Her cheeks are rubbed raw from the crying. In silence, she looks up at me. The relief begins to set in until, a tiny red dot in the center of her white shirt rapidly grows; drenching itself in crimson.
Chapter 3 The Offer
I remember what it felt like. The lifeless body lying motionless on the dry desert surface. I wouldn’t have recognized him if Jathom hadn’t forced me to look closely. I knew the face, but his eyes were dull and void. An empty shell of the man I once called Kalen, my life-giver.
Jathom led me out to the place with his hand on my shoulder. His black auto left a trail of dust as we drove the twenty miles outside the city limits where nothing grows, the ground littered with deep cracks from the lack of moisture. No sign of any plant or vegetation, just as designed.
Pura was designed this way so that if any dependent dissented, they would have nowhere to go. I stared downward, unable to look away from his corpse. “They found him trying to escape Pura. He was pursued and executed immediately,” Jathom said. “I’m sorry, Krys.”
I wrestled out of his grip and ran as fast as I could, forcing back the tears; telling myself not to give in, to be strong. Pushing out the pain in my chest and the doubt in my head. Jathom followed after me, calling out, but I wouldn’t hear him.
I longed to fall asleep and never wake up. I ran for hours, ignoring the aching in my legs. My BAND went off a few times, compelling me to slow down. Finally, as the sun began to set, I had nearly circled round the entire city and wastes.
When I stopped, I fell to my knees with exhaustion. Whether physically or emotionally I’m not sure. I was too tired to think, too tired to feel.
My clothes turned stiff from the dried sweat; leaving traces of salt while I yammered out a mix of coughing and whimpering; burying my face with the palms of my hands.
Thanks to my GPS, it only took Jathom a few minutes to find me. In fact, he’d been following me every step of the way. His words were meaningless. They failed to reach me in any capacity as he tried to comfort me; muttering out a handful of disconnected thoughts.
I was using all my willpower to dam up the sorrow, to keep myself from sobbing. Because I knew that if I let it start, it might never stop.
Seeing that his remarks had no effect to sway me, he scooped up my drained body and cradled me all the way back to Pura. The steady rhythm of his footfalls calmed me, lulling me silent, until I drifted off to sleep.
I had hoped that when I awoke, it would be nothing more than a nightmare. Kalen would rouse me from my slumber, like he did every morning, and I would reluctantly defy him until the last possible second. Then, before we left the room, he would crouch down, place his hands onto my shoulders and say “I love you,” with a smile adorning his face.
Just like he always did. Then his body would twitch and the word WARNING would appear across his BAND. I never understood why he would needlessly waste a warning on me, every day. The sun had already risen when I awoke the following day.
I rubbed my eyes and recoiled from the pain of my raw skin. The sting brought back the memory of the coarse desert floor, along with vivid images of my life-giver’s body. They inundated my mind as my lips quivered.
I lightly pulled off the blanket, which had been carefully placed upon me the night before and opened my mouth. “Kalen?” I said softly, nearly choking on my own anguish, a lump forming in my throat.
“Kalen?” I said again. This time my voice cracked as my knees buckled. I curled up into a ball, crossed my arms, and pulled my legs into my chest. Lost in the full weight of my grief, I drowned myself in tears and profound sorrow.
The only thing I knew was pain. All this comes back to me in an instant, as Lucilla’s pure white shirt soaks up the gushing blood. She looks up at me, her face turning pale, and then falls. In full shock, I run to her crippled frame and kneel down. Just like Jathom did for me, I try to speak but fail.
“Lucilla… Lucilla no. I’m… I tried,” I place my hands over her chest wishing it would force the blood to stop pouring from the wound. “Someone help!” I scream, my fingers staining red as her limbs begin to convulse involuntarily. I force myself to look away, unable to keep any composure left when she utters a muffled sentence.
It’s so faint I almost didn’t hear it. “What?” I say with a hoarse voice. Turning back, I lean in and listen closely.
“I’m sorry I asked you to hold me.” The punch to my gut knocks the wind right out of me.
Swallowing hard, I look down to see her skin turning deathly white. The blood has covered every inch of her shirt and now drips down, the crusty earth sopping up the viscous liquid. I squeeze out a small tear which lands on her little hand.
With great effort, she reaches out and wipes away the trail it left behind on my cheek. “I can hold you now if you’d like?” I plead, the words tumbling out of me, nearly unintelligible. The muscles in my neck constrict against my vocal chords as a tiny smile forms from her reddened mouth. “Do you feel anything?” I ask.
“No, just a little cold.”
I pull her into my arms, cradling her tightly as though it could save her life and resting her head against my shoulder, I give it a remorseful kiss.
“Thank you,” she says graciously. I watch the remaining color drain from Lucilla’s cheeks, her chest rapidly rising and falling until it stops completely; looking up at me with baby blue eyes. A familiar sensation drapes over me as the closed chambers of my heart burst open, releasing all my unbridled emotions.
A far off voice catches my ear. Out in the distance, I see them approaching. Jathom, a group of sentries, and Davus. I hadn’t noticed that he left, nor the tingling sensation running through me as my BAND strobes with a red light.
It failed. The BAND failed to detain me. I place the young girl’s body down gently and close her beautiful eyes. Slowly, I stand up, lifting my head ever so slightly. The fear and disappointment on Jathom’s face only adds to the despair growing within me.
Countless dependents have been sent to Cleansing for far lesser things. This will be the last time we see each other. I move away from the three corpses and step forward to confront the advancing posse. There’s no use trying to fight back now. My Cleansing is inevitable.
I draw my gaze to the blood stains on my hands before the sentry closest to me throws a punch into my stomach. The blow causes me to stagger backwards and let out a violent cough. They surround me and pounce with the ferocity of a wild animal.
Sickening cracks sound as multiple ribs break from a kick. Then a punch right to the nose, making my eyes water, then steel batons batter my head. I fall, trying to cover myself for protection while barrage after barrage, hit after hit persists for what feels like hours.
My hands are stained with another coat of blood. This time it’s my own.
The faces blur as my vision becomes hazy, the surroundings fading to black. “Alright, that’s enough.” A voice muddles through the fog.
Haunting images of Lucilla and Kalen’s lifeless pupils press into the forefront of my mind’s eye. Staring at me with coldness, unrelenting and unforgiving. Piercing me with a terrible shame that I’ve never experienced. I’m forced to look at them, locked into their perception.
Trapped by a thick, pungent vapor which paralyzes me. Using all my will, I scream and try to break the vapor’s hold; struggling to free myself, but to no avail. A prisoner to their awful stares. “Stop looking at me.” My voice echoes then disappears. “Stop it,” I demand fiercely.
But they continue on. Unblinking, uncaring and inhuman. “Stop staring at me!” I yell out. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault. Stop it!” No reaction. I lose control. Wailing, thrashing and flailing. Desperate to escape this subconscious purgatory.
“STOP IT!” I scream over and over and over again. Will I ever awake from this nightmare? Is this punishment for letting those three die? For taking my life-giver for granted? I try to shut my eyes but I can’t.
“Please, I’m sorry,” I beg with shall
ow sobs. “Please stop looking at me. I can’t bear it. Please…” Each second passes slower than an hour. Time loses meaning as one sniffling wheeze lasts for days, until eventually, the eyes begin to puff up. Curdling bubbles boil across their surfaces.
They expand bigger and bigger, swelling until the pressure causes them to explode with bright flashes. The rupture sends me flying back to awareness and I gasp; jerking my head up and tumbling to the padded floor.
Floor? I’m still alive?
A bed sticks out from one of the pure white walls of the confined room I’m in. I stand and place my hand against the wall where the bed protrudes. It’s soft, made from the same plushy material as the floor.
I jump over to one of the corners, prodding the edges. Panic creeps up on me gradually as I realize there’s no door. I stride from one side to the next, trying to find a censor to ping, or a latch to open manually. But there’s nothing.
I look down at my BAND which reads GPS DEACTIVATED.
“Where am I?” I say aloud, looking up at the ceiling. My words are echoless. The pliable substance almost seems to absorb them, creating an unsettling silence.
“What is this? You know what I did. Why drag it out? Get it over with!” I flex my body, anticipating a paralyzing wave of electricity, but it doesn’t come. I hold up my arm again and look more carefully at the screen.
Everything reads operational, but I can’t activate my display. What’s happening? I must be inside one of the Cathedral holding cells to await Cleansing. But what are they waiting for? When regarding dissenters, the Council normally wastes no time in making examples of them.
No one has ever seen Cleansing except for the perpetrator and the one performing it, a pacificator. All the color in Jathom’s face disappeared when he recounted some of the rumors told to him by other Atlases.
The goal of Cleansing, is to purge the dependent of all outlawed desires, passions, and appetites which they have been overcome by. This is done in three stages: physically, mentally, and emotionally.
I don’t know exactly how that process works, but if I was going to be cleansed, they would have already begun.
This is something different. I then notice I’m not in my normal work clothes. I am dressed in a plain white shirt with matching white pants. I stroke my hands against each other and then my face. The skin feels smooth and my wounds have healed. I must have slept for a while.
Feeling less anxious, hunger hits me all at once. “I wish I had something to eat,” I say aloud. As soon as the words leave my mouth, a small white table materializes into the center of the room. On top is a black graphite plate filled with an assortment of fruits. Apples, bananas, mangoes, coconuts and lots of strawberries.
There’s also a small white bowl filled with brown creamy soup, a few slices of bread, and several condiments in the center. Salt and pepper, a small container of jam, silver utensils, a clear pitcher of water and a long glass.
Apprehensively, I approach the eloquent feast, grab the bread and take a small bite. Immediately, my craving overpowers my caution and I attack the meal; drinking huge gulps of water and stuffing as much food into my mouth as possible.
In less than five minutes, the plates are all empty and the water gone. With a pleased sigh, I sit on the bed with the last of the strawberries in my hand, laying back against the soft wall.
I chew thoughtfully and allow my body to relish in the moment of pleasure as the table vanishes right in front of me.
As I reflect, the thoughts of Adaam, Vae, and Lucilla don’t cut at me like before. The intense guilt has faded, almost like it never really happened. Like waking up from a nightmare. After some time, you remember what happened, but the intensity lessens.
Standing up, I begin to pace back and forth; the anxiety settling in. What are they going to do to me?
I tap on the plush fabric that surrounds the room. Then I pound on it with my fists. “Can someone tell me what’s going on? Just tell me what you’re going to do. Is someone listening?” I yell for a few minutes til my voice starts to hurt, then give up and lay myself on the bed, waiting for sleep.
A few hours later, I wake back up, hungry again. Every time I mention hunger the table reappears with a different combination of savory delicacies.
This goes on for… I don’t even know how long, it’s difficult to keep track of the time since all my BAND operations have been suspended.
I try to keep busy by doing pushups and sit ups, eating and sleeping. I’ve never had a day off from the fields in all of my life.
If you’re sick you go to the hospital for an examination. But if it’s not serious enough to miss work, you meet with your Arbiter for consequences.
The blandness of white space becomes torturous as boredom pricks at me. I pace, only now with more intensity, running my hands over my head and speaking out loud. Simple statements about my surroundings and my situation, then I try making contact again.
I shout out certain words and phrases to see if I get any reactions.
Nothing. It’s maddening.
My pacing turns frantic as more hours pass. “Hours? Has it been hours? Or days?” I mutter words under my breath in solitude. Arms crossed, biting down on my thumb. Laying on my back on the floor my bare feet caressing the soft white padding.
Then almost out of thin air, the answer parts through my clouded mind like a bolt of electricity. Something must have happened. Jathom could have intervened for me. My eyes widen at the thought.
He’s just an Arbiter, there’s punishment just for mentioning such things. If that were the case, why would they keep a granger in a special holding cell? Why imprison me instead of executing me?
IRIS doesn’t allow such thoughts to conceive themselves in the minds of dependents, hence the warnings. Every dependent has their own set restrictions. Though Jathom has greater access as a mid-grade Atlas, he operates under stricter commands then regular dependents.
The Atlases comprise of three grades: sentries, Arbiters, and SIO’s or Selected Intercession Officiators. Even the Council of Pura have their own restrictions.
So why now? Why cut off my restrictions and keep me alive? I assaulted a sentry. A crime that is not only punishable by death, but probably the death of many other grangers as an example. My hands shake at the thought, but I instantly push them away out of force of habit.
“I’m hungry,” I say and just as before the table appears with food. I stand up and look at the spoils before me that so many grangers slaved to produce and the rage boils inside.
How many dependents work their fingers to the bone for this food? How much blood, sweat and tears so that I could enjoy a meal? I whip my arm across the table, thrashing its contents onto the floor and the table disappears.
“I’m hungry,” I say again and it reappears with another plate of food. I knock everything down once more. “I’m still hungry!”
I do this over and over until the floor is mostly covered in food; mucking up my feet while I fume with huffing breaths. Maybe that will get their attention. Or maybe they want me to go crazy?
Still deep in thought, a figure out of my peripheral vision disrupts my concentration. Standing at the end of the room, is a tall man with weathered skin and slender limbs.
He appears so advanced in age, you’d think he could drop dead at any moment. Sickly pale with sunken cheeks, though his hair is surprisingly dark for someone as seasoned as him.
His bright white uniform melds in perfectly with the pearly background. With squared shoulders, both arms behind his back, and a sadistic smile sewn into his face it only takes a moment for me to recognize him.
Artemis. One of the twenty four members of the Council of Pura.
Paralysis binds my every appendage while in his presence. “Don’t look so surprised, young one. I’m not as scary as I appear on the execution telecasts.”
His voice is even rougher in person. As though someone had lodged a handful of dirt into his throat. I close my open mouth and swallow hard.
The way his body sways slightly from side to side makes him appear spectre-like, magnifying my already unhinged anxiety.
“You must have questions. Why don’t you have a seat?”
I look around quickly. “But there’s nowhere to s—” My words are cut off as two white chairs appear in the center of the room. The fallen food is absorbed into the ground and disappears.
The table dissolves instantly with the chairs’ arrival and the bed folds itself into the wall. I hesitate for only a moment then sit, watching him with cautious eyes. His face still wears that treacherous grin, his wrinkled skin is pulled taut, covered in dark purple spots.
He is the oldest member of the council by far at 97 years. Yet with only a look, he sends a devilish chill up and down my spine. So I stare back into his soulless eyes unwaveringly, trying not to show my obvious fear.
His thin body lowers into the white circular seat and groans while adjusting his posture; bearing his teeth like a wild animal. It makes my stomach churn.
“So Krys, it seems we have a problem on our hands,” he wheezes in between words.
Instantly, my mouth dries up, prompting me to swallow before replying. “I’d say we do.” Don’t sound so cocky. Though Artemis is undeterred by my comment.
“Oh yes, Krys, it’s rather serious in fact. You see, we pulled audio and video files from your quarter acre seven days ago, and we know exactly what happened between you and sentry Davus.”
Suddenly the room feels smaller than it did before. “I don’t know what came over me,” I answer sheepishly. “I just didn’t… when I saw him hurt those adolescents… I didn’t like it. That’s all.”
His disturbing smile fades into a straight line, all emotion draining from his face. “You didn’t like it?” he repeats with a hint of vibrato. “He was upholding IRIS!” he thunders suddenly, then lets out a ripping cough; his wide eyes glaring at me until the fit subsides.
“He was upholding IRIS.” The tone in his voice and facial expressions change to robotic and lifeless, as if someone else were speaking through him.
Iris Page 3
