Aquifer

by Jonathan Friesen

  Don’t worry what you’ll say.

  I can no longer endure the Voice.

  “Who are you?” I scream, spinning and clasping my head.

  Talya gently lays her hand on my shoulder, and I pull free. “No! Did you not just see what happened? How many must lose their lives for me? Lendi is gone!” I cover my ears and yell. “Identify or leave me now!”

  I listen, and my thoughts fall quiet.

  On my right is the place where it all began, where I was first told Father was undone. I stare ahead into the light. “Sanity is slipping. Words find home in my thoughts, guiding me, directing me, and I don’t know who speaks. I can’t bear it!” I stare wild-eyed at Talya.

  “No, you can’t. This is all too much for one,” she whispers, and strokes my hair. “That’s why you have me.”

  I thunk my head against the tunnel. “And if I am losing my mind …”

  “It’s okay, because you won’t lose me.” She kisses me gently on the cheek.

  She can say that, but she doesn’t know. In a world gone mad, one arrow and she, too, will be lost. I take her hand, lift it to my lips, and release my first initiated kiss. I even close my eyes. My body warms, and my heartbeat races. I feel whole. Hopeless, but whole.

  Together, we will meet the end.

  “Your purpose awaits,” Talya whispers.

  We march hand in hand into the light of the amphitheater, and my breath catches in my throat.

  My chair is occupied by a man I can’t forget; his face is etched into my memory. He watched as we took his family’s place on the last kopter to leave the museum.

  It’s the Amongus.

  In front of him, nine men pace the sacred stage, lifting their hands, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.

  “Burn! Burn! Burn!”

  And in front of them, a boy, just a small boy, drowning in my father’s Deliverer garments.

  Walery.

  A cameraman notices us first, and soon our faces fill the big screen. The crowd reacts — their chant falls uneven and then quiets. The “council,” sensing the lull, dances all the more, but to no avail. Finally, they turn. To a man, they stumble backward, and soon the amphitheater comes alive with murmurs and whistles and uncertain chatter.

  “Luca.”

  My name rings from every corner of the theater.

  “Let me hear your righteous anger!” Walery screams into the confusion, but my presence has turned the tide, and finally he too spins. His arms flop lifeless at his side.

  I don’t know what to say, to do. And then it’s clear.

  I stride forward and place my hand on the Amongus’s head. I keep walking toward Walery, and as I reach him I rip my father’s robe off his frame and wrap it around my shoulders. My arms rise across my chest. I offer the sign of peace, the one that once brought cries of joy.

  From the left, the chant begins. “Burn. Burn.”

  Soon the amphitheater soars with hate. I know what has happened: The man in the chair has been judged. Perhaps I have too.

  “Good citizens!” Walery raises his hands and quiets the crowd. “Your wish is my command. For too long, this Watcher and his kind have controlled us. But today is a new day!”

  He points to his left at a raging fire, the fuel for which I do not wish to have explained. Thousands of dials glow red at the base of the blaze, and around it cameras move, fighting for position, broadcasting the carnage to receptor stations throughout the world. Nine pairs of hands grab the Amongus and slowly drag him toward his undoing.

  “Innocent!” I yell. “I declare this man innocent! It has always been mine to condemn, mine and Massa’s alone. For the first time a Deliverer will be allowed that right. How can you turn so quickly? How can you become as violent as those who have held you prisoner all these years?”

  “Innocent?” Walery appeals to the crowd. “Think of the numbers undone merely for feeling, for speaking. Think of your fathers, your daughters! How can any sane boy declare one of them innocent?”

  “Were they not under orders?” I yell. “They questioned what they were told no more than you questioned their authority over you. But their cruelty has ended. They understand! The Amongus are friends.”

  “Friends.” Walery circles me. “How many in this theater have known one debriefed or undone?”

  The crowd explodes.

  “We have all been deceived,” Walery says. “I have seen the PM’s isle. There never was a PM. There is no leader. The Council’s dictated our every feeling, controlled our every thought. So today, and tomorrow, and every day until the water ceases to flow, we will throw off the old form and embrace the new. We will be leaderless no more! The New Council, behind me. The new PM, yours truly. No longer will we live in fear —”

  I jump in front of Walery. “Is living in rage a better condition?”

  “I’m with you, Luca!”

  A lone voice from the crowd reaches the stage, and it throws Walery into a fury.

  “Find that man! We will not go back! We move forward!”

  I run toward my chair and jump upon it.

  “Walery does not know the true battle. He has helped the Council destroy you. He has spent time on their isle. He works for them, not you, and he would set himself up as your leader. But only the Aquifer matters, and as we speak the Council has directed all Amongus to take it by force, to take the Rats by force.”

  “Death to the mutants!” A new chant takes hold.

  Talya runs to my side and cries out, “Then death to me! We are the People of the Rock. I am a Rat, I am your long-lost sister! And I bring peace from your long-lost brothers. Humans, like you. Would you destroy me?”

  In the confused pause, I scan the amphitheater, my eyes falling on the fountain. It does not flow.

  “The fountain.” I point to the marble image of the Deliverer. “Do you need a reminder of our peace? See that those below mean you no harm. Remind yourself of your kinship. Start the fountain! Watch the water flow. Though we destroy them, though we rage, water is proof of their goodwill toward us all.”

  “None is to be wasted.” A member of the New Council steps forward. “Only months remain until the exchange fails. We must skim and store rations from every allotment.”

  I grab his shoulders. “But the water will always flow, unless the source is destroyed. And if you do not believe me, believe in the path that Massa knows, that I know. Throw aside this lunacy.” I jump off the chair and run toward the fountain. I lean down to its marble base and flip the switch. “This water” — I rise and spread my arms — “is a permanent gift to you!”

  One trickle drips over marble fingers. And then, nothing.

  There is no water.

  No water.

  Panic seizes me. In an instant, my life span shortens from years to weeks. Something is terribly wrong.

  Seward, Father, what’s happened? Is the Aquifer destroyed? Have the Rats been overrun? This fountain should be the first to receive water!

  Which means nothing flows to the surface.

  “It’s gone. It’s all gone!” Echoes bounce through the stadium and the crowd stands and storms the stage. “Curse Luca! Burn the Rat!”

  Walery tries to calm them, but he’s lost control. Without water, his slippery words fall harmless in the chaotic din.

  Men rush toward Talya, lift her high, and carry her to the pyre. I press after. Protect her. The words pound in my head, but as thousands converge, my height and strength betray me. She is out of my reach. She is doomed.

  I’m lifted high and tossed from grip to grip. Punches strike my head and my back as I’m buoyed by the mob’s hate, hoisted toward the blaze.

  It is my end, but I feel no fear, only sadness — sadness for Talya.

  I can’t watch the one I love meet this end. Alaya and Talya. Taken by water and fire. They were too good for the surface world.

  Speak, Luca. Finish your task. Fulfill your piece of the prophecy. The world watches your undoing.

  The Voice, ever my comp
anion, fills my being, the words fitting with Akov’s plea. I know nothing about this elusive prophecy, the one scribbled on Wren’s museum stand, the one for which Wishers gladly perish. But I now go their way, the way to death. There is nothing to lose. I open my mouth, and the pronouncement comes, firm and bold and complete.

  “For as long as I draw breath, I am a judge, I am a Deliverer, and I must speak.”

  Cameras focus on me as I near the blaze.

  “My words, my words now go out to the world. And the words I give you are peace. Peace with those below you and peace with those you once thought your enemy. Peace with the Voice above, the one who spoke you into life, and peace with yourselves.

  “And I will not be silent. That Voice pounds in my head, saying, ‘What I have done for you will be known below and remembered above, and freedom will be offered to you all.’ ”

  I close my mouth. There is no more. I try to remember what I said, but I can’t.

  The roar of the crowd intensifies, and, suddenly, it eases. Those around the fire are stricken with a severe quiet, one that spreads throughout the amphitheater.

  Cameramen scuttle away to film whatever power has gripped the masses. Hands release me and I thud to the ground, pained but not broken. In the space vacated by hate, a voice rises, faint but clear.

  Talya.

  How often I’ve heard her hum the tune, but now the words explode from the depths of my mind. It’s a song from the edges of my memory, one filled with words I once heard in the darkness.

  One I learned first from my mother. One I sang as a Rat.

  One that now stills a mob.

  “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound …”

  Her voice strengthens, and the last catcalls fade away. The crowd stands, leans in, entranced by each phrase.

  “That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind but now I see.”

  Walery slinks out of view as every gaze fixes on Talya, and throughout the theater, people — mostly the old — mouth the words. I am not alone; the lines live in others’ memories. Surely the Birthers did not sing to them as Mother did to me. Who taught them this mystery?

  There is only Talya and the song and the strange weight that blankets us, wombs us — a presence more powerful than hate, than fear.

  What is this feeling, this trance that draws us together?

  We are not alone, and Toppers scattered about the stage fall to their knees. Are they Wishers? I don’t know, and my eyelids grow heavy. I feel a gentle rocking and hear my mother’s whisper. When I open my eyes, I, too, have fallen.

  How can a song, a simple melody lay claim to the moment? How can it warm and strengthen and reach into our pasts where nothing else can?

  And what has Talya ushered into the amphitheater?

  “My people! I plea for my people! We are human and have so much more than water to offer.” Talya lifts her hands toward the skies.

  Talya is a Wisher? Seward was right — how little I know of her.

  I have never known a scene like this. It is full, complete, and though her song has ended, nobody moves.

  No, we are not alone.

  I stare at the crowd, minutes ago so ready to kill, but now subdued and drawn toward an irresistible idea for which they have no words. I felt its tug before, first warming to the strange thought while speaking to Wren, and then rediscovering the passion recorded by Mother’s hand.

  Above, below; we are not so different.

  All around me, people weep. I think they weep in shame, and weep for the years our world has lost. They weep because weeping alone makes sense, and because for the first time they feel the freedom.

  Freedom. They’re captivated by Alaya’s wish, united by Talya’s voice. And it hits me: Our future - the hope of above, the hope of below - can’t be quenched by the Council’s deception or the Toppers’ rage. The wailing that surrounds me contains a joy. Hope has survived, despite all controls and punishments; sleeping just beneath the surface, a dormant peace waiting for its time. Waiting for Talya to remind Toppers and Rats of our shared past. Our hope rests in the common peace of this song, and the revelation behind the song, and the Presence I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.

  And then it rains.

  Drops fall gentle and soaking. I’ve never felt a rain like this, one that drenches the skin but also seems to penetrate further with warmth and peace and a joy indescribable. I marvel at the rain, and then the sight. Throughout the amphitheater cupped hands raise to collect the rare gift.

  Hello, Luca. The Age of the Deliverer will soon begin.

  The Voice in my head resonates deeper, if that is possible.

  “But isn’t that me?” I whisper.

  Come see.

  CHAPTER

  39

  I scramble to my feet, weave through the crowd, and grasp Talya’s raised hands. Her eyes flutter open and I pull her to her feet.

  “Come! Come quickly!” We run through the rain and into the tunnel.

  “Luca! Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know. I only know we’re supposed to run.” We fly into the Birthing Tunnel, and my joy turns to mourning.

  Lendi’s body.

  I can’t leave him; I don’t know why, but I can’t.

  I yank out the arrow and toss it far from us. Together with Talya, I muscle over my mate, and we drag him out of the tunnel. Behind us, the sound of rain on water, and as we emerge and face the inlet I blink like a fool, because I cannot speak.

  “What’s happening?” Talya gently releases Lendi’s hand.

  The Swan is filled with boats. Hundreds, maybe thousands of boats, stuffed with Amongus, many whom I recognize from Massa’s isle. They rip the PM’s mark from their pockets and toss their dials into the water.

  But there are more. There’s Fundin, the youngest council member, the nervous one, now smiling. And beside him, in the nearest boat, Father and Seward.

  For a moment, I cannot move. I can only take in the sight of those before me. I gently set down Lendi and place my hand on his heart … and watch the rain slowly wash away the crimson from his hands.

  I am released!

  I shout and splash and swim to my Father. “I don’t understand.” Seward hauls me up, and I hug them both.

  “Oh, Talya!” I turn and pull her in, and suddenly panic returns. “The water. It’s off. There is no more coming up from —”

  “No, mate. They dug too deep, and the sea always reclaims its own. The isle is no more — the cone above the waterline collapsed in on itself.” Seward peeks at Talya. “Nothing below remains.”

  Talya takes a deep breath. “And what of … those below?”

  Father lifts both hands. “Perhaps they found safety. With all the digging, my guess is they had ample warning. But the Aquifer is no more. Surely it flooded and is swamped with salt.”

  “So we failed.” I stare into the sky at the rain beating down.

  “I’m not so sure.” Fundin lifts his head and pulls from his tunic a sheet, old and crumpled. Rain soaks the torn page, and he reads. “And Hope will be shared throughout the world. And then the end can come.” Fundin’s eyes sparkle, and how clear it is now; they are the eyes of a Rat. “I followed you when you left the isle, but lost you in the storm. I wish I would’ve reached you sooner.”

  I frown, and he repeats, “Hope? Shared throughout the world? You know, like what was accomplished in that amphitheater? You two were on all the screens.”

  My face blanks. “What happened in there is lost in a fog …”

  “I’ll speak it again. Hope must be shared throughout the world, and then the end can come!”

  “Why do you keep saying that?” I ask.

  “This, Luca, is what the Council truly feared.” Fundin lifts the page, shaking it above his head. “This prophecy. These words, ripped from Rabal’s ancient book. This is the reason why all books were destroyed. This is why the barrier between the worlds was created. It was never for the Aquifer’s protectio
n, as the Rats and even the Deliverers believed. Rabal and his Council conspired to retain power, something difficult to accomplish if the world perishes.

  “In this, Massa too played into their hands. Deliverers cemented the barrier. In order for the Council to retain power, to keep down whatever this Hope was, it became clear that Rabal’s book must never reach the People of the Rock. See?” Fundin thrusts the page before my eyes. “It says all people, which includes those below. For hundreds of years they were cut off, and so the end was delayed.”

  “Without a water source, the end won’t delay much longer.” I exhale long and slow.

  “Hear me to the point,” Fundin continues. “Suddenly a terrifying message arrives from Walery. The Council learns that you, Luca, possess scratchings from long ago, and in their paranoia they order your shanty burned. Those books must be destroyed. Ancient words from above must not reach the Rats.”

  He grins. “But you did reach them, did you not?”

  “Luca.” Father stares at the shore, at the crowd gathering along the Swan. “While below, of what did you speak?”

  I stare at Talya and shake my head. “Etria only wanted my judgments.”

  “Did you make any?” Father asks.

  “Only Phale’s, but it was nothing.”

  A smirk crosses Seward’s face. “But did you leave anything with them, lad?”

  “No … Yes! Well, better put, Wren demanded I do. My two books. Father’s and one other.”

  “And can you describe this other book?” Fundin’s eyes widen.

  “It had no title, and I never read it. But it was old. Lendi …” I pause and glance at my mate on the beach, and my heart aches. “We found it in Glaugood.”

  Fundin leans forward. “Can you … describe it?”

  I rack my brain.

  “It was protected by an undone, and I figured it belonged with me. There was a pair of cupped hands on the cover.”

  Fundin eases down in Father’s boat. He whispers, “Well now, I suppose that could be the one.”

  A light, bright and piercing, explodes up from the sea, strikes the clouds, and spreads like a rolling wave across the sky. The radiance intensifies, consumes, and in ships and on land men cower and fall. But not all. Some stare unflinching into the brilliant dawn. Father. Seward. Talya. Fundin. And from a boat not far from the beach, Phale and Mape raise their hands to the light.