by Ally Condie
This canyon that I earlier thought so barren and dry has surprising amounts of green, especially near the stream. Watercress laces the edges of the marshy banks; moss jewels the red rocks along the river; swamp grass tangles green blades with gray. I step against the ice at the edge of the stream and it breaks, reminding me of the time I shattered the glass that protected my dress fragment back in the Borough. Looking down at where I’ve pressed my foot, I see that even the ice I’ve broken is green under the white. It is exactly the color of my dress at the Match Banquet. I noticed none of this green the first time through the canyon; I was so fixed on finding a sign of Ky.
I look up at him walking along the stream and notice the ease of his walk, even when he steps in places where shifting sands have drifted across the path. He looks back at me and stops and smiles.
You belong here, I think. You move differently than you did in the Society. Everything about the township seems right for him — the beautiful, unusual paintings, the stark independence of the town.
All that’s missing are people for him to help lead. He only has the few of us.
“Ky,” I say as we reach the edge of the stand of trees.
He stops. His eyes are all for me, and his lips have touched mine, and brushed my neck, my hands, the insides of my wrists, each finger. While we stood kissing that night under the cold burning stars and held on tight, it did not feel that we were stealing time. It felt that it was all our own.
“I know,” he says.
We hold each other’s eyes for another long moment before we duck under the branches of the trees. They have weathered gray bark and drifts of brown leaves underneath that move and sigh with the canyon wind.
As the leaves shift, I see other flat gray stones on the ground like the one Hunter put down yesterday. I touch Ky’s arm. “Are these all—”
“Places where people are buried,” he says. “Yes. It’s called a graveyard.”
“Why didn’t they bury them higher?”
“They needed that land for the living.”
“But the books,” I say. “They stored those high and books aren’t living.”
“The living still have use for books,” Ky says softly. “Not for bodies. If a graveyard floods, nothing is ruined that wasn’t already gone. It’s different with the library.”
I crouch down to look at the stones. The places where people lie are marked in different ways. Names, dates, sometimes a line of verse. “What is this writing?” I ask.
“It’s called an epitaph,” he says.
“Who chooses it?”
“It depends. Sometimes if the person knows they are dying, they choose it. Often it’s those left behind who have to choose something that fits the person’s life.”
“That’s sad,” I say. “But beautiful.”
Ky raises his eyebrows at me and I hurry to explain. “The deaths aren’t beautiful,” I say. “I mean the idea of the epitaph. The Society chooses what’s left of us when we die there. They say what goes on your history.” Still, I wish again that I had taken the time to view Grandfather’s microcard more closely before I left. But Grandfather did decide what was left of him as far as preservation goes: nothing.
“Did they make stones like this in your family’s village?” I ask Ky, and as soon as I do I wish I hadn’t done it, wish I hadn’t asked for that part of the story yet.
Ky looks at me. “Not for my parents,” he says. “There wasn’t time.”
“Ky,” I say, but he turns away and walks down another row of stones. My hand feels cold now without his around it.
I shouldn’t have said anything. Except for Grandfather, the people I have seen dead were not people I loved. It is as though I have peered down into a long dark canyon where I have not had to walk.
As I move between the stones, careful not to step on them, I see that the Society and Hunter are right about the life expectancy out here. Most of the life spans don’t reach eighty years. And other children lie in the ground, too, besides the one Hunter buried.
“So many children died here,” I say out loud. I’d hoped the girl yesterday was an exception.
“Young people die in the Society too,” Ky says. “Remember Matthew.”
“Matthew,” I repeat, and as I hear his name, I suddenly remember Matthew, really remember him, think of him by name for the first time in years instead of as just the first Markham boy, the one who died in a rare tragedy at the hands of an Anomaly.
Matthew. Four years older than Xander and me; so much older as to be untouchable, unreachable. He was a nice boy who said hello to us in the street but was years ahead of us. He carried tablets and went to Second School. The boy I remember, now that his name has been given back to me, was enough like Ky to be his cousin; but taller, bigger, less quick and smooth.
Matthew. It was almost as though his name died with him, as though naming the loss would have made it more real.
“But not as many,” I say. “Just him.”
“He’s the only one you remember.”
“Were there others?” I ask, shocked.
A sound from behind makes me turn; it’s Eli and Indie closing the door to our borrowed house. Eli lifts a hand to wave and I wave back. The light is full in the sky now; Hunter will be here soon.
I look down at the stone he placed yesterday and reach out and put my hand on the name carved there. SARAH. She had few years; she died at five. Under the dates is a line of writing, and with a chill I realize that it sounds like a line from a poem:
SUDDENLY ACROSS THE JUNE A WIND WITH FINGERS GOES
I reach for Ky’s hand and hold on as tight as I can. So that the cold wind around us won’t try to steal him from me with its greedy fingers, its hands that take things from times that should be spring.
CHAPTER 31
KY
When Hunter comes to meet us he has a canteen of water and a pile of ropes slung over his shoulder. I wonder what he intends. Before I can ask, Eli speaks.
“Was she your sister?” Eli points to the newly placed stone.
Hunter doesn’t glance back down at the grave. The smallest flicker of emotion crosses his face. “You saw her? How long were you watching?”
“A long time,” Eli says. “We wanted to talk to you but we waited until you were finished.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Hunter says flatly.
“I’m sorry,” Eli says. “Whoever she was, I’m sorry.”
“She was my daughter,” Hunter says. Cassia’s eyes widen. I know what she’s thinking: His daughter? But he’s so young, only twenty-two or twenty-three. Certainly not twenty-nine, which is the youngest someone with a five-year-old child can be in the Society. But this is not the Society.
Indie’s the first to break the silence. “Where are we going?” she asks Hunter.
“To another canyon,” Hunter says. “Can all of you climb?”
When I was small my mother tried to teach me the colors. “Blue,” she said, pointing to the sky. And “blue” again, the second time pointing to the water. She told me I shook my head because I could see that sky blue was not always the same as water blue.
It took me a long time — until I lived in Oria — to use the same word for all the shades of a color.
I remember this as we walk through the canyon. The Carving is orange and red, but you’d never see this kind of orange and red back in the Society.
Love has different shades. Like the way I loved Cassia when I thought she’d never love me. The way I loved her on the Hill. The way I love her now that she came into the canyon for me. It’s different. Deeper. I thought I loved her and wanted her before, but as we walk through the canyon together I realize this could be more than a new shade. A whole new color.
Hunter stops ahead of us and gestures up at the cliff. “Here,” he says. “This is the best place.” He begins testing the rock and looking around.
I put up my hand to block the sun so I can better see the climb above us. Cassia glances at me and do
es the same. “This is where Indie and I came back over,” she says in recognition.
Hunter nods. “It’s the best place to climb.”
“There’s a cave in that other canyon,” Indie tells Hunter.
“I know,” Hunter says. “It’s called the Cavern. The question I need you to answer is about what’s inside.”
“We didn’t go in,” Cassia says. “It’s sealed tight.”
Hunter shakes his head. “It looks like that. But my people have used it since we first came to the Carving. After the Society took it we found a way to get back in.”
Cassia looks puzzled. “But then you know—”
Hunter interrupts her. “We know what’s there. We don’t know why.” He looks at Cassia, his gaze unnerving in its assessment. “I think you might know why.”
“Me?” she asks, sounding startled.
“You’ve been part of the Society longer than the others,” Hunter says. “I can tell.” Cassia flushes and brushes her hand down her arm, as if she wants to remove some taint of the Society.
Hunter glances over at Eli. “Do you think you can do this?”
Eli stares up at the cliff. “Yes,” he says.
“Good,” Hunter says. “It’s not a particularly technical climb. Even the Society could do it if they tried.”
“Why didn’t they?” Indie asks.
“They did,” Hunter says. “But this was one of our best-guarded areas. Anyone trying to climb in we cut down. And you can’t fly an air ship into the canyon. It’s too narrow. They had to come in on foot and we had the advantage.” He finishes another knot and hooks the rope through one of the metal bores on the wall. “It worked for a long time.”
But now the farmers are gone across the plain. Or dead on top of the Carving. It’s only a matter of time before the Society realizes that and decides to come in.
No one knows that better than Hunter. We have to hurry.
“We used to climb everywhere,” Hunter says. “The Carving was all ours.” He looks down at the rope in his hands. I think he’s remembering again that everyone is gone. You wouldn’t think you can forget but sometimes you can — for a moment or two. I’ve never been able to decide if I think that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Forgetting lets you live without the pain for a moment but remembering hits hard.
It all hurts. Sometimes — when I’m weak — I wish that the red tablet did work on me.
“We saw bodies on top of the Carving,” Indie says. She looks up at the climb, assessing it. “They had blue marks like you. Were they farmers, too? And why did they go up if it was better to wait for the Society down below?” In spite of myself I admire her. She’s bold to ask Hunter those questions. I’ve been wanting to know the answers too.
“That place on top is the only area wide and flat enough for the Society to land their ships,” Hunter says. “Lately, for whatever reason, they’d become more agressive about entering the Carving, and we couldn’t guard all of the canyons. Only the one where our township is.” He makes another knot, tightens the rope. “For the first time in the history of the farmers, we had a split we couldn’t resolve. Some of us wanted to go up and fight so the Society would leave the canyons alone. Others wanted to escape.”
“Which did you want?” Indie says.
Hunter doesn’t answer.
“So those who crossed the plain,” Indie says, pushing for more information, “did they go to join the Rising?”
“I think that’s enough,” Hunter says. The expression on his face keeps even Indie from asking more. She closes her mouth and Hunter hands her a rope. “You have the most climbing experience,” he says. It’s not a question. He can tell somehow.
She nods and almost smiles as she looks up at the rocks. “I used to sneak away sometimes. There was a good spot near our house.”
“The Society let you climb?” Hunter asks.
She looks at him with an expression of contempt. “They didn’t let me climb. I found a way to do it without them knowing.”
“You and I will each take someone up,” Hunter tells her. “It’ll be faster that way. Can you do that?”
Indie laughs in response.
“Be careful,” Hunter warns her. “The stone here is different.”
“I know,” she says.
“Can you climb up alone?” Hunter asks me.
I nod. I don’t tell him that I prefer it this way. If I fall, at least I won’t take anyone with me. “I’ll watch you first.”
Indie turns to look at Cassia and Eli. “Which one of you wants to come with me?”
“Eli,” Cassia says. “You choose.”
“Ky,” Eli says immediately.
“No,” Hunter tells him. “Ky hasn’t climbed as much as we have.”
Eli opens his mouth to protest but I shake my head at him. He glares at me and then walks over to stand by Indie. I think I see a small, pleased smile on Indie’s face before she turns back to the rock.
I watch Cassia as she clips onto Hunter’s line. Then I check Eli to make sure he’s hooked up right. When I look up, Hunter is ready to begin. Cassia’s jaw is set.
I’m not worried about the ascent. Hunter’s the best climber. And he needs Cassia safe to help him in the cave. I believe Hunter when he says he needs to know why the Society did what they did. He still thinks that knowing why might help. He doesn’t yet know that the reason will never be good enough.
Once we all reach the top of the Carving, we run. I hold on to Eli with one hand and Cassia with the other and we all move, our breath quiet and fast and our feet flying along the stone.
We’re exposed and bare out on the rock under the sky for several long seconds.
It’s not nearly long enough. I feel like I could run out here forever.
Look! I want to call out. I’m still alive. Still here. Though your data and your Officials want it otherwise.
Feet fast.
Lungs full of air.
Holding on to people I love.
I love.
The most reckless thing of all.
When we get closer to the edge we let go of each other. We need our hands for the ropes.
The second canyon is a true slot canyon — tiny and narrow — smaller than the farmers’ canyon. After we’ve all arrived at the bottom of the cliff, Cassia points to a long smooth surface. It looks like sandstone but there is something odd about it. “That’s where we noticed the entrance,” she says. Her lips tighten. “The boy’s body is over there, under those bushes.”
The freedom I felt earlier is gone now. The feeling of Society hangs in this canyon like the torn and streaming clouds that linger after a thunderstorm.
The others notice it too. Hunter’s face turns grim and I know it’s the worst for him because he feels the Society in a place that used to be his.
Hunter leads us to a tiny cave in a spot where the canyon wall folds back in on itself. All five of us can barely crouch inside. The back of the cave ends in a pile of rocks. “We made a way in through here,” he says.
“And the Society never found it?” Indie asks, sounding skeptical.
“They didn’t even know how to look,” Hunter says. He lifts up one of the rocks. “There’s a crevice behind all these stones,” he tells us. “Once we’re inside, we can go through to a corner of the Cavern.”
“How do we do it?” Eli asks.
“Move the earth,” Hunter says. “And hold your breath in the tight spots.” He reaches for one of the boulders. “I’ll go first when it’s time,” he says over his shoulder. “Then Cassia. We’ll talk each other through the turns. Go slowly. There’s a place where you need to lie on your back and push yourself through with your feet. If you get stuck, call out. You’ll be close enough to hear me. I can talk you through. It’s the tightest just before the end.”
I hesitate for a moment, wondering if this is a trap. Could the Society have set it? Or Indie? I don’t trust her. I watch her help Hunter with the rocks, her long hair flying wildly around her in
her eagerness. What does she want? What’s she hiding?
I glance over at Cassia. She’s in a new place where everything is different. She’s seen people who died in terrible ways and she’s been hungry and lost and come into the desert to find me. All things a Society girl should never have had to experience. I see a glint in her eye as she looks at me and it makes me smile. Hold our breath? she seems to say. Move the earth? We’ve been doing that all along.
CHAPTER 32
CASSIA
The crevice is barely wide enough for Hunter to climb into. He disappears without looking back. I’m next.
I glance over at Eli, whose eyes have gone wide. “Maybe you should wait for us here,” I say.
Eli nods. “I don’t mind the cave,” he says. “But that is a tunnel.”
I don’t point out that he’s the smallest of all of us and the least likely to get stuck because I know what he means. It seems counterintuitive, wrong, to worm our way into the earth like this. “It’s all right,” I say. “You don’t have to come.” I put my arm around him and squeeze his shoulders. “I don’t think it will take long.”
Eli nods again. He already looks better, less white. “We’ll be back,” I say again. “I’ll be back.”
Eli makes me think of Bram and how I left him behind, too.
I’m all right until I think too much, until I start calculating how many tons of rock must be above me. I don’t even know how much one cubic foot of sandstone weighs, but the total amount must be enormous. And the ratio of air to stone must be small. Is that why Hunter told us to hold our breath? Does he know that there’s not enough air? That I might breathe out and find nothing left to breathe back in?
I can’t move.
The stone, so close around me. The passage, so dark. There are only inches between the earth and me; I’m pressed tight and lying on my back with blackness ahead and behind and the immovability of rock above and below and on every side. The mass of the Carving presses all over me; I’ve been afraid of its vastness and now I’m afraid of its closeness.
