After we get back to Repair Room Six, Zee and I watch from the window as men with torches and weapons storm the chasm bridge. At least fifty or sixty of them overwhelm the OAI guard there, and a dozen fall with blasts from his palms. The rest pass him, and bolt across the bridge, met by two more OAIs.
“Zee, can’t you do something?”
“We’re too far.”
“Well, let’s get closer.”
“Joy, it’s not our battle—”
“It is our battle.” I stare her down, one hand on my now-childless belly. “And maybe they can help us. Maybe this is what we need.”
“Even if the majority make it to the Monastery, there’s no way they will succeed. There are too many OAIs, and I can only control a few at a time without implementing a full-out reprogramming.”
The OAI bridge guards take the men down, one by one.
“Zee, do something!”
She bolts for the door and I follow her out, racing across the path and into the grass. We duck behind the Dreamland Booths there, and a few seconds later, the OAIs freeze. The remaining rioters don’t waste a second before ripping off the guards’ helmets and beheading them. They erupt from the end of the chasm bridge and race toward the Monastery, spears, machetes, and torches raised for war. And leading them all is Eugene Rufus.
Once the mob has passed us and marched up the trail, we follow behind, until a line of white-helmeted OAIs—at least a hundred—line up across their path. To our horror, they blast, and the men fall in succession.
“There’s nothing I can do,” Zee says. “We have to go back.”
One last look at the rioters, and I see Eugene collapse to the ground, followed by the last of his men. Dead. All of them. Like Zee said. We sprint back to Repair Room Six while the OAIs cross the chasm bridge, headed toward the Impure Village. We return to the window, and the OAIs are already halfway to the other side.
“What are they doing?” I ask.
“Teaching them a lesson.”
An alarm sounds, and flashing red lights pulsate in each glass living tube. People scramble from their beds, down elevators and stairs. The sound screeches faster until it’s one long, deafening howl. Outside of the tubes, people stand in pleading, huddled masses.
“Every home shall lose a loved one,” Zee says. “That is their punishment.”
The OAIs spread out, take aim . . . and blast one person from each group. Their loved ones drop beside them, and though I can’t hear their screams, I see their faces in the torchlight, stretched in horror. They hold each other and cry, and I tremble with empathy. “Why don’t they kill them all?” I ask.
“They’re needed. They’re the farmers, the seamstresses, the steelworkers, and the carpenters, among other things. Alzanei would not be livable without them.”
“They’re innocent victims . . .”
“Yes, they are.”
“Then it’s settled. When we burn this place to the ground, we have to save whoever’s left.”
Zee leaves to spend the rest of the night creating the program to upload into the OAI database for the ceremony—and the revolt—tomorrow. I lie awake, tossing and turning until streaks of lavender paint the sky. Above the chasm, the weather fan spins around slowly. A morning breeze wafts through Alzanei, across the motionless bodies of the murdered, left until sunrise on purpose, I’m sure. Light-haired women step over them, careful not to de-purify their crisp, cream satin shoes and skirts in the glimmering crimson. They line the chasm bridge’s railings with long vine ropes and flowers, chatter and smile, as if this were an everyday happening and nothing to fret about. On the Pure side, hundreds of chairs are set up in rows, while on the Impure side, nothing. Will my brothers and sisters be sitting there, in the grass? I suppose I’ll find out soon enough. I can’t wait.
The door slides open to Zee, cheery and radiant. “Morning, my sweet sister! Today’s the big day! Are you excited?” She claps and bounces her way to me. “It’s not every day you become Lady Lily Daumier!”
“Of course.” I yawn. “So excited.” Did you do it?
Yes. It took a few hours to hack into the system and decipher the operating codes, but . . . it was a success. The program will run when I give the command.
Woo! Here we go . . .
Yes . . . and we will succeed.
She yanks the covers off me, helps me up. My body still hurts in various places, muscles tight and stiff from lying awake in bed for hours.
“Now come on,” Zee says, “we’ve got a surprise for you!”
What kind of surprise?
It’s nothing, really, but act excited anyway. It’s a Pure Women’s breakfast, with white wine and fruit to relax your nerves for the big day.
“Oh, I love surprises!” Another yawn. “How fun.”
All night long, I thought about how terrified I’d be when it was time. But I’m not. There’s a strange calmness in me, a solid resolve: I will leave this place today with the people I love—all of them—or I will die trying. I understand how Eugene felt, and were I in his position, I would’ve done the same thing. Although I might’ve been a little more strategic—and sober—about it. My daddy once said a drunk man with a grudge is more dangerous than the naked sun.
Zee dresses me in a simple, white cloth gown, pins my hair away from my face, then gives me soft shoes that slide right onto my freshly sloughed feet, thanks to Maudine. I miss my daddy’s boots. I should’ve looked for them where we found his magic bag.
I try to remain calm while we stroll down the path toward the dining hall, until something catches my eye—fluttering over the chasm are two white butterflies that must’ve escaped their netted enclosure. The weather fan kicks on, sending them dancing along with it, and I shiver, praying it’s a prophecy of future victory.
For a second, I wonder if this is all an illusion, remembering Smudge’s white butterfly in the transfer program. But this has to be real. No one could ever dream up something this horrendous and make a program out of it. And if they could, why would they?
Joy? Mateo’s bewildered voice enters my thoughts.
I’m here.
He’s having the “pets” dressed now, the sick fuck. They’re trembling and sobbing, chained to the wall like animals, while his servant puts them in white dresses. They’ll be tossing flower petals in your path along the chasm bridge—as if they weren’t terrified enough!—and they’ve been told that if they don’t “perform adequately,” they’ll be severely punished. We have to get out of here, Joy. What’s your friend’s plan?
Zee will have control of the OAIs long enough for us to escape. We’ll still be able to communicate in here, so you’ll know when to act and what to do. I’ll ask Zee what she’ll do about your chains, and I’ll tell you more soon. I have to go for now, though.
Okay. I love you.
I love you, too.
We cross the bridge to the dining area, over the sparkling pool, to a group of women waiting for us. On either side of the dining hall doorway stand two lines of them—both OAIs and human—all dressed in simple, cream-colored gowns, arms full of colorful packages and heaping plates of food. When we get to them, one begins to sing, and the rest join in, in an awkward, spontaneous song about purity and forever love.
“What beautiful singing,” I say. “Thank you. I need to sit down now, though. I’m a little nervous.”
“As you should be!” A young, reddish-blonde woman claps her hands, then tucks a stray strand of hair back into its neat bun on top of her head. “I mean—wow! It’s not every day you get married!”
“And to Lord Daumier, at that!” says another one.
Have these women lost their minds? To keep up the façade of being excited about marrying the most despicable, atrocious, monster-of-a-human imaginable is so mentally exhausting. Are they brainwashed, programmed, or just plain idiots?
“Well, come on, then.” A tall, skinny, older woman with short, whitish-gray hair opens the door, motioning me in first. “We have a great breakfast waiting for you, Lily.”
Tell them your amnesia has made remembering names and faces more difficult, Zee says, which would explain why you can’t remember anyone.
“Thank you,” I say to the older woman. “And please, forgive me. I do vaguely remember you, but my amnesia . . . I’m having a hard time remembering faces and names. I’m so sorry.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” says the woman holding the door, and I spot the lie hiding behind her smile. I return it with my own, a genuine bluff she’d never call because my daddy taught me well.
“Thank you for understanding, Ms . . .”
“Jillian Frune. I was your writing professor two years ago in studies.”
“You don’t say?” I blink in surprise. “Wow, this memory of mine . . . how sad. I wish I could remember. I bet it was an amazing class.” I exaggerate a frown, then brush past her through the doorway and into the dining room, which looks brighter than usual. The curtains are pulled back to let the silvery-lavender morning light in. White flowers adorn every table. On the middle one sit long trays of colorful fruits, and for once, I’m not afraid to eat. Three slender bottles stand among tall crystal glasses with tiny stems. The wine, I’m guessing. I won’t be having any of that.
“Looks fantastic!” I stroll into the room with Zee at my side, the trail of women behind us. The OAIs take their places as food servers, and Zee pulls out the end chair for me to sit down in.
“Wait until the banquet tonight!” one woman says, popping a white cube into her mouth. I remember those now. From Cheyenne’s. Hot determination awakes in me, a stirring dragon, recalling the blind woman’s laughter, kindness, and sweetness, just like those sugar cubes.
This revenge will be so much sweeter.
“For sure,” says another woman. “You haven’t seen anything yet, Miss Lily.”
Neither have you.
The women chatter with one another as I force-feed myself, itching to leave after not even thirty minutes here. For once in my life, the thought of not knowing when I’ll get to eat again excites me. Wherever and whenever it is, I hope the food doesn’t have eyes. I could do without aquatic meals for the rest of my life, unless there’s no other option, of course.
“Drink up.” Zee gives me a wink. “Relax.”
I take the thin stem between my fingers and thumb. “Thank you, sister. You’re right, as always.” What’s in here?
She nods at my spoken words. Holy wine. Don’t overdo it, but drink at least half of a glass, so they don’t suspect.
I sip the liquid, wrinkle my nose at the sour-sweetness. Suspect what?
That you aren’t in the mood for celebration; that you’re trying to keep your senses sharp.
I take a larger gulp and grin. “This is absolutely delicious.” I gulp again, stopping at the halfway point.
Zee sips her own and grins back. “Well”—she dabs her lips with a cloth napkin—“we should move along to Maudine’s. Three hours until the ceremony, and we have so much preparation.”
I pop one last purple berry into my mouth and think of Miguel, of the berries he found on the beach in the transfer program. The berries Smudge put there for us. They’re an exact replica, including flavor and texture. Incredible. What a beautiful moment that was, that she created for us. I savor the nostalgia, missing my friends, but I smile through the pain. That’s one thing they taught me, and I can’t let them down. Or Ms. Ruby. Or any of the long list of people I’ve loved who were made to suffer at the hand of greed and malice played by Lord Daumier.
Zee and I exit the dining room, leaving behind the prattling women.
When you take control of the OAIs, then what? I ask. How do we get out?
The chasm bridge, through the weather fan elevator. A stairwell leads down to the mezzanine caverns. It’s a tight fit, but we’ll make it. Once we do, we’ll be near The Pit. If your friend still has not shown up . . . we can check for her there, but we’ll have to move fast. We’ll have forty-five minutes at the most before they . . . come after us, at which time, we should be in the Rover and as far beyond Alzanei’s barrier as possible.
We’re going . . . aboveground? In a vehicle?
Yes.
The faint aroma of scented smoke pours from canisters draped along the chasm bridge. With a click and a whir, the weather fan switches directions to send a thicker swirl of smoke and cool air past us.
During the daylight? I tremble in the breeze. Won’t it be too hot?
I will regulate the temperature, though it’s not as bad as what you had in Greenleigh.
How far away is the Refuge?
Thirty miles north.
Won’t he follow us?
No, I don’t think so. Lord Daumier doesn’t go outside of Alzanei. He’s safe here.
My gaze trails along the chasm’s circumference to the mighty rushing of the massive waterfalls as they roar into the whirlpool below. Where are the caverns?
Hidden behind the water. And once we get there, we’ll have to be careful. The rock is extremely slick.
You hid my father’s bag there last night?
Yes. It’s safe.
As we pass the chasm bridge, human Clergymen order OAIs to line the bodies of the dead Impure in a row for all to see.
“What perfect additions to our décor!” a Pure woman says, followed by laughter from a few bystanders.
The OAIs put the bodies in a line with little effort or care, unmoved by the loss of innocent lives. That was Smudge once. And Zee, before they were awakened. And how Smudge was again, when she delivered us to Queen Nataniah. What would these OAIs be like if they were awakened?
We arrive at Maudine’s, and already she has the necessary items laid out, waiting to torture my beauty into submission for Lord Evil. At least I’ll be silky smooth and fragrant as I wave goodbye.
Being cocky might not be the best idea, but it sure beats feeling terrified.
In an hour and a half’s time, I’m waxed, plucked, bathed, sloughed, scented, lotioned—again—and all ready to go to Claudette’s.
“Don’t touch anything,” Maudine says. “You are one hundred percent purified for your husband. We wouldn’t want to repeat any of this process.”
“Yes, ma’am. No, we wouldn’t.”
The second we reach Claudette’s, I’m whisked away to be stuffed into the gigantic, ornamental gown that fits too tight and forces upward cleavage I don’t have. To maneuver along slick caverns in this thing will be a challenge.
Zee’s voice enters my mind. Ask Mateo if he can visualize the key. We need to make sure that’s what it is.
Okay. I switch my focus from her to Mateo. Hey, I say. You there?
I’m here. We’re about to be moved out for the ceremony, I think.
Before you go, can you tell what the thing on the wall is? It’s surrounded by blue lights. You’re taller than me, so you might be able to get a good visual of it.
A silent moment passes before he answers. I’m not sure what it is . . . some kind of . . . metal wedge with a green circle in the middle. It’s familiar, though. What is it?
We’ll talk later. Will he be bringing you and the girls soon?
He’s leading us down the stairs now.
Okay, I’ll give you more instructions when you get there.
If this works, it’ll be a miracle.
Or magic. Lord Evil chose to marry the daughter of Zephyr the Magnificent. Worst mistake ever.
If we get out of here, Joy, I hope you’ll let me do the same thing.
What?
Make you my wife.
Mateo—I . . . let’s just get out of here first, okay?
Okay, Joy.
Claudette wraps me into a giant cloth,
over my dress and beneath my chin, then takes out an oversize palette of different colored powders and glosses. With a tiny brush—like the paintbrush I found stuck in the warehouse wall the day we escaped from the Tree Factory—she dabs a bit of pink powder on its end and tells me to close my eyes.
As she decorates my face, I think of Jax, about the conversation we had through the dungeon wall, similar to the one I just had with Mateo. Perhaps marriage is some kind of tool used for power or to strengthen a weak mind. I didn’t realize it then, but after Jax and Aby . . . That’s when I realized it was something you say, a trick you play on your mind to ease the pain of reality. Another bluff to soften the blow, to feel like you aren’t alone, when really . . . you are. Always have been, always will be, forevermore. In the end, when all’s said and done, we’ll slip silently into that eternal solitude.
And this is why we must do all we can to be with those we love, while we’re still breathing. Because who knows when that time will come. Someday, we might discover that the infinite solitude of death is yet another beginning. But until then, this life is all we have. This day. This moment. And we will fight for love to conquer it, or we will welcome death.
“Best work of my life.” Claudette kisses her fingertips, dances them through the air, then tucks the palette and brush away in a drawer. “Two final touches and we’re finished with the face. Look up.” With a tiny comb, she coats my eyelashes with black goop, then blows a soft breath to dry them. I’m not even going to ask her what the black goop is. Considering what these people eat around here, I’m sure I don’t want to know.
After glossing my lips and spritzing me with perfume, Claudette pins my hair in loops to the top of my head, decorates it with little white flowers.
When will I get my brown hair and eyes back? I ask Zee.
Once we get to the Refuge. We may be able to reprogram that area of your Nirvonic System. It may take some time to reverse the effects of the manipulation chamber—
Manipulation chamber?
Oh, the . . . um . . . Repair Pod. I’m sorry. Another lie. I should’ve told you. It wasn’t what you thought it was. You only went in there once to change hair and eye color. The MemTaps took place in the same room your friends are in now.
The Soultakers (The Treemakers Trilogy Book 2) Page 23
