by A. G. Henley
I bite my lip, wondering if she’ll allow me to ask some questions. It’s worth a try.
“Why do the Sisters live apart from other people, Grimma? From men?”
I have an inkling already from a story Peree told me, one about a bird whose feather became a spear that a village of women used to kill their menfolk. Kai told it to him, and I’m convinced she learned it while she was here as a girl. Did the Teachers tell it at night in the children’s compound? A ghastly goodnight fairy tale?
Grimma’s voice softens, becoming speculative. “The first Sisters created the Cloister many years ago as a haven. The world was overrun with wailers, resources were scarce, and people were dying in droves.”
It sounds like it might be around the same time the Lofties took the safety of the trees, leaving us Groundlings below to try to survive the Scourge. Bitterness flashes through me. Old wounds take time to heal, I guess.
Grimma goes on. “Women and children were treated especially poor back then. They were weak, helpless, controlled by men. The first Sisters decided to stand up for themselves and for other women, to never allow themselves to be victimized again. They came together to support each other, and to give their daughters a chance to grow in a place where they were valued. They wanted them to be strong and confident, able to defend themselves.”
I consider her words; it’s a noble idea. “But why keep the girls separated from the adults?”
“To further protect them. The early Sisters decided that only a few select women, chosen for their wisdom and strength, would raise our daughters. They became our Teachers. The rest of the Sisters would see to maintaining the Cloister, keeping it safe from the outside world. We do all this for their own good.”
“You speak about the girls here like they’re your own flesh and blood. But aren’t they all… Gathered?” I was about to say kidnapped; I remembered the word the Sisters used just in time.
“They are family,” she says.
I was given to Aloe in the Exchange—our hideous, old practice of trading babies with the Lofties based only on their coloring—so, of course, I believe that family doesn’t necessarily have to share blood. But Aloe raised me, caring for and teaching me along the way. The Sisters have little to do with their daughters it seems, other than watching from time to time as they grow into disciplined fighters. Maybe that’s enough for them.
“Alev has been pushing us to stop the Gatherings,” Grimma says, sounding speculative. “Perhaps find some way to mate with men, birth our own daughters. Focused on the future, that one. Sometimes too much so. She’s done her own share of traveling, and now she wants us to do things differently. We need to join the world, she always says.” She takes another wet slug of her drink. “But we have our own way of doing things in the Cloister, and it’s kept us safe through many a hard year.” She pauses. “Alev is lucky Adar is her sister.”
So I was right that they’re sisters. Amarina and Frost said the pair looks alike, but they couldn’t be sure. Were they both Gathered from some village? Their poor parents.
“Adar’s position keeps Alev safe,” Grimma is saying. “Not everyone likes change or those who want it.”
I almost snort. She doesn’t need to tell me that.
“Thanks to Alev’s influence, we Gather only when we must to ensure the future of the Cloister. But our numbers are fewer because of it; we cannot afford to stop entirely,” Grimma says. “We are respected and feared among all those who know of us. The Gatherings, our reputation as warriors, the power of the sting—they keep us safe from any who might think to take the Cloister for themselves.”
My fingers dig into my thigh. Do the Sisters comprehend the terrible suffering they’re inflicting on the communities they take children from? They justify it by saying it’s essential for their survival. Which is also how the Lofties justified oppressing us for generations. Or the way my own people justified blinding me as a baby—and who knows how many other Sightless women through the years. Even Nerang can be unscrupulous at times, like when he drugged the others to move them past the sick ones to Koolkuna.
And I brought a group of Groundlings and Lofties to Koolkuna, knowing it would make life much more difficult for those we left behind. It seems we’re all capable of fashioning our own absolutions.
“Grimma… what about the boys?” I ask. “What do you do with them?”
Her voice hardens. “Boys grow up to be men. To men, women are valueless objects to be used for their pleasure. They turn us against each other and distract us from protecting each other and ourselves. The first Sisters left their sons behind when they came to the Cloister. An agonizing decision. We honor their sacrifice by continuing the tradition. It is for the best.”
I can’t help but think of Moray. He seems to see Frost as a valueless object, except that she’s carrying his child. And Kai’s attraction to Peree certainly seemed to turn us against each other. Still, not all men are like Moray, and not all women are like Kai. It’s ridiculous to think otherwise, but the Sisters clearly do. And Grimma didn’t answer my question.
“The boys from our village,” I say. “Where are they now?”
Please don’t say you killed them. Please.
“We will trade them to the ants in exchange for provisions.”
That word again. “What? How can you trade with ants?”
Grimma laughs. “The ants are people. They live in the Colony, a massive underground complex by the River Restless. They came to this area generations ago, around the same time we did, to escape the wailers. We don’t have much to do with them if we can help it—leave ‘em to their scurrying around beneath the earth, pasty and pale—but they have some use as trading partners. They have excellent stores of meat—keeps a long time underground.”
I gasp. The boys will be traded to these ant people? Were they who attacked us? Were we near the Colony even then?
“Now don’t you worry,” she says. “The Colony isn’t so bad. They’ll find a place for those boys. One of ‘em is a handful, from what we hear from the Teachers. He’ll learn to mind himself in the Colony.”
Thrush. “When? When will they be traded?”
“I don’t know. Soon. You forget about it, now. Taking you four on as Initiates, given why you came to us, was a stretch for Adar. Don’t offer her any reason to think she was wrong to do it. Keep your minds on your training and your work. You have your daughters, and your own safety, to consider.”
There’s a warning in her voice, one that a part of my brain yells at me to heed. But I can’t. This is awful.
Grimma groans a little as she stands. “I’m off to bed. I’m glad to see you’re on the mend. Fia will want to thank you herself, when she has the chance. Until then, I’ll thank you in my own way. You stay here and rest tomorrow—I’ll send Nuria to see to your wound. And I’ll go easy on the others, too. Not sure they can bear up under another day of hard labor anyway.”
I say goodnight, only half listening as she reminds me to put the fire out before I go to bed. Shadows and silence draw tight around me after Grimma closes the door.
I’d hoped we’d have more time to understand the daily routines of the Sisters and familiarize ourselves with the Cloister so we could find a way to slip out with the least amount of bloodshed. But at some point in the near future—we don’t even know when—the boys will disappear underground with the ant people. If they’re taken away, we’ll not only have to get the girls out, we’ll have to locate the Colony and rescue the boys. Every hour that goes by leaves us closer to failing the children, their parents, and our mission.
Ready or not, it’s time to act.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I’m too wound up to sleep, so I stay by the dying fire, legs bouncing with impatience and worry. When morning light begins to settle into the room and the others stir in their beds, I rush in to tell them the news about the boys.
“Ants?” Amarina mutters.
“I remember hearing about them now.” Kai sounds far
away again.
“We can’t let the Sisters trade Darel and Thrush away,” I say. “How will we ever find them? I’m going to talk to Peree and the others, warn them. If the Sisters bring the boys outside the walls, the men will have to try to take them back.”
It will mean a fight with the Sisters, but under no circumstances can we let the boys be spirited away to this Colony place. Not if there’s anything we can do to stop it.
“How will you get outside?” Frost asks.
There are voices outside on the porch. Grimma’s back.
“I’ll figure something out,” I whisper. “In the meantime, don’t get into any trouble today. We need the Sisters to let their guard down with us.” If that’s even possible.
My fingers thrum on the covers of my bed as Grimma rounds the others up for training. She pats me on the shoulder before they leave, telling me the healer would be by soon. Much as I might have thought I’d luxuriate in a day off from training or hauling rocks, I don’t. The boys could be traded away to those ant people today, this hour.
Nuria—at least I assume that’s her name from what Grimma said—checks on me a few times, changing my bandage and bringing me lunch. She’s gentle and quick, but she barely speaks, other than muttering to herself once about needing to go out into the forest to collect more hoof-root, a mossy plant I know Marj used to reduce swelling. The healer says so little I dub her Sister Speechless.
Rain begins to fall by mid-afternoon, beating overhead, and the air inside turns humid and chill. To take a break from pacing, I open the door and wander outside to the sheltered porch.
Although the rain clears out the irritating smoke from the Eternal Flames, it doesn’t douse the actual fire. It burns down the hill from our quarters. I don’t hear anyone or anything else out here, but the guards could be taking shelter, assuming any potential mischief-makers would be, too.
Hmm. Could I make my way to the wall and get the attention of one of the men outside? Are they staying close, as Peree said they would? Even if they are, is it worth the risk? Jaw clenched and heart thumping, I walk to the top of the stairs, counting my steps.
“What do you need, Initiate?” a woman asks.
I jump back, jerking my neck and sending shooting pain through my torso and head. The woman is so close I could probably touch her. Has she been standing here ever since I came outside? I didn’t hear her at all. Swallowing hard, I put my hand over the wound on my neck, willing the pain away.
“Um, no. I’m fine. Only getting some fresh air.”
“I can bring you to Nuria if you need her. If not, it would be best for you to return inside.”
A guard. Which most definitely makes me a prisoner. It’s not that I didn’t know that before, but before today, it’s always been Grimma. This woman confirms the Sisters are watching us very closely.
Frustrated that a few paces was as far as I got in my poorly thought out impulse to reach the wall, I go back in and curl up on my bed. The damp creeps in as I lie there, making me glad for the thick blanket. In another part of the room, water splats maddeningly to the floor at regular intervals.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
My eyes close, and I dream I’m running through the forest, a bowl of fire cupped in my hands. Women run all around me. We must get away… but who—or what—are we running from?
Seemingly a moment later, Amarina’s electrified voice drags my eyes open again.
“I saw Ellin!”
“And the rest of the children!” Frost says, “We passed the children’s compound on the way to the gardens.”
Dragging a hand over my eyes, I sit up. “How did they look?”
“Heavily guarded,” Kai answers. Usually her voice is either flat or angry. Now she sounds… depressed.
I hesitate, and then ask, “Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
Ignore her. “So you were able to see the children’s compound?”
“It is well guarded, as Kaiya said.” Amarina’s voice loses its enthusiasm. “It has its own stone wall and sturdy gate. Inside is a rectangular building, but we could not see much else.”
“Grimma told us they have gardens,” Frost says. “And birds. We could hear them squawking in there.”
“The Teachers kept them in a cage.” There’s a slight tremor in Kai’s voice.
“There were at least three guards outside, patrolling the walls,” Amarina says. “Fully armed. And a few more went inside with the children.”
“That Teacher was with them, too,” Frost says. “The one that was there when the girls fought each other.”
Too many Sisters.
Kai walks into the front room without another word. I sigh. She’s as much of a mystery to me as the Lofties and their treetops ever were.
Grimma comes in a few minutes later. “Dinnertime.”
Frost moans and mutters, “I just started to dry out.”
I keep my head down as we hurry through the dark and the rain. Peree and the other men must be miserable. Starting a fire at night to stay warm would be too risky with the Sisters and the ants around.
We’re passing through the great hall, a clump of women chatting on both sides, when someone grabs me.
“Hold it.”
I trip to a stop as everyone around us quiets.
“Thank you for coming to my aid yesterday,” the woman says. “I am Fia.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “I’m happy I could help.”
“How is your neck?” she asks.
“Not bad. Sister…” —I almost say Speechless— “er, Nuria’s done a great job treating it.” Flattery can’t hurt.
Fia thumps me on the back. “I am glad to hear it. You have my gratitude, Fennel.”
Usually the Sisters call me Initiate or you there. This was the first time anyone other than Grimma has called me by name. And from the way she says the word gratitude, she’s offering me something of weight and value. My smile is sincere as we move on to collect a plate of food.
The whole meal, I pray Adar will again ask for a volunteer to tell a story. When she finally does, I’m the first on my feet.
“Do not tax yourself, Initiate,” Golnar says from the front of the room, where Adar usually sits. “Someone else will entertain us.”
Golnar’s words are thoughtful, but her tone tells me my well-being isn’t what’s motivating her. Sisters around the room grumble, giving me courage.
I stay standing. “I’d like to tell this one.”
“Initiate, I said—”
Alev interrupts Golnar. “She wants to tell her story, and our Sisters want to hear it.”
Golnar doesn’t argue, but I can almost feel the anger in her silence.
I make my way to the front. Once there, someone takes my hand. I can’t tell who it is—most of the Sisters smell of the Eternal Flames, making it difficult to tell them apart.
“You were very courageous yesterday,” Alev says. “All the Sisters are speaking of it.”
“I only gave Fia a little extra time to get to the ladder.”
“Yes, but time is one our most precious resources. Some receive more than others, fairly or unfairly.”
I think of Eland. “I guess that’s true.”
“We believe that when someone gives another person the gift of more time—life—that Mother Asis is working through them. That they are blessed. So it is a gift to you as well.”
I don’t quite know what to say to that. I pray sometimes, but it’s usually to the stars, a habit I picked up from Aloe and some of the other elders. I wouldn’t know if Mother Asis walked in the next minute, much less if she blessed me or not. But I can tell Alev means well.
“Thank you.” I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back. She reminds me a little of Kadee, which sends a jolt of homesickness through me.
“Let her get on with her story,” a Sister says.
“Yes. Of course.”
She drops my hand and sits back down, leaving me the floor. The S
isters are waiting.
“My tale tonight is of the first fires,” I say.
Inspired by my conversation with Grimma, and then my dream, I made this one up myself as I ate. With a calming breath, I begin.
“Fire has been part of the world since the beginning of time, when the old ones came out of the ground and created it, along with water, earth, and air. Fire belonged only to the sky at first. The moon cradled it in her arms, the sun sprinkled it on the earth, and the clouds flung it down in furious fits of temper. Sometimes, the ground caught the fire it was thrown, but it burned for its curiosity.
“Over time, men trapped little bits of the old ones’ fire. They learned to create and control it, becoming fire starters. But they held the secrets of fire for themselves, guarding it jealously. Women were not thought strong enough, worthy enough, to wield its power. They were only allowed to creep close at night, warming themselves with the last, dying embers.”
I hear a few grunts and growls of disapproval, but I’m used to them now. I don’t rush on. Instead, I take my time.
“One day, a woman said it was enough. She decided to take her man’s fire and run away with it. She whispered her plan to other women as they were cooking and washing. She told them that they, too, could be fire starters. And one dark night, when storms crackled and hummed in the air, she persuaded the last of the women to go with her. Silently, carefully, they collected the fires into stone bowls, using its light to guide them as they led their children deep into the forest. The men soon realized what the women had done. Outraged they could be so deceived, they went after them, shaking their spears and screaming into the stormy night. The women were frightened, so they ran faster.”
“Cowards,” a Sister says. “They should have killed the men and stayed right there in their warm homes.” Cups thump the tables in agreement.
I hold a hand up. “The women were afraid, but they did not give up. Instead, they used their bowls full of flames to set the bushes and trees ablaze. The men came, violence in their eyes, but they were met with a fuming wall of fire. They could not pass through or go around it; they could not reach the women and children on the other side. They returned home, cold and hungry, for they had no flames to warm them and no fire on which to cook their food.”
