Lotus and Thorn

by Sara Wilson Etienne

  “Everything’s set for tomorrow. Sarika and our people inside Pleiades have planted bombs in the Reclamation Fields, at all the gates, and along the walls between buildings. They’ll detonate them simultaneously in a show of strength—taking the Abuelos by surprise. June’s explained very thoroughly”—and I could tell by Lotus’s tone that June must’ve been insistent on the point—“that the idea is to gain control without loss of life. And that’s the plan. The explosions will be synchronized with the first round of gold fireworks so no one in the Dome knows anything’s going on. Then, once Pleiades is secure, Sarika will send up red.”

  Oksun said, “And you’ll start evacuating the underground wards at the same time?”

  “Right. As soon as we hear the first fireworks.” It was impressive watching Lotus. She’d forgotten about the revealing dress and she stood tall, like she owned her body. Like she owned the room. “Once we’ve pulled everyone who can be saved from the wards, we’ll blow the whole facility so no one can follow us out.”

  “Everyone who can be saved.” Riya put down her needle, as if the stark reality of what we were talking about was sinking in for the first time. “Still, I suppose it’s better than a half-life in the wards.”

  “Not even a half-life.” Oksun put her arm around Riya. “They’re trapped in a perpetual death down there . . . the explosions will be a quick mercy.” Her voice left no room for doubt.

  Then Oksun picked up the plan. “Up until the moment the wards are blown, the Curadores won’t know anything’s up. But the LOTUS facility will be practically under our feet. Once we feel the explosion, it’ll be our show. We’ll need—”

  And we went over the plan that everybody already knew by heart. And then we went over it again.

  Around midnight, Riya put down her needle and asked, “And what happens after?”

  “After what?” Oksun said.

  “After tomorrow. After we run out of plan.” There was no challenge in Riya’s open face. Only curiosity and concern.

  “I don’t know,” Lotus said, as if she’d been thinking about this very question. “The Indignos have been dreaming and planning for this future, but our time frame’s always been in years, not days.”

  But Ada’d had a whole lifetime to think about this. She stood now, towering over us all. “Well, the Mothers have some ideas . . . things we’d like to do. Ways we’d like to raise our children. We’ve talked about it a lot, but the one thing we all agree on is, we won’t let anyone else govern us. And rest assured, we have little interest in governing the Citizens either.

  “But the thing is, if the Dome is breached . . . if we have to leave . . . it’s going to be like the original plague half a millennium ago. A few of us will survive through sheer luck and genetic rolls of the dice, but more will die. And it’s a risk every Mother is willing to take. Because maybe this time we’ll find a way to make Gabriel work. Maybe we can make it the home our ancestors dreamed of when they first came here.”

  I could see the dream reflected in every pair of eyes around the room. Some with skepticism, some with fear—but they could see it. A Gabriel thriving again with people and cities and life. This time, I could see it too.

  “Well, there’s not much sleep left to be had, so we better grab what we can get.” Oksun cleared up her mock battle and Riya left with her, slipping her hand into Oksun’s. Ada and June hurried to collect their things as well and I could tell they were trying to give Lotus and me a little space before June led my sister back through the Dome.

  It was hard to say good-bye . . . after all, I’d barely gotten a chance to talk to her. When the room was clear, Lotus hugged me, her face softening so she looked, just for a second, like my little sister again.

  “Sarika said you saw Tasch. How . . .” And she trailed off, as if she wasn’t sure exactly what question to ask.

  “She didn’t look good.” There was no room for lies tonight. “I don’t know if she’ll make it.”

  “I wish I’d killed him when I had a chance.” And Lotus meant it. “That bastard Curador was standing right there . . . in our camp. It wouldn’t have been hard.”

  “But then we never would’ve found Tasch. And we wouldn’t be here . . . on the verge of this new world.”

  “Leica, I know what you said about ‘maximum effect, minimum casualties,’ but tomorrow if I get the chance, I swear . . .” And she gripped the knife at her belt. Intensity reverberated through every line of her long, straight body.

  I took her arm, walking downstairs with her. “Let’s worry about keeping everyone alive before we start thinking about killing.”

  But I didn’t meet Lotus’s eyes as I said it. Because I remembered my own promise to myself, the night Edison attacked me. That night, my knife had remained unstained, hidden in my boot. But that isn’t what knives are for. And tomorrow, it would find blood.

  CHAPTER 41

  IN THE MORNING half-light, I slipped on my clothes and went to my closet. I rooted through the beautiful fabrics and pulled out a bundle of orange cloth I’d hidden there. I was glad it was still early; there was something I had to do.

  My shoes echoed on the spiraling sidewalk into the Sanctum. It was strange seeing the festive courtyard so empty. Like a party that’d been forgotten. Strings of lights zigzagged their way across the yard. Banners of bright paper flags—pink, orange, turquoise, red—hung high, gloriously clashing above me. Marigolds festooned the entryway and bridge. And spreading out along the curving wall was the altar.

  It’d just appeared there a few days ago. No one saw who put it up, but I suspected Oksun—she’d lost the last of her family to Red Death before coming here. It’d started out simple. A table facing north. Two white candles on either side. A glass of water. A bowl of salt and another one brimming with raspberries. An invitation to absent loved ones.

  By that afternoon, there’d been bowls of fruit lining the edge of the altar. Cherries and strawberries and limes. Orange and yellow paper flowers had been strewn between the bowls. And someone had left a small sketch in the middle of the table—a man with a crooked smile and crinkle lines around his eyes.

  Now, three days later, the altar had taken over the northern half of the Sanctum wall—curving around the courtyard in a riot of color. And what had started out as distraction meant for the Curadores had grown into a genuine celebration.

  Hand-drawn portraits and mementos peppered the brigade of tables. Scraps of faded cloth. Carved toys. The Kisaengs rarely talked about Pleiades—but they had evidently not forgotten the home they’d left behind. Or the people who’d left them behind. Beautifully decorated papier-mâché skulls squeezed in between bowls of kimchi and plates of tamales filled with sweet red bean paste.

  I went to the food synthesizer and got a bowl of beeph curry. The warm, spicy scent made me yearn for home. To stand in our crowded kitchen, window fogged from the pot that’d been simmering all day. Dad singing as he chopped peppers. Tasch sitting up on the counter swinging her legs in time. Lotus stealing the stirring spoon when Mom wasn’t looking—burning her tongue as she snuck a bite.

  “I know it’s a little early in the morning for curry, Mom, but it’s your favorite.” I slipped my pair of whittled chopsticks into the bowl and found a spot for it on a table. I bowed to the altar. Then I put a glass of mezcal next to the curry for my dad. And another one for Suji.

  “I hope you’ll all be with me today. I’m scared . . . I don’t really know what I’m doing and so many people are counting on me. I just want to thank the three of you for making me strong.”

  Behind me, the first of the Kisaengs filtered into the Sanctum. I hid the cloth bundle with my body as I unwrapped it. Inside lay the book of fairy tales. I kissed the faded binding and made a place for it on the table. Then I covered it with orange flowers—it felt too precious, too private, to leave exposed.

  I bowed one more time. “Thank you for belie
ving there was more.”

  The Sanctum was filling up with Kisaengs, but a hush stayed over the courtyard. Part of it was that no one had gotten much sleep. Even Marisol and her circle—who didn’t know what was about to happen—had stayed up late making the final alterations to their dresses and masks. But mainly it was the sense of everyone holding their breath. Waiting for what was coming.

  Riya, Oksun, June, and I spent most of the day surreptitiously drugging bottles of wine and decorating the Sanctum entrance with chains of cloth flowers and explosives. When it was time, the Kisaengs would abandon the Sanctum and the exit would be blown—trapping the lethargic Curadores inside. Maximum effect, minimum casualties.

  An hour before the party, we all went home to change. Oksun stopped me on my way out, her body tense, her hair securely tucked behind her ears. She handed me a package tied with a beautiful bow. “Riya made you a mask to match your dress. There’s a present in there from me too.”

  “Thank you.”

  Oksun wasn’t a huggy person, but she put her arms around me anyway, pulling me close and whispering, “They each have a three-minute timer. Simply connect the detonator to the explosives, then hit the button. That’s all there is to it. Oh . . . and don’t forget the running.”

  “Thanks.” I wrapped my arms around the package, shielding it.

  Back in my bedroom, I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. The skull mask was stunning—perfectly color-coordinated to go with my red dress. The skeleton’s wide eye holes were each encircled by a fiery crimson sunflower. And they hadn’t simply been painted on. They were a mosaic of glittering glass, flashing around the eyes.

  Around the flowers, green vines twisted and swirled into intricate patterns across the forehead and down the cheekbones. They edged the gaunt lines of the skull and gathered at the chin where, when I looked closely, I saw Riya had painted the silhouette of the LOTUS flower—tucked under slightly so it was just out of sight.

  The finishing touch was the crown of orange and red marigolds that clustered and draped along the top—looking both playful and regal at the same time. The mask was a masterpiece. I pulled it out carefully and placed it on the dresser. Then I gently lifted the layers of decorative paper. Underneath lay two bundles of explosives and their detonators—made to fit perfectly inside my skirt.

  The golden dress Riya designed might’ve been a psychological weapon, but this was a real one. The Festival gown was the perfect mix of shimmering silk and deadly architecture. Ornate red blossoms clustered across the bust and climbed up the shoulder straps—hiding a pair of daggers and a tiny radio. Crimson chiffon cascaded over my hips, and the night-black bodice cinched in along my waist.

  The corset itself was made from a black, impenetrable cloth with lengths of electrical wire threaded along its framework, accessible by a false seam. Tiny flashlights, wire strippers, pliers, and cutters were pleated into the folds of the dress. Disguised in the embroidery of the bodice. Sewn into the hems. Even the hoop of the skirt could be pulled out, deconstructed, and used as fighting sticks.

  But the most ingenious part was that the wide hips contained two pouches for explosives. I slid the bombs and detonators into the hidden pockets and pulled the elaborate dress on. The large skirt was cumbersome, but at least my legs would have plenty of room for running. And I would need it.

  Once Ada got my tracker offline and Pleiades was secured, it would be my job to get through the main magfly tunnel and open the sealed door that led out to Pleiades. I was chosen not only because of my previous excursions through the tunnels, but because no one knew how the door would be controlled. If I was lucky, there would be an access panel and I could fool the circuits into thinking a magfly was coming. Or figure out a way to rewire them. On the other hand, I might need the explosives. And the running.

  Because no matter how hard the Kisaengs and Mothers fought, we would still be outnumbered by Curadores. We would need reinforcements from Pleiades and they couldn’t get in through the LOTUS wards without risking infection. The Indignos could use isolation suits, but there wouldn’t be enough for everyone.

  • • •

  A nervous dread formed in the pit of my stomach as I walked across the Promenade. The cold steel of my knives pressed against my chest. Rubbed against my boot. The weight of the explosives tethered me to the ground. This was not a game. People might get killed tonight. Maybe people I cared about. Maybe me.

  I stood on the grass for a moment, watching the parade of beautiful Kisaeng skeletons heading toward the gilded Sanctum. Actually, some of them were probably Mothers, using the crowd to hide in plain sight as they made their way to the magfly lines—ready to blow the charges. We couldn’t use remote detonators because Ada was about to wreak havoc on all communication systems.

  Sarika had been right—even if I wanted to stop this now, there was no way I could. There were too many people involved. Too many plans already in motion. This was not just my fight anymore.

  For the hundredth time that day, I wondered how things were going on the other side of the glass and I hoped for all our sakes the answer was very well. It was almost dark enough for fireworks and my heart went out to Sarika in Pleiades. I pictured her standing in the middle of the jubilant Festival Grounds, knowing it would soon be marred by fear and explosions.

  Then I imagined Lotus and Alejo and Jaesun, creeping their way across the Reclamation Fields and through the tunnels to the sleeping Tasch, deep under my feet. And I clung to the thought that by the end of this long night we would be a family again.

  “Focus, Leica,” I commanded myself. And as I crossed the lawn to the Sanctum, I went over what I needed to do.

  Keep Edison close. Get him a drink. Incapacitate him as soon as the attack starts.

  Get to the main magfly tunnel. Wait for Ada’s radio confirmation that red fireworks have been spotted. Get the entrance open.

  Garlands of bright orange and yellow flowers lined the spiral entry to the Sanctum—each blossom a tiny, beautiful bomb. On the other side of the glass walls, the blurred silhouettes of costumed Kisaengs flitted through the glow of party lights. It was lovely and I put my hand to the glass, wishing just for a moment that we weren’t about to smash all of this.

  I reached for my mask, but decided to leave it where it was for now—loosely fastened to the curving hips of my dress with a ribbon. I wanted to make sure Edison could find me. Then I stepped inside.

  The Sanctum was packed with Curadores and Kisaengs—hundreds of decorated calaveras flashed in the twinkle lights that filled the sky like stars. I went over to get a drink, in the hopes I could offer some to Edison, if I could find him. A few days ago, I’d made him show me his costume. But now I saw that it would be close to impossible to pick him out in this crowd of skeletons.

  A masked Kisaeng in a delicate mahogany dress poured me a shot of mezcal. I was about to take a sip when Marisol’s voice came from behind the calavera.

  “Please forgive me.” We hadn’t spoken since I’d taken Edison back and now her slurred words made me prickle.

  “For what?” I kept my voice light. “Pretending to be my friend? Tracking me through the forest? Telling Edison I’d kissed Nik?”

  “No. For tonight.” The skull’s wide eyeholes were edged by dark brown thorns and Marisol’s hazel eyes looked grim in their center.

  “Tonight?” I couldn’t help the alarm that tinged my question. Marisol grabbed the shot of mezcal from me and downed it.

  “I told him you were planning something . . . I wasn’t sure what. Then last night, they caught Lotus down in the tunnels.”

  “Lotus?” I grabbed Marisol’s shoulders, blood roaring in my ears. “Marisol, listen to me. Where’s Lotus? What’s happened to her?”

  “We mean nothing to them. Less than Mothers.” Marisol swayed a little—clearly she’d started drinking long before the party started. “You can’t build your li
fe on someone else’s. You can’t! I know you can’t . . . but I couldn’t let him leave either . . .”

  “Let him leave?” I was trying to make sense out of her babbling.

  She started swaying again and clutched at my hand. “Please . . . don’t leave me alone.”

  “Easy there.” Edison came up behind Marisol, steadying her. He wasn’t wearing a mask, or any kind of costume. Instead he wore a loose black shirt, silver buttons glinting in the lights, echoing the silver chain from the shuttle around his neck. He laid his hand on the back of Marisol’s neck and leaned in. “Darling, it’s almost time for me to go.”

  “Go?” I asked. My mind was sorting through the scraps of what Marisol had just said. Edison knew we were planning something. Lotus had been caught. But my brain just kept rattling off my to-do list. Find Edison. Get him a drink.

  I blurted out, “But you haven’t had any wine. Let me get you a glass!”

  Edison shook his head. “No time for a drink, but I suppose I could squeeze in one final dance.”

  Marisol offered him her hand, but Edison was already taking mine. He wrapped his arm around my waist, spinning me onto the dance floor. But he looked back over his shoulder at her. “I’m afraid I might have broken Marisol . . . I forget she’s not as strong as you.”

  I had to get away. I had to warn Oksun and the others that things were going wrong. I tried to pull free. “I’m sorry, I have to—”

  “All of that can wait. We have a long night ahead of us, you and I.” Edison cinched his arm tighter around me and his voice had that cool distance I remembered from the night of his attack. I stopped struggling and studied his face. Quieting my mind, I worked on anticipating his next move.

  “I want to tell you a few things before we part.” He gave me his most charming smile.

  “Before we part?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid I have places to be. But I want you to know, I truly believed . . . I still believe that we are one and the same.” He folded our fingers together, crushing me to him as we swept around the dance floor—so tight I could barely breathe. The corset didn’t help either. The sky above the Dome lit up with the first flashes of fireworks. Red spiderwebs blurring through the solar glass. But that was wrong too—it should be gold first, then red. It was too early.