by Brindi Quinn
Crash tipped his head forward darkly. “This was the beginning of the end.”
So Westerners learned the same history.
Yes, Central City was the first to go.
Long ago, long before even my grandfather was born, there were nine great cities left in the world, each city blessed with a its own unique resources – resources that could be bartered with the rest of the world, so that all might have what nature had otherwise lacked them.
I recalled the lectures of the priests.
Central City, being located at the center of a great desert, had no natural resources of its own; thus, it was wholly reliant on the other cities. Yet, what it lacked in resources, it could offer in location – something invaluable to the functionality of the bartering system. And so Central City became the heart of commerce, a central meeting place where representatives from all other cities could meet, exchange goods, and distinguish law.
For many, many years, the nine cities lived in peace, sharing what they had, and meeting quarterly to discuss order and law.
The world was dying, but our alliances made us strong.
That was before fear changed the hearts of the northern leaders.
The south came under misfortune. It is not clear what caused them to lose their forests. All that is known is that suddenly, they were left without goods to share, or even to supply their own people. The Central City government decreed that the northern cities, who were situated near a great lake, share their resources with the failing cities in the south, though the south had nothing to offer in return. The northern cities argued that their lakes were drying and that they had hardly enough resources to feed their own. They insisted that they could not give without receiving in return. Central City challenged them, and the three upper cities, Northern, Northeastern and Northwestern, formed an alliance, destroying Central City and all of its laws.
The fragile framework holding society failed and mayhem ensued.
Out of desperation, Southern City and Southwestern City invaded Northern City. Victorious, they transported the last of its resources to the south. Northwestern and Northeastern came to Northern’s aid, and in the battle, Northern City was destroyed. Southwestern City joined the fight, helping the other southern cities to occupy and destroy the remnants of the north. Northeastern and Northwestern cities fell, and civilization was shifted south.
Time went on.
Southeastern City was the next to go. With its immense fields of grain, Southeastern had plenty to feed the remaining cities of the world, yet fearing climate change, the next generation of the city’s leaders horded its resources in underground storehouses, forgetting former alliances in the wake of a changing world. With the help of my own Eastern City, Southern City turned on its former ally, overthrew its leaders and distributed the grain to the remaining cities of the world, leaving Southeastern with little. The following years were dry, as the leaders of Southeastern had predicted, and without food to feed its people, the city fell.
Generations later, Southwestern City fell not due to war, but to illness. A great plague overtook the city, killing ninety percent of its population in a matter of weeks. The survivors of the plague now called the Silent Death, fled to the other three cities in search of respite. But the other three cities closed their doors to the refugees, for fear of spreading the illness to their own. It was at this time that we Easterners constructed the massive wall that now surrounds our city.
We remaining cities, Western, Eastern and Southern lived on for many, many years, scarcely making contact with one another. Eventually, we formed an alliance with Southern City, for there were whispers that Western City was working on a bomb capable of wiping out entire regions.
Together with Southern City, we infiltrated Western City, found not that they were building a bomb, but that they were constructing a massive generator, capable of changing the face of the world. We slinked back to our respective cities, forgot our alliance, and set about engineering our own products to rival Western City’s masterpiece.
An age of innovation befell Eastern City. We of the east found a way to purify the acid rain of our city, and around the same time, a great inventor produced an artificial light source that could feed vegetation. We used these inventions in conjunction to feed underground crops, shielded from the acid rain, which we in turn used to feed our people.
Meanwhile, Southern City suffered a great drought. Lacking ingenuity of their own, the Southern leaders came to us, asking us to share what we’d learned – pleading with us to divulge our secrets, but the leaders of my people, coveting leverage, turned them down and they attacked. Hearing of our recent innovations, Western City came to our aid, and the south was destroyed.
One last alliance was formed. Western City, land of the sun, would fuel us with solar energy, fed through their generator, and we, in return, would send them our food. This partnership went on as long as it could, until we had no more food to share. It was then that the leaders of Western City proposed a new deal: their energy in exchange for our youth. Thus, the first marking beset our city.
I stared at the ruins, reflecting.
Maybe Crash was doing so, too, for he gazed at a beheaded marble statue and muttered:
“Mankind is a tragedy.”
For once, I was in agreement.
We reached the edge of the city while the world was still dim and afterwards, we walked on through the wasteland. The day was cool and silent. When our shadows were starting to show, we came to a gate. One red gate – like that at the foot of a shrine – stood unnaturally out of the dirt. It looked newly painted and out of place against the harsh landscape. We passed under it.
“Let me know when you see it,” Crash said, taking on a restless posture. “It should be soon.”
“It?”
“The way to Paradise.”
I didn’t know why he should need me to tell him, for when I saw it, it stuck out rather magnificently.
A towering metal statue rose from the sand in the distance. The statue was a figure, manlike, but with wings, and a body that melded into an upside-down pyramid. The whole of it looked slightly alien.
“What is that?”
I started off hesitantly, but soon picked up my pace with excitement. It was an angel or a sphinx, but most of all, it was a feat of architecture.
When I reached it, I placed a hand to its cool metallic body. “Who put this here?” I marveled. “The Directors?”
“Do you see any others?” Crash was standing stiffly a short distance from the pillar.
Now that he mentioned it, there was another in the distance, rising like a beacon. I started for that one, and Crash trailed behind.
When we reached the base of the second statue, I noticed another on the horizon. Again, Crash stood stiffly, as though he were avoiding the metallic things altogether. “Where is the next one?” he said.
It was strange that he was asking me, but when I questioned him on it, he didn’t divulge. He merely ordered me to move on to the next, and to the next after that.
I was fine with it. Each step closer to Paradise – if that’s where we were really going – meant getting closer to Jozy, Peck and Alaranda. It meant sharing in the prag resources. It meant gaining an advantage in this game.
When the sun was just starting to rise, we reached the final statue.
That was when I saw it.
A massive stone wall ran across the desert. Laid in brick, it looked like something out of a storybook – something that would usually surround a castle. There was no castle, but there was a gate, embellished with stone symbols I couldn’t decipher, behind which peaked turrets rose brilliantly into the air.
I knew in an instant what it was. ‘Extensive defenses to keep the Markers away’ had been accurate description.
PARADISE.
Crash hadn’t been lying. And now his fate was sealed.
Chest welling, I made a run for salvation.
“Wait.” Crash had a hold on my collar. “You might want to pu
t gloves on. I doubt they’ll let you in with that on your hand.”
He was right. My hand was glowing red offensively. The prolonged tracker was still active. I moved to put on the hunting gloves, which I’d removed upon leaving Central City. Crash yet held on to my collar. “What do you see?” he asked.
I eyed him suspiciously. “I see the wall and the turrets, why?”
“What do you hear?”
I focused on the sound coming from behind the wall. “It’s cheering.” My heart quickened at the sound. “There are many people inside.” But surely he could hear that for himself.
The excitement of Paradise was distracting. Now that we were here, it occurred to me that I still didn’t know why we had come in the first place. Crash wanted me to help him infiltrate the fortress. How were we supposed to do so with that impressive gate and wall?
As if to read my thoughts, Crash shook his head. “Go on. Go in there. I’ll wait right here. It would be in your best interest to return to me within two hours.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. He was going to let me go? On word alone that I would return?
His eyes gleamed evilly. “I will hold your weapon, of course.”
Of course.
“And if you do not return in two hours, I’ll use the Poi-7,” he said.
My throat made a sound of rebellion. He couldn’t actually activate the dastardly thing, as it was a close-range gambit, but even so, he still had the upper hand. Poi-7 aside, there were several other gambits he could use to keep me from running, and until the prolonged tracker ran out, his contact would allow him to see my silhouette wherever it went.
“What exactly am I to do once inside?” I asked, hand to hip.
“Keep yours eyes peeled. Watch for anything unusual. I have a theory and I want proof.”
“What kind of a theory?”
“Just go, before I change my mind.”
Fine then. I would enter Paradise, gather whatever weapon I could, and when I returned in two hours, I would challenge him, defeat him, and then retreat once again to the fortress.
Giving him a nod, I, Zillow Stone, ran to the gates of Paradise.
Chapter 14: The Prag Fortress
I had two hours. What I didn’t have was a clock.
I would have to guess.
As I made my way for the gates of Paradise, the ground below me began to transform. In an ombré, it shifted gradually from parched and patchy to green and grassy. With each stride towards Paradise, the ground below my boots filled in with lusher and lusher plantation.
The dead world was waking.
The staleness of the air was lifting.
I didn’t need to knock or announce my arrival. The great iron gates lifted when I neared, welcoming me to a world too bright for my eyes.
I drew up a shielding hand and waited for my pupils to adjust. The sun was high, within the walls, blindingly so. Funny, I could have sworn it was only dawn . . .
But that couldn’t be right. It was the heart of the day, and the world was alive.
Behind the gates, a boundless green valley stretched. Small cottages, topped with brightly colored roofs, poked from the swaying grass. These were shaded by willowed trees. The gully dropped, quite drastically, until reaching a shimmering pool of water, in which darkened shapes swam just below the surface. I hadn’t had fresh meat in a very long time. If only I could locate a spear and a net.
The air here was fresh and warm and soft. I drew it in, let it fill me beyond the reach of my lungs. The more I took in, the more my heart eased. Here, my brethren and I could live free from the terrors of the wasteland, and free from the decay of Eastern City. Why would anyone ever choose to leave a place like this?
It is important to earn Safe Points.
That was true. SPs were very important.
There weren’t any people, as far as I could see, yet the hills were filled with cheering and motion. Yes, there were people here somewhere. There had to be, and I would make it my mission to find them.
As I moved through the grass, a tiny notion hit me.
Hadn’t I seen this place before?
No . . . it was my first time entering Paradise, though I had heard about it from Peck and the others. That was why it seemed familiar.
I tried to think on it deeper, but the memory evaded me. Recalling it took more energy than it was worth. Instead, I’d let myself feel respite for the first time in a very long time.
Something flashed behind or in front of my eyes.
For a brief moment, I thought I saw someone – a girl with short, choppy hair – sitting directly in front of me in a chair.
“Jozy?”
But I was mistaken. There was no chair. There was no Jozy.
Still, the image haunted me enough to pull me out of the air’s warmth. I remembered why I’d come. I needed to find a weapon before my two hours ran out.
It is important to think about your Marker.
Yes, it was important to concentrate on Crash. I needed to think of him often if I hoped to beat him. His eyes were rather intoxicating, weren’t they? I would return to him soon.
I trotted to the door of one of the cottages. It was too small for a family to live inside of comfortably, but a single person might be able to manage just fine. I knocked once before twisting the brass knob and slowly pushing open the door. For a second flash, I thought I saw someone sitting before me in a chair. This time, it was a person I’d never seen before. A boy with dark circles under his eyes.
Geez. Give her more. This one’s new.
For an even briefer flash, I thought I heard a woman’s voice in my near vicinity, but instantaneously, I realized I was wrong. There was no boy. There was no chair. There was no voice.
The cottage housed a quilted bed and a small nightstand, atop which sat a basin full of water. Instinct told me I needed to drink it. I ran to the basin and began to guzzle mouthfuls of cool, refreshing water, purer than any I’d had since leaving the University. I felt it cool me all the way down to my stomach. When I was finished, I dumped the last of the stale water from my canteens and replaced it with fresh liquid from the basin.
It is important to share your water.
Yes, I would give some to Crash when I returned to his side.
I wondered what he was doing now.
It is important to think about your Marker.
I wondered what Crash’s motives were. I wondered why he’d refrained from killing me when given the chance. Usually, it made me angry. Now, however . . .
It is important to be grateful.
The area beneath my ribs felt soft and warm, just like the air.
All of a sudden, I felt a prick on my finger.
“Ow.”
I looked to see a yellow bee go zipping away.
“This is strange,” I muttered to myself, glancing around the cabin and nursing the sting.
This is very strange, Zillow Stone, my self agreed. Be on your guard.
It is important to earn Safe Points. It is important to think about your Marker. It is important to earn Safe Points. It is important to win the Marking.
All of those things were important. They were more important than feeling strange.
I left the cottage and set about trying to find a weapon.
Traveling further along the gully, I found a second cottage, this one sporting bright blue shutters. Inside was unremarkable for the most part, aside from the peculiar, caustic smell. Out the back door, I swatted away the arms of a willow that brushed at the ground. Its boughs were heavy with greening buds, yet somehow the tree looked sadder than any person I’d ever encountered.
The crystalline lake at the bottom of the gorge caught the sun and shined brilliantly. I blinked and for a fleeting moment, the water turned to ice – like my Marker’s stare.
It is important to think about your Marker.
No, that wasn’t right. It had been water all along.
There were cheers in the air, yet no people to be found.
Despite that, I felt the presence of others.
Around the bend I encountered a third cottage. This one had a crooked chimney poking from its roof. The door handle wasn’t brass-knobbed as the others had been. Instead, it had a spiraling lever that twisted around the wrist when wrenched.
I pushed the lever and opened the door to–
Starkness.
This cottage wasn’t like the others. The inside was white from top to bottom and was without furniture, save for a monitor in the back corner. Not only was the room empty, it made me feel empty, as though it were capable of pushing itself onto me. If I stayed too long, would I become empty too?
I approached the monitor and it lit up.
“Welcome, Zillow Stone! This is your eighth day in the outlands.”
The first real voice I found in Paradise didn’t belong to a living thing. The monitor blinked in sync with the words of a robot that was neither male nor female. “Please take a short survey to assess your stay.”
I contemplated that my ‘stay’ had felt much longer than eight days, and although I only thought it to myself, I swore I heard a distant laugh.
Blinking again, the screen showed two boxes. This time when it spoke, corresponding words scrolled across the top: “Do you feel you are equipped to handle life in the outlands? Check box 1 for yes. Check box 2 for no.”
I pressed box one and a trumpet sounded. The screen reset.
“On a scale from 1 to 10, how well do you know your Marker?”
I did not know him well. I touched the “3” along the sliding scale the monitor produced. The trumpet sounded again, but this time it sounded as though it were dying.
