Blood, Ink & Fire

by Ashley Mansour

  I open the cover. My fingers part the pages. The spine crackles, inviting me in.

  “Turn past the front matter,” he says. “To the first play.”

  “A play? What’s a play?”

  “A play was a thing written to be performed. A story, acted out upon a stage. In front of an audience of people. They would watch. For enjoyment. For pleasure. William Shakespeare was a playwright. See? These are his works.”

  “William?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You have the same name as a famous playwright?”

  My grandfather nods. “Perhaps it was a sign.”

  I stare at the words, unable to make anything out at first. “It looks like, like . . .” I struggle for the word. I’ve heard Grandpa say it before, and now he encourages me with his eyes to find it again. “Poetry,” I say at last.

  “Try to read some,” Grandpa says. “See if you can.”

  I hold the book, focusing on the small print. The words are strange, and their order is all wrong, twisted inside out, like someone speaking backward. Then, despite myself, I begin to read them.

  If by your art, my dearest father, you have

  Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.

  The sky, it seems, would pour down stinking pitch,

  But that the sea, mounting to the welkin’s cheek,

  Dashes the fire out.

  “Good,” Grandpa says, enthused. “Go on.”

  O, I have suffered

  With those that I saw suffer: a brave vessel,

  Who had, no doubt, some noble creature in her,

  Dash’d all to pieces.

  The words swirl off the page to meet my eyes. I feel them on my lips, the hum of their meaning sinking into me. The words feel electric. After a while, I forget I’m there—that Grandpa is there. I’m inside the play now, and the characters—Prospero, Miranda, Ariel, Caliban—talk inside my head. When I reach the end, I cannot help but feel a sense of sadness in the final words, as if some great chapter had closed, not just for the characters in the story, but for the man who wrote them. I feel something there in the pages that makes me wonder why the Prospero of the Rising chose this name.

  I read until the sky grows dark and the landscape changes. We pass through another blotted-out city, its fragments reaching haphazardly toward the sky. Grandpa says they were called skyscrapers for this reason.

  When the stars peek through the curtain of night, Grandpa says, “You should check on Ledger.”

  I nod and make my way to the front of the RV. Beyond the curtain, Ledger’s eyes are still intent on the road, but I can tell he’s tired. I slide in next to him and put my hands on the wheel, nudging my foot onto the accelerator. Ledger looks at me, his expression startled. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking over. You’ve been driving nearly eight hours straight.”

  Ledger squirms in his seat. “All right,” he says, maneuvering over me as I scoot into the driver’s seat.

  I glance at him, for the first time noticing his clothes. He’s wearing one of Hale’s shirts. Ledger catches my gaze and sits uncomfortably in the seat next to me. “They’re Hale’s clothes. He gave them to me.”

  I smile. “I can see that.”

  Ledger’s eyes harden as he turns from me to look out the window. “I know it bothers you, the way I look. I didn’t want you to have to see me in John’s clothes, too . . .”

  For a second, I’m speechless. He understands? He knows I still can’t bear to look at him?

  “It was the best I could do,” he adds.

  I try to focus on the headlight beams cutting through the darkness. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.” He takes a breath, like he wants to say something. He turns, his expression stern. “You should know I’d do it differently. If I had the chance. I wouldn’t choose John . . .”

  Ledger shuts his eyes and turns away. “Knowing every time you look at me you see him . . . knowing how it hurts you . . .” he adds. I swallow the lump in my throat as his voice trails off.

  He’s right. I do think of John when I look at him. And every single time, I feel like I’m watching him die all over again. It’s impossible not to miss my best friend when I stare past those unfeeling blue eyes searching for traces of the Winnower boy I once knew.

  “The last thing I ever meant to do was hurt you,” he says, his voice a pained whisper. “I can see now that I made a mistake coming to you this way. As him. I regret it every second.”

  A stabbing pang of loss hits me. What if Ledger hadn’t come to me as John? Who would be with me now? Some stranger? You’d never get to see his face, never get to hear his voice. Admit it, you are glad he chose your best friend.

  “I don’t. I don’t regret it.”

  Ledger’s expression lifts. “You don’t?”

  “No. I lost my best friend. And while he may be gone, there’s something comforting about seeing him. Seeing you, as him, I mean. I probably sound crazy.”

  “No,” Ledger says, his voice quiet. “You don’t.”

  He gets up to leave, and maybe it’s the clothes that belong to Hale. Maybe it’s the idea that he borrowed them for me, to lessen my hurt, but I have to admit Ledger is taking over—from the inside. Suddenly I don’t know who I’m seeing anymore.

  I catalogue the differences quickly, trying to differentiate Ledger from John, John from Ledger. His hair is worn forward, instead of clean and to the side, like John’s. His shoes are crisply laced instead of messy, his shirt is rolled up at the elbows. And then the eyes . . . the blue eyes pooling dark at the center, still and endless like the night sky. The air of infinity about him makes my skin prickle. I realize this is him seeping through. Ledger.

  “Stay with me.” I regret it the moment the words slip out of me. I turn away from him, hoping he won’t see the bundle of sadness inside me.

  Ledger hesitates. “Are you sure?”

  My eyes lock straight ahead. “I’m sure.”

  Ledger sits back down. I feel his eyes on me for just a second before he turns to watch the road. For now the emptiness inside me dulls. Something about him being there makes the blackness ahead bearable. It comforts me.

  *

  We drive in silence, heading east into the sunrise. The purple dawn moves slowly across the horizon until the sky is painted bright yellow and orange. The sun announces itself over the distant hills, a speck of white light breaking through. As we near, it broadens and lifts higher into the sky before splitting into two focused beams. One darts across the landscape, circling the RV before lighting up the road before us. Even in the glare, I can see the shadow amid the light forming the letter P. “Ledger!” I shout. “Wake up!” Ledger bolts upright.

  “Look!” I point to the light ahead. The beams dim, revealing a shining city crowning a large plateau. “We made it.”

  The steering wheel jolts out of my grasp as the RV swerves right into the white light. The road before us begins to glow a soft iridescent blue. The accelerator eases down under my foot as the dashboard lights up. “The autodrive’s been activated,” I say. “I’m not doing this.”

  Ledger grabs the display from the dash. The letter P flickers across the screen. “They’re doing it. They’re sucking us in.”

  The accelerator sticks. The steering wheel jigs left and right. We slow to a crawl in autodrive as powerful beams of white light wash over the vehicle, inspecting, searching. I brace myself for whatever they might find.

  We approach a pair of silvery gates decorated with interlocking symbols, all formed by the letter P. We come to a stop. The quiet churning of the engine ceases. Everything is silent except the wind rushing around us. The beam retracts, disappearing into an enormous watchtower. My heart plummets into my stomach. The tower looks just like the one in New Down City.

  “Ledger, do you see that?” I ask. “It’s the eye in the sky,” I point to the tower. “Fell has one just like it.”

  A voice from beyond warps between
bursts of static from the display. “Greetings, travelers. We detect a weapon inside your vehicle. Surrender it. Now.”

  I look at Ledger a split second. “If we give it up,” he whispers, “we’ll have absolutely no protection.”

  “I don’t think we have a choice,” I whisper back.

  The display flickers as the voice from beyond laughs, ironically. Ledger and I lock eyes. Panic splinters the air as we both realize the voice can hear us. “Of course you do,” it says. “There’s always a choice.”

  NOELLE

  SEVENTEEN

  Relinquish your weapon, travelers.”

  I summon my courage and lean toward the display. “And if we don’t?”

  “Relinquish your weapon, or we will take it from you by force. You have one minute to decide.”

  Ledger turns to me. “What should we do?”

  “If whatever is inside Pedanta is dangerous, one handgun isn’t going to protect us.” I dart to the back of the RV, retrieving Hale’s gun.

  “What are you doing? Noelle, wait! Stop!” Ledger yells as I fling open the door and run outside. He follows me as I lay the gun in the road, then back away from it, my hands in the air.

  Ledger narrows his eyes at me as we climb back inside the RV. “Well that was dangerous.”

  I narrow my eyes back. “We didn’t come all this way to stop now.”

  “You’re right,” he says. “Next time just . . .”

  “Just what?”

  “Wait for me. We’re supposed to be together on this.”

  I glare at him a moment, searching. Together? Together is the last thing I want us to be. “Fine,” I snap.

  In moments, the gates part. Two incredibly tall guards stride toward us. One keeps his eyes on us as the other picks up Hale’s gun. They disappear behind the gates.

  “Wise decision,” says the voice through static. “Welcome to Pedanta.”

  The lights and autodrive power on again, guiding us in toward the city.

  We stop beyond the gate at the base of a winding hill. Everything is quiet. An empty guardhouse stands in the middle of the road, the two guards stationed at either side. Beyond it, a second guardhouse bars the entrance to the city. We’re trapped now between the two ramparts.

  A slender figure steps out of the guardhouse, a green-and-gold cloak trailing behind her tiny figure. She glides toward the RV as though the wind itself carries her. She stops, surveying us with her large black eyes. “Don’t be alarmed,” she calls, evenly. “You are safe here.”

  We get out to meet her in front of the RV.

  “You’re her,” I say. “You’re the voice from the simulcasts.”

  Her long, unpainted eyelashes bat in amusement. “That’s correct. I am the voice. I am France.” She clasps her hands together. I note the clean trail of her long cloak as it flutters in the breeze, her dark hair tied in a neat bun atop her head, framing the caramel tones of her face. “Welcome to Pedanta. You must be weary from your travels.”

  “We’re okay,” I say.

  “Yes, I’m sure you are. I do hope our little test wasn’t too troublesome for you?” She scans Ledger quickly, then returns her eyes to mine.

  “Not at all,” I say.

  “Then you were able to navigate through our little maze?”

  “The fake town?” Ledger asks. “Yeah that was pretty ingenious. A nice little trap for anyone who can’t read.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” France says curtly.

  “How did you manage it?” I ask.

  “Excuse me?”

  “The words. Someone had to write them. Someone knew how.”

  “They’re my words,” she says.

  “So you’re a reader?” Ledger asks.

  France looks at him blankly. “No. Now, what are your names, please?”

  “I’m Noelle Hartley,” I say. “And this is Ledger.”

  “Pleased to meet you. And who is the older gentleman in your vehicle?”

  “He’s my grandfather,” I say reluctantly. “William Hartley.”

  “He has been injured.”

  I exchange a quick glance with Ledger. I know he’s thinking the same thing. They must have some seriously advanced scanners to detect weapons, people, and injuries.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” France says, sensing my unease. “We have bioscanners installed in our watchtower beams. For security purposes, you understand. One can never be too careful outside of Fell.”

  “Or inside of Fell,” I add.

  France nods imperceptibly. “Yes, Hale mentioned you were Valers. Congratulations.”

  “For what?”

  She tilts her head to the side in a feline way. “For getting out.”

  I nod skeptically, wondering where all this knowledge, all this technology has come from. “It wasn’t easy.”

  “I imagine. Now, if you please, we need to admit your grandfather to our hospital here.”

  “What? Why?”

  France takes a step toward me and unfolds her hands. “We would like to treat his injury and perform a health optimization. It is imperative the reader be kept in prime physical condition, you understand.”

  Ledger meets my eyes, then approaches France. “With all due respect,” he says, “William is—”

  “No, it’s okay,” I say, jetting out my hand to stop him. “France is right. He should be taken care of.”

  *

  Ledger and I fill a small backpack with a few supplies. I wrap Volume I in a cloth and hide it at the very base of the backpack.

  I wake Grandpa and help him from the RV. Outside, Ledger pulls me aside. “Noelle,” he says, keeping his voice low. “When are you going to tell them? About you? About the volume?”

  “When we know we can trust them. Until then, we keep the book and my reading hidden.”

  Ledger nods. “Agreed.”

  A small white vehicle is waiting for us. France signals the guards. They rush over to us and help Grandpa into the vehicle, then stand at attention.

  “Mr. Hartley,” France says, lowering to his side. “It is an honor to have you here in Pedanta. I don’t know if your granddaughter explained, but we would like to treat your injury.”

  “I’d welcome it,” says my grandfather. “You must be one of Holofernes’s relatives?”

  France’s eyes widen with a flash of surprise. She regains herself. “Why, yes. He was my grandfather. He passed away several years ago.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Grandpa nods with recognition. “And your parents?”

  France blinks rapidly, avoiding eye contact. “They’re not with us.”

  “You mean they’re gone?” I ask.

  France glares at me, stifling some deep, bitter emotion. “As I said, they are not with us.” She looks back at my grandfather and smiles. “It’s just me and Ferdinand now.”

  The vehicle drives itself, powered by sun, France tells us. They’re called soli-carts, and we see many more of them as we travel into the heart of the city. Tall white buildings form rows on either side of us. The buildings are fronted by patches of bright green grass and neat box hedges. Flowerbeds frame red-brick walkways. The streets are tree lined and tidy, as though nothing here is ever out of place. We pass soli-carts filled with people, food, and supplies as we wind through the busy streets toward the hospital.

  We reach a pedestrianized area. The paths are mostly empty except for a few older people tending the gardens, cleaning, carrying supplies, sweeping the pavement, fixing the road. As we approach, they stop their work and stand at attention. When we pass, they resume their activities as though we’d never been there. It occurs to me France is in charge here. She is their leader.

  She turns in her seat to face me. “They are the workers,” she says, simply.

  “All of them are older. That doesn’t seem fair,” I say without thinking.

  France raises an eyebrow. “Fair? No, it is very fair, I assure you. Everyone here must contribute. Everyone here must work. The very yo
ung and the very old even. That is the Pedanta way.”

  As we approach a dark tunnel, the soli-cart lights flicker on. We pick up speed, our pale headlights casting an eerie glow in the tunnel. The low hum of the engine reverberates through the narrow space, sounding like a million bees in a hive. A beam of white light drenches us in the same milky glow of the watchtower’s ray.

  I lean forward. “Another scan?”

  France shakes her head. “It’s a UV disinfectant to prevent bacteria and viruses from entering the sterile zone.”

  We pass through the white light and pull around a corner to the hospital entrance. The soli-cart parks itself. Guards rush from revolving doors.

  “Admit Mr. Hartley, please,” France says. “He is to be treated with the utmost care.”

  The guards nod and lift Grandpa into a chair with wheels.

  “Careful,” I say. They nod again.

  I reach out to him, but France says, “You’ll see him inside shortly.”

  When Grandpa and the guards disappear through the revolving doors, France turns to us. “You know, I didn’t want to say anything in front of your grandfather, for fear of sounding foolish, however . . .” she hesitates. “I must admit, even I never imagined someone would answer our call so soon.”

  Her eyes flick to the hospital and back. “It will mean so much to our people to finally have one with the lost knowledge here in Pedanta.”

  “One with the lost knowledge?” Ledger asks.

  “Yes,” France says. “One who can read. There are so few now who can remember the words. We sent the simulcasts out on a wing and a prayer, hoping we would find you, or that you would find us. Of course the fact you turned out to be Valers is rather ironic.”

  “Is it?” I ask.

  “Of course,” France says. “The odds of finding a reader at all, let alone a reader from inside our enemy’s walls is simply . . .” Her voice dissipates as she searches for the word. “Poetic.”

  *

  Inside the hospital everything is crisp with the scent of something sweet and clean. Large windows allow in wafts of golden sunlight. Everything feels coordinated and particular. The air is charged with purpose as medical workers dressed in lavender uniforms swish by us. When they see France, they stop and stand at attention.