Every time I see our oak, I think of the camphor tree in the Underground, which we once thought was the last surviving tree in the world, now burned to a crisp. Really, there are billions of trees on the planet. The Earth had been healed long ago, or was never as damaged as we were told in Eden. Yet in this green world, I still mourn the destruction of one camphor tree.
Harmonia is about openness, about community, about living as one with the natural world. This is reflected in our dwellings. They are made of glass in part to remind us that none of us is separate from the others, that there is no such thing as secrecy. We are equal, and anyone who glances in any of the houses can see that no one has more than anyone else. A curtain shields our bathing and sanitary facilities from prying eyes, but beyond that our lives are open books.
I look up into our tree house, and see my mother on the second of three stories. I pause in a clearing, and when she sees me she runs down the spiral walkway that connects the levels of our house. The top floor is mine, the middle floor is hers, and the lowest level is for welcoming company. There are no dining or cooking facilities. All our meals are communal, another way in which we’re like the people of the Underground, the hidden second children who forged their own secret community.
Mom greets me with a furious scowl. “Rowan, you’re late! Where were you? Do you know how worried I . . .”
She can’t keep the angry act up for long, and we both break into a laugh at the same time as she pulls me into a hug. Our dynamic has totally changed since I came here. She used to devote all her energy to keeping me sheltered and safe. She was always paranoid that I’d do something to put myself or the family at risk. In her heart, though, all she ever wanted for me was freedom. Now, finally, she says she can give me the wings I need to soar.
After the first few days, she started pushing me to explore my new world. She wanted me to have the experiences I was denied living as a secret member of society, hiding in our house all my life. Now she encourages me to go out, to run through the woods, to climb, to swim . . . No matter how dangerous it is, she doesn’t seem to worry. “Life is about risk,” she tells me. “Live life to its fullest!”
I love that the worry lines that perpetually marred her face in Eden have been erased. She’s so happy here, even with what she’s lost. She lives in the moment now, grateful for the things that remain.
We sit together on a low log that has been sanded down to a comfortable perch. “Are you excited about tonight?” she asks.
“More nervous about tomorrow,” I answer with a laugh. Mom is taking the test along with me. The test happens only once a year. The natural-born take it when they turn seventeen. Anyone from Eden takes it in the next cycle after they arrive.
“It seems strange to have a celebration the night before a test,” I say. “How can any of the new candidates enjoy themselves? I don’t want to eat too much, and I really should go to bed with the sun. How else can I rank high enough to become an elder?”
“Oh, sweetie, it doesn’t matter what score you get! I know, it’s a matter of pride. But it’s not really that important as long as you finish. And there isn’t really any doubt that you’ll do that. Why, someone told me that a few years ago a woman in her seventies took the Passage Test.”
“Really?” I ask, amazed. No one will tell me much about it, but it is rumored to be an extremely arduous test. I can’t help but be worried. I’ve asked Carnelian over and over again what the test will involve, but even he, one of my best new friends, won’t tell me any details. He won’t even tell Mira! All we know is that we go out into the wilderness, and—hopefully—come back. Carnelian says it is the way every citizen proves their devotion to the land, to nature, and fully shows their willingness to be a part of this world.
Then I remember other things I’ve heard. “But someone told me that people have died during the test.”
She swallows before answering. “Yes . . .” she drawls before breaking off and looking past me into the shadowed woods.
“And that it’s mostly people who grew up inside Eden.”
“But imagine what most of them are like! Soft, coddled people—and you’re neither. They may have proven to EcoPan that they have the mindset necessary to make a good member of society outside of Eden, but life out here needs a dedicated body and adaptive mind as well as good intentions.”
“It feels like just another EcoPan test,” I grouse.
She opens her mouth to speak, then presses it closed again.
“We’re not going to have this argument again tonight, are we?” I ask wearily. Mom was the one who gave me the journal written by EcoPan’s creator, Aaron Al-Baz. We both know that he was a maniac (however good he believed his intentions to be) who all but wiped out humanity to start the world anew. And EcoPan was his creation. Mom is firmly of the opinion that the vast computer program called the EcoPanopticon has transcended its creator. She thinks that humans might be corrupt, but the duty of EcoPan is to save the world, humans included. She’s had to struggle a lot with this, I know, but after I told her everything that happened to me since she was gone, and everything I discovered, she was more convinced than ever that EcoPan is benevolent, and it is only humans who ruin things.
But I’ve been inside the Center, at the mercy of the experiments they conduct in there. I had my identity taken from me. EcoPan allowed that, even if it was a human doing it. We are the computer program’s toys and playthings, its test subjects. Its slaves. EcoPan is powerful enough to create a paradise. Instead it made a prison. If it is a god, it is a heartless one.
My mom realizes we shouldn’t argue on this stressful, important night, and instead she leans her shoulder against mine reassuringly. “Whatever you feel about EcoPan, here in Harmonia it is no longer an issue for you. Out here, we’re free to govern ourselves.”
“But your son is still in there! How can you . . . ?”
“Rowan,” she cautions. “Do you have to wound me over and over? Don’t you think I mourn his loss? But to drive myself insane dreaming of the impossible—I just can’t do it, Rowan. He’s lost to us.”
I sigh. We’ve had this conversation many times before. I modify my argument and say, “But we still rely on some technology to make our homes, modify our crops, irrigate our fields, and dispose of our waste. We have power. It might be clean solar and wind power, but we still use technology.”
“Yes, but that’s . . .”
“What? If there are computers and circuits and bots, what can it be but EcoPan behind it all? We still haven’t fully escaped . . .”
“Hush.”
“No, why won’t you talk about this?” As much as I’ve learned about Harmonia, there are still many nagging questions. Most important, “Are we really free out here?”
“Of course we are,” she says, then smiles as someone approaches: Elder Night. We don’t have a president or king, but rather a council of elders who serenely and logically govern our peaceful village. I’ve seen Elder Night mediate the most benign disputes. One person wanted to switch tree houses, another petitioned to keep an orphaned baby squirrel she rescued for a pet. The move was granted after some negotiation that seemed to please both parties. However, the elder decided the squirrel had to be returned to the wild, although it might not survive, because our laws forbade keeping domestic animals. We cannot risk reviving the old ways where animals were treated as slaves, she said.
Frankly, I don’t see how keeping an adorable pet squirrel on your shoulder and feeding it hazelnuts would lead to animal slavery.
We have no implants here—natural-born outsiders never receive them, and newcomers from Eden have theirs disabled as soon as they are set free—yet there is always something or someone controlling us. I still can’t decide if that’s a good thing. I know how people messed up the world once. And EcoPan told me how, generation after generation, people inside Eden created bad governments and hurtful policies that diminished freedom and peace. EcoPan let them, to a point, then orchestrated a societal
reset, manipulating them through their implants so the whole city could start over.
Yes, people can be bad. But shouldn’t they be given a chance to be good, too? Don’t rules keep people from freedom, and if they are free, maybe they could be even better than the rigid rule-makers expect them to be?
These are big questions, and I bite them back as Elder Night approaches.
“Hello, my children,” she says, inclining her small, elegant head with its simple steel-gray coif. She must be nearly eighty, but she is lovely, the few lines on her face signs of character more than age. She always moves slowly, and at first I thought she must have some joint pain, but the more I watch her the more I think she is simply as unruffled as a pond on a windless day. When she took the newcomers to the mountains to see the wolves, she hiked at a steady, unrelenting pace few could match. She seems like an admirable, formidable woman.
“Elder Night,” Mom says, making the Sign of the Seed in front of her: a clenched fist rising, with fingers gradually spreading out like sprouting new tendrils in spring.
“Come now, Rosalba, no need to cling to the old superstitions of Eden.”
I startle at the sound of my mother’s name. Having spent almost all my life with only my brother, and my father typically absent, I’ve so rarely heard her called anything other than Mom. But she has such a beautiful name. It means white rose in some long forgotten language of pre-fail Earth.
“Here we don’t have to worship the idea of a seed,” the elder continues. “Here in nature, we instead devote our energies to actually nurturing those seeds.
“Forgive me, Elder,” my mom says meekly. “Old habits die hard.”
“But die they must, if you wish to be a full member of Harmonia. What a joy it is to have a mother and daughter join us at the same time, and test together.”
“We are honored to be here, and have the chance to prove ourselves.”
Elder Night nods again in a friendly way and is turning to go, when I blurt out a question. “Why are we ranked in the test?”
She freezes mid-turn, and I feel my mom stiffen beside me.
“I mean, I completely understand why we take the test,” I add, acknowledging that as a newcomer I have to yield to this new way of doing things. “But why will some people be ranked higher than others? I look around at Harmonia, and everyone seems to be equal. There are no circles like in Eden, no rich and poor. Everyone is given an equal amount of food and resources. What does ranking matter?”
Elder Night looks at me with a twinkle in her eyes, and extends her left hand, palm up. “On one hand it doesn’t matter at all, my child. We are all animals here, humble and equal parts of the ecosystem. But on the other hand . . .” She holds up her right hand, and points to the glow that emanates from our tree house as dusk is falling. “For Harmonia to survive, some of us have to be a little bit more than animals, if you see what I mean.”
“I think I do,” I reply. “You mean some people are allowed access to the technology that helps us lead simple lives with minimal impact on the environment.”
She nods. “And that allows most of our other citizens to live as much apart from technology as possible. You are quick-witted, Rowan. An asset to the community. But speak of it no more. If you rank high in the test, you will be burdened with certain responsibilities. Nothing onerous, and you can rest easy that you are helping Harmonia survive. If you pass but don’t do so well, no matter! Your life will be just as happy here.” She spreads her hands wide to encompass the slowly darkening forest we live in. “We are at home in the Earth, where we belong.” Her face is blissful. “What more could any of us want?”
She glides away, her lean, elegant body moving with ease over the rough terrain of roots and rocks.
Mom slaps her hands on her thighs and stands up. “Now you better get ready, young lady! The Wolf Moon festival starts in a couple of hours. Your clothes are a dirty mess, and frankly, you could do with a shower.” She fans the air in front of her nose and I giggle. “I’m going to go help set up the feast for tonight. I put out the pale green linen tunic for you, the one with the hummingbirds embroidered on it. That will look pretty for tonight.” She kisses me, tells me she’ll see me at the festival, and heads toward the center of the village.
I take a long shower, relaxing as the hot water soothes my muscles. This exemplifies the strange dichotomy of life in Harmonia. On one hand, this is natural springwater, as pure as can be. The soap is infused with flowers—pale lavender blossoms that remind me of Lark’s hair, and darker petals of verbena—so that my shower smells almost as good as Mira’s secret garden.
And yet contrasted against all that naturalness is the hot water itself. We’re supposed to live as much like animals as possible, but animals don’t get hot water. Unobtrusive solar cells give us electricity, hot water, refrigeration. Though we grow some of our own food, we also have things like grain, bread, tea, and olive oil that we don’t grow here. They are made somewhere else, and it can’t be close or I would have found it on my explorations. Who grows them, who moves them, and how, I don’t know. But I have my suspicion. I think there are bots growing our crops, making the extra things we need. And a transportation system to bring the food to us.
It’s all so frustrating, because I feel like if I knew more about all this, it might help me get to Eden and free my friends. But there’s no way to learn more until I get through the Passage Test. And even then, I might not be deemed worthy of privileged information like that.
I dry off, and slip into the outfit Mom picked out for me. The flowing tunic has two layers—a sheer, gauzy, embroidered pale green over a darker green. Together they flow beautifully, making the ruby-and-emerald-colored hummingbirds stitched into the gauze seem to flit over summer foliage. It’s new, and so lovely I’m almost afraid to wear for fear of getting it dirty. Well, it should be safe tonight. Tomorrow morning I’ll put on something old and practical that can withstand the rigors of the test.
The color and embroidery are the kind of thing that Lark would like, and I wish she was here to tell me I look pretty in it, or so I could let her borrow it. I blush at the thought. If the world were different we could live like that, a peaceful, placid world of sharing and laughter. She could have that here.
I smooth down the flowing layers of my tunic and leave the cloistered private area that blocks a small portion of the glass house from the rest of the world. Now I’m out on display, as we all are at almost every moment of the day.
The neighboring houses look like giant crystal confections, brightly reflecting the sinking sun. I can see dim shapes moving in the nearest ones, and I smile as I comb my wet hair, thinking of happy families that never have to worry about being monitored, or having any family member taken away.
Then a movement below my house catches my eye. Is it Mom coming back? No, I realize, peering closer—it’s Zander. He lounges against a tree and looks up at me insolently. His stare doesn’t waver. Even from up here I can see the malicious smirk on his face.
In that moment all the rage I felt when he insulted me and my mom earlier today surges up in me again. There were people around us before, and they stopped us, but no one is here to stop me now. I don’t care what the consequences are. I’m going to confront him. Maybe to yell at him. Maybe to force him to tell me why he hates me so much. Maybe to beat him senseless.
I slam down the comb and run down the stairs after him.
By the time I get down he’s gone. I catch a glimpse of him walking into the thicker woods, and sprint after him, my fists clenched in determination. Zander is going to answer for the hateful things he’s said and done.
I’M SO EAGER to confront Zander that I never see his two brothers. They are younger than him—one sixteen, the other fifteen—but they are close to his height and bulk. One of them tackles me from the side as I run, slamming into me with such force that I smack into the earth. I struggle, but he holds my legs while another one digs his knee in my belly. When I open my mouth to scream
, he shoves a ball of moss into my mouth and clamps his hand over it. I try to fight, try to roll to my side, spit it out, bite him . . . but the moss is choking me and the only way I can breathe is to lie still and breathe through my nose. I’m pinned down and helpless.
Then Zander saunters up.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here, my brothers?” he drawls. “A piece of garbage fouling this beautiful Earth. Stinking city scum.” He kneels next to me, exchanging an amused look with his siblings. Then he spits in my face.
I close my eyes just in time, but I can feel the disgusting slime sliding down my face. I’m almost glad for it. The rage that comes over me overwhelms everything else. If not for the fury, I’d be terrified.
“I’m going to explain something to you,” Zander says. “I’ll use small words, to make sure you understand.” His brothers laugh. “Tomorrow, you’re going to fail every test.”
I think he’s insulting me, and I squirm against my captors, shaking my head no, and at the same time wiping most of his spittle onto my shoulder. Then he goes on, and I realize what he means. “You’re going to fail on purpose. If you don’t, very bad things will happen to you.”
He leans his face very close to mine. “The elders favor people who EcoPan released. They think you must be something extra special to be picked out of a million people. They always grade the Eden scum easier than the natural-born. I intend to get the first rank, city trash. I’m going to show the elders exactly how superior the natural-born are. When I’m an elder, things will be different around here.”
I make an inarticulate grunting sound of rage. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking,” he says. “You’re thinking that just because you fail miserably, it won’t necessarily mean I get ranked in the first tier. And you’re right.” He closes the remaining small distance to whisper in my ear. “Mostly I’m doing this because I don’t like you.” He chuckles, and I shiver as his hot breath touches my ear.
I slam my head into his nose, and he falls on his backside as a red spray covers half his face. “You stinking little . . .” He calls me the most disgusting names.
Rebels of Eden Page 4
