by RaeLynn Fry
“I don't know how to explain it, Adami; I just...I think this is Bak reaching out to me, prepared to give me answers.”
I think about our last encounter, when I got my Mark, and mentally cringe. He didn't make me feel the most comfortable, but I have to take this chance. I need to ask him about my Mark, about Akin, and about my brother. I don't think he has all the answers, but he has more than I do, and that's enough motivation for me.
“Karis, you are so strong willed and hard headed, I don’t know how others deal with us.”
“But we wouldn't have it any other way.”
Adami smiles at me and pulls me in for a hug. I hold on to him like I'm drowning.
Ethan
I blink a few times before my eyes open all the way. The room is filled with muted light, but it's still too bright for me. I close them again. Every part of my being feels swollen and brittle. Waking up this second time feels harder than the first.
“Here, drink this,” a small voice says to me.
There's pressure from a hand behind my head, pushing me up. Then there's the coolness of a glass being pressed to my lips. Liquid spills against my parched lips and I eagerly part them to accept what I'm being given. The liquid is slightly salty and sweet and doesn't come fast enough. I bring my hands up and try to tip the water glass further, but the grip I'm fighting against is strong and withstands my efforts. My wrist restraints have been lengthened.
“No,” she says. “You must go slowly. If you drink too much, too fast, you'll only make yourself sick.” She pulls the glass away and lowers my head back to the pillow. I hear the clink of the glass being set on a bedside table. “I'm going to redress your wounds. It may hurt a bit, but it won't last for long.” I hear some movement and shuffling.
“So, young man, what's your name?”
“Ethan,” I say in a cracked voice.
“It's nice to meet you, Ethan, my name is Mae.” I hear her unscrew the lid to a jar, followed by the sound of something squishy.
“Wasn’t that you I met earlier?”
“Heavens, no!” she says with a quick laugh. “That sour lemon was my older sister, Bev. She helps out sometimes when I’m busy with other things.”
“Where are we?”
“My homestead.” I’m surprised by the sensation of cold goop being spread across my cheeks. It's like ice when put next to my blistered skin, but the discomfort only lasts a few seconds. And it's worth it, because it brings immediate relief. I can feel it seeping into my skin, repairing the damage of days spent out in the unforgiving sun. “I live here with my husband, Ansel.” She slides the rag of ointment across the bridge of my nose and forehead. “The desert is a harsh and unforgiving place.”
“Dhevan,” I say. “Is he alright?”
“Dhevan's fine. I think he's out in the garden with Ansel, helping him with some irrigation.”
“Good.” I sigh, opening my eyes again.
The bed frame is metal, and there's an old, faded quilt covering my body. The room is clean and sparse, but also homey and comfortable. The air smells like musty lemons, a scent both calming and relaxing. This place is full of juxtapositions. There's a window with a film of dirt on the outside. It looks like it hasn't been cleaned in a century. An old mirror and dresser are on the wall opposite me, antique perfume bottles in a rainbow of colors sit on the surface.
I finally come across Mae, who's studying me as intently as I'm studying my surroundings. She's older than I thought she would be. Older than what's safe for out here in the Further. But, it doesn't seem to be a handicap.
Her hair is a mousy brown with strands of white around her face. She has it done in a long braid wrapped around her head like a crown. Her clothes are simple. A worn, floral dress with an apron around her waist, just like Bev. She sits with her hands in her lap, a jar of the ointment in one and a clean rag in the other. Her hands are worn. A day hasn’t gone by where she didn’t do some sort of manual labor, I bet. But her eyes are kind.
“You’re nicer than your sister.”
Mae smiles. “What were you and your friend doing in the desert?”
I study her a bit longer, wondering if I should trust her. If I could. I decide it’s time to try trusting someone out here. There's no harm in offering a little bit of information to see how she reacts.
“We were out exploring. To see what was here, if anything.”
She raises a brow at my story. “You went out into a place like the desert, miserably unprepared, out of sheer curiosity?”
I can see she’s sharper than most and my vague answers don’t satisfy her. “I think I'd better talk with Dhevan before we discuss anymore.”
“Very well, I will respect that.” She wipes off her fingers and closes the salve, placing it and the rag on the nightstand next to the water. I reach for the glass. She glances at me sharply. “Drink that slowly,” she warns, before walking to the window. I see only sky, which means that we're at least two stories up.
She bangs on the frame twice, sending dust and bits of debris to the floor while shaking the room. Then, with more strength than I thought she possessed, she wrestles the window up and leans out. “Ansel!”
“Yeah?” a gruff voice answers from below.
“Send up the boy. This one wants a word with him before he'll speak to us properly.” She doesn't wait for a response before she thrusts down on the window, closing it with a few powerful shoves.
“He'll be up shortly.”
“Thank you,” I say to her back as she walks out of the room.
Day twelve
Karis
I'm standing in front of the building whose address was on the slip of paper. It's a house. An old, worn out, empty house. It's made entirely of dark red bricks with a door covered by several planks of wood and a large dirt stained window on each side. It's abandoned, that's obvious. But it doesn't look like there's anyone in there to meet.
The air around me is dark and silent. I look at the lonely concrete step that leads up to the doorway. I take a breath and step forward. The wood is secured to the doorframe so the door itself is still free to move.
I reach in and turn the knob, letting it swing wide. I expect rusty hinges announcing my arrival to the entire street, but it moves smoothly and silently.
I glance over both shoulders and duck between slats of wood and into the darkness. It's an eerie place. Every inch of it is dressed in shadow blouses and cobweb skirts. There's wallpaper, hanging halfway down some of the walls, blowing in a draft I can't feel.
There's some sort of texture on the ceiling, because that's coming off too, like a cat’s used it as a scratching post. Curtains hang haphazardly from the tops of the windows, one end of their rod secured, the other almost touching the ground. There are only a few pieces of furniture in the space—an armchair with slashed upholstery, a tall dresser, and a small side table. All of these items lie clustered in the center of the room, drawers open, contents gone. Next to the pile is a heap of other odds and ends—a painting still in its frame, broken in half and lying on top of a toppled radiator. There's a lamp on its side, with the shade across the room. An empty box next to all of that. The flooring consists of raw subflooring. No carpet, no rugs, no smoothed or polished woods.
There's a narrow doorway leading to the back of the house. I step through and into the kitchen. It's empty of furnishings except for a stained mattress thrown up against a wall and a lonely kitchen table chair sitting in the middle. The sink is full of trash, and so are the counters. Boxes and bags and cans.
Cupboard doors are open and hanging off, shelves inside either empty or piled with useless garbage. The floor is cluttered and stained. A lonely bulb hangs from the ceiling. It looks like not long after the house was abandoned, it was ransacked.
I turn in a small circle, looking for any signs of the person I'm supposed to be meeting. When I see none, I go back to the living room and wait. I perch on the edge of the stale armchair, the stench of mold and must enveloping me.
The seconds pass by slowly, and I'm not sure how long I'm there, but eventually I hear a noise towards the back of the house. A door being opened and closed, followed by heavy footsteps in the kitchen. There's a small clatter and then the footsteps pick up again, along with something being dragged across the floor. I wait for him to enter the front room before I say anything. My heart pounds in my ears.
A man stands in the doorway, the kitchen table chair pulled behind him. He swings it around and sets it up across from mine. He stares at me. There's just enough light coming through the front windows from streetlamps that I can see the changes from the last time we sat across from each other.
“You cleaned yourself up,” I say to Bak.
“Yeah, ya like it?” His voice is still gruff. “I had to go into the Inner City and set up a meetin’.”
“You look more like Dahn, now.” His hair is still long, down to his shoulders, probably, but it's held back in a ponytail. His white beard is trimmed short, showing off his square jaw and thick neck. He's more tanned than dirty now, but his eyes are still bloodshot. I guess he didn't escape everything Neech.
“It's where I'm from. My job was done, I had to go back to my real self.”
I nod as if I can relate, but more as just a thing to do to channel my nerves. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it and taking a long inhale.
“Smoking is still bad for you,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.
“So are Black Market Marks.” He blows a stream of smoke in my direction. I wave it away with a frown. “But apparently, for you, not so much.”
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I think the right question is, what do you want?”
“I don't have time for games. You're the one who sent me the note.”
“But you're the one who sent the first message.”
“What are you talking about? I didn’t send you a message.”
“I got word there was a Comm from the station by my last post. No one would be stupid enough to use that Comm. Except for you.” He takes another long inhale, breathing out the smoke as he talks. “I figured you were trying to get a hold of me, so I thought I'd reach back out to you. See what it is you wanted and if it interested me.”
“Out of the goodness of your tar laced heart, you thought you would reach out to me to see what you could do to help me and what questions you could answer for me? Because, what, you're just a nice, misunderstood guy?”
“You've gotten sassy and a little insolent since we last talked.” He coughs and flicks his cigarette to the ground, grinding it with the heel of his boot.
“So I've been told. I'm tired and I have a lot on my plate, let's not play games. I'd rather just get straight to the point.”
“As would I.” He leans forward and takes me in, his eyes traveling over every square inch of me. “You're alive.”
“You noticed.” I lean forward in my chair as well, mimicking his posture.
“That's impressive.”
“I'm gathering that. Why?”
“You're the first to survive a faulty Mark.”
“So you were giving them out on purpose.”
“Of course we were.” He leans back, still eying me.
“Why?”
“Because those who sought to get one were obviously going to be trouble for the Corporation. This was just one way of stopping them. An effective way. But with you, it was different.”
“How so?” I lean back, too.
“I decided I wanted to perform my own little experiment. You were the first one to walk through my door.”
“Wait, so you decided to perform an experiment on the Corporations experiment?”
He nods.
“How?”
“I wanted to see if there was a way of changing the Mark without killing the subject. Of breaking it. DNA is a fickle and fragile thing. It's a lot easier to put something in it than to take something out. You were dead anyway, so I figured I might as well see if this would work, first.”
“And how would you have known if it worked or not?”
“I've been followin’ you. Watchin’ what you do, where you go, how you act. You haven't used your Mark once since wakin’ up. How did you wake up, by the way?”
I narrow my eyes. “I guess I'm stronger than I'm being given credit for.”
“Honey, ain't nobody that strong. But, no matter. I can find out what really happened. Akin will be interested to know someone has been handin’ out his antidotes without goin’ through the proper channels.”
I think of Rebeka. As much as I don't like her, she's still my mot her, and I don't want anything bad to happen to her. At the bare minimum, I still need someone on the inside who can help us when we need it. “I told you, I'm strong. I healed on my own.”
He barks out a laugh.
“Then why have an antidote for a faulty Mark? Why would the Corp want a way to undo what they've done if what they're doing is trying to guarantee its power?” I ask.
“Speak plainly.” The smirk has dropped off his face.
“If the Corporation designed the purpose of the faulty Mark, why in the world would they also design a way to reverse it?”
“They need to have power in all things. Designing something that only goes one way is dangerous. They needed to have a way to make the pendulum swing the other direction, if they needed it to. Listen, I have answers to things you need to know. Questions you're asking now and questions you don't know you should be asking.”
“And what makes you think I want these answers from you?”
“Because I'm your only source. There's no other place you can get answers from and still stay in Neech. And the moment you step inside Dahn, uninvited, is the moment you make life very hard for yourself. It doesn't take much to make Akin happy and thus keep your life, yours. The moment you disobey him or make him look the fool is the moment you sign your life away to him.”
I huff. “Sounds strikingly similar to recent advice.”
“You've been given it twice now. Heed it and stay put until Akin comes to get you.”
“Why? What is his plan for me? Does it have something to do with my brother? Have you seen Ajna?” The last question blurts out. Bak's eyes light with a smile.
“Ah, the life of a Sponsor. Now that you know the truth about Marks, that they have nothing to do with destiny and everything to do with careful planning and manipulation on the Corporation's behalf, the same is true with Sponsors.
“It used to be Sponsors were taken because of their brains and skills and genetic makeup—to enrich the population of Dahn even more. They were put into the ranks of our scientists and leaders to make our cities better.
“More recently, Sponsors have been selected as a means of control and strength. Causing commotion for Akin? Pose a certain threat to the Corp's plans? Simple. Take one of their children as a Sponsor. The children don't mind. They get a new, spoiled life of privilege. Given everything anyone could ever want. Your whole life ahead of you, unweighted by the dirt and stench of a past lived in Neech.”
“What?” What is that supposed to mean?
“How much do you know about Sponsors, Karis?”
My words are tight. I know I'm going to have to dance to his tune before he'll give me the answers I'm looking for. “Not much. Just that they're taken from Neech to live in Dahn and we never hear from them again.”
“Yes. And do you know why the Sponsors never try to get back to their families in Neech?”
“Because they're chained to a wall in some room, I suppose.”
“Because they have no memory whatsoever of their past lives. They know nothing but the new ones they've been given, left with no desire to seek out those who love and miss them in the Outer City, because they don’t know they exist.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It's best for you to be prepared for what is to come, so I will explain it to you, so that you don't look completely uneducat
ed when Akin comes for you.
“A Sponsor's memory of their past is completely erased. Oh, they know they came from Neech, and they know they're a Sponsor, but the Corporation takes away the details of the past eight years. They have no recollection of who their parents are, what it's like to hunger or thirst, or be cold. They know only the elation and pride of being selected. You could see Ajna today and he would not bat an eye or reach out for a hug in familiarity. He will taste your name for the first time, when they introduce you to him.”
“That's a lie,” I hiss. “My brother would never forget us.” But it makes perfect sense. What better way to control than to take away their desire to ever want to leave. “And if it is, I'll reverse it.”
“You could try, but you would be unsuccessful.”
“Just because a Sponsor forgets his family, doesn't mean his family forgets him. A parent could never forget about their child.”
“Ah, this is true, and a very dangerous fact. Which is why the Corporation has a contingency plan for them, as well.”
“Akin has a contingency plan for my family?”
“Ever stop to think about previous Sponsors, Karis?”
“No,” I snap, “I don't. Ajna is the most recent Sponsor, and I didn't know the last one. He was a year older than me and lived in a different section of Neech.”
“Because he was a different Caste than you, that's right.” He's smug in his words.
“Get to the point, Bak.”
“This house belonged to the last Sponsor's family.”
I look around. That’s impossible. This place is run down and abandoned. It looks like it's been that way for several years. A decade, even. People in Neech don't move, not even those in the higher Castes.
“Not long after he was chosen, his family became obsolete. The Corporation came in and did away with them. Either by accident or framing them for law breaking to get them Released. A mother and father were separated from their son and then taken away permanently. Anyone who knew the Sponsor intimately were also contained and eliminated. Any threat of retaliation was wiped clean. Leaving this,” he sweeps his arms wide, “an empty shell of a life that once was, but is no more.”
