by Kody Boye
That’s Byron’s daughter, one says.
She’s beautiful, another adds. No wonder she was chosen.
You think she’s married?
Of course she’s married, idiot. She’s practically royalty.
I ignore the more personal comments and set my attention on my father, who forces a smile even though his fellow men are acting like he cannot hear them. I’d expected something similar upon arriving, for these men have been at war for only the Great God knows how long. My father, though? He could’ve never anticipated it.
“Revered Mother Terra,” I say, turning to face the Gentlewoman. “May I speak with my father in private?”
“I don’t know how much privacy you’ll find here, but yes,” she says, “you may. I will accompany you, however.”
“But—” I start.
She smiles and says, “I will stand outside the tent you choose to enter.”
As the other vehicles in our convoy pull in behind the lead vehicle and the SADs begin to unload supplies, my father turns and leads me—and, as a result, Mother Terra—throughout the camp. We wind around tree stumps and maneuver through the space between tents until we come to stand at the entrance to one, whose opening is separated by mesh, likely to keep the bugs at bay. “Here,” he says, and gestures me inside.
I duck my head and step through the threshold.
Inside, I turn to face him, and am immediately struck by the weariness in his eyes. “Father,” I say. “Are you all right?”
“I just… can’t believe you’re here,” he says, taking a step forward before setting his hands on my upper arms. “By God, honey—it’s been how long?”
“Almost a year,” I say.
A tear runs from one eye. “I’m so sorry.”
We embrace, then, in the privacy of the tent, holding tightly one another as if we will be pulled apart at any moment. I want to say something—anything—to be reassured, but know that he will have few, if any words to offer me peace regarding matters of war.
When we finally do pull away, he asks, “Your mother… how was she?”
“She was fine,” I say. “In good spirits. I… I think she was ready for me to be gone.”
“Don’t say that, Kelendra.”
“I don’t mean gone, as in, she wanted me to leave. I mean gone as in… relieved.”
“Relieved that what?”
“That she wouldn’t have to worry about me anymore.”
My father waits for several long moments before saying, “We heard on the radio that there was an attempt on a couple’s life.” He pauses. “Was it… yours?”
I nod.
He inhales a deep breath and closes his eyes. When he finally opens them, it’s to say, “Is… that why you chose… this… as your Purpose?”
“Yes, Father. It was.”
My father doesn’t respond. Rather, he gazes into my eyes, and I into his. But as I search their depths, longing for some kind of answer to the thoughts running through my head, he turns to look out the flap in the tent. It is here, the thick of it all, that I see his vulnerability, crushed beneath the knowledge that I could’ve been killed. It is both comforting and unsettling at the same time.
What do you say, I think, to a parent who cares? To a parent who wants nothing more than to keep their child safe?
I don’t know, and for that reason, turn my head to look at the world outside the tent. “I should go,” I say after several long moments of indecision. “I’m meant to address the crowd.”
“Kelendra,” my father says.
I pause.
He sighs, but sets a hand on my upper arm before saying, “I’m proud of you.”
“For what?”
“Believing in your convictions. In doing what you feel is right.”
“I—”
“But I want you to know, right now, that not everything is as it seems.”
I open my mouth to reply, but am cut off as my father shakes his head. “Don’t speak,” he whispers. “There are ears everywhere."
With a small yet confused nod, I slip out of the tent and begin to make my way back to the edge of the campground—wondering, the whole way I walk, just what he could have meant.
There are ears everywhere.
This is the mantra that repeats through my head as I watch the SADs arrange box upon box of provisions along the sides of the campsite. Troubled, but at the same time, needing to keep a straight face, I smile and greet the men as they come forward to help distribute the supplies and find myself wondering just what my father could have meant.
Did he mean, I think, that there is more to the war than I think?
I am not a well-educated girl. Part of this is because of my mother—who, having spent long days in the sweatshops during my childhood, did not have the energy to teach me little more than rudimentary reading and writing. The other part is because schoolteachers were pressed, in the Sandstone Hills, to educate as many children as they could; and as such, individual tutoring was rare, if not nonexistent.
You learn what you must to survive was the way of my upbringing back then. Nothing more, nothing less.
I feel like a hypocrite, standing in the middle of a campsite at the Great Divide in a pretty green dress. They claim I am part of the Elite, yet I surely cannot be better than these men, these soldiers, these protectors of our world.
I shake my head as the thoughts continue to assault me, only to find that Mother Terra is drawing closer, likely in preparation to deliver some unpleasant news.
Please God, please God, please God, I think.
The Revered Mother comes to stand beside me and says, “How do you feel about this?”
“This?” I frown.
“This.” She spreads her hand out around her.
“Oh.” I pause. “That. I… wasn’t expecting it to look so—”
“Barren?” The Gentlewoman waits for me to nod before continuing. “They’ve erected tents only because they are more cost-efficient to repair if something happens to them. Buildings would… how do I say… draw unnecessary attention.”
“I imagine they need to be able to move if necessary,” I reply.
“Exactly.” She frowns, then turns her eyes to me. “How are you feeling about all of this?”
“Honestly? Nervous. Angry. Helpless.”
“You are not helpless, Kelendra. You have people who you can turn to in times of strife.”
“But what am I supposed to do when I can’t even turn to myself?”
She doesn’t reply. Rather, she blinks, takes a breath, and lifts a hand as General Becker approaches. “General,” she says.
“Yes?” he asks.
“My Beauty will need a place to sleep for the night. I take it you have a tent you can isolate from the rest of the encampment?”
“Excuse me, ma’am, but is that really necce—”
“It’s more than necessary, General. These men have been at war for only God knows how long. While I’m loathe to consider them wolves, I don’t wish for my charge to be assaulted in the middle of the night.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Becker says before stalking off.
I swallow the lump in my throat as I consider the men milling about. “Mother Terra,” I say. “You don’t think anyone—”
“You can never be too sure,” she says, pressing a hand against my back.
My muscles tighten instantly.
For a moment, Mother Terra’s hand remains.
Then, slowly, she pulls it away. “Come,” she says. “We’ll wait in the vehicle.”
“Am I not supposed to address them?”
“Later,” she says, “at dinner. For now, we’ll wait.”
Wait, I think.
For what?
I don’t know; but as we walk away, and as I feel the eyes on me, I realize that my predicament could be even more precarious than I’d previously thought.
Though I have faith in my fellow women, it is my fellow men I fear.
Oh well,
I think.
I guess, in the end, things never really change.
General Becker returns within a half-hour with news that a tent has been arranged for me, the Revered Mother, and the SADs who have accompanied us. Thankful that it has happened so quickly, but nervous given that the tent is on the far outskirts near the Divide, I shake my head and follow silently, not knowing what, if anything, will occur.
The sun is already falling.
Soon, I will be tasked with addressing a group of men who see me as nothing more than a girl.
You don’t know what they’ll say, my conscience offers, or even how they’ll act.
I don’t—and this, I know, is what bothers me the most.
As a member of our country’s Elite, I’m supposed to be held in high esteem. But what do men who know nothing but war feel toward those who live in ivory towers—in places where electricity can cool the air, cook your food, and bring light in times it would otherwise be dark? Do they see you as famed, fortuned, or do they simply see you as greedy?
I don’t know, and this is what compels me to operate in as casual a manner as possible. It is for this reason that I greet people as they walk by, offer nods as they look upon me, smiles as they force those of their own.
These people—these men who at some points are little more than teenaged boys—will view me as little more than spoiled unless I show myself to be something more.
I’ll show them, I say, that I care. That I’m doing this for them and not for me.
As we come before the tent, and as the SADs turn to allow Mother Terra and I inside first, I find myself longing for places with solid flooring and air conditioning.
The thought stops me in my tracks.
“Kelendra?” Mother Terra asks. “Is everything all right?”
“I—” I begin. “I don’t—”
Flashes of memory enters my mind.
Of my mother, in the Sandstone Hills.
Of my father, here in the Rita Blanca.
Of me, stepping into a room, awing and smiling and realizing that there are things beyond what I could have ever possibly imagined.
It takes only moments for me to realize that I have just thought a selfish thought.
Shaken to the core, I swallow, and lie by saying, “I’m fine.”
The Revered Mother doesn’t question me. Rather, she turns to regard the large tent—which offers eight cots, four on each side—and nods before saying, “I suppose this will do.”
She, too, has become jaded from living in the Glittering City—and as a result, sees this as little more than elementary.
Just like me, I think.
Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath in an effort to clear my conscience, then open them to look at Mother Terra.
“How much longer will it be until dinner?” I ask.
She merely replies, “By nightfall.”
I turn my head to the open flap in the tent.
The sun, having already set, will soon fall below the horizon.
What will follow come nightfall I do not know.
There is no way for me to determine how the men will react come time night falls. Because of this, I lie in bed thinking about what I will say, what I’ll do, how I’ll act. It is an obstacle that seems insurmountable, and at the same time, a task I have willingly dedicated myself to.
Remember, Mother Terra had said shortly before I’d closed my eyes to feign sleep, that these men are expecting something great from you.
“Something great,” I whisper.
I open my eyes to find that the last of the sun’s rays are disappearing from the sky. Now lit by developing moonlight, the world is calm and blue, and threatening to swallow me whole.
Sighing, I push myself upright and run a single hand through my hair.
“I expect you slept well?” a voice asks.
I lift my eyes to find Diana Winters standing at the threshold. Head high, helmet off, she looks at me with pale blue eyes and waits for me to respond.
“I… did,” I say, blinking, still trying to clear the haze of exhaustion from my mind. “Where is everyone?”
“Mother Terra is with General Becker at the moment. The rest of my fellow SADs are outside.”
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“How do you mean?” she replies.
“I mean… there haven’t been any… issues… since we’ve arrived?”
“No. There hasn’t.”
I decide not to dwell on the matter at hand and carefully maneuver my legs over the side of the cot. Once my feet rest on solid ground, I lean forward to lift my dress, then rise and make my way to Diana Winters’ side.
Outside, a fire burns bright, contrary to what I expected.
“I… didn’t think they’d build a fire,” I say.
“They have to cook somehow,” Diana Winters offers.
“I mean… aren’t they concerned about being spotted?”
“The North has known about this encampment for quite some time. Rarely do they try to make a move upon. Unless…”
“Unless… what?” I frown.
“Unless they believe they can exploit a weakness.”
Though a thought crosses my mind, I don’t speak it. Rather, I internalize the feelings that rise as a result of her words and close my eyes in an effort to process them.
It takes only seconds for the thoughts to come full circle.
With that in mind, I wonder: does she think I’m the weakness? Does she think my arrival will bring about tragedy on this comfortably-warm night?
Though I can’t prevent the exhale that follows, I find myself able to keep my head held high and my back straight. At the very least, I can appear composed, even if internally I’m not.
“Shall we go?” Diana Winters asks.
I take a moment to ready myself before nodding and saying, “Yes. We should.”
With that, Diana parts the flap in the tent, steps out, and waits for me to follow before allowing it to fall.
As we make our way through the campsite, ever so quickly maneuvering through the various tents toward where a large table has been assembled at the center of the sector, I take in a deep breath of air that tastes of firewood and brush. A bit uneasy, but at the same time, emboldened by my Purpose, I keep pace with the senior SAD officer until we come to the table. It is at this point that I am ushered toward the far end of the table by Mother Terra, and here where I am seated. It feels odd, to be made the center of attention like this, much less on ground-level, but I realize that being made to stand on a pedestal would likely do more harm than good.
Made an icon, I think.
Or a target, I am loathe to add.
Mother Terra sets her hands on my shoulders as the SADs around us take position at my sides and back, then clears her throat before saying, “May I have everyone’s attention please?”
The men surrounding us silence instantly.
Mother Terra’s fingers tighten around my shoulders as she says, “Her Greatness would like to address you.”
This time, there are no whispers, no words of question or even statements of unsurety. There is only attention, exclusively on me, as they wait for me to speak.
I swallow and clear my throat with a few short coughs before shrugging free of Mother Terra’s grasp and rising. “Hello everyone,” I say, unsure how I am to address these men but knowing at the same time that I cannot afford to let them down. “As you probably already know by now, my name is Kelendra Cross. I am Jonathan Byron’s only daughter, and the Capitol’s Ambassador to the War. I am also a Beautiful One who has Designated her purpose to the civil war that has been taking place for the past twenty-five years.
“I chose this as my Purpose because I knew that the war was terrible. My father, he… he always made it a point to shelter me from as much of it as he possibly could. But I heard, as an Unfortunate, what happened when men went to war—and when they specifically went to fight along the Divide. After not one, but two attempts on my life, I
realized that I could not simply sit back and do nothing.
“This is why I chose my Purpose: to make clear to the people, both Fortunate and not, and those soldiers in our military, that Beautiful Ones are not simply girls who are chosen to rise based simply on their looks. We can have goals. We can have aspirations. We can have causes.
“Tonight, I have arranged, with the Countess and Commandant’s permissions, to bring you the food, clothing, and supplies that will help keep you through the winter. Though I cannot promise you anything more now, I hope to aid you and other men like you further in the coming weeks.”
The men say nothing.
The fixed stares, the pursed lips, the inhales and exhales as they breathe casually—all bring me to believe that I have failed.
Then, slowly, one man begins to clap.
It doesn’t take long to pinpoint him in the crowd, and when I do, I find that it is none other than my father offering his praise and approval.
Slowly, others around him begin to clap.
Some whoop. Others cheer.
Beneath the twinkling stars, things seem perfect.
One star shines even brighter—and, it seems, to be falling.
I am transfixed by its position in the sky, as it coasts the horizon in an arc, glimmering and twinkling as it makes its way steadily toward us.
“Is that—” I start to say.
There is a cry, then screaming.
People begin to scramble.
I am just about to ask what is happening when a pair of hands grab me and begin to drag me backward.
“What’s—” I begin.
Then, slowly, what I thought was a star falls directly into the middle of the camp—
—and explodes.
Fourteen
There is a bright light, then an explosion.
Blinded, and deafened, I am thrown back by the concussive wave and into the dirt at my feet.
Is that, I start to think, a bomb?
My head spins. My ears ring. My body vibrates with energy.
As sound begins to return, I feel once more a pair of hands upon me. This time, however, they are not dragging me backward, but to my feet.
