by Susan Kim
Esther realized she could no longer afford brashness. She now had the weight of many people’s lives on her shoulders: not only her family and friends, but the individuals they had added to their numbers in the past three days.
Recruiting more people had been Skar’s idea. At first, Esther had disagreed with her; she didn’t know whom they could trust and who might be a disciple or even a spy of the girl priestess.
“We are only nine,” Skar had argued, “and four are little ones.”
Although she was still doubtful, Esther had finally seen her point.
She and her friends began their search for recruits by canvassing the area where they had first met Saith and Uri. The ravaged neighborhood was not far away, on the other side of the mountain.
When they arrived, the narrow streets of modest buildings were even more desolate than Esther remembered. Without hesitation, Uri had led them to his old home, a sagging gray house with two stories that stood in the middle of one block.
The boy had looked in through the splintered entrance, which was missing its door. “Hello?” he called. When there was no reply, he glanced at Esther, who nodded.
“Wait here,” she told Skar and the others. With Pilot by her side, she and Uri slipped inside.
The air had been stifling hot and smelled of dust, mouse droppings, and, above all, something sweet yet sickening. Esther recognized it as the smell of death, of bodies decomposing. She felt the hair on the back of her neck rise as Pilot growled, straining forward against his chain. He led the two deep into the darkness, pulling her with sure steps. In a dim, unfurnished room, something glittered. As her eyes grew accustomed to the light, Esther realized that three people were watching her.
They were alive, but just barely. At least one was in the final stages of the illness, a motionless child cradled by another. Ordering Pilot to sit with a click of her tongue, Esther dug into her bag for a bottle of water. Uri was already walking among them, looking for a familiar face.
“What you want?” The boy who spoke sounded hostile and suspicious, his voice little more than a cracked whisper. He sat with the dying child in his lap, a dirty blanket draped over his shoulders.
“This is Uri,” Esther said. “He comes from here.”
No one responded.
Esther tried again. “We’re looking for folks to help us.”
“Do what?”
“Do away with Saith.”
This was, Esther knew, a calculated risk: These could be the girl’s supporters. And in fact, the information received a visible reaction: All of them murmured, and the boy with the blanket sat up.
“How you do that?”
Esther noticed he had asked “how” not “why”; that was promising, she thought. Still, she herself wasn’t sure of the answer. All she said was, “Are you interested?”
The boy exhaled. “She the one got us sick.”
Esther knelt close. She struggled to uncap the bottle, but the boy grabbed it from her. He unscrewed it and took a long drink of water, the muscles in his throat working. Handing it back, he gave her a brief nod of thanks. Then at last he spoke, and Esther was filled with mounting horror.
Days before, he and his friends had gone to the District in search of the miraculous liquid provided by the priestess. Like most of his friends, he had been skeptical at first. Yet as the blue water burned his throat, the boy had inexplicably been filled with a sense of both light and heat. He was caught up in a feeling of euphoria and then total belief.
After that, no one took precautions any longer; why did they need to? When the rain came, they didn’t hide from it. Instead, he and his friends stayed outside, laughing and drinking from the sky itself.
The first lesions appeared two or three days later. One by one, they became ill until all seven had been stricken. And now they were the only three left in the household.
“So I come,” he had said. Although his voice was faint, Esther could hear the anger that lay beneath it. “The others too far gone.” He indicated the child in his lap and his voice softened. “I think she gone by tonight. But I the last one who got sick. So I still got strength.”
In this way, Esther and her friends gathered up soldiers for their army: one at a time, entering homes, meeting the sick and the frightened, and hearing their pitiable tales of outrage and bitterness. Not everyone they met was sick, yet each had lost partners, friends, and relatives to the disease, all because of their belief in Saith and her magical potion. As a result, they were desperate not only for the water and food that Esther and her friends offered, but the chance of retribution.
Esther and Uri managed to enlist eighteen in all.
Silas led the newcomers in Gleaning excursions into homes and stores. Then they forged crude weapons from what they were able to salvage. As Trey taught them the basics of hand-to-hand fighting, Skar hunted from dawn until dusk to keep their growing numbers fed.
Three days later, they were finally ready.
Within the next hour or two, they would make their way to the District, less than a mile away. Disguised in white and black robes, they would join the crowds of worshippers that flocked to its doors every day. Once inside, Esther, Skar, and Silas would each take a small group in different directions throughout the lobby and basement; at a given signal, they would disarm guards at their posts. In the meantime, Trey would make his way upstairs and deal with Saith single-handedly.
If possible, he was to take her alive. The same applied to Gideon. Trey had argued with Esther on both points, but she had been adamant:
Enough blood had been spilled. She did not want to add to it.
Although Esther’s plan was simple, she continued to agonize over the unknown. She had focused all of her energy preparing for Saith’s guards, whom she knew were armed and loyal to the girl they served. Yet she did not know how great a danger the rest of the District’s inhabitants might pose. Inside, people were still true believers who had traveled far and considered it a privilege to be under the same roof as their idol. Esther couldn’t predict to what lengths they would go to protect the girl they were convinced was holy.
She would just have to trust in luck. And as she came to that conclusion, she found herself thinking of someone else.
Eli.
As far as she knew, he was still in the District. Thinking of him now, Esther had a strange twisting feeling in her gut.
Her old friend had deliberately turned his back on her and the others months ago. He had acted out of his own free will when he chose to side with Gideon and, by extension, Saith as well. He had served as their judge, upholding their cruel and senseless laws, and sentencing her and countless other innocents to Shunning, slavery, and worse.
And yet he had saved her life.
Esther could still remember the boy he had been back in Prin—the one who had once asked her to be his partner. Since then, they had traveled many miles together and had both suffered terrible losses. She had been able to recover from her wounds and, in so doing, had grown stronger, even wiser. Yet somehow, he had not been able to do the same.
Eli was not a bad person, she thought now, yet he was fragile. And didn’t the strong have an obligation to look after the weak?
Pensive, Esther folded up the map and slipped it into her jeans. The air was so heavy, she wiped moisture from her forehead. Then she sensed someone watching her. Trey sat up a few feet away.
“You all right?” he whispered.
She nodded. But, even in the dimness, she saw the boy shoot her a questioning look as if sensing her apprehension.
Esther surprised herself by saying: “It’s Eli.” Trey was silent as he slipped his weapon out of its hiding place and examined it quickly and methodically. “Before we go in,” she went on, “I want to get him out. He can’t take care of himself. The longer he’s there, the more danger he’s in.”
“He mean that much to you?”
“If nothing else,” she said, “I owe him something.”
Trey nodded.
If he was taken aback to hear her concern about the unsteady boy who had once guarded the basement drinking room, he didn’t show it. He got to his feet. “I’ll go.”
Esther shook her head. “He’s my friend, not yours.”
She attempted to stand, but Trey held her back. “Then nobody’s going nowhere . . . not now, anyways. When we get there, there be plenty of time.”
“But—”
Trey shook his head. “Best thing you can do now is get some rest. You ain’t slept all night, right?”
Esther shrugged. Yet even she had to admit that the insides of her eyelids felt raspy, and a sudden wave of exhaustion made her light-headed.
“I wake you in an hour.”
Esther didn’t want to agree. Yet no sooner had her eyes closed than she felt someone shaking her.
It was Skar. Behind her, the sky had brightened; it was nearly dawn. Esther could detect the clatter of everyone getting ready.
For a moment, Esther was disoriented. But she rose, trying to get her bearings. There was a growing humidity in the air, the type that precedes storms. “Where’s Trey?”
“He’s gone. To the District, to get Eli.”
Esther stopped, as a surge of annoyance swept over her. “He lied to me. We agreed that—”
Skar squeezed her arm in sympathy. “He said that we could do without him. But we couldn’t do without you.”
Esther fell silent.
She could only hope that it was true.
A mile away, another person had been unable to sleep. As he had for days now, Gideon paced the lower floors of the District, his thoughts in a constant whirl.
He had been this way ever since he’d found out about his new home. On the same night Nur had poisoned Saith’s bathwater, one of his guards had awoken him with terrible news. There had been a slave uprising at the construction site, with dozens killed. Unable to believe it, Gideon had hurried to the building.
What greeted him was a scene of total destruction. By moonlight, he saw that the surrounding streets were littered with the bodies of slaves and slave masters alike, indistinguishable in the gloom. Up on the roof, the tar-paper floor was littered with the shattered remains of the greenhouse. The long wooden tables had been upended, their boards splintered and cracked, and the green plastic troughs lay broken on the ground, their fragile crop already withered and yellowing like so much dead grass.
Worst of all, Joseph—the only person in Mundreel with enough knowledge to rebuild the thing—was gone.
If Gideon was devastated by the violent end to his plans, he did not let on to his guards. By the time he had made it back to the District, he had already begun rethinking his options.
He would continue to stay at the District with his boys. The old garden was still functional; somehow, he would have to find workers to maintain it. His only challenge would be surviving the upheaval that he felt certain was about to take place.
For Saith was dying.
The day before, Gideon had noticed a glassy brightness to her eyes and a flushed appearance that indicated fever. The girl priestess had begun to wear a billowing white cloak that tellingly covered her arms and legs. Although she continued to receive disciples (fewer each day, Gideon noticed), her guards now kept visitors at a distance. They also whisked her away the moment she grew tired. Yet their loyalty had its limits; Gideon was amused to note that none of her guards dared to stand close to her any longer or touch her with their bare hands. When they were forced to approach her, they covered their mouths and noses with their arms.
Although the plans for his escape had been upended, Gideon didn’t regret ordering Saith’s poisoning. With her health declining, he felt a deep sensation of relief. He hadn’t trusted himself to appeal to the masses, and so he had allowed two girls, first Esther and then Saith, to be his public face. Yet Saith had climbed too high, with disastrous results.
And so, he thought, had Esther.
With Saith vanquished, Gideon felt that he was finally exorcising the ghost of Esther as well. Even though he had had her killed weeks before, her memory still haunted him, appearing in his dreams when he least expected it. He would, he thought, be free at last of her lingering and disturbing presence. And without any female to drag him down, he could finally live the life he deserved.
Nur, of course, remained. With a pang, Gideon recalled that he had promised her a lot in exchange for Saith’s death. It had perhaps been a stupid blunder to offer such a deal, yet he had been desperate. Still, he thought, she would be easy enough to handle.
Gideon’s pacing had taken him to the main lobby. It was now early morning, and through the main glass doors, he saw a crowd already waiting in the street. Even from this distance, he could see that many of them were obviously ill: Held up by friends, their faces were hollowed out with pain and fever. He felt a wave of contempt for all of them. They were waiting to see Saith, no doubt, to demand an explanation, an apology, or, just as unlikely, a miracle. Instead, her guards would take care of them, as they had so many before. This dance would continue until the crowd grew tired of the betrayal and decided to take matters in its own hands.
He turned to go, leaving the sight of them behind.
Then he stopped.
His eye had been drawn to a slight figure in the street, standing apart from the others. Studying her, he saw that she was just a thin girl, and draped in a white hooded robe. Gideon laughed to himself and shook his head. His victory over Saith had driven him a little crazy, he thought. It was making him hallucinate.
But the laughter died on his lips as the girl glanced up. Gazing directly at him, she seemed to hear what he was thinking . . . and his heart stopped.
It was Esther.
Although he could see only a sliver of her face amid the folds of her hood, Gideon would have recognized her anywhere. Esther appeared to be talking to someone next to her, a person who kept his head down. Then the crowd shifted and the two figures disappeared from sight.
Gideon staggered back a step.
Esther was still alive. But how was that possible?
Gideon forced himself to find blame. Anger, unlike fear, grounded him and gave him direction.
It was clear he had been betrayed. And the only person who could have done it was Eli.
Gideon had given the boy one last chance, and as payment for his kindness, Eli had conspired against him. He had never ordered Esther’s execution and shot her himself, as he had claimed. He had given her some lighter sentence, one that had allowed her to escape with her life. And why? Gideon could think of only one reason: that Eli was still in love with her, a cowardly, disgusting motivation.
Whatever she was planning, Esther had to be stopped. But first, Eli would pay for what he had done.
Gideon would make sure of it.
TWENTY-THREE
ELI CROUCHED BEFORE THE FREESTANDING COUNTER, HIS HANDS PLACED on the bottom drawer. The twin metal knobs felt smooth and cool to the touch.
Then with great difficulty, he forced himself to let go.
His last few bottles of proof were stashed inside. When he had quit drinking, the idea of “forever” had seemed too hard to bear. As a result, he had kept these last flasks, just in case. Now he was sorry he had saved them, for it was too great a temptation.
Several nights ago, Nur had come to see him and confided in whispers that she had poisoned Saith. Although he was shocked by her cold-bloodedness, Eli concluded that it was a good thing; Saith’s death would save lives and end all kinds of suffering. Yet it raised disturbing questions as well. What would become of Nur, the last friend Eli had in the world? And how would Gideon respond? With the priestess gone, Gideon would have complete and unchecked power. What would he do with it?
All of these unknowns made Eli deeply uneasy. Although it was early morning, he longed to soothe himself with a drink, especially when faced with the most unnerving question of all:
What would happen if Gideon found out about Esther?
Eli knew he was
only tormenting himself by asking it. After all, no one had seen Esther escape; their secret was surely safe. Yet he also knew that with Saith dead, he would most likely be relieved of his job. As the system fell apart, who knew what buried truths might surface? Uncertain, he once again lowered himself in front of the cabinet and placed a hand on the drawer.
Then he froze.
He thought he saw a white shape move behind him, reflected in the polished band of metal that edged the counter. Unnerved, Eli stood and swiveled around, his heart thundering. Like all of the stores in the District, his room had no door, just an entry that was open to the atrium. Downstairs, he could faintly hear the sound of the crowd outside, disciples clamoring to be let in. But other than that, he sensed nothing.
The boy gave a shaky laugh and turned back to the drawer. Perhaps he needed that drink more than he thought.
Then, as if from nowhere, a hand clapped over his mouth and something that felt like an iron band tightened around his neck.
Terrified, Eli tried to scream as he clutched impotently at the arm that cut off his breath. Then he heard a voice close to his ear.
“I ain’t gonna hurt you. Just be quiet.”
Eli stopped struggling, and as his assailant released his grip, he whirled around to confront him.
The hired gun called Trey stood in front of him. Eli gaped at him, but the other boy’s expression was unreadable.
“Let’s go,” Trey said.
Eli hesitated, his mind whirling. He glanced over Trey’s shoulder to see if anyone was behind him, a trap waiting to be sprung: There wasn’t. Even so, Eli backed away, frightened and suspicious.
“Who are you working for now?” he asked.
“No one,” said Trey. “This is for Esther. She wants you out of here, before we attack. We’re outside—dozens of us.”
Eli felt as if the ground had opened underneath him. “But . . .” he began, aware that he was flushing a deep red. He was stunned to learn that Esther not only was thriving but had returned to the District to wage war against Gideon and Saith.
