by Susan Kim
Then she hesitated.
Beyond the chanting and rhythmic beating of the gongs, she heard something else far-off; it was jarring and strange. Saith recognized it: the sound of a large mob, angry and energized. She was not the only one who had noticed; several people in her audience seemed distracted. Some even paused in their repeated bowing, stopping to whisper to one another and cast furtive looks over their shoulders. To her disbelief, one disciple even arose and slipped away, followed by a second and then a third.
It was outrageous. “Stop,” Saith tried to say. Then she raised her voice, to sound commanding and awe-inspiring, but the word came out no louder than a whisper. “Stop!”
No one seemed to hear. In desperation, Saith turned to the guard closest to her, hoping he would intercede. She was astonished to find him openly gaping at the entryway. The chanting faltered as one by one her followers stopped bowing and sat up. Within moments, Saith found herself facing a sea of the backs of people’s heads. She heard one word repeated again and again:
EstherEstherEsther.
Saith blinked. Why were they saying that name? Her enemy was dead, had been dead for weeks.
Then Saith shook her head. It was beneath her to pay attention to this disruption, whatever it was. She would demonstrate the kind of power she had by ignoring it.
Once again, Saith lifted the blade.
But as she did, a girl with dark, matted hair materialized in the doorway. Paying no attention to the solemn ritual taking place, much less to Saith, she stood there, breathless and laughing. The haphazard chanting stopped altogether. Even the guards stopped banging on the pans so they could hear.
“It’s Esther,” said the girl. “She come back from the dead. She here!”
Saith’s hand began to tremble; she felt as if she would faint. Her mouth opened and shut without a sound. Then she turned to tell her guards to seize this lying intruder. They would not only punish this girl for her sacrilegious behavior; they would make an example of what would happen to those who showed a god such disrespect.
But all in the room had risen to their feet. Talking loudly, laughing and exclaiming, they began to leave the room. Even her guards did nothing to stop them. In fact, they looked torn. Huddled at the doorway, they gazed out as if they yearned to see what was going on. And then, with an impulse greater than obedience, duty, or even fear, they too fled.
Saith was left alone.
Unnerved, she had a sudden and terrible presentiment: She was the one who was dead, not Esther. And that could not be.
Trembling with fresh anger, Saith stood. The knife slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor with a clatter. With dull, unseeing eyes, she stepped over the baby. Then she stumbled down the aisle.
With great difficulty, the girl made her way through the vast atrium of the District. Her tiny bare feet hardly left an impression on the dusty floor. Delirious, she felt as if she were floating; the entire building shimmered around her with waves of scorching heat. To escape the unbearable temperature, she pushed back her hood; soon, she tore away her robes altogether, leaving them piled behind her on the ground. Wearing only a voluminous black T-shirt that hung to her bony knees, Saith no longer cared that the signs of her illness were visible to all.
She clung to the greasy metal banister and even so, nearly fell down the stairs; still, she managed to right herself and keep going. Although her legs were like lead and she felt as if her entire body were on fire, Saith was fueled by something more powerful than sickness: curiosity.
She had to see Esther for herself.
Saith reached the main level and rested against the cool marble wall. There, blinking to adjust her sight, she saw what she had been fearing: A massive and jubilant mob filled the lobby and spilled out the doors onto the sidewalk.
They were gathered around one individual. The person, a female, was using language that Saith had never heard before, strange words that made no sense: “immunity.” “Exposure.” She realized that the girl was talking about the killing disease, saying that there was now a way to prevent it.
Preposterous, Saith thought with contempt. The fools.
When the priestess finally made her way to the center, she saw that the girl was in her teens: thin, with dark hair shorn close to her head. And it was no wonder the others kept their distance: the creature dripped poison. Her wet clothes clung to her like a second skin and in the rays of sun streaming in, she seemed to radiate a brilliant light.
Esther.
It was impossible.
“It ain’t real,” Saith whispered. No one heard. She had to conjure all her strength. “It a trick. A spirit.”
Those closest to her turned to see who had spoken. Falling silent one by one, they recoiled in shock and horror when they realized how far the disease had progressed.
Saith could no longer read the expressions on people’s faces; she could only make out flickering shapes, advancing and receding. Yet she knew they must be smiling at her, bowing to her in deference and support.
The demon pretending to be Esther strode forward, its dark eyes snapping with anger. “Where’s Sarah?”
Saith found the energy to laugh. Although she could barely see, she could still hear the urgency in the other’s voice. That meant the ghost was frightened, Saith thought with satisfaction, and fear meant weakness.
The creature now towered over her. “Where is she?”
Saith smiled through discolored teeth. Then she pursed her lips. Her answer was a long, thin line of spit propelled with surprising force.
It sprayed over Esther and splattered those standing behind her.
The group fell back with a gasp. Then, as the spectators wiped the foul liquid from their faces, something inside them snapped.
The crowd’s murmur rose to a bloodcurdling roar of fury as months of long-buried hatred and fear erupted. Their enemy was before them: alone, unguarded, and vulnerable. Before Esther could stop them, the mob charged as one toward the tiny girl.
“No!” Esther shouted, but they did not hear.
In a second, they were upon the priestess and she vanished under their numbers. Dozens of people made up this blind swarm of rage, snatching, punching, kicking.
Though she kept shouting for them to stop, Esther could no longer see their target. All she heard was a single, piercing shriek. Then, abruptly, it was cut off, its echo piercing through the marble halls. And even then, the mob kept tearing at what wasn’t there, crazed by the smell of blood and revenge.
Frozen with fear, Gideon heard it, too.
He was alone on an upper landing, gazing down. From his vantage point, he had seen the terrible inevitability unfold: Saith working her way into the center of the mob and the furious crowd turning on her as one, a pack of wild dogs descending on a single prey.
Even he was taken aback by the unmitigated rage of people who had once professed their love and adoration. Already, they were turning on the hapless guards, who were now unarmed and outnumbered; the atrium rang with the sound of their screams. He knew he would be next. Within minutes, they would hunt him down as well, with Esther leading the way.
Where could he go?
Gideon ran through the empty corridors, his sneakers squeaking on the marble floor as he skidded around corners. One quick look over the railing told him what he had feared: The doors were now guarded by Esther’s people. He could already sense the mob starting to spread out, moving upward into the building; by his calculation, he was ahead of them by perhaps two or three minutes at most. The District was enormous, and he knew its intricacies well. Every hiding place he considered, he rejected out of hand.
But as he ran past Saith’s former chambers, he stopped. Since they had finished with the girl, perhaps he would be safe there. Venturing in, Gideon found it in shambles, as if its former inhabitants had vacated suddenly.
The room had been set up in a bizarre way for Saith’s ceremony, with pots and smoldering firebowls on either side of her throne. In front of it was a low t
able. And lying on it was a child, wailing as it kicked its rosy limbs.
Esther’s baby.
Gideon stood there, staring at it. His only emotion was overwhelming relief: This was a valuable good with which he could bargain.
He swept the infant up in his arms.
The boy had never held a baby before. The thing was warm and slippery; as it kicked its tiny legs and struggled in protest, it began to slide from his grasp. Frantic that he might accidentally kill it, Gideon tightened his hold. As if sensing his discomfort, the child began to cry even harder.
Attempting to muffle its screams against his chest only seemed to make the child cry louder. Gideon had to rock the thing clumsily in his arms to pacify it. Then the boy peered outside of the room. He ran for the corner stairwell and slipped inside.
Climbing the long, dark flights to the roof was twice as hard when carrying a wriggling infant. Occasionally, he heard doors clang open below him and footsteps thunder up or down a flight. When that happened, he had to stop where he was and bounce the child in order to silence it, his heart pounding in his chest.
Minutes later, soaked with sweat, he finally reached the top. He pushed open the heavy metal door and stepped out into the blinding heat. Hot air gusted in at him from the immense opening smashed into the glass wall. This was where he’d ordered his guards to break through so that they could hurl the dead bodies down at the protesters below.
The hole still held glass fragments. He brushed some aside and, with the blanket guarding its naked skin, propped the child against the edge. If anyone came near him, a single move would send it over.
Gideon caught his breath and prepared to wait.
TWENTY-FIVE
IN THE UPROAR, ESTHER COULD NOT FIND OUT WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO Sarah.
A few spoke of a ceremony upstairs. But the details were conflicting and confusing, and when Esther ran upstairs to Saith’s rooms, she saw that they were bare.
She seized the knife that lay on the ground and examined it closely, even pressing it to her nose. To her immense relief, the blade was dry and clean; there wasn’t even a trace of blood. And when she laid her hand on the table, she could have sworn it was still warm. Yet there was no sign of the baby.
Skar appeared at the door, her face etched with concern. “Gideon is not to be found.”
Esther nodded. “Why don’t you check from the basement and work your way up? I’ll start on the roof. Wherever they are, I think she’s still alive.”
Skar nodded and both girls took off in different directions.
Esther made it to the hidden staircase. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the suffocating darkness and bolted up the steps. Within seconds, she reached the tenth floor and then the roof.
When she pushed open the metal door, she was momentarily blinded by the piercing sunlight. Blinking rapidly, she forced her eyes to adjust.
That was when she saw them.
Halfway across the tarred surface, Gideon stood as if awaiting her. And there was Sarah: crying, red-faced, but very much alive.
A hot wind gusted across Esther’s face, blowing grit. She noticed that the boy was standing near an enormous hole in the glass wall, broken fragments still glinting beneath his feet. Her heart lurched as she realized that he was keeping her child balanced somehow on its jagged edge, only a blanket protecting her soft skin.
The two stared at each other for a long moment.
Esther knew that she had the advantage. Saith and the guards were dead and the District had been overthrown. It was clear the boy was afraid; there was no other reason for him to threaten Sarah. It was the only leverage he had left.
Yet even as she stood there, her knees weakened at the sight of her child, so tiny and unknowing. Nothing else in the world was more important. She would do anything to save her child . . . anything at all. And looking into his eyes, she understood that he knew that too.
“What do you want?” Despite her best efforts, her voice cracked.
The boy said nothing, waiting to hear what she would offer. So Esther continued to speak, stammering as she tried to keep the shakiness from her voice.
“You’ll be safe. . . . I won’t let anybody harm you. You can stay here. You can have all of this”—she gestured at the garden, the entire District beneath them—“and we’ll help you get it back to running order. Then we’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
Gideon smiled.
“That generous,” he said. “But it ain’t what I want.”
Esther swallowed. “Then please,” she said, “step away from there. I can’t think with her like that.”
He complied. Hoisting the child onto his hip, he walked to the center of the roof. Esther moved with him, although he was careful to keep the skylight between them.
“You ain’t like Saith,” the boy remarked. “She got no understanding of power. . . . It like proof to her. Make her drunk, then sick. That what kill her. Those people down there, they only helped.”
Esther nodded. She was only half listening; she had her eyes focused on Sarah, measuring the distance between them. As if reading her mind, Gideon edged away so that he stood directly across the glass field from her. Then he spoke again, his voice casual.
“What I want,” he said, “is to stay. Only this time, it ain’t just gonna be about running things. It be you and me.”
Esther blinked; she wasn’t sure she understood what he was saying. “You want to be partners?”
“You don’t believe me?” With his free hand, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a palmful of sparkling glass. There were so many pieces that several spilled onto the ground. He displayed them, sending glints of green against his face.
“Look,” he said. “This show you I’m serious. You can have this and more . . . all you want. I give you everything I got.”
Esther glanced up, and for the first time, she stared deep into his eyes, gray and fathomless. With a sense of shock, she realized that Gideon meant what he said.
He did want to be her partner, and not just because it would help his glass scheme. He loved her and had all along; she was the one thing he craved most in the world. And yet he did not know how to love. All he knew of love consisted of what he held in his hand.
For a moment, Esther felt pity for him. But not enough to make her negotiate—not for a minute.
“I don’t want it,” she said.
Then they both heard something at the same time.
Distracted, neither had noticed the person who now stood at the door. It was a girl Esther only vaguely recognized. She was scrawny and pale, her hair cropped short. Yet her dark eyes burned with fury.
“I heard what you promise,” Nur said.
Before Gideon could reply, the girl rushed forward. Seizing him by the shoulders, she struggled with him as Esther darted to the boy’s side and snatched Sarah out of his arms. Then Nur shoved him, hard. Gideon lost his balance and with a cry, he stumbled backward onto the skylight. One foot and then the next punched through as he plunged downward in an explosion of glass, the pieces in his hand scattering everywhere.
Yet Gideon did not fall.
With bleeding fingers, he managed to cling to the rusted metal railing that edged the skylight as his body swung below, his legs kicking in vain to gain a toehold. Colorful shards continued to rain down on the District, dropping to the marble floor ten flights down.
As Nur backed away, her face triumphant, Esther froze, staring at the scene.
Gideon’s eyes found her. “Help me,” he gasped.
Esther did not want to save him. But she couldn’t let him die, either. Placing Sarah down, she sat on the gritty tar paper in front of him and braced both feet against the iron railing. Then she reached out.
“Hold tight,” she said.
Gideon’s eyes met hers: The pupils were dilated in terror. She saw that the cords of his hands were sticking out like ropes, his knuckles white. He swallowed hard and his eyes flickered to her right hand. With a sudden movement, he
snatched it with his left and Esther felt herself nearly yanked over the edge, as well. Pushing as hard as she could with her legs, she tightened her grasp and began to pull.
It was working. Gideon used his other hand to pull himself up. His chest was drawing even with the roof, when Esther sensed a sudden change in the air.
It was an eerie vibration that she felt rather than heard, a strange thrumming in her bones. It came from low to the ground. Whatever it was drew closer and as it did, she suddenly understood.
It was Pilot.
The dog crouched low to the ground no more than a foot away from her, his ears flattened close to his skull, his yellowed teeth bared. Esther was astonished; the animal had never shown any aggression toward her. He was growling so loudly she could feel his hot breath on her neck.
“Easy, boy,” Esther said.
The dog hesitated. Then suddenly, he sprang forward and sank his teeth into Esther’s arm.
“No!” she screamed.
She lost her grip of Gideon, and, flailing, he dropped backward. His other hand popped off the railing, and, shrieking, he disappeared from sight. An eternity seemed to pass in a vacuum of sound. Then a great explosion was heard that echoed upward from the District’s main floor.
Pilot let go of Esther’s arm. He hadn’t hurt her; in fact, his teeth hadn’t even broken the skin. As if abashed, he now butted his head against her, whimpering as he tried to lick her face.
Tears starting, Esther patted him. And then she gathered Sarah into her arms.
TWENTY-SIX
THE GIRL RAN ACROSS THE BROKEN ASPHALT.
Small for her size, she darted barefoot from shadow to overhang through the empty streets of Mundreel, her dark limbs flashing in the early morning light. Behind her, a telltale sound revealed that she was being followed. She shot a quick glance behind her and sped up.
Trying to lose her pursuer, she rounded one corner and then another. Spying an opening between two buildings, she raced into its dark recesses and advanced three paces before stopping. Facing her was a dead end, the back wall of a building. The footsteps drew even closer.
