Silo Saga: The Choosing (Kindle Worlds Novella) (Silo 13)

by David Macinnis Gill

  Théo didn't care. The great weight of the basket was now on his shoulders alone. With no bamboo pole to support the burden, he had to hold it in his arms and balance himself by holding his feet against the vines.

  "Ow!" Lejeune cried out. He slapped at the bees on his hands and arms and around his neck. He could not bear their stings. "They are hurting me!"

  How could he? Théo realized as he shifted the weight of the basket again. Lejeune had never been stung. The head priest thought the bees loved him, but they didn't love him now that he had stolen their queen.

  "Make them stop!" Lejeune smacked a bee between his shoulder blades and lost his balance.

  The rung supporting him broke, and he fell.

  But not far.

  His big foot caught in the vines below, the arc of his swing sending him crashing into the silo wall, upside down. His face hit the vines, and when he swung back, Théo could see blood running down from his nose into his eyes.

  Leave him, his mother's voce whispered.

  Why not? He was as good as dead. Théo had the blood honey and the black rose jelly. All he had to do was lower the basket and tell Trinidad the terrible tale of Lejeune's death. The evidence would bear him out, and Théo would be a hero for saving the queen. Trinidad would feed him the black jelly, and Théo would became keeper of bees.

  For his first reward, Théo would take the girl in the yellow overalls for his own.

  She will taste like magic, his mother whispered.

  Below, Lejeune swung like a cornstalk doll. His whole face was a bloody mess, and bees crawled in and out of his mouth.

  He should be dead, Théo thought, but he was not.

  "Brother..." Lejeune called in a gurgled voice. "Help."

  Théo could not see the climbers waiting for the basket below. He could not see the priests awaiting Lejeune's return. He could not see Trinidad, his wrinkled eyes gleaming, awaiting the end of his duty as keeper of bees.

  But Théo could feel him, and he could taste the dirty roots he had eaten to survive after the death of his mother. He remembered the days alone in the apartment, the years alone among the mechanics, and then the feeling of belonging when the old man gave him a home.

  If he left Lejeune behind, he would never be able to look Trinidad in the eye. That was worse than any cleaning.

  With the basket on his shoulder, the blood honey wrapped securely inside, Théo climbed down until he was level with this brother's face. Lejeune reached weakly for him, and Théo could tell that if he did not act quickly, the chosen one would suffocate on his own blood.

  "Brother," Lejeune whispered.

  Théo reached for him, and the basket almost tipped out of his arms. He saved it, but some of the blood honey dripped out.

  Théo realized that to save Lejeune, the basket would have to go. He was strong, but not strong enough to carry both, and if he hesitated any longer, Lejeune would die.

  He pushed out from the ropes he had made, a strong ladder with evenly spaced rungs, and then tossed the heavy basket aside. It dropped like a stone below.

  Théo looked away, feeling the shame of disappointing his people.

  Théo swung over to Lejeune. "Brother," he said, "take my hand."

  Lejeune was too woozy to respond. He only gurgled in reply.

  Théo worked himself underneath and transferred his brother's weight to his shoulders.

  "Got you," Théo said. "Hold on with all your strength!"

  Lejeune didn't answer. He was dead weight, and unconscious burden that threatened to drag them both into the abyss. Théo couldn't trust the ladder to hold their combined mass. He stepped onto the vines and pushed the ladder away.

  The thick vines bit the bottoms of his feet, even though they were hard calloused from climbing. Lejeune breathed in gurgled breaths, and Théo prayed that he had acted quickly enough. If Lejeune died before they reach the ground, what would the climbers think of him? What would Trinidad say if he failed to save his brother's life?

  Théo blinked and saw his brother stretched out on a funeral pyre, his face deformed and swollen with bee stings.

  The thought sickened him.

  He quickened his pace.

  Shouts from the mechanics below startled him. The smoke had cleared, and they could see Théo descending. Then they saw the blood on Lejeune's face, which had dripped down his back, and they cried out in horror.

  "What happened?" Trinidad called up.

  "The bees attacked him! He fell!"

  With their help, Théo dropped from the vines. The effort had turned his knees to water.

  As the other climbers lifted Lejeune from his shoulders, Théo collapsed.

  Near him, the priests laid his brother on the floor, which was covered with bruised rosebuds, spilt grain, and ruined blood honey. A few priests were busy trying to gather the honey into jars, but there was little success.

  The rest of the priests massed around Théo, shouting questions and accusations. The climbers pulled them back, taking their turn to shout and accuse.

  What had happened to Lejeune, they demanded. Why did you drop the basket?

  They sounded like his mother.

  When Théo did not answer, the head priest grabbed the veil and yanked it off. "Bad luck, I told you, bad luck! We should have sent him to the cleaning long ago!"

  She spat in Théo's face.

  Théo did not turn away.

  Beauford pulled a wrench from her overalls. Other priests followed her lead, all of them gathered in a circle around Théo. They waited with wrenches raised, waiting for the word to strike.

  "Stop." Trinidad pushed through the circle. "Put down your weapons."

  "Keeper," the head priest began.

  "Put them down."

  The priests put away their wrenches, like sinners casting aside their stones.

  Trinidad turned to Lejeune, shooing away the priests tending to him. He spread pollen over Lejeune's face, and after scooping a handful of blood honey from the floor, he shoved it into his shadow's mouth.

  Seconds later, Lejeune took a deep, gasping breath.

  Trinidad smiled. "Perhaps it would've been better if the jar bees had stung you, yes?"

  Lejeune coughed and nodded slowly.

  "Théo," Trinidad said quietly.

  He knelt in front of the old, his hands shaking. "Forgive me for ruining the ritual."

  The priests shouted accusations that Théo had dropped the basket, no, threw the basket. He had hurt Lejeune on purpose, no, Théo tried to kill him.

  "Justice!" They cried. "We want justice!"

  "Enough!" With both hands raised, Trinidad silenced them all. "The bees stung Lejeune, and he fell. His brother dropped the basket to save his life. Which of you would have done otherwise?"

  Some of the mechanics mumbled about the blood honey being lost, black jelly being spilled, and the queen bee gone. There would be no keeper of bees. What would they do without a keeper?

  "The honey was not lost," Trinidad said. "It was just spread out among us. If you work hard, you could gather most of it, and it will keep. As for the loss of the queen, yes, Théo must deal with that."

  Deftly and quickly, the old man caught Théo's lower lip and stuffed something inside it. He clapped a hand over Théo's mouth and held it like a vice.

  "Swallow," he said. "Before it chokes you."

  Théo tried to pull the hand loose, but Trinidad's grip was too tight. The thing in his lip was the size of nut, and it tasted horribly bitter, worse that any root he had even dug.

  Trinidad pinched Théo's nose and tilted his head back. Saliva filled his mouth, the bitterness spreading like fire as he swallowed. When it hit his stomach, Théo doubled over with searing pain. The old man was killing him, punishing him for his sins.

  Théo had been a terrible brother and shadow.

  He deserved this death.

  But he did not die. In a moment, the bitterness faded, along with the pain, and when Théo opened his eyes, the world had changed. He c
ould smell each woman and man surrounding him.

  The sweat on their bodies.

  The grease in their hair.

  The oiled leather of their boots.

  He could hear the beatings of their hearts, the rustle of the overalls on their backs. He could see the colors of their bright skin, the vivid light of the dying sun, and he could taste the sweetness of the air.

  He stared unbelieving at Trinidad, who grabbed Théo's hand, lifted it high into the air, and shouted.

  "Théo! Keeper of bees!"

  4

  Théo had no more than planted his feet on the ground than the girl in the yellow overalls shoved past the other priests. Her feet were bare, and they made almost no sound on the metal risers. Finally, she reached him and threw her arms around his neck. Before he really knew what was happening, she lifted her head to him and closed her, eyes turning her head just so.

  Théo cupped her hand in his palm and ran his thumb along the line of her jaw, his lips meeting hers. She was warm and tasted of citrus, her lips soft and vibrating with a new kind of light.

  "My name is Jubilee," she said. "I am so glad that you are not the chosen one."

  "I am very happy about that, too."

  They both laughed, and he took her hand. All of the months that he had watched her from afar. He had watched her move, doing her duty in silence, gliding down the spiral staircase like a dancer. He had never dared speak her name, and now here she was, wrapped in his arms, the whisper of her kiss still on his lips.

  He turned to Trinidad and formed a question in his eyes. In reply, Trinidad simply bowed. He touched his middle fingers to his forehead and then lowered his arm. It was a sign of respect, a signal that the shadow had indeed become the keeper.

  A murmur swept through the priests. There was a great cry, followed by the sound of shouts and orders. Someone started pushing through the line of priests on the staircase, knocking them aside.

  "Théo!" Lejeune screened.

  He broke through the line of yellow and red clad priests and launched himself into the air. He landed crouched, a hook bladed comb knife in his right hand. He swiped the blade back and forth, cutting the air with it.

  "You have stolen my birthright, and I want it back."

  For a few seconds, Théo was unable to move. His mind had been reeling already, and the sight of his brother behaving like a wild animal, yielding a lethal weapon only two yards away did not make thinking any easier.

  He was not the only, it seemed, that his mother had been whispering to.

  "Lejeune," Théo said slowly. "Be calm. I have stolen nothing from you. The bees have chosen."

  "To hell with the bees!" he shouted. "They stung me! Almost killed me!"

  "They healed you, as well."

  "Let's see what they do for you, after I gut you with my knife!"

  The priests gasped and backed away.

  "Sacrilege!" the head priest said.

  "Shut up!" Lejeune yelled. "Or you'll be next!"

  Behind them, the mechanics in blue overalls broke through the line. They pushed ahead of the priests and spread out along the floor. In their hands they carried spanner wrenches, long flathead screwdrivers, and heavy chains.

  "What," the head priest cried, "is the meaning of this intrusion?"

  "Sorry, but it's time to finish the ritual." The mechanic's leader, Petros, stepped from the circle. His blue overalls are stained with thick layers of Greece and sweat. He was in his early forties, bald, with a thick beard. He had run the generator for as long as Théo could remember, and he was as close to a mayor as down deep had. He thumbed the button on his radio. "This is Petros. Send down the ladder."

  A moment later, a whistle sounded from the dark above, and out of the void came a long rope ladder. It unfurled like a rolled up flag, and the weighted bottom rung hit the surface with a clang.

  "It's time for the choosing." Petros pointed at them. "Théo, Lejeune. One of you needs to get on that ladder now."

  Théo almost took a step toward the ladder. He might have climbed it, if Jubilee had not grabbed his elbow and held him in place.

  "The keeper," she reminded him, "does not do the cleaning."

  "Mechanics!" Lejeune cried. "Stand with me! Let's cast this usurper out!"

  Théo instinctively pushed Jubilee behind him to shield her with his body. He had no weapon and wore only the overalls and shirt from the climb.

  The comb knife knife he had carried was in his brother's hand.

  "Lay down your arms." Théo stepped forward, hands open in supplication. "Nothing good comes from doing harm. We were brothers, Lejeune, and we still can be."

  "I was never your brother," Lejeune hissed. "You were only the shadow of a shadow, pale in comparison to me. How dare you take my place with the bees? I was born to be keeper, the chosen one. Everyone knows it!"

  "Everyone except the bees," Jubilee said. "Thank you, Théo, but I don't need you to protect me."

  Lejeune laughed and waved the curved knife around. "Very brave, but stupid. Two of you against all of us?"

  "No." Trinidad pushed through the line of mechanics. "We are three."

  "You stand with them against me?" Lejeune said.

  "I stand where I have stood for the last forty years," the old man said. "With the bees. They have made their choice, and they will honor it. All of us. Priests. Mechanics. Climbers."

  Petros eyed the old man nervously. He looked to him, to Lejeune, and then back to Théo. "Stand down," he told the other mechanics. "The keeper is right. We have to hold with the truce."

  "No," Lejeune said. "Stand with me! Send the usurper to the cleaning. Double rations of blood honey to every woman and man who helps me."

  Petros lowered his spanner wrench.

  The others did the same.

  "The cleaning awaits you." Trinidad swung the rope ladder toward Lejeune. "It is time for you to climb."

  "Never!" Lejeune screamed and rushed forward.

  He cupped the knife in his palm and swung his arm in a wide arc. The blade caught the old man in the belly, and it sank deep into his flesh. Lejeune yanked hard, pulling out overall fabric, flesh, and gut.

  "No!" Théo hammered his brother, lowering his shoulder and knocking him away from the old man.

  Locked together, they tumbled across the platform, throwing elbows and punches, biting and scratching.

  Théo was the first on his feet. He threw a wild punch, catching the Lejeune under the chin. There was a loud clack as his brother's teeth slam together, shattering the lower incisors. Théo felt the bones in his hand break, and he screamed. Fiery pain danced down his arm, but it was a moment before his whole hand went numb.

  "You can't win this fight, Lejeune." He shook his hand twice and it already felt as if it had inflated with compressed air. "Accept your fate."

  Lejeune spat out his lower teeth. "You hit me! How dare you hit the keeper? It is forbidden."

  Théo knew then that Lejeune had gone mad. There was no way to explain to a man spitting saliva, blood and broken teeth from his mouth that the bees had not chosen him.

  He would have to finish this with his hands, not with his words.

  Kill him, his mother's voice whispered. Kill him for what he did to Trinidad.

  "No," Théo said. I will murder no one. "Put down the knife. We can still make peace."

  Lejeune laughed bitterly and shook his head. "Even you know that is a lie, you daft, dimwitted, unwanted orphan. The fight will only end in one of our deaths." He held up the knife and drew the blade in a circle around his face, making the reflected green lights dance on the metal edge. "And that death will be yours."

  His hands snapped forward like a cable, whipping and snapping the air. The knife swept below Théo's chin less than an inch from the jugular.

  Théo allowed momentum to carry the knife away, then he grabbed Lejeune's wrist and slammed his open calm into his brother's elbow. With the snap of bone and a scream, Lejeune's arm popped from the socket.

&nbs
p; He fell to his knees, screaming.

  "This time," Théo said. "Stay down."

  And there the chosen one fell, his eyes closed, groaning.

  The hooked blade knife lay two yards away.

  Théo started to reach for it.

  "Keeper!" Jubilee called. "Come quickly. Trinidad needs you."

  Théo ran to the old man and knelt at his side.

  Jubilee had pressed a data cloth against the old man's belly, but the fabric had turned bright red from his blood. Théo was no doctor, but even he knew that this was a mortal wound.

  "Be still," he told the old man. "We will send for the doctor. She can sew you up. Knit you together like a grass basket with a hole in it. You will see."

  "You were always a terrible liar," Trinidad said.

  "The bees then, the blood honey can heal your wound."

  "Nothing can save me now." He coughed and moaned in agony. "The end of my life is near. Even now my vision narrows like the silo, and you are the only light in it."

  "Don't say that, Trinidad. Don't leave me."

  "It was my time," the old man said. "It was my time before today, and only because the bees chose me did I avoid my fate. I am happy to end my life this way. It spares me the walk to the surface. I am tired of climbing, anyway."

  In his short life, Théo had seen people die. He had seen them fight until their bodies gave out from exhaustion. He had seen them go in their sleep, never to wake again. When Trinidad closed to his eyes and let the life ebb from him, it was the first time that he had seen anyone face the afterlife with a smile.

  One of the priests covered Trinidad with a silvery blanket. "Bless you on your journey, great keeper."

  "Go in peace," Théo said and folded Trinidad's arms across his chest. "Dear caster."

  "Go in peace," the priest, climbers, and mechanics said together.

  "Go to hell!" Lejeune yelled and swung his left arm with all of the strength he had left.

  His comb knife sliced the air and caught the straps of Théo's overalls. The hook grabbed the material and sliced it clean through, leaving a twelve-inch bloody gash across Théo's back. He cried out in anger and pain then twisted to defend himself, even as Jubilee flew through the air.