by Susan Kim
He released the chain and Pilot lunged at Gideon. Instead of biting him, he reached out his muzzle and nosed Gideon’s bare leg, as if memorizing his smell. His nose was cold and wet, but it was his teeth Gideon feared; he braced himself and forced himself not to tremble. After a few seconds, Aras pulled the dog away.
“Get some rest,” Aras said. “You might need it.”
He made a clucking noise at the dog, which led him toward and out the door. Gideon stood motionless for a minute. Then, his flesh tingling, he sat back down again.
Normally, Gideon would have dismissed such an episode. The idea that he had any interest in Esther was not only absurd, it was distasteful.
Still, what did it say about the girl?
Gideon had always believed that the blind boy was Esther’s most powerful ally. The two had a relationship that seemed like a fortress, unshakeable and strong. But Aras had just made it clear that he was jealous of Gideon and suspicious of the time he spent alone with his partner. While ludicrous, such mistrust was intriguing as well. For if Aras didn’t have faith in Esther, that meant there was a fundamental weakness between them, a crack in their seemingly perfect union.
And weakness could always be exploited.
But how? he wondered.
Despite Aras’s parting words, Gideon was too excited to sleep all night.
FOUR
ELI AWOKE WITH A START.
He had been sound asleep, and, for a few moments at least, he had been happy. This much he remembered, although the details were already fading fast. When he realized he had been dreaming of Esther, he felt a flare of embarrassment, followed by irritation. Ever since she had partnered with Aras, the girl was as good as dead to him; he had made a private vow to try not to speak to or even think of her again. Yet she continued to haunt his fantasies, no matter how hard he tried to banish her from his thoughts.
But something else had startled him awake.
Eli blinked. A figure was standing on the threshold of his room, its features indistinguishable in the early morning light. As he struggled up on one elbow, Eli saw to his surprise that it was Gideon.
Although Eli acted as Gideon’s assistant of sorts, this was the boy’s first visit. Still, Eli admired him deeply. He often watched him when he thought no one was looking and even tried to imitate his nonchalant way of standing, his cool bearing. From the start, the Insurgent had seemed his total opposite. Nothing ever seemed to rattle Gideon; unlike Eli, he never wavered or doubted or appeared to feel any pain. He had certainly never been made a fool by the love of a girl like Esther, of that much Eli was certain.
Eli scrambled to get up and offer his guest a seat.
“It okay,” said Gideon. He didn’t sit in the chair, but leaned against the counter, his expression unreadable.
Eli nodded. Without being aware of it, he too settled his weight against the wooden barrier that ran halfway across the side of the store; like Gideon, he hooked his thumb in the loop of his jeans and affected a careless look. After a few moments of silence, however, he began to feel self-conscious: He knew his hair was rumpled and that he was still wearing the T-shirt he’d slept in. He cleared his throat and glanced around, wondering why the boy was there and what Eli could do for him.
“What you know about Aras?”
The question was abrupt and took Eli by surprise. “Aras?”
“You know him awhile, right?”
“Yeah.” His reply seemed more like a question than a statement, and he winced at how uncertain he sounded.
“So? What you think?”
“Well . . .” Eli licked his lips. He sensed that Gideon wanted something from him, and although he wasn’t quite sure what it was yet, he wanted to provide it. “When we were on the road, coming to Mundreel . . . I guess I didn’t like him much. Not at first, anyway.”
Gideon nodded. “Why not?”
“He was—well, he pushed people around. Told us what to do. Like he was better than everybody.”
“You say ‘at first.’ What about after?”
“Well . . .” Eli kept glancing at Gideon to gauge the effect of his words. “After that, I saw he knew what he was doing. He was a good guide.”
Gideon snorted. “He blind.”
“I know. But still—”
Gideon shook his head as if dissatisfied and Eli felt unnerved; although he had only spoken the truth, he had failed. Yet what exactly did Gideon want to hear?
“I got to know more.” The other boy spoke with muted exasperation. “Anything you know about Aras.”
Eli felt even more desperate to comply. “Well—I mean—well, he has a dog.”
“I know that,” Gideon said, ice in his voice.
It was getting worse by the moment. “Then I don’t know what you—”
“He like girls?”
“Oh. Well, yeah. Esther.”
“Besides Esther!”
“Not that I saw.”
Gideon leaned back. Eli noticed that he was working his right hand into a fist, then relaxing it. The boy stared directly into Eli’s eyes. The flash of gray made Eli dizzy, as if he were falling.
Eli forced himself to look away.
He felt torn. It was true that when Aras partnered with Esther, he had hated the blind guide more than he had thought possible. Yet even at his darkest moments, Eli still retained a grudging respect for the boy who had gotten them where they wanted to go, often by risking his own life. Although Gideon now wanted him to reveal something negative about his rival, Eli couldn’t bring himself to lie.
“I’m sorry,” he said at last.
Gideon stared at him a second more; then, with an abrupt nod, he turned to go.
Eli followed him out, his heart pounding; never had he felt so helpless and full of regret. And then he remembered something.
The guide had had an odd habit on the trail to Mundreel. Over the years, Eli had seen other boys do it once or twice, but none as frequently as Aras. Eli sensed that in private, Esther had discouraged the practice; certainly, Aras stopped altogether once the two became close, and that had been months ago.
Revealing this now to Gideon would be a kind of betrayal . . . wouldn’t it?
And yet it was true.
All of a sudden, Eli felt good.
“Wait.” Gideon was already halfway down the hall, but at the word, he stopped. “There is something.”
Gideon turned around. The intensity of his gaze gave Eli a strange feeling of excitement. He, Eli, was the only person in Gideon’s world right now.
“What?”
Eli answered, nearly breathless.
“Aras,” he said, “used to smoke something.”
In the late afternoon, Aras sat alone in the open space of the basement food court. He and his dog had ended up there after yet another endless day spent roaming the halls of the District. Long polished tables and matching stools with swiveling seats were bolted to the tiled floor in orderly rows, providing a momentary oasis of quiet. He heard Pilot snuffle nearby, his chain clanking behind him.
Ever since Esther told him that she wished to remain in the District for the foreseeable future, Aras had attempted to take refuge in these long walks. There had never been much work for him in the garden, and he couldn’t bear to be still, so he spent his days wandering the ten floors of the immense building, working his way downstairs, then back up again, then back down.
Even so, he felt as if he was going crazy.
Aras had never been one to ponder motives or emotional complexities. Even before the attack that had left him blind, he had lived his life based on instinct and action. Yet for the first time, he was being asked to deny those very impulses, the wordless, urgent voice inside him that told him again and again that he had to get out.
He was staying for Esther; he would have done so for no other. But as the days dragged by and she spent longer and longer hours away from him and their children, questions began to nag at him: Why wouldn’t she leave with him? What was taking so
long?
And worst of all: Did her decision to stay have anything to do with Gideon?
She and the Insurgent now spent long hours alone together, every day. When Aras and Esther had first met Gideon, neither of them liked or trusted him, yet she now spoke of him with admiration, even affection. Aras thought back to his recent visit to Gideon’s room and wondered what the other boy looked like. Certainly, he had seemed as cold, unfriendly, and calculating as always. But he had also evinced a kind of toughness that might be considered attractive. He also possessed something Aras could never regain.
Aras could not help but think back on his first partner. Min had abandoned him soon after he lost his sight. Esther, of course, was different: She did not care about such things, and in addition, had never known him any other way. Moreover, Aras was comfortable in his own skin; he rarely felt self-conscious. Yet for the first time, he wondered how he might compare with Gideon if the two were lined up.
Then he shook his head.
Aras hated this kind of thinking; it made him feel not only wretched, but weak. Yet he didn’t know how to discuss his suspicions with Esther. He didn’t have the words.
With any other girl, he would have left long ago and not looked back. Aras couldn’t do that now; he loved Esther and Kai too much. They had a new baby as well, a daughter who would need special care and attention.
His right hand began twiddling at his side. His thumb ran over his second and third fingers, the way it did when he was nervous or worried.
He caught himself doing it and forced himself to stop.
It was as if Aras were rolling himself one of the special papers he had promised Esther he would never again smoke.
Then he sensed something.
Pilot had returned to his side, but he tensed and stood. His chain collar jangled as a low growl emanated from his chest, and Aras automatically reached for his lead.
“He gonna bite?”
The soft voice was unfamiliar: a female, perhaps in her midteens.
“No. It’s okay, boy.” Aras made a low clucking sound in his throat and with reluctance, the dog settled back down.
“You Aras?”
Aras hesitated. It was an innocent-enough question and the stranger appeared to be alone and harmless; still, experience had taught him to be wary of people he didn’t know seeking information. “Why you want to know?”
“It okay,” the girl said. “I seen you with Esther. I’m Nur.”
He nodded, stiffly, even as he sensed the girl climbing unbidden onto the stool opposite him.
“Don’t come down here much,” she remarked. “But it nice to get away.”
“That so?”
A rustle of clothing indicated that she shrugged. “Sometimes it more lonely when you with others.”
Aras exhaled. He was surprised to find that in the past few weeks, he had often felt the same way with Esther. Still, he wasn’t about to share that with a stranger. “So I’ve heard.”
“Your dog is pretty. Some say they better friends than people.”
Aras agreed with this, too, but still said nothing. He was distracted by the flowery scent that arose from the girl’s skin and hair. Although it was obviously fake and from a bottle, he decided he liked it; it had a sweet and delicate quality that went with her voice.
Despite himself, he found that he was opening up.
“The District can be—I don’t know.” He gesticulated with one hand, struggling to find the right words. “Too big. Worse than outside. Outside, you can always find your way. Here, you can just be . . . lost.”
The guide sensed the girl shift in her seat. She must have leaned over the table that separated them, for he could now feel her breath tickle his face. The sensation was intimate, yet not unpleasant: far from it. “That how I feel.”
Talking to Nur reminded Aras of the old days, when he still had his sight and used to guide people to their destinations. Often, he would grow close to one of them like this: talking late at night, just the two of them, in soft voices. Then they would part. He would carry the private moments they had shared, yet never see them again. It became their secret.
He tried to shake off the feeling, but it was too late.
The girl’s words were already acting on his mood. The District, which up until now had felt merely oppressive, suddenly seemed stifling, as if the giant glass-and-steel walls were literally closing in on him. He yearned to be outside again, alone on the road with Pilot.
Aras only became aware that he was once more rubbing his fingers together back and forth when Nur placed a hand on his, to stop him. The unexpected touch felt like fire crackling through his skin, and he jerked back.
She laughed. “Don’t be nervous.”
“Ain’t nervous,” he replied, self-conscious.
“If you are,” she said, “I got something that help.”
Aras wasn’t sure if she was teasing or being serious. “What’s that?”
“Don’t think I can say.”
Aras shrugged. “Sure you can. No one else here.”
He felt the leash being tugged from his hand; she was pulling it gently. “Here,” she said, “let him go. He ain’t going nowhere.”
Aras did what she suggested and let the lead drop. His hand was taken by Nur, who opened it and placed something within his palm. Even before his fingers closed over the crinkling square of paper and the small pile of dried leaves and seeds, he knew what it was.
“Go on,” she said.
Aras was motionless. Then, as if in a dream, he took it in both hands and rolled the object with a few quick, expert motions. He tightened it by twisting and pinching both ends. Then he hesitated.
“Why don’t you lick it?”
He did, sealing it. The act felt familiar yet forbidden, both good and bad. “I ain’t got a firestarter,” he whispered.
He felt an object pressing into his hand: slim and plastic, the size of his thumb. He was already fumbling with the tiny button, trying to get it lit, when she took it from him with soft hands.
“You join me?”
Aras didn’t let himself dwell on the right or wrong. All he knew was that smoking had always helped him whenever he was worried or upset. He remembered the feeling of peace and detachment that the drug used to bring and realized now that he wanted it. In fact, he couldn’t remember anything he had wanted this badly in a long, long time.
And, he reasoned to himself, it would just be this once.
“I won’t say no,” he answered.
Days later, Esther was up late, waiting for Aras.
After over an hour of cajoling, singing, and stroking Kai’s back, she had finally coaxed him to sleep. Yet as soon as he was down, the baby awoke and started to fuss. After feeding her, Esther began to drift off herself. Then Kai woke up once more.
“Please,” she begged him, to no avail. The boy was marching around the room, imitating soldiers in a book that Joseph had showed him.
As she had for many nights now, Michal—with her patient, childlike nature and understanding of little ones—had come to the rescue. Scooping him up in her arms and whispering a story in his ear, she had paced the room with him until Kai finally fell asleep, this time for good. She settled him in his bed and pulled the covers up before turning to go.
“You’ll be back tomorrow?” Esther had asked helplessly, and Michal nodded. Esther felt guilty about how much she depended on the other girl and wished there were something she could do to repay the favor. Yet unspoken between the girls was the understanding that Michal would be there every night, to help out while Aras was missing.
He was not really gone, of course. Yet for days now, Aras had been coming home so late that he was practically useless as a parent. Invariably, he was hazy and reeked of the bad-smelling papers he used to smoke on the road, on their way to Mundreel. Esther found it impossible to talk to him at such moments. He would ignore her, flopping down on a chair or on the ground itself. Within moments, he would be sound asleep.
“Evening,” he said. Pilot followed him, a little tangled in his lead.
“Keep your voice down.” Esther didn’t mean to speak sharply, but she noticed that both children stirred at the noise.
“Sorry.”
On the road, Esther had made it clear to Aras how she felt about his smoking. She hated how the drug changed him into a different person, one who was foolish and apathetic at the same time. Now, with two little children to take care of, his smoking seemed worse than before, much worse. As he made his way to a chair, Esther smelled something else on him. She thought she caught a whiff of flowers: the bottled scent that some of the Insurgent girls used. Was that possible?
“I think you should know,” she faltered, “that I don’t like this.”
“Like what?”
“What you’re doing.”
“Better not think about it, then.” Aras slumped in his seat and turned away, his face in his hands.
“I’m talking to you.”
“Didn’t think you was talking to Pilot.”
Esther bit her lip. He had not spoken to her like this since the very beginning, before they had grown to know and care for each other. But she refused to back down.
“Where do you go? How come you’re never here?”
At this, Aras let out a loud and incredulous laugh. “Me? Where do I go?” He raised his voice, not caring that Esther was trying to shush him. “Where do you go? Where are you all day?”
His shouts awakened Sarah. In a second, she started to fuss, then whimper, then scream. Moments later, Kai awoke and he, too, began to bellow.
Esther put a hand to her forehead. She was honestly perplexed; it hadn’t occurred to her that Aras might be angry. Yet what he was saying was true: With a sudden pang of guilt, she realized she had forgotten all about his plan for them to move.
It was true that figuring out the glass system that would feed so many new people was taking far longer than she had thought. Yet what made Esther feel guilty wasn’t so much the work she was doing: It was her sudden realization that she enjoyed it. She found herself thinking about the problems she faced even late at night; they were the first things she thought of in the morning, as well. She didn’t want to go . . . at least not yet.
