The Interrogation of Ashala Wolf (The Tribe)

by Kwaymullina, Ambelin

  “You’re a prisoner, too, aren’t you, boy? Like me, but with a different collar.” He whined, tipping his head to one side.

  I staggered over to the nearest rocky hill and threw the collar on the ground, searching around for a sharp rock. When I found one, I crouched beside the metal band and brought the rock down on it with an almighty smash. The lights went out, but that didn’t seem like enough, so I kept going, hitting it over and over until I’d reduced the entire thing to mangled pieces.

  Feeling immensely satisfied, I threw the rock away, panting from exertion. The dog ran over, wagging his big tail. He didn’t look menacing anymore. In fact, he seemed kind of goofy. I grabbed at his nose. “Never again, do you hear me? You’re your own dog now.” He gave me a big slobbery lick. “Woof!” he barked, bouncing like an overgrown puppy. “Woof, woof, woof!”

  “You do realize,” said a dry voice behind me, “that you’ve given the machine power over itself.”

  I scrambled up guiltily. The dog caught sight of a butterfly and took off after it, bounding across the grasslands. “He’s a good dog, Em!”

  “He might not have been a good dog, Ash, and there’s nothing to prevent him from attacking you — or rather, your mind — if he wants.”

  “Why didn’t you try to stop me, then?”

  “I’m you, remember? How successful have you ever been at stopping yourself from rescuing something?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever tried to.”

  She rolled her eyes. “That’s kind of my point. Besides,” she added, waving at the hound, “this is what you do best. It’s just like the Tribe. People come to the Firstwood all hurt and scared and angry at the world, but the only thing you see is the good in them, the greatest version of themselves that they could be. And somehow, most of them grow and change until they start becoming that person.”

  “It’s not me that does that,” I protested. “It’s freedom.”

  “It’s so not, Ash.”

  I opened my mouth to argue. But it was ridiculous to have a debate with myself, so instead I watched the dog, who’d given up on the butterfly and was rolling on his back with his metal paws in the air.

  “Do you think they know that they’ve lost control of him yet?”

  “They will soon if we don’t give him a memory.”

  I grinned. “Let’s give him a totally useless one, like my fifth birthday party.”

  “Or we could give him the one they want.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m not joking, Ash.”

  I turned, puzzled, and saw that she was holding something above her head, a long stick that curved in the shape of . . . a snake? Panicked, I lunged for it but found that my movements were sluggish and weak. Ember stepped back, easily evading my slow grab. “Sorry, Ash, but I can’t let you interfere now.” Then she threw the stick into the air, sending it flying toward the dog.

  I couldn’t even move my head fast enough to see the dog leap for it. But I heard the cracking snap of it breaking, and I knew the secret I would have died to protect was about to be spread out across a screen for my enemies to see. Ember disappeared, and my mind wailed in horror, This was all some kind of terrible trap!

  Then the grasslands faded away, and I was dragged into the memory of what I’d been doing in Cambergull four days earlier.

  I toyed with the river stone hanging around my neck, thinking that I didn’t much like warehouses. The air was musty, and the windows set high in the wall let in so little light that if I hadn’t known it was early morning, I might have thought night was approaching. Sighing, I shifted into a more comfortable spot. I was sitting on top of a big container, and I’d carefully positioned myself so that I had a view of the door but was still half concealed behind yet more containers. Cambergull was a farming community, and generally these warehouses held either wool or foodstuffs like grain and vegetables. Not this time, though. Everything in here was for Detention Center 3. I’d been excited about that until I’d discovered the only thing the containers had in them was boring office supplies. Running a detention center involved more paperwork than I’d ever imagined.

  The door to the warehouse slid open, and I tensed as a tall man slipped inside. He was wearing a long coat, a hat, and a scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face. Guess this is the guy. “Over here,” I called.

  The Serpent strolled forward until he was standing a few paces away. I couldn’t tell much about him, other than he was broad shouldered, green eyed, and — apparently — somewhat paranoid.

  “So you’re Ashala Wolf,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  “And you’re the Serpent. Nice scarf.”

  “It is best if as few people as possible know what I look like. I am something of a wanted man, you know.”

  “The government’s not exactly my biggest fan, either, but I’m not going around all wrapped up.”

  “You live in a forest, Ashala. I must move through the towns and the cities.”

  “And just what,” I demanded, “are you doing in the towns and cities?”

  “I am building a network, an alliance of Citizens, Exempts, and Illegals alike, who wish to see the Citizenship Accords repealed.”

  That doesn’t really tell me anything. “I’ve heard the rumors about you. You’re supposed to have some kind of reality-bending ability.”

  “I do, but I am not going to tell you about it. I’m here because I thought I should inform you that there is going to be an attack on Chief Administrator Neville Rose’s . . . project . . . in the Steeps.”

  I straightened. “What is Rose doing in the Steeps?”

  “That is not information I intend to share.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you are an amateur.”

  “I’m a what?”

  “I admire your spirit,” the Serpent told me, “but you have no idea what you’re doing, other than encouraging children to ‘escape’ to a particularly dangerous part of the world. All things considered, I think it would be best if you stayed out of my way.”

  “Why did you even bother coming to speak to me, then?”

  “Because what I am planning is going to stir up a great deal of trouble. I thought it fair to tell you that you might wish to withdraw farther into the Firstwood for a while.”

  I glared at him. “What you’re really saying is that the government might think the Tribe had something to do with your attack, seeing as we’re living so near the center. They’ll retaliate against us.”

  “Yes,” he conceded. “That is a possibility, although I doubt it’ll come to that. I’ll ensure it becomes known that I am responsible. Besides, after Friday, the government and Neville Rose are going to have far bigger concerns than your group of runaways.”

  He sounded so dismissive that my fists instinctively bunched, and I wanted nothing more than to leap off the container and pull that stupid scarf off his face. I might have tried it, too, except it was a bad idea to start a fight with another Illegal when you didn’t know exactly what his or her ability was.

  With an air of finality, the Serpent said, “It has been . . . interesting to meet you, Ashala Wolf. Now take my advice, and get your group into the woods.”

  He walked swiftly to the door and was gone before I could say another word. I sat there for a good five minutes after he left, fuming. Finally, I thought, I might not know who he is, but I can certainly find out what he’s targeting. I didn’t care how dangerous Ember said it was, I was going into the Steeps myself to find out what the high-and-mighty Serpent thought was worth attacking.

  I pushed myself off the container and left the warehouse, absently rubbing my nose as I considered the best way to approach the Steeps. My mind was busy with plans as I hurried past other warehouses and started down the road that would take me out of Cambergull. I hadn’t taken more than a few steps when someone yelled out my name and I found myself staring straight into a pair of all-too-familiar blue eyes.

  I was caught.

 
I returned to the world in the windowless room. There was no way for me to tell how much time had passed, but I had a sinking feeling that it hadn’t been very long. Everyone was standing exactly where they’d been before: Connor, statue-like by the door; Neville, horribly triumphant at the end of the chair; and Grey behind the black box, saying gleefully, “I told you my machine would get you the answers.”

  “Excellent work, Miriam. I must apologize for doubting you.” Neville moved to stand over me, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I really did think you’d put up more of a fight, Ashala. It seems you’re not as strong as I thought.”

  I wanted to slip into unconsciousness, to escape — however briefly — both Neville and the knowledge of how I’d betrayed the Serpent. But I remained awake and aware. Swallowing, I forced out some words. “The Serpent won’t come now. He must have heard I’ve been captured.”

  “I’m afraid,” he told me smugly, “that no one outside this center knows if you survived the wound you took in Cambergull. The ‘Serpent’ may gamble on you having died before you were questioned. Besides, even if he doesn’t come, it does me no harm to be prepared. But if he does”— Neville’s smile widened, his teeth gleaming in the light —“then we have him.”

  “Neville? Are we going to continue?” Grey asked eagerly.

  The Chief Administrator shook his head. “No, Miriam. I have preparations to make, and I think she’s had enough for today. Anyway,” he added, gazing down at me, “this is going to become much easier from here on in, won’t it, Ashala? Because you understand now at exactly what point you’ll break. So the next time, you’ll break a little before that point. And then a little earlier still. Until finally you’ll tell us what you know without the need for any persuasion at all.” He leaned in close. “You’re mine, Ashala Wolf.”

  I spat in his face.

  Neville reared back, his eyes flashing with fury. For a second, I thought he was going to strike me. Go on, Neville. Hit me. Hurt me. Kill me. But he regained control of himself, taking out his handkerchief to mop at his cheek. “I’m afraid you’re going to regret that.” His voice was sorrowful, but it came out of a monster’s face, one alight with anticipation at the many ways he could make me suffer. I shuddered, and he smiled slyly as he turned away, pausing to issue some low-voiced instructions to Connor before leaving the room.

  Connor came to free me from the chair, and it dawned on me that I didn’t feel anywhere near as bad as I had after my last time on the machine. It also occurred to me that Connor didn’t know that. The second he releases my hands, I’m going to grab his sword and make a hole in my chest too big for Wentworth to Mend. I waited impatiently as he removed the hoop from my head, unclipped the restraint from my neck, and put the rhondarite collar back on me. When he began untying my wrists, I tensed, ready to lunge, but found myself strangely held in place. It felt almost as if the air itself was pushing against my body, preventing me from moving. What is this, another weird reaction to being given too much of that stay-awake drug? I was still trying to fight against the pressure when Connor finished with the restraints and lifted me from the chair, picking me up as if I weighed nothing.

  I couldn’t move at all now, not even to open my mouth to speak, and I started to get scared. But as we entered the hallway, the pressure eased enough for me to gasp, “I need to see Wentworth — something’s wrong with me!”

  “If you’re experiencing paralysis,” he answered calmly, “it’s a temporary side effect of being exposed to the machine at a high level. It should pass soon.”

  I exhaled in relief. Then I thought, Wait, that doesn’t seem right. If I was paralyzed, I would feel numb, not as though some invisible force were molding itself to my flesh. In fact, if I didn’t know better, I’d think someone was using an ability on me. A surge of sudden hope sent my pulse racing. Could there be a free Illegal around here somewhere, someone who could use their ability from a distance? Were they trying to let me know that he or she was around?

  My mind was still whirling in speculation when we arrived at my small cell. Connor laid me gently down on the bed, then went to shut the door. The light coming in through the tiny window told me that the sun was setting. Good, Neville’s going to have to move his enforcers into position at night. It’d take longer to navigate the Steeps in the dark.

  The odd pressure in the air vanished, and I sat up. Connor was propped up against the wall in front of me, looking uncharacteristically relaxed. Some of his hair was falling over his face, and his shoulders were slumped in what could only be described as a slouch. “I’m glad,” he said, “that you don’t want to kill yourself anymore.”

  I stared at him in amazement. He was right that I’d temporarily given up on killing myself in favor of finding out if there was an uncollared Illegal somewhere in Detention Center 3. But how had he known what I was thinking?

  Connor smiled faintly and continued. “I was ready to stop you this time. I wasn’t, back in Cambergull.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “This was all your plan, Ashala.”

  “What was my plan?”

  “Being captured and interrogated.”

  “Yeah, right!”

  “I know it sounds unlikely. But it’s true. You thought it was the only way to free the detainees — and expose Neville — without the government coming after the Tribe.”

  “You’re talking nonsense.”

  “You just think that because you don’t remember.” He reached inside his shirt and pulled out a black cord with a small stone attached to it.

  “That’s my river stone!” I gasped.

  “I know.” He pulled the cord over his head and held it out to me. I grabbed for it. As my fingers closed around the stone, Connor said, “The phrase you want is, ‘This is the real world.’”

  For some reason, it seemed important to repeat those words. “This is the real world? What is that supposed to . . .?” Before I could finish the sentence, the stone started to vibrate, sending a weird buzzing sensation into my fingers. I tried to drop it, but the pressure in the air was back, holding my hand in place. The buzzing increased, traveling up my arm and into my head. In an instant, everything disappeared. Then, astonishingly, I was pulled into yet another memory, a memory of something I’d inexplicably forgotten. Until now.

  Ember had cleared a big patch of dirt with her foot. Then she’d picked up a stick and sketched a rough picture of three circles sitting inside one another.

  I rolled my eyes. “Em, this is exactly how you explained this to me when we first decided to bring other Illegals to the Firstwood.”

  “I know, but what I’m trying to tell you now is how you’ll see the world once you’ve lost your memories. Can you think about it for a second, please?”

  I stared obediently down at Ember’s system of dividing information. The third ring, the smallest, represented the people in the Tribe who knew the least about our secrets. These were the newcomers, the youngsters, and a few others who Ember didn’t consider to be entirely reliable. Then there was the middle ring of long-term Tribe members, and finally the first ring, the largest one. That last circle was made up of Georgie, Ember, and me. And now Connor and Daniel, too, I guessed.

  Ember tapped the biggest ring with her stick. “You’ll lose this knowledge, Ash. So you won’t remember all of what I can do or any of what Georgie can do. And you won’t know about the saurs.”

  “Or,” I put in, “about Jaz or Connor.”

  She nodded and moved the stick to the second ring. “This knowledge goes, too. You’ll forget that some of the Tribe are still in contact with their relatives and that those relatives help us out with information and supplies. All you’ll be left with,” she concluded, tapping the third circle, “is this.”

  “Which means,” I said grimly, “that I’ll know what Briony knows. Em, if I haven’t said it, I’m sorry for saying you were paranoid to want to keep secrets. How did you know, so long ago, that there’d be someone like Bry �
��?”

  “I didn’t. I just thought it was unwise to be telling anyone who happened to come along everything about ourselves. Anyway, it wasn’t all about security. Hiding my ability was more because people aren’t very comfortable around me if they know I can change memories. As for Georgie . . .” She shrugged, not bothering to say what didn’t need to be put into words. We’d both agreed Georgie’s ability was best kept hidden. She was too fragile to have people pestering her for answers that she couldn’t give them.

  Ember tapped the stick on the ground again. “What I’m trying to explain is that it’s not about losing small pieces of information. This stuff shapes your entire understanding of reality. I don’t think you realize how badly not knowing these things could affect you.”

  “I know it’ll be awful, but it’s the best way to fix everything. Besides, it’ll only be for four days.”

  “A lot can happen in four days.” She was silent for a moment, then added tentatively, “We could send you in closer to the Inspectorate visit. . . .”

  “We’re cutting it close as it is. Anyway, you said my subconscious needed time to work with the machine.”

  “It might not be necessary. It’s more of a precaution.”

  I shook my head at her, knowing she was trying to find a way to make things easier for me. “It’s a precaution we need to take. We can’t afford for anything to go wrong.”

  “I know that. But from everything Connor’s told us about the machine, it sounds like it works like my ability, although it can’t do what I can. It only finds memories, so I don’t think it’ll be able to tell a real memory from one I’ve manufactured.”