by Jayne Faith
I slowed and turned my head, and my eyes met Rand’s. His mouth fell open and his head tipped to the side just a fraction, as if he were struggling to understand what he saw.
I averted my eyes, staring down at the next step. I had to focus my entire effort on keeping my composure.
Rand. Maybe he could help Lana. It was a huge request, but he was the type of man who just might do it. My heart lifted just a hair.
As the stage loomed ahead, I darted a look at the other Obligates converging at the bottom of the stairs the Selection Controller had climbed to begin the ceremony. My mind blanked. What was I supposed to do? I’d watched the ceremony many times before, of course, but for some reason my mind could not translate what I’d witnessed as an onlooker into what I should do as a participant.
I stopped behind the Obligate in front of me, a curvy young woman several inches shorter than me with waves of hair that hung halfway down her back. Auburn hair, I could see we were close enough to the candles.
I stared up at the stout Controller who surveyed us with grave eyes, her hands clasped under her large breasts.
“Obligates, take your places of honor.” She stepped a few paces to one side and swept one arm out, inviting us up.
I remembered. The Clan Terra Obligate always stood behind the third candle from the right. I moved into the right hand line that was forming, positioning myself so that I’d end up in the correct spot when we filed on stage in two lines that would split with one going to either side.
On stage, I took my place behind the third candle. With the brightness of the flame in my eyes, I could barely make out the people in the audience. They were mostly just rows of faceless forms, and for that I was grateful.
Court came to my mind, the thought of him quite unwelcome but the habit of him still too firmly in my heart. What was he thinking, seeing me on stage? That with me gone he’d be truly free now? He wouldn’t even have to answer any awkward questions about why he and I weren’t together anymore, why we weren’t going to marry. I was an Obligate, gone and forever out of reach. How convenient for him.
The Controller had reclaimed her position in the front center of the stage.
“People of Earthenfell, look upon these Obligates, these sons and daughters who are in their prime, and know their sacrifice. With every breath, keep them in your hearts and know it is because of their sacrifice that we continue to enjoy the protection of the overlords.”
And then the entire pavilion took up the incantation, repeating it three times. “Praise the overlords, praise Lord Toric.”
Everyone repeated it except the sixteen of us lined up on stage. By tradition, for such a moment we were exempt from praising the overlords.
The ceremony ended, and I exited the stage along with the other Obligates. It was full dark, and I looked around, dazed and fog-headed, unsure of what to do next.
People touched my shoulder, even my cheek as they passed, offering murmured prayers. I ignored them, standing on my tiptoes and searching in vain for my mother and sister. I felt so lost, a leaf swept away by the current.
My eyes stung with the threat of tears. I blinked them back and clamped my teeth down hard on my lips. I wasn’t going to cry. Not in front of all these people.
But I didn’t have the strength to hold in my tears and search for my family. Feeling drained and hollow, I sank down on the step where I stood, crossed my arms over my knees, and rested my head on my arms.
People touched my back, my head, moving around me. I didn’t care.
Then I felt someone close, heard a rustle of clothing. I looked up. Rand was kneeling in front of me.
He slipped an arm around my back and pulled me up. I didn’t have the energy to ask him where he was taking me. People moved out of the way as he guided me out of the pavilion.
He moved his hand from my back to my shoulder and pulled me into the crook of his arm. When I saw his family’s car and my mother and sister waiting beside it, I fell forward into a run.
Remembering what Orion had advised—to help them be strong—I swallowed back a sob as I went to them and engulfed them in my arms.
Rand, his parents, and his younger sister stood several feet away, giving us some privacy.
It was too dark to see the details of Lana’s face, but by her thick, heavy breaths she probably hadn’t stopped crying since Mr. Arsen had called my name. Mother’s breaths were congested and raspy.
I placed a hand on my mother’s cheek. “We need to get you home. You need rest,” I said, as if it were any other evening.
I squeezed into the back seat next to them, with Lana in the middle. Rand’s father came to the driver’s side and silently slid in behind the wheel. Rand’s mother reached back from the front passenger seat and clasped my hand for a long moment. She mumbled something tearful that I didn’t quite catch.
I glimpsed moonlight highlighting the contours of Rand’s face as we rolled away from the pavilion. He walked next to his younger sister, and they both watched somberly as we passed.
The ride home seemed to pass in a blink, and I felt strangely numb to time.
When Rand’s father stopped the car in front of our small house and got out to open the door for us, the rowdy laughs and other sounds of merry-making clanged in my ears. The sounds were so at odds with my new reality, they made me wince as if each one were a paper cut on my skin.
I thought of past Selections, when I’d joined in with the celebration while there were Obligates who were feeling anguish and dread too deep to put into words. I’d always been one of the revelers dancing and drinking late into the night. Jubilant . . . smiling . . . carefree. It seemed so wrong now.
Entering our dark house, I felt like a stranger. I stood just inside the doorway, my elbow linked with Lana’s, as Mother rummaged around for candles and matches. It was tradition to only use candles for illumination the night of the Selection.
Lana rested her head on my shoulder as Mother lit three candles in the small living room and then turned to us. She looked back and forth between me and Lana, and then her face crumpled like a wadded paper bag.
She rushed to us, and we embraced in a tight circle of tears and silent grief.
It was Mother who pulled back first. She swiped her fingers under her eyes, though more tears quickly replaced the ones she wiped away.
“I can’t imagine living a day without you, my daughter.” She drew a deep, quivering breath. “But I know that what’s done is done, and there’s no going back.”
Lana had remained pinned to my side, but she separated herself just a little. “I don’t know what divine forces decided that I deserved you, my twin, my other half.” She reached out and touched my cheek as naturally as if she could see my face. “But I’m so—so . . . grateful for the years we’ve had together.” Her halting words stopped as she choked on a sob and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.
I pulled her to me and held her so tightly I could hardly tell where I stopped and she began. The thought of waking up each day without her was simply too much to bear, so I pushed it firmly away.
Mother went to the kitchen and rummaged in a cupboard as Lana’s crying subsided. I led my sister to the narrow sofa and sat down next to her.
“I’ve been saving this wine for tonight.” Mother lifted a dark bottle. In her other hand she held three chipped goblets upside down with the stems between her fingers. “I can think of no reason why we shouldn’t drink it.”
By the label, it looked to be a mid-range vintage. She must have saved for years to be able to buy it.
A tremulous smile passed over her face as she set the bottle and goblets on the side table. “Your father and I drank this label for our wedding day feast.” She went back to the kitchen and returned brandishing a bottle opener.
I barely remembered my father. In my mind he was more an impression of the senses than a real person—the rough stubble that scratched my nose when he kissed me soundly on my cheek, the rich aroma of pipe smoke that clung to his
clothes, the twinkle in his green eyes when he smiled, the rolling peal of his hearty laugh. He died when Lana and I were very young.
“I wish he were still here,” I whispered. “So that I would know he was taking care of you after I’m gone.”
The last three words I’d spoken seemed to ring out in the room, even though I’d said them quietly. After I’m gone. It sounded so final. It felt like a pronouncement of death.
Mother splashed some wine into a goblet and quickly tipped it back, emptying it. Then she filled it again, as well as the other two. I put one into Lana’s hands.
Mother looked down into her goblet for a moment. “I wish he were still here, too.” Loss weighed so heavily on her face, and I could hardly bear it.
“A toast,” I said, my voice wavering. I held up my goblet. “May we all find what peace we can, collect as many moments of happiness as possible, and know gratitude in every breath.”
We tapped the rims of our goblets against each other. When the wine spread over my tongue, the rich citrus, bitter, and sweet notes battled each other for dominance. It was the most delicious thing I’d ever tasted. I drank, savoring each swallow, until it was gone.
“This is wonderful,” Lana murmured.
I expected mother to cork the bottle, but instead she filled our glasses again. Halfway into my second glass, a tingling warmth seeped into my limbs and a pleasant numbness began to crowd into my head.
Just as I had nearly polished off another cupful, there was a rap at the door. I rose to answer it, and pitched a little before steadying myself.
I opened the door to Rand, his hands clasped in front of him and his silhouette framed by the dark night.
“I—I wasn’t sure if I should . . .” He trailed off and swallowed.
I smiled, genuinely happy to see him, and grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside. “Oh nonsense,” I said. “I’m very glad you came.”
A tentative smile began to widen his lips, but when he caught sight of my mother and sister, his expression sobered. He ducked his head. “Mrs. Calderon, Lana, I know you’ve had a terrible shock tonight. I can’t imagine how you must be feeling right now.”
Lana managed a little smile, and her cheeks pinked. “We’re certainly better than we were before Mother opened that bottle of wine.”
“Please, have some with us.” Mother hurried to the kitchen and came back with another goblet, splashed a bit of wine in it, and handed it to Rand.
He took it with a conflicted look on his face and glanced at me.
“It’s amazing, please enjoy it,” I said, and nodded encouragingly at the goblet he held.
I drained the last of my own wine and turned to Mother and Lana. “Would you mind very much if I went out for a while? I just want to walk around a bit. And seeing as how Rand was kind enough to offer to escort me . . .”
Mother was already flapping her hands at us, making shooing motions. “Yes, of course, and you should try to enjoy yourselves for a bit.”
A look of eager happiness sparked in Rand’s eyes, and he tipped his goblet up, quickly consuming its contents in a few swallows. “Thank you so much for the wine, it was indeed delicious.”
I set his empty goblet next to mine and led him to the door.
I was extremely grateful he’d still come for me. I had two important things that I hoped he could help me with. One was the issue of Lana and her quotas in the orchards.
And the other, well . . . in the course of a day I’d lost so much. My innocence had slipped away like a thin veil stolen by the wind in a storm. It seemed fitting to take one more step to complete the transformation before I had to leave Earthenfell forever. I’d made up my mind that by daybreak, I would no longer be a virgin.
4
Maya
WHEN I SHUT the front door, darkness enveloped me and Rand like a lightweight cloak. I felt for his hand, and his fingers closed firmly around mine.
“I hope I didn’t overstep,” he said, a nervous tremor in his voice. He squeezed my hand a couple of times. “But whether you still wanted me to escort you or not, there was no way I could let the night pass without at least checking on you. And I couldn’t—well, I couldn’t let you go without seeing you again.”
“No, I’m truly glad you came.” I hoped that the warmth I felt for him was evident in my voice.
We walked slowly, passing homes lit from within only by the rosy-yellow flickers of candlelight. The sound of laughter drifted to us from a porch a few houses away. A door slammed nearby, and from the direction of mid-town, a raucous burst of laughter went up. The late summer night was still and warm enough that dampness formed between my palm and Rand’s.
“Where would you like to go?” he asked. “I’m happy to take you to the heart of the revelry in mid-town, but I assumed that might be a bit . . . too much.”
The wine was making my head swim and my muscles pleasantly tingly. “I think I would like a bit of bread. Perhaps more wine. Maybe one of the pubs that’s on the edge of mid-town?”
“Your wish is my command,” Rand said with a smile in his voice.
He shifted closer to me and, after a few moments, let go of my hand and slipped his arm around my waist in a comforting gesture.
As we left the residential neighborhoods and drew closer to mid-town, the sounds of celebration grew louder. But unlike before when the noises felt like a jarring assault on my ears, they lifted my spirits. Perhaps it was the wine, or Rand’s company. Or perhaps the initial shock of my fate had worn off and acceptance was taking its place. Maybe it was a combination of all of these things. Regardless, I was glad for the shift because I didn’t want to spend my last night on Earthenfell in complete despair, and I was glad that Rand didn’t bring up the subject of my departure.
He guided me through the dark streets, and I was content to let him choose our route. We reached a neighborhood that was a mix of residences, pubs, and small specialty shops. The shops were all closed, but the pubs were well lit with dozens of candles and lively with people.
The door of a pub, the Rusty Nail, stood open. My pulse tapping nervously, I slowed a little as we neared it.
“Ready?” Rand asked, looking down at me.
I paused and then nodded, and he moved his arm so I could walk in ahead of him.
Inside, I tried to take in everything with one sweeping look—people drinking, eating, and laughing. A lively game of cards was going at the table in the corner. Every table was full, and people lined the bar. The smell of roasted meat and grilled vegetables permeated the air. My stomach rumbled.
A man standing at a tall, round-topped table near the doorway looked up and nodded at us, and then did a double-take.
“Aye!” he shouted, turning to the barkeep and waving to get his attention. “Aye! We are graced with the presence of an Obligate here!”
The barkeep looked up from the mug he was filling from a tap. He set the mug down, wiped his hands on his apron, and then held up both arms.
“Patrons, patrons!” he called out, and then waited for shushes to pass through the crowd. “Here we are joined by Obligate . . .” He looked to me.
“Maya Calderon,” I supplied in the silence that had fallen over the pub.
“Obligate Maya Calderon,” the barkeep intoned. “We give you our thanks, our blessings, and our highest praise.”
My breath caught in my throat as every voice in the pub repeated the traditional phrase.
Three men beckoned us over and then moved aside, leaving me and Rand to take their table. I nodded my thanks, and before I was even settled in my chair, plates of food and mugs of brew appeared before us.
A bit dazed from the attention, I picked at the piece of bread balanced on the edge of my plate. The food smelled delicious, but my stomach wasn’t ready for a large meal.
And I was distracted, too, with thoughts of my other plans for the night. My stomach tightened in a sense of anticipation that was something between nervousness and eagerness.
Rand seemed rath
er uninterested in his food as well. He took a few bites and glanced around every so often when a particularly loud guffaw or exclamation rose over the crowd, but otherwise he had eyes only for me.
We talked of inconsequential things—the good flavor of the year’s autumn brew, the fine weather we had for the Fete—and he entertained me with some stories of when he first started as a fruit picker in the orchards and couldn’t climb a tree to save his life.
After a while he crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward, his eyes intent on mine. “Would you like to get out of here?”
I nodded and warmth rose to my cheeks.
He stood and held out his hand in an almost formal gesture. I placed my hand in his, stood, and fought back the urge to giggle nervously.
Rand smiled down at me and then glanced toward the doorway. His expression abruptly soured, and his eyes pinched to slits. I followed his gaze.
Court stood just inside the pub. I saw the flash of Farrah’s red-orange hair just past his shoulder, and then she stepped beside him and into my full view. My eyes dropped to their clasped hands.
Court yanked his hand from Farrah’s. His lips hung open in a small oval as he stared at me.
A mix of ire, hurt, and the desire to be anywhere else twisted my insides. But instead of shrinking, I pulled myself straight and lifted my chin.
Court’s eyes widened as I strode straight for him.
“Maya, I’m—I’m . . .” he stammered.
I just looked him straight in the eye for a long moment. Farrah was grasping at his arm and trying to get his attention, but he shook her off.
He swallowed. “Could we talk? Just for a minute?” His eyes darted from me to Rand and back to me again.
I nodded and then turned and went to Rand, raised to my tiptoes, and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll only be a moment, I promise.”
Court and I brushed by Farrah. He paid her no more than a distracted glance, despite the furious look on her face and the stiff way she stood with her arms crossed.
I went a few feet away from the door, just beyond the rectangle of soft light that spilled through the doorway.
