It’s a gamble. A big property in the inner circles is rare, and it is entirely possible that a new family is living in our home. But I figure that it is also very likely that the uncertainty of our family status means it couldn’t be sold fast. Mom is legally dead, and I don’t officially exist, but my father is still the legal owner. The property probably hangs in legal limbo.
So when we turn the next corner, we make a run for it, evading the women and the man, and luckily not meeting anyone else until we reach my old family home.
And so it proves, for we find it looking unkempt and apparently unoccupied.
“Locked, of course,” Ash says.
“I can get in through the back door in the courtyard, or one of the windows there,” I say, and without further thought start scanning the wall of the back courtyard for handholds. I’ve climbed this wall thousands of times—from the inside. I’ve only rarely scaled it from the outside, and with the smoother, more decorative stone face it is a much trickier proposition. Luckily, we lived in the only house in Eden to be made from real stone. It was Aaron Al-Baz’s house almost a thousand years ago, after the Ecofail. All other buildings are made of synthetic material or solar power panels, almost impossible to climb.
I realize how much I’ve changed in the three months of living in the wilderness. Once, these straight, artificial lines were all I knew, and my mind and body had adapted to dealing with them. Now, after having lived in nature for even a little while, I rebel against all this regularity. Though it was harder at first, my body longs now to climb a tree, with its organic curves, its living skin, the hundreds of bugs and lichens living on its surface. Already, the city seems an alien place.
For a second I turn, my fingers curled around the first handhold, to make a joke to Mira about having a climbing competition. She always beat me up trees. Maybe this time I’d beat her up this wall. But when I look for her, she’s already six feet up the wall. There’s a huge grin on her face.
“I get to compete on your territory now,” she whispers, and with a low laugh I follow her . . . then pass her. This is a lot different from the trees and natural rock formations she’s used to.
“Rowan,” I hear a weak voice say below me when I’ve just passed Mira. It can be a climber’s doom to look down, but I can’t help it. Lark is coming awake . . . just barely. I see her large gray eyes looking up at me from Carnelian’s arms. “Aren’t you even going to say goodbye?”
My fingertips grip the cracks in the stone impossibly tight, and I have to close my eyes. A tear squeezes from each one. That was what Lark said to me on our first night out together, when she walked me home and was watching in amazement as I climbed the wall.
I didn’t say goodbye then. I said, Until tomorrow. Now I don’t say anything at all. I can’t even begin to guess what the future may hold for any of us. But my heart aches with longing for everything to work out.
I return my focus to the wall and manage to climb quickly, beating Mira, who curses at the unaccustomed method of climbing. For a moment we perch on the wall. I look toward the Center, where the green eye of the crystal dome glitters balefully in the night.
Much more quickly than the ascent, I scramble down into the courtyard and then hurry through the house to let everyone else in. As far as I can tell, no one has seen us go inside. We should be safe here until we figure out what to do.
It feels supremely strange having everyone here. I’ve never played hostess in my own home before, yet I find myself fussing, urging everyone to sit, get comfortable, apologizing for the mess and dust.
Carnelian lays Lark down on a sofa, and then everyone unconsciously moves away from her. They don’t know what to think about her. Even Ash and Lachlan, who know her well, are unsure.
Is it stupid that, with fresh bruises from her fingers around my throat, I still want to trust her?
Yes, says Yarrow. But I would expect nothing less from you.
The house has obviously been searched. Drawers are open, papers strewn in a haphazard way. They found my hidden room connecting with Ash’s. My clothes are pulled out, my mattress askew. I never had many possessions. In a pinch, it had to look like this room was a guest bedroom or storage area. So there couldn’t exactly be frilly skirts in the closet or feminine decorations on the walls. No one ever came here—with such a big secret, we naturally discouraged guests—but if they had, they would never have known a girl, a second child, lived here.
Still, it feels strange to be looking at my clothes, my small possessions. There is a scrap of paper on the floor, a pencil drawing. It is supposed to be a self-portrait, but I remember when my dad saw it he got mad and told me to tear it up. What would someone say if they found a portrait of a teenage girl, obviously Ash’s twin? I remember instead of destroying it I rubbed out the lines of long, dark hair and redrew it with Ash’s short hairstyle. I can still see shadows on the page where my hair used to be.
I was erased. Only Ash could live, publicly anyway.
I shove the drawing into my pocket and help get some food for everyone. The power is off, and when I open the refrigerator there is a terrible rotting stench. But there is still canned and powdered and dehydrated food on the shelf, and the water is running, so Ash and I throw together a meal.
I don’t have any appetite, though. So while the others gather around the dark dining table, I wander outside.
The courtyard is the place where I spent most of my life, my one small taste of freedom in my prison. I hate thinking of my loving home as a prison, but it is the truth of it. I was locked up for the best of reasons—for my survival and Ash’s—but I was still a prisoner for sixteen years.
I hear footsteps behind me, and turn to find Ash, my second self.
Finally, I voice the thought that has been hovering on the edges of my consciousness for months, ever since this all began.
“Maybe I should never have left that night,” I say. “All of this, because one girl thought a courtyard was too small to contain her life. If only I’d known what my need for freedom would be, I’d have—”
Ash interrupts me. “Stayed trapped? I don’t believe that.”
“But look at what has happened! All the death and suffering. Lark brainwashed. Mom captured. And poor Dad!”
“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” Ash admits.
“He was flawed, but . . . he was trying,” I say. “Now he’s dead because of me. The Underground is gone, the second children exposed. All because of me.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Ash says, and I can’t suppress a sound that’s half snort, half laugh.
“No, you’re supposed to tell me it isn’t my fault, that all this would have happened anyway, that I’m just . . . what did Pearl, I mean Angel, say? a cog in the machine?”
“You just want to be told lies and feel better, like everyone else?” he asks. “I don’t think so. I know you better than that.”
“So it is my fault,” I say miserably.
“Yes, but think about what that means. Yes, bad things have happened—but bad things were already happening. At least now a few people are fighting them. Yes, the government is controlling the citizens—but now that we know that, we know how to end it. And the outside, the living world beyond the desert! We wouldn’t know anything about that if it wasn’t for you. Would you give up all that—not just for you, but for all of humanity—to stay safe in your courtyard?”
“But the rebels might lose. We might be captured. Mom might be executed, or turned into someone who hates me, like Lark.”
“Might is a powerful word. There is a lot of hope in might. Before you, we were all weak people in an unjust world, doing nothing about it. Now we have truth, reality. We know how bad things are. Because of you.”
He puts his arms around me. “Because of you, sister dear, we have a chance.” Then he whispers in my ear. “And incidentally, because of you, I’ve fallen in love!” He chuckles. “I mean, I’m not the rare and seductive Rowan with two people in love with
her. But I’m happy.”
I smile and ruffle his hair, which he hates. Which is why I do it. The things people in Eden are missing out on by not having siblings!
“Then what are you doing out here with me? Go inside, back to her. But . . . maybe take Mom and Dad’s room? I want to nap in my own bed one last time, and I don’t want to have to walk past you and your girlfriend doing . . . whatever!”
He’s made me feel a little better, but the grief and the guilt still threaten to overwhelms me. I don’t let him see that, though. He wants to believe he’s thoroughly cheered me up. He pulls a lock of my hair—which I hate—and heads inside.
I go back to looking at the stars, so much dimmer here in Eden, but that’s how I remember them, the faint stars of my childhood. I trace out patterns, remembering the constellations I invented for myself, and the ones Lark told me about that night high on the rooftop. I think of nights in the woods with Mira as she taught me how to navigate by the stars. The North Star, the Big Dipper . . .
Someone is coming, and I turn, thinking it is Ash come back. I wipe my tears away and try to force my voice to be light, saying, “What, need some sisterly relationship advice?”
It’s Lachlan.
When I see him, I can no longer hold back the tears. A moment later I’m in his arms, weeping against his chest for what I have done, for what I have lost.
“IS SHE AWAKE?” I ask once I get control of myself, and see his face fall just a bit when he hears that my first thought is about Lark. But that’s only natural, right? I know Lachlan is okay. It’s Lark who might be another person, lost to me.
“Not yet,” he says. “Flame is examining her with her handheld scanner, trying to see what she’ll be like when she wakes up. She said this is a different kind of brainwashing, as much psychological as just mechanically changing thoughts and memories. She has one of the localized disruptors that can usually interfere with the Center’s signal within a small space, but Flame says she really doesn’t know what to predict from Lark.” He gives me a wry smile. “Predictability—not exactly something either of you is good at.”
“And look what it gets us,” I say.
“I know what you’re feeling right now,” Lachlan says gently.
“How can you?” I ask.
“Remember, I’ve been part of an underground resistance nearly all of my life. We’ve never been this bold, and the stakes have never been this high, but we’ve had to take terrible risks before, just to survive. Don’t you think I’ve made my share of bad decisions? Or decisions that led to victory, but also had losses? I’ve lost people, Rowan. People I cared about, who died because of my leadership. I know you blame yourself for everything that has happened. You blame yourself for your father’s death, for your mom’s capture.”
He takes me by the shoulders and looks into my mismatched eyes. “Rowan, you are not at fault for the evil of the world, for the cruelties of people.”
“I know,” I answer miserably. “But if you had heard the things that Lark said to me. That I abandoned her! I saw her locked in the Center prison, and I didn’t get her out.”
“How could you?” Lachlan asks reasonably. “You got everyone else out, though.”
“She turned against me because she thinks I chose you, left her there so I could be with you.”
“If she really thinks that, she doesn’t know you very well,” Lachlan says. Before I can object, he adds, “And she does know you well. As do I. I know how you love. It is a powerful, protective love—and it has no limits. It rankled me at first, that you love her, too. Now I know it’s just another part of what makes you beautiful and unique. You can love Lark. You can love anyone you want, and I don’t mind. Because I know you love me, too.”
He’s been near to me all this time, but now he closes the last few inches and our bodies are pressed together. His kiss is amazing, like coming home. Not here, not Harmonia, but some home of the soul, the place where I can find peace and rest.
“I love you, Rowan,” he whispers to me, and I want this moment to last forever.
Of course, that is when Flame comes out into the courtyard and says, “Unlock your lips and get in here. Lark is awake.”
The guilt hits again, as if she’s been watching us. Lachlan might be okay with me caring for both of them, but I know Lark isn’t.
We head inside, and I hurry ahead so it doesn’t look like we’re coming in together. With all the things to worry about, all the tragedy, I know it is silly to be so worried about relationships and feelings, but when all is said and done (if all this ever is done) that’s what will remain—the connections between human beings.
Lark is propped up on the sofa, still looking weak and a little disoriented. I feel an ache in my throat when I look at her, and think it is emotion.
No, you idiot, Yarrow says. Your throat aches because that crazy girl tried to kill you an hour ago. Stay away from her. The last thing you need is more crazy in your life right now.
She has a point, and I consider leaving the room, if only to buy myself more time to feel calmer. But I steel myself, reminding myself of the Lark that was, not the Lark that is, and tentatively approach.
“How do you feel?” I ask her gently.
“Confused,” she whispers. She looks so lost. My compassion breaks through my apprehension, and I scoot her feet over and sit on the far end of the couch.
Could be an act, Yarrow reminds me.
“About what?” I ask Lark.
“Everything!” she says, with a little sound that might almost be a laugh, though she chokes it back with a moan of misery.
“Well,” I say, “let’s see if we can narrow it down. What part is most confusing?”
I can tell she’s mentally going through what must be a pretty long list. “You,” she says at last. “Do I hate you or love you?”
I can feel Lachlan watching, listening from nearby, an amused smile on his face. How can I answer that? The short answer of course is yes, but I think she needs more than a short answer, and with everyone’s eyes on me, this isn’t the time. I’m desperately afraid of hurting her more than she already thinks I have.
Blushing, I bow my head, but Lachlan answers. “You love her. There’s no doubt about that. Almost as much as I do.” He winks at her.
“Yeah, there’s one thing I’m not confused about at all,” Lark tells him with narrowed eyes. “I don’t like you very much.” She turns back to me. “Could you sit over there?” She points to a chair across the room. “This isn’t very comfortable.”
I try to tell myself she means physically comfortable—that she wants to stretch out. But I know that’s not what she means. What does she feel when she looks at me? Is all of Chief Ellena’s implanted hate still in there?
Crushed, I relocate, and Lark speaks mostly to Flame. It appears she’s on our side, for now.
“No idea how long it will last,” Flame admits. “The algorithms the Chief used are a bit fuzzy to me. Maybe to her, too. This is all still experimental. Lark’s epileptic episode reset her brain, for now. And I think—think, mind you—that my disruptors will keep her head clear for now. But for all I know she could revert back to the mind control any moment.”
I can tell Flame is supremely frustrated to not have concrete answers. She’s used to being well informed, and right.
Lark won’t look at me. She appears as nervous and uncomfortable as I feel.
“Whatever your plan is, you have to act soon. Now. The Chief is getting ready to attack the rebels.”
“We know,” Lachlan interjects. “And we’re ready for them. We have fighters ready to . . .”
Flame shushes him. “We think she’s mostly her old self, but don’t trust her with too much information,” she cautions.
“No,” Lark says. “I don’t mean eventually, someday. I mean now. Tomorrow. As soon as the sun comes up she’s sending almost every one of the Greenshirts and securitybots to the border of the outermost circle. They’ll be in position by noon. She sa
id . . .”
Lark breaks off, and finally glances at me before saying, “She said they’re not to take prisoners.”
“You mean . . . ?” I ask.
Lark nods. “She’s going to kill them all.”
“Would she really do that?” Ash asks. “All this time, she’s claimed she’s controlling people to preserve humanity—same as EcoPan.”
“Power has gone to her head,” Lark says. “She just wants control, and will take out any opposition. At this point she doesn’t care if she kills thousands if it means no one gets in the way of her controlling the rest of Eden.”
“She’s insane!” I say. Exactly like Aaron Al-Baz.
“We have to warn them,” Ash says.
“If she’s attacking in the morning, I doubt we could get through,” Flame points out. “There will be patrols, increased security.”
“They wouldn’t do it,” Angel says quietly from her corner. She might not be the domineering Pearl anymore, but her soft voice still commands attention. “Even if they are police and soldiers, even if they follow her command, they wouldn’t kill their own people. Life is sacred. We all believe that. They may attack, may capture the outer circle, the people, but they won’t kill them all.”
Ash nods in agreement. “Most of the rebels aren’t fighters. They’re everyday people. Families, old people, children. Some of the rebel fighters might die in the battle—we’re all prepared for that—but even if the worse comes to the worst, the children and families will be spared.”
Rainbow is out there, and the other kids from the Underground. I can’t believe anyone would kill them deliberately.
But then, I never could have believed that the peace-loving people of Harmonia could kill Lachlan just because he was from Eden. Once someone is labeled a threat, I guess it is easier for some people to look at them as less than human. That makes them easier to exterminate.
“You don’t understand Chief Ellena,” Lark says urgently. “Even you, Rowan. You’ve been under her control, but she’s become so much worse now. I’ve heard her talking about the rebels like they’re vermin. She plans to exterminate them. She says they’re a negligible fraction of the Eden population, and that human genetic diversity won’t suffer for wiping them out. In fact, she says, it will make the surviving humans stronger.”
Rebels of Eden Page 25
