He looks shocked. “You don’t try. It either happens or it doesn’t.”
I can’t look at him. I look down instead. “I’m not ready,” I say. “It isn’t you, Fraser. I just don’t know how. I’ll give you back the sweater.” I start to peel it off, but he stops me.
“No,” he says. “I won’t give it to another. And you won’t be taking one from anyone else, will you?” I shake my head. He smiles. “Keep it, then. Not to wear, just to have. We’ll talk again later. It’ll be easier after the investiture. Things will be more normal then.” His dark eyes are gentle. In his place, another boy might have been angry or cruel. I feel a surge of warmth toward him. “Are you all right now?” he asks. I nod, then turn away. After tomorrow everyone else’s life will go back to normal but mine will fall apart. His kindness means more to me than I can say. I felt this way once before, overwhelmed by unexpected kindness. For a moment I cannot think when and then I remember. With his father. With Lem.
When I return, Erica and William are sitting at the table.
They look stricken. “I’m sorry,” I tell them. “I’m okay now.”
“It isn’t you, Blake,” William says, “it’s Marrella. She’s refusing to wear the dress. Would you talk to her?”
I turn toward the door, but Erica stops me. “You’re still wearing the sweater. I thought you went after Fraser to give it back.”
“I did talk to him. We decided I’d keep it for now. Not to wear. Just to have.”
William looks serious. “It’s only natural a boy like Fraser would want to settle down as quickly as he can. He’s never had enough love in his life—”
I interrupt him. “Then you can understand why I couldn’t just turn him down, can’t you?” I had no idea I felt that way until the words leave my mouth.
“Oh, Blake, be careful.” Erica says. “You’re too young to get locked into anything.”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry. I have some ideas about my future. Maybe after tomorrow we can talk. Now, let me see what I can do with Marrella.”
She is lying facedown on her bed. The ceremonial robe, made with such love, lies crumpled on the floor. For the second time tonight, I’m furious. I bend down to rescue the beautiful dress and to give myself time to check my temper. Marrella turns and looks at me. “What happened to you?” she says. I grope for a way to explain why I’ve been upset but she continues. “I’d die for hair like that. And I suppose you’ll wear that sweater tomorrow?”
I shake my head. “No. The sweater goes away for now. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about. Do you have any idea how much care went into the making of this dress?”
“It’s covered in tiny crabs,” she wails. “It makes my skin crawl.”
“Marrella splendens. The creature you were named for. They planned this dress for months. They used up all their best fibers. How can you be anything but grateful?” Marrella sniffs but says nothing. I’m encouraged. “If you reject this dress,” I tell her, “Carson Walsh’s mother will never, ever have anything to do with you.” In fact, I’m not sure this is true. I think they will accept her no matter how badly she behaves. But I won’t allow her to do that to them.
Marrella sits up. “Really?”
“Really.” I’ve never been a good liar but I want to believe what I’m saying so much that it sounds true even to me.
Marrella straightens her turban. “The dress will need to be ironed,” she says.
“I’ll see to it.” As I leave the room, I press the dress to my heart and to Fraser’s sweater, which was also made with love—and made for me. Before, I would never have imagined myself worthy of such a fine garment. Now, I do.
The Investiture
Next morning I know something is wrong before I even open my eyes. The silence seems to be filled with a wailing pitched just beyond the range of my hearing. Instead of going to Marrella, I pull on my clothes and go downstairs, knowing somehow that the answer will be found in front of the Grand Hotel. And it is. Military vehicles of every description cover the lawn. They are empty and silent now but the whine of their fuel cells must have woken me. Erica and William join me. Erica’s mouth is a grim line. “So, it has come to this,” she says.
I grab her arm with both hands. “Have they come for you?”
She gently releases my grip. “No, child. They are here because of the investiture.”
“The ceremony gives the Commission an opportunity to show its dominance. We were afraid of this,” William says.
“Will they try to stop us?”
When William speaks I see the warrior in his face. “They may try but nothing can. As long as any of us are left standing, the investiture will proceed.”
“That’s right. It will.” Marrella is standing in the doorway. I would not have guessed courage to be one of her virtues but she shines with it now.
The day that should have been filled with happy anticipation is colored with dread. We wait for the soldiers to come but nothing happens. In fact, aside from the vehicles, we see no sign of them. William and Erica debate strategies over the noon meal.
“We could spirit Marrella away to Kildevil along the back path now,” Erica suggests.
“You know the women must come for her at sunset. It’s part of the ceremony. Change that and we admit defeat before we begin,” William says. He takes her hand. “This isn’t about the ceremony or even the Way. It’s about everything that we value, everything you’ve worked for. You know that, Erica, don’t you?” Erica agrees, though tears fill her eyes. The debate is over. Marrella stays.
The day creeps by. Finally, when the light begins to fade, Erica brings a case to Marrella’s room. “Cosmetics,” she says.
Marrella’s hands fly up as if to protect her face. “I can’t wear cosmetics.”
Erica smiles. “These won’t hurt you. They were very hard to find.” And she sets to work, bringing color to Marrella’s pale face. “Blake,” Erica says while she works, “I’ve laid a dress out on your bed. Why don’t you put it on now, then we’ll help Marrella dress.”
I gasp when I see the dress. From hem to neckline, it flames from dark red to orange. I had not thought to wear anything special tonight. I shuck off my everyday clothes. The silky cloth flows over me. When I spin, it flashes like fire. I have never worn a dress before.
Anger flares in Marrella’s face when she sees me, but then she must remember what lies ahead for she drops her eyes and says nothing. Erica only smiles. That smile is worth more than any compliment to me. “Now we will dress you,” Erica says to Marrella. When we are finished, Erica says, “Come, both of you. I want you to see yourselves.” In her bedroom, we stand before a full-length mirror. Marrella is like a delicate flower or a field of new snow. I remember how beautiful she seemed the first night I saw her, and I know, no matter what happens tonight, I would not give up these last few weeks for anything. Behind her, I am like a colored shadow. My dark hair and dress fade in the light of her beauty. “Downstairs now,” Erica says. “And ask William to come up. We must dress as well.”
Marrella and I enter the dining room in the gathering dusk, and I can hardly believe what I see—the military vehicles are gone, as if magic has restored the balance for this ceremony. Is it magic? I wonder. Has it always been? Will there be magic in the ceremony tonight? I can’t ask Marrella. She is pacing, too excited to speak, for we can hear the song of the women from Kildevil. Then, through the bare trees we see the flicker of torchlight.
“Marrella, keep back from the window,” William says as he enters the room.
“I’m sorry, I forgot,” Marrella replies. Her eyes shine and for the moment everything is as it should be. William and Erica are resplendent. Her robe is yellow and green, and his shades from blue to deepest violet.
“Come.” Erica takes my hand. We stand in front of the house, William, Erica, and I. The women crest the hill below us, a river of them singing, all joyful in the torchlight. I hold my breath when they come to the Grand Hotel but t
hey pass unchallenged. Then they stand before us, clad in rainbow robes like ours, their faces shining.
Clara steps forward. “We come to welcome our bio-indicator,” she says.
“How will you honor her?” William replies.
The women reply in unison. “We honor her with our voices and our song.”
“That is not enough.” William says. I look at Erica, startled, but she smiles.
“We honor her with our lives and our work,” the women say. Their voices are louder.
“That is not enough.”
“We honor her as we honor the earth itself!” they shout joyfully.
“Then she is yours,” William says. The door swings open and Marrella comes forward on cue. Her white robe glows in the faint light as if lit from within. A hush falls.
She raises both hands. “My people,” she says, “I will serve you as I serve the earth, with my life.” A cheer goes up from the crowd as a few older women guide her to a chair that is decorated with ribbons and mounted on poles. When Marrella is seated, four boys come forward to carry her. Fraser is the oldest. They are too small for this burden. I remember with a pang that the older boys are gone. Somehow I know Carson Walsh would have been a bearer of this chair.
The boys take Marrella’s weight bravely. Everyone pretends not to notice what a struggle it is for them, but the women’s faces grow more worried even as they sing and dance. Walking directly behind the chair, I see how Fraser trembles with the strain. His fine black hair is plastered with sweat, even on this cool night. When it seems the boys might collapse, William moves forward. The rest of the journey is less difficult. Only those immediately near know that William has braced the back of the chair, taking most of the weight.
The ceremony is to be held in the largest edifice in Kildevil, the Hall. This is a meeting hall, but Erica explained it’s also the place where they keep the biblio-tech and other technology the townspeople are willing to tolerate but don’t want in their homes. As it comes into view, I realize how foolish I was to suppose that the military vehicles had simply disappeared. They are here, of course. I want to run away but the women do not miss a beat of their song, weaving around the armored vehicles as if they were part of the celebration. They are not surprised. They knew the soldiers would be here and it did not stop them. Their courage fills me. Somehow I will face what lies ahead.
The huge back doors of the Hall stand open, darker than the night. It’s like walking into the jaws of some devouring monster. A narrow corridor leads us to a circular floor backed by a stage. Rows of chairs rise in a broad semicircle. Half the hall is filled with the townspeople and the other half with soldiers. I wonder how long they have waited like this, side by side. The boys finally lay the chair down before the brightly decorated stage, and the oldest weavers guide Marrella up the stairs. William, Erica, and I follow, as do other weavers and the four boys who carried the chair. Fraser looks sick, though whether from exhaustion or fear it is hard to say.
“People of Kildevil,” William begins but Warder November marches up to the stage with a small group of officers. Their drab uniforms are like a blot on our colorful ceremony. William’s shimmering blue robe does not hide the anger in his bearing. “What is the meaning of this?” His voice echoes through the hall which is as silent as if it were empty.
To my surprise, Warder November speaks. “The Commission wishes to welcome the new bio-indicator.”
William’s shoulders relax. “If that is the only reason you have come, you are welcome.”
Warder November looks confused, then angry. “We also wish the bio-indicator to swear an oath of allegiance to the Commission before your ceremony begins. If you refuse, you will answer to the military.” It seems she will settle for nothing less than confrontation.
William draws himself up like a storm gathering fury, but before he can speak, an officer steps forward. He speaks so quietly only we hear him. “Warder November, this is not what we discussed.” He turns to us. “I am Captain March of the Corner Brook garrison. We are here only as observers. My orders do not permit me to act.”
Warder November turns on him. “You would disobey the Commission?”
“I take my orders directly from General Ryan.”
She hesitates, looking for some way to enforce her wishes. Suddenly we hear music. Gentle notes from a keyboard fall over us like peace itself. “‘That Sheep May Safely Graze,’” Captain March says when the last notes fade away. “How appropriate. Master, on behalf of General Ryan and the military, we welcome your new bio-indicator and wish her joy.”
“Captain March, I thank you,” William replies. “And, Warder November, we accept your welcome as well.” The officers retreat, leaving Warder November no choice but to follow. The ceremony begins but I hardly notice. While the music was playing, I located the source in a dark comer of the hall. So did Fraser. Lem’s contribution to the ceremony must have been carefully planned, for his music blends beautifully. He sits deep in shadow when he is not playing and plays with his eyes closed as if he were alone. For the rest of the evening, I watch Fraser pretend not to watch his father.
What’s Lost
The party that follows the investiture goes on until the sky is bright, and then it’s time for the bio-indicator’s Sacrifice. They lead Marrella to a walled garden beside the Hall. She stands so that the sunlight falls on her naked face. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply. Then she is given an earthenware cup of water and a carrot that was grown here last summer. While she eats and drinks, people chant quietly. At first, the words are too soft to understand, but, gradually, I hear what they are saying: “We thank you for your sacrifice,” over and over. When she has finished, William dips his thumb into the water and draws a line across Marrella’s forehead. Then she smiles. People cheer and the ceremony is over.
There’s no risk in this ceremony now but there’s no magic, either, I’m sure. Bio-indicators must have died because the world was full of toxins, not because of this ritual exposure. And there would be no way of knowing what killed them. No wonder we call that part of the past the Dark Times. What pathetically poor protection the Sacrifice must have offered when the danger was real. I imagine people in a degraded world with only their superstitions to protect them. Finally I can understand how important those rites must have been and why, even now, people cling to them.
We make our way home in the full light of day, and I fall asleep almost before I’m in bed. Late in the afternoon I rise to find William alone. Somehow he manages to look exhausted, satisfied, and anxious all at once.
“What happened to the soldiers?” I ask him.
“They’re still in Kildevil. The Commission invited them and they came but not to stop the investiture. They wanted to make sure it went ahead. I wish they could have told us that yesterday but they wanted Warder November to think otherwise. Erica was called to a meeting between Captain March and the Weavers’ Guild a few hours ago,” he says. “She might be gone for the rest of the day. We’ve wondered where the military stands. It’s all very promising.”
“But why Erica and not you?”
“Erica’s one of the most important resistance leaders on the island. I thought you knew that. My project isn’t as political, although ultimately I suppose it will be.”
“Is that what you’re training Marrella for? This project?”
I busy myself with the kettle to avoid his eyes, trying to pretend my interest is casual.
“Yes, it is. While the Weavers’ Guild leads the resistance, the Way is quietly trying to reverse the damage of the technocaust. We find those most capable of becoming scientists and educate them.”
I swing around, knocking a canister off the counter.
“THAT’S what the tests were about?” William looks so surprised, I realize I must have shouted. “I mean—” I say, rapidly trying to think what I might reasonably mean, “I thought they were magic.”
William chuckles. “Not magic. Science. Though science may be the only m
agic we have. The Commission fears science the way the Church hated magic in the Middle Ages, and the people still cannot give up those empty rituals you saw last night. But, no, the tests are not magic. The logic that led to the right answers was embedded in holograms in the books Marrella read. It’s called enhanced learning—still very experimental. We’ve known for a long time that good scientists don’t work by reason alone. There’s a creative factor in scientific discovery. Call it intuition. We still don’t know how it works but we’ve learned how to isolate those who have it. They make the best scientists and, these days, we can only train the best. Anyone can read the books but only those with a talent for intuitive learning will know the right answers without conscious thought, pick the plant or animal that is most interesting from a scientific point of view, unravel the geology of the landscape we have chosen to place them in. I was sure Marrella didn’t have that talent but suddenly she did. If there was any magic that was it.”
I lift the canister from the floor and turn away, feeling sick. I thought what I gave Marrella was worthless. Now it seems I have given my future away. I fuss with the teapot, wondering how I will forgive myself for this. I don’t want to know what happens to Marrella next but I have to ask. I wait until the kettle boils so that my voice will not betray me.
“That depends,” William says. “Until a few weeks ago she would certainly have stayed here. But if things change as we hope, we may be able to open a university again. Just imagine!”
I try not to. “I think I’ll take my tea upstairs,” I say.
William, lost in his vision of a university, only says, “Fine. Don’t wake Marrella. She’s earned the right to sleep.”
I flop down on my bed, thankful that Erica was not present for that conversation. Or Marrella. I go back over the tests and recall how effortlessly the answers came to me. Now I know why. On the Tablelands, I was called to a life. I threw that away without thinking. If I had known even yesterday I might have been able to put things right. Now, it’s too late. The investiture is over. Marrella is the bio-indicator. She will have the life that belongs to me.
The Secret Under My Skin Page 16
