by RaeLynn Fry
Despite my best efforts, one lonely tear escapes the corner of my eye and trails down my cheek. I quickly bring my finger up to wipe it away. “I want everything to go back to the way it was before any of this happened.” I plop the damp rag into the bowl. “I mean, I don't know why everyone’s changed and so different around me.”
“From what I've been hearing…you haven't exactly been warm and fuzzy…or even remotely approachable…for that matter.” The voice is dry, strained, as if the vocal cords haven't been used in months.
My eyes widen until they feel like they're going to be squeezed out of my skull. I take a slow breath before I finally look at the Untouchable. His eyes are slits and his lips barely move.
“Hi,” he croaks out, lifting a few fingers off the mattress for a weak wave.
“Hi,” I breathe out in disbelief. I stand slowly, as if any sort of quick movement will make this all reverse itself. “I'll be...right back...” I back out of the room and as soon as I'm on the landing I yell, “Papa! Eta! Come quick!”
७
My brother's tiny room is cramped. Gandā is lying on the bed, propped up with his back against the headboard, pillows folded under his shoulders and head. We're at a standstill; no one knows quite how to proceed. I'm standing farthest back, my body leaning against the closed door, chewing on my thumb nail.
Papa stands at the foot of the bed, staring at the newly awakened Untouchable. He’s got a look on his face of something like disbelief and fear. Eta's all business. She's sitting on the edge of the bed, her bent fingers pressed into the thin skin of Gandā’s wrist, feeling and counting his pulse. She looks at his eyes and gums next, but for what I have no idea. Nor do I care.
He had been listening to me? He could hear me? This entire time? Had he heard everything? Oh, I hope he hadn't heard everything! My cheeks light with a slow burn at the thought of all the secrets I told him. The feelings I confided in his unconsciousness.
“You check out fine,” Eta says. “Weak, but surprisingly fine.” Her bones creak and pop as she stands. “For as long as you’ve been unconscious, your muscle mass is strangely intact. You may as well have been asleep just a night instead of in a coma for near three months.”
“Thank you,” he says, hoarsely, “for looking after me and taking care of me.” Eta's withered hand is giving him a small glass of water, ever the Medic.
“It was pretty dark for a while, there,” Papa says. “What do you remember?”
Gandā closes his eyes “I remember...” he starts out, like he's tugging at a reluctant memory, “...crossing the Wasteland.”
“That's it?” Eta says, somewhat skeptically. “Nothing more?”
Gandā opens his eyes and seeks her out. “It had been a couple of days since I'd last eaten anything; days had passed without water. I had nothing to protect me from the sun or the elements. I don't remember much of the last part of my journey through the Wasteland.”
“It will come back, with time,” Eta says.
“I'm sorry, it's just that...where am I? What is this place?”
“You're in the Outer City,” Eta says, watching him closely, studying him. It's in our nature to be suspicious. Especially when a human—an Untouchable—has appeared out of the Further.
“Outer City,” he says the words quietly, rolling them around on his tongue, seeing how he likes the taste. “Strange name for a city.”
“We also call it Neech,” I finally speak up.
“Who said that?” I can hear a bit of strain in his voice, like he’s trying to sit up.
I step forward and slide between Eta and Papa. “I did.” My cheeks are still warm.
“This is my daughter, Karis,” Papa says, putting his hands on my shoulders, pulling me towards him so that I stand nearer the bed. “She's the one who nursed you back to health.”
A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. “It's nice to meet you, Karis. My name is—what is it that you've been calling me?”
My cheeks kick up their color a notch and Papa clears his throat. “It's nothing. I just didn't want to be calling you Untouchable all the time, so I started calling you something else.”
His eyebrow lifts at the word. “Untouchable?”
I sigh just a little, not out of annoyance, but at the realization that this man knows nothing about our world, the way we live, and I don’t really have the time to explain it to him now. “An Untouchable is what we call people from out in the Further—or the Wasteland, as you call it.”
He nods his head, as if it makes perfect sense.
“This is my Papa, Jeret Singh and this is Neech's best Medic, Eta Pillai.”
“And my name?” He presses, in an almost teasing way.
“Gandā is,” I say, “from the Old Language. It means—”
“Filthy,” he finishes for me, with a chuckle. “Quite accurate, I'm sure.”
I find myself surprisingly relieved he is not offended by it. “It was rude, I know, I didn't mean any harm by it.”
“None taken, I assure you.”
“Now that you're awake,” Papa says, “What should we call you?”
“You can call me Adami.” He pronounces it like Aud may.
“A student of the old tongue.” Eta sounds pleased.
“I know a little,” he says.
At my pinched face, Eta translates. “It means person or man.”
“Your name is Man?” I say.
Adami's half smile is back. “The proper names of things—a thing’s true name—encompasses everything about that object; it's essence, its very being. As such, knowing the true name of something or someone is a very powerful tool. Or weapon. To tell someone your true name is to give them the potential of holding power over you. We do not give that away lightly.” There's silence around the room. “That is what we believe, anyway.”
“We?” I say.
“My clan. Where I’m from. We.”
“Where’s that?”
“Far, far, far from here.”
“When you arrived,” Papa says, “You said something before you passed out.”
“Oh?” Adami says, taking another drink of water. “What was that?”
“You said, 'It does exist.” What did you mean by that?”
It was an obvious question, in my opinion, but for some reason, Papa needed to ask it and we all needed to hear the answer.
“I was told,” he starts out slowly, “A long time ago, that this place no longer existed. That it was destroyed.”
I couldn't help myself; I asked, “You crossed the Further for something you were told no longer existed?”
His shoulder gives a shadow of a shrug. “I was curious.”
“You risked everything for curiosity?”
“You look like you’d do worse for less,” he says.
I cross my arms over my chest, I don’t believe him. I mean, sure, curiosity is probably a part of his motivation, but it’s far from all of it.
“You know what they say about the cat,” Adami says.
Papa and I give him a blank stare. Eta gives a low chuckle. “Curiosity killed it.”
“But satisfaction brought it back.” Adami's eyes crinkle at the edges with a smile. “I like her.”
“We should let him get some rest,” Papa says.
“Agreed,” Eta says with a sharp nod of her head. “Everyone out. I'll bring you up some more broth. No solids yet. We need to make sure your system is on the up and up before we trust it with anything more substantial than this.”
“Maybe Karis could bring it up to me; I'd like to talk to her a little longer, if that's okay?” Papa's eyes flit to mine with amused curiosity. “Just to thank her for the care she took of me.”
“Um, sure. I can do that.” I duck my head a bit and turn to leave the room. I'm halfway down the stairs when everyone else starts to follow. I dish up a bowl of hot broth that's been simmering over the fire. I fill the bowl a little fuller than we normally do. I tear off a small piece of bread and hide it in
my hand beneath the bowl. A little bit won’t hurt, I’m sure. He has to be hungry for more than just broth after being asleep for so long.
“Don't be up too late,” Papa says when I pass. “I’ll be up to check on you later and make sure you’re heading to bed.”
“I won't.”
He grabs my elbow, stopping me. “Be careful. We don't know yet if he can be trusted; how much he knows.”
“I understand, Papa,” I say, and hurry up the stairs.
Day five
Karis
I open the door enough so I can slip through, closing it behind me with my foot. Adami is sitting up in bed, his legs slung over the edge. His fingers grip the side of the mattress next to his knees. His head is bent over and I watch his shoulder blades rise and fall with his breaths. In this form, he looks entirely fragile.
“You should be lying down,” I say quietly.
There's something about him, something I can't quite place, but it tells me that I can trust him; that we’re allies. In what, I'm not yet sure. He looks as worn and defeated on the outside as I feel on the inside; but at the same time, determined and capable of winning. I like that about him. I want to believe that that's the thing we have in common.
“I've been lying down for what feels like months.” He straightens up and starts to rotate his arms and shoulders with a small pinch of pain on his face. He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck. “I could use a shoulder rub.” He meets my stare with a snag of a smile.
My eyes go wide only an instant before I lower my chin and give him the same look I gave Ajna whenever he would ask me for something so ridiculous it was obvious it was never going to happen.
“Too soon, huh?” He lets out a puff of air I think is supposed to be a laugh. “I just thought, with all the time we've been spending together...”
I move forward and sit in the chair that's still near the night stand. “Here,” I say, handing over the bland smelling broth.
“Thank you.” He reaches out for the pottery.
“I snuck you some of this, too.” I put the tear of bread in his palm.
His eyebrows raise and he looks at me, another small smile. It looks good on him. Like it fits, like it's well worn. I think, for him, he's always wearing a smile, probably. “Thank you.”
“Just don't tell Papa or Eta, I'll never hear the end of it.”
“I will carry this secret to my grave.” He holds the bread to his chest. He dips it in the liquid and lets it sit while we talk. “Thank you, Karis, for taking care of me.”
I shrug off his compliment. “It's no problem.” I finger the fabric of my dress. “Could you really hear everything I said to you?”
“Everything.”
I don't like the way he says the word; as if I should be embarrassed. Should I be? I try to quickly go through the inventory of what I vented about. Yes, there were several things I said I should be embarrassed about. My ears warm as blood rushes to them, I’m sure turning them red, too. I was far from nice to him, in the beginning. I'm suddenly ashamed that I took all my hostility and resentment out on him.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” I say, “about what I said about you…” I trail off.
Adami chuckles. “Don't be embarrassed,” he says, reaching out to squeeze my hand. The gesture feels strangely normal. “It let me get to know the real you. I feel like we're good friends already.”
“Except that I know nothing about you.”
“We have plenty of time for that.” He dips his spoon into the soup and scoops up a piece of soggy bread. He puts it to his mouth and closes his eyes in satisfaction. “Mmmmm.”
“Oh, come on. It can't be all that good.”
He opens one eye, half savoring the treat. “When you've been living on bland broth for as long as I have, this tiny scrap of bread is like heaven.”
“Well I'm glad I stole it for you, then.”
He eats a few more bites. “Time's running out, so we’d better act quickly.”
His words catch me off guard. “What are you talking about?”
“Getting your brother back; now that that Ethan character’s gone, he can’t stop us. That is what you've been talking to me about the entire time. Well, that and Ethan. He’s not right for you, you know. Not nearly good enough.”
My cheeks burn a little. “He’s not all that bad. There are a lot of good qualities to him. He’s funny and caring. But the good never come out when you’re angry.”
“Still,” he takes another bite. “No one should make you feel the way you told me you were feeling. But back to the plan of getting your brother.”
“It's not that easy,” I say after a pause. “I can't just go into the Inner City and bring him back.” Ugh. I'm sounding too much like the person I was so mad at.
“Why not? You did it before.” He takes a bite of soggy bread and flavorless broth. He closes his eyes and savors whatever flavor might be present.
“That's because the Corporation—Akin—didn't know I was coming.”
“Are you sure about that?” He says it like he knows something I don't.
“I'm not sure about anything when it comes to the President, but I do know it won't be as easy this time around.”
“So you find another way in.”
“Easier said than done. I have questions, lots of them.” My eyes flit down to my Mark and my fingers absently brush against the ink. Completely useless, now.
“About that?” Adami juts his chin out towards my wrist.
“Among other things,” I say.
“That’s your Mark, right? The one that doesn’t work the way it should anymore? Is it important?”
I let a puff of air escape through my nose with an unimpressed laugh. “Important? Maybe for the Corporation, but not for us. They tell us it is, but that’s a lie.”
“If it's a lie, then why do you all have them?”
“No one knows it’s a lie.” I sigh. “They control us. It's a long story.”
He puts his hands up, putting his bedridden position on display. “And I have nothing but time, you might as well fill me in.”
“Okay,” I say, surprised at how easily I agree.
I tell him about how the Corporation was left over from The Corporation from Before, the one that helped stabilize and organize our world after it fell down around us. They helped tame the only viable area for us to inhabit. I tell him about the Biodome and how it protects us from the acidic air out in The Further and harsh seasons. That our Marks carry all of our information and DNA and tell us what we're genetically best to be in life. And then I tell him about the lies. That the Marks don't do any of those things and the Corporation has been lying to us all along, that it's just another one of their ways to control us and manipulate us.
“Up until we found out the truth, we thought we shared the same history as everybody else, every other city. That's what we were told. But apparently,” I reach out to his arm, to turn it over, but stop short, never touching his skin, “apparently, it isn't.”
“I've only ever seen those here.” His finger traces my Mark, causing goose bumps to sprout over my skin.
“Here?” My voice is a little surprised. “You've been to other places?”
“Of course I have. You don't think Neech and Dahn are the only cities that survived, do you?”
“Well...” Did I? We were never told about any other place, we were led to believe that it was only us and death everywhere else. The more I think about it, the stupider I feel and the angrier I get. Of course we aren’t the only cities in existence. Of course there are others and of course the Corporation would want to keep that from us, to keep us better reigned in and to keep us from leaving.
“It's okay,” Adami says softly, knowing he must have stumbled onto something sensitive. “Hey, I get it. It's not like this Corporation of yours wants you to know the truth.”
His words made me think of something else. “So, the Corporation's reach doesn't extend to where it is you're from?”
&nb
sp; He waits a little before answering. “Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?
“They don't rule us or govern us or really know we exist, but we know about them. They're trying to spread their reach, and we try to stop them.”
“We?”
“Well yeah, you didn’t think I was the only one living out in the Wasteland, did you?” He gives a half laugh to himself.
“What's the name of where you're from?”
“Nagar.” He says the word in a lonely way.
“Do you miss it?”
“I suppose. It's the place I've lived at the longest, so I know it best.”
“Do you have people there worrying about you?”
“I have my mom, but I doubt she's worrying about me.” He chuckles. “I cause more headaches and trouble than anything else, so she's probably glad I've stepped out for a bit. But she knows I'm okay. What about you?”
“Papa's the only one I have left here with me.”
“You have Ethan,” he says with a lifted brow. He sets the empty bowl on the side table.
“That's been…” I try to search for the best word and settle on, “…complicated.”
“Trouble in paradise?”
“Like I said, complicated.”
“Probably about as much as you think it is.”
I don't offer a reply.
“So let's go back to these Marks. Everyone gets one—”
“—When we're eight.”
He nods. “They tell you what you're genetically best at and who you're genetically optimal to be Paired with.”
“You listen well.”
“And yours is broken?” He sounds a bit amused.
“Or fixed. I guess it depends on how you look at it.”
“Either way, it's a dangerous spot to be in.” I can feel him watching me from the corner of my eye. “When you were babbling at me—”
“—I didn't babble, I was comforting you.”
He doesn't stop. “When you thought I wasn't listening, you never explained to me how it broke.”
