as many comms as we can, to warn to other Provinces across the world with similar nightmares: the loss of life, the testing, the Fever. Not to mention their numerous attempts to find a solution to the impossible problem: Who will survive in this world, how, and who will decide? For our protection and theirs, we give the Governor’s scientist our blood and genetic sequences, so they can make their own vaccine if the Z Fever arrives here.
But there’s also a backlash, anger, and confusion from the masses. I don’t have space to think about it yet. It’s like a looming hurricane, just around the corner. We hear snippets of Info-Runs from Central’s new leadership about how the Central District is in transition. How a rebel group destroyed the Ring and Solace, and other garbage. Lies, lies, and more lies.
Transition. Rebels. Blame.
The language Central uses kills me. You can’t soften the horror of exile with carefully chosen words. Homelessness is another nightmare just beginning. I avoid being alone with Taru, until one night she corners me in my small bedroom after the community dinner.
I hate the quiet. The stillness is stifling. “Masiji, she must’ve been in over her head, you know?” I say fidgeting with the one item in the room, a thick blanket. I try to fold it, but it’s asymmetrical and flops onto the floor instead.
“Shiv,” she says picking up the blanket, “that’s not how it went. I saw her talking to the Minister. She was all in.”
“She was lying.” I grab the blanket back.
“When?” Taru asks.
“Then.”
“Sister, she lied to us.” Her words fall on me like lead bullets.
“No.”
“She was like your mum. No way you’ll really see the full truth.” She folds the blanket and puts it far out of my reach. Then she takes my shoulders in her hands and forces me to stop moving, stop buzzing, but I can’t focus.
“Masiji couldn’t have . . .” I say, my words a whisper.
“She sent us to our death. Made a deal with the SA government to take us in for Fever testing. She built us just to save them in the end.”
“Stop it!” I yell. “You don’t know that! She said she wanted us to be in Central, not them. I still don’t believe she was all bad.”
The silence divides us further. It’s snowing outside again, and the walls of the small room feel like they’re shrinking on us. I want to go on a walk, so I put on my robes and the jacket they gave me.
“I know, behanji. I know what you did.” Her voice is a knife.
“Sister, I’ve done so much. But everything I’ve done has been for our survival.”
“You sound strangely like Masiji. Like President Ravindra. Like President Liu. Everyone seems to want to make decisions for others. But somehow they all just end up hurting more people.”
“I’m not like them. Don’t say that.” My heart breaks hearing her words, knowing the truth.
“Ashiva, you were wrong. You made me afraid. I learned in containment that I carry no diseases. All that time I imagined that at the slightest touch, my skeleton would shatter into a million pieces. Do you know what that’s like? Living with so much fear? Fear of being touched? I thought you were protecting me, but you just needed me to be broken. To feel superior, strong. I’m not broken. I am strong. Without you.”
“Taru, I was so scared when they broke you when you were a child. You almost died. I didn’t know what to say to keep you safe, to make everyone stay away from you, so I lied. All I ever wanted was for you to live.”
She shakes her head at me. “You wanted to control something. If I lived, the world lived. I get it. But this isn’t about me, it’s about you. Don’t do me any favors, Ashiva. I don’t want your help anymore. I am my own hope.”
When she leaves me, I pray it’s not forever. I cry, alone, for the first time. I’m relieved at not having to hide the lies anymore, but I’m overwhelmed with how I’m going to fix everything again. Maybe I won’t have to do it alone. Either way, this world will keep falling and we will always keep fighting. I’m proud, so very proud of Taru. Even through my embarrassment, guilt, and pain, I smile through the tears. She’s beautiful.
When I speak with Synch alone, on a midnight walk under the stars, I wonder if he thinks about his old life in the Solace Towers.
Instead I ask, “Have you seen snow before?”
“No, not before we came here. It’s amazing.”
I nod and gaze hard at the outlines of mountains around us in the moonlight. We look at the Alliance Space Colony spinning in the shadow of the moon. The distant look in his expression sets me on edge, but I try to ignore it.
He smiles, acknowledging me. “I need to find him. My uncle. General Shankar told me Kanwar Uncle’s plans will help the Red Hand. That they’ll be useful in bargaining with the PAC.”
“I’ll help too.”
“Ashiva?” He reaches out and holds my flesh hand. His eyes are strained.
“Yeah, Synch?” I wish I could read his mind.
“Um, I just wanted to tell you thank you. For . . .”
“Just shut up,” I say and lean over, and kiss him on the lips.
Glossary of Terms
The Children of Without
A note on language: India has over twenty-two core languages with hundreds of dialects. Many words in this book have been borrowed and evolved from Punjabi, Hindi, and Urdu. As the world of this novel is a fictional place based on a mash-up of some of the diverse cultures in South Asia, this seemed appropriate. Also, the Romanized version of Sanskrit-based words have infinite spellings. So, I compromised and used what was familiar to me personally.
Achcha – well, good, okay
Arre kya – Hey, mate?!
Bachcha – child
Bas – enough
Behan – sister, -ji big sister
Baitho – have a seat
Beti – daughter
Bhel – bhelpuri is a popular snack with puffed rice, vegetables, and savory tamarind sauce
Bhai – brother
Chalega – it’ll work, it’ll do, good enough
Chalo – let’s go, hurry up, come on
Chota/choti – little (m/f)
Chup – quiet
Daadaji – paternal grandfather
Daal – dish made of lentils, with a soup-like consistency
Daaku – daku (singular) bandits
Desi – local; a person of Bangladeshi, Indian or Pakistani descent
Dhat – crap
Dhoti – fabric tied around the waist and covering the legs loosely
Goonda – rogue, hoodlum, gangster
Haan or haanji – yes, yes formal
Haraami – bastard
Inshallah – if God wills it
Ise rok – right now
Jalebis – jalebi (singular); donut-like dessert
Kachara – garbage
Kurta – tunic
Lal Hath – Red Hand
Ladki – girl
Langar – free vegetarian meal for everyone, usually served in a gurdwara (Sikh temple)
Lomri – fox
Maa – mother
Machchar – mosquito
Maharaja – ruler, king; literally “great king”
Masiji – mother’s sister, formal
Murkh – fool
Nahi – no
Pagal – crazy
Par
atha – flat, round, stuffed bread cooked on a griddle
Puttar – son
Rajaiyan, rajai (singular) – quilt
Raashifal – horoscope
Roti – flat, round bread cooked on a griddle
Sadhu – holy man
Sahib – sir
Salam – Greetings
Seva – service
Shaanti – peace
Shukriya/Shukran – thank you
Svachchh – spotless
Thik hai – okay
Ullu – fool
Ullu ka patha – dumb; literally “son of an owl”
Veerji – older brother
Wahe guru – mantra in the Sikh faith meaning god
Walla – wala, wallah, is one who does or sells the thing denoted
Yaar – dude, friend, mate
Zara rastha dijiye – give way, or coming through
Works Cited:
Delacy, Richard. Tuttle Pocket Hindi Dictionary: Hindi-English, English-Hindi. Tuttle, 2017.
Hares, W. P. An English-Punjabi Dictionary. Asian Educational Services, 1998.
Acknowledgments
Writing a book is a singular process. However, it takes a team of people to publish a book. I have many people to thank.
Maksim, when you are old enough to read this book, I hope that you will know that this is what Mommy was doing when she went “to work” all those days. I hope you know it’s because I believe in you, in the future. You give me hope. You’re our world. I love you so much.
David, thank you for bringing laughter to our discussions about the perilous worlds I build. None of this would be possible without you. Your belief in me, in us, and the fierce confidence in what I’m doing even on the days where I feel like I can’t find a word, is everything.
Eric Smith, my literary agent extraordinaire, thanks for finding me during #DVpit and for taking me and this book on. You are a fearless advocate for the most precarious stories and I am thankful for your support every single day. Thanks to P.S. Literary and specifically Curtis Russell for your counsel. Thanks to Sarah Guan, astute editor at Erewhon Books for believing in this book and asking the hard questions that made it what it is today. Thanks to Martin Cahill, Erewhon publicist, and Liz Gorinsky, publisher for enthusiasm about this project. Also, thank you to the stellar team at Erewhon including Jillian Feinberg, Cassandra Farrin, Kelsy Thompson. Thanks also to Lakshna Mehta for your keen eye and for noticing my reference about the Rani of Jhansi.
Thank you to my parents, Kiki and Kanwar Jit Singh Chadha, who have always believed in me. Whose passion for science and nature have inspired me to see a world that will be inclusive and possible. You both inspire me every day. My brother, Ranjit, and sister in-law Kavita, thanks for supporting me always. Thank you to my in-laws, Michael and Deborah, whose enthusiasm is infectious and whose kindness is unparalleled. To Dani and Steve, for your endless support. And to the future children of our families: Ava and Shane, and Layla and Harper, you are all going to do great things, of that I’m certain.
To my dear friend and colleague, Dr. Robert Buchwald at the University of Colorado, Boulder, who spent many hours discussing viruses, flora, and fauna in this world. I appreciate your friendship and generosity. To Dr. Paul Strom, I am thankful for your friendship and for many engaging conversations about the ethics of technology. To all of my colleagues at the University of Colorado, Boulder Honors Program and Honors Residential Program what a great place to work. To my students in the Honors Writing Club through the years—I’m rooting for all of you! Keep writing.
My critique partner, Christine Macdonald, thank you for carefully reading early drafts, for rushing to read late edits, and for always being my favorite person at writerly events. Rocky Mountain SCBWI, for offering an open and inclusive environment to explore studying the craft of YA and children’s literature. And of course, the Big Sur in the Rockies Conference—where I received feedback on early chapters and connected with talented friends Susan Gose and Adra Benjamin.
And finally, to my debut group with too many names to list, you all are so important in my career and sanity—I adore the entire 21ders team.
About the Author
Olivia Kaur Chadha began her writing career with a stint in Los Angeles writing comic book scripts for Fathom. She has a PhD in creative writing from Binghamton University and a master's in creative writing from the University of Colorado, Boulder. Her research centers on exile, folklore and fairy tales, and the environment. She is first-generation American of Punjabi Sikh and Latvian/German descent and lives in Colorado with her family and two very odd dogs.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
RISE OF THE RED HAND
Copyright © 2021 by Olivia Chadha
Edited by Sarah T. Guan
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Erewhon Books
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Erewhon books are available at special discounts when purchased in bulk for premiums and sales promotions as well as for fund-raising or educational use. Special editions or book excerpts can also be created to specification. For details, send an email to [email protected].
Epigraph from You Will Hear the Thunder, Anna Akhmatova, translated by D. M. Thomas, Copyright © Penguin UK, 1985.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2020946660
ISBN 978-1-64566-015-6 (ebook)
Cover art by Rashed AlAkroka
Cover text design by Dana Li
Author photograph by Natalie Pigliacampo
Printed in the United States of America
First US Edition: January 2021
Rise of the Red Hand Page 31
