She didn’t go straight home. She took the road north, where there were fewer houses. She needed to walk. She needed to think. If she told the gavvers about Marlo, they would expel him or execute him. She was sure of that. He was a Desecrator. A rebel. If they expelled Daniel over a few stolen potatoes, what would they do to Marlo? Ahead of her, the road climbed steeply. She pushed on, welcoming the pain in her legs, the tightness in her chest. At the top of the hill, the Goddess loomed.
She stopped in front of her. The Goddess was cut from a single block of white marble, her complexion the pure white of hoar frost, her face radiant with fine features. Her almond-shaped eyes were open, staring at the sky. Her dress fell in generous ripples about her shapely body. Her hands held a bunch of drooping bluebells. On her feet were brocade sandals etched with exotic birds. Letta reached out and touched the white hands.
The Goddess had been here forever. Since before the Melting. They said she was the last prophetess, a messenger from God, who came to warn the people that the end was near. Some people said she was the first human clone before it all went wrong, when people thought cloning was something to celebrate. They grew her in a laboratory, and her first words were that she had come from God. Benjamin said they made the first one divine so people would accept the whole idea of cloning. Mrs. Truckle said all religion was evil and that the new world should believe in John Noa. The clones were long gone, along with the rest of the new technology. But the Goddess remained.
Poor Goddess! She had come to warn them, but they hadn’t listened, of course.
And then came the Melting. The ice that turned to water and flooded the planet, the sea devouring everything in its path. Towns and villages swallowed whole. The old technology destroyed. Animals extinct. And all the written word gone. Letta stood back and looked at the Goddess.
“Why do we call you that?” she said aloud. “You were a prophet, not a god.”
The Goddess said nothing.
Walking back down the hill, Letta made her decision. She would have to tell Marlo this morning, but first, she had to get food for both of them.
• • •
Mary Pepper looked at her and narrowed her eyes. “Benjamin not home?” she said.
Letta blushed. She’d forgotten all about their conversation the previous day.
“No,” she stammered. “Not come home.”
The older woman nodded grimly. “Breakfast only,” she said, handing Letta an egg. “Still have yesterday lunch. Take bread.”
Letta took the piece of bread she was entitled to and hurried out. They would have to live on one egg between them until the evening meal. She didn’t dare use Benjamin’s tokens to feed Marlo. Her stomach was already protesting.
When she returned, Marlo drank the tea she gave him but refused to eat. Letta felt guilty, but she ate the food gratefully.
“Have you been shot before?”
He nodded.
Letta dipped her bread in the hot tea and lifted it to her mouth.
“We can’t go on like this,” she said finally. “Can we contact your uncle?”
Marlo hesitated. Letta watched him closely.
“Maybe,” he said.
“Maybe?” Letta repeated. “Where does he live? What does he do?”
She could feel herself getting frustrated. He wouldn’t tell her the truth. He was trying to concoct some story to keep her happy. She raised one eyebrow. He nodded.
“There is something I should tell you,” he said.
“Yes,” said Letta, finishing her tea. She was enjoying this, she realized. Let him make up a lie. It would be interesting to see him try to hoodwink her.
“My uncle is a Creator. I am his apprentice.”
Letta almost stopped breathing.
“Desecrator, you mean,” she said.
“That is Noa’s word, not ours. We call ourselves Creators. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“I knew already,” she said.
Marlo’s eyes widened. “You knew?”
“The gavver told me.”
“And you didn’t betray me?” Marlo said softly.
“I was going to—I know I should—but now…now…I think we should contact your uncle and let him take you away.” The words poured out before she had time to think about it. “I cannot keep a Desecrator here. My master and I are loyal to John Noa.”
“I know you have been told terrible things about us.”
“Yes,” said Letta, blood rushing to her face. “I know you are thieves and murderers. I know you want to destroy the new world.”
“Do you?” said Marlo, lying back on the pillow. “Or do you just believe whatever Noa says?”
Letta stood up, her knees shaking. “You should be ashamed.”
He closed his eyes. “I am sorry,” he said. “I will think of a way to contact my uncle.”
Letta turned and walked away. Outside the room, she stopped to catch her breath. His words rang in her ears.
Do you just believe whatever Noa says?
She remembered the scene on the street earlier and Daniel’s face as they threw him on the cart. That wasn’t right. She was sure of it. But she did know what the Desecrators did. She knew how they stole food and water. She had seen their posters, inciting people to rise up against John Noa. She knew they staged shows from time to time, using banned arts to distract the workers. She shook her head. They might not be as vicious as the bandits that roamed the forest, but they were equally destructive. But she hadn’t time to think about it now. She had to be at the schoolhouse at twelve bells with words for Mrs. Truckle. Words that weren’t written yet. She hurried to her desk and started to work.
She arrived at the school as the bell struck the hour. Letta opened the door and walked in. The small classroom was exactly as she remembered it. Here she had sat, day after day, learning the List words, memorizing the definitions, and learning to form letters. Children in Ark were taught the bare minimum when it came to reading. Enough to allow John Noa to communicate with them using the written word—but no more. Letta had learned to read and write properly from Benjamin.
“Letta,” Mrs. Truckle said, walking across the floor to her. Letta smiled at her. The old woman seemed more stooped than usual.
“Words ready,” Letta said, offering the boxes, but Mrs. Truckle didn’t smile. She didn’t even look at the neat array of boxes now sitting on her table.
Letta frowned. “You good?” she said stiltedly, wishing she could free her tongue and speak properly.
Mrs. Truckle shook her head, and Letta could see the tears welling in her eyes. Letta went to her.
“Sit,” she said, pulling out a stool for the older woman.
Mrs. Truckle sat down, her shoulders heaving as she struggled to control her sobs.
“What’s the matter?” Letta said softly, abandoning List in her worry about the schoolteacher.
“Daniel.” Mrs. Truckle coughed out the word.
“I know,” Letta said, taking her hand.
“Good boy,” Mrs. Truckle said, turning her eyes to Letta. “Good boy.”
“I know,” Letta said.
“Not first time,” the woman went on. “Always in trouble. Always—but good heart.”
Neither of them noticed the door open. The click of it closing made Letta look up in time to see Werber Downes standing there, his round face wreathed in smiles. In his hand he held a bottle of water for the teacher.
“Mrs. Truckle!” he said and then stopped, noticing Letta.
“No harm to all here,” he said. “Mrs. Truckle sick?”
The old woman stood up quickly, wiping her tears away.
“No,” she said. “No sick.”
“Healer boy taken,” Werber said, drumming his fingers on the table. “Daniel. Criminal.”
Letta felt her face flush.
>
“No criminal,” she spat at him. “Daniel no criminal.”
Werber smiled.
“Yes,” he said. “Criminal. Steal food. Bad boy.”
He continued smiling, wiggling his eyebrows, mocking the boy who had been banished, and Letta had an overwhelming desire to punch his stupid face. She raised her hand, blood rushing to her face, but Mrs. Truckle caught the hand and held it firmly.
“Help carry words, Werber,” Mrs. Truckle said swiftly, never taking her eyes off Letta. “Help carry words to back room.”
Werber’s face fell, but he knew better than to disobey his old teacher. He put down the water and started to pick up the word boxes. Mrs. Truckle’s eyes met Letta’s, and they nodded to one another. Letta felt the weight of unspoken words frozen in the air between them.
As soon as she got home, she sank down onto the floor behind the counter. What would Mrs. Truckle think if she knew a Desecrator was upstairs in Letta’s bedroom? Marlo had to go. Somehow, she had to get him out of the house. But how?
• • •
Much later, worn out from going over the problem from every angle and finding no answer, Letta climbed the stairs slowly and went to see Marlo. He was awake.
“How do you feel?”
“Thirsty,” he replied and smiled sheepishly.
She took the cup that sat on the table beside the bed and held it for him as he drank. His hands under hers shook badly.
“I had another dream,” he said.
Letta said nothing.
“I dreamed I was a fox. I was living in the forest and being hunted by dogs.”
“Stop,” Letta said, unable to listen to any more.
Marlo looked up at her, one eyebrow raised.
“I don’t want to hear about the forest,” she said curtly. “The gavvers banished a boy there today.”
“Someone you knew?”
Letta nodded.
“Do you know where they entered the forest?”
Letta shook her head. “No,” she said. “I followed them toward the West Gate, but then I lost them.”
Marlo nodded. “My friends might be able to help if…”
“If?” Letta felt her heart fill with hope.
“If they knew where to look. If the wild animals don’t find him first. I don’t want to raise your hopes.”
“How can we let them know?”
“There might be a way,” he said.
“Go on,” Letta said urgently. “Tell me.”
“Maybe you could contact Finn, but—”
“But?”
“But…I have to be able to trust you,” he went on, not meeting her eye.
“You don’t trust me?” Letta snapped at him. “I’m risking everything for you, and you don’t trust me?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Marlo said. “It’s just…it’s not my secret to tell.”
Letta waited, her mouth set in a hard line.
“There’s going to be a show on Friday.”
“A show?”
“Finn and some friends are going to perform and then talk to the workers. You can find him there.”
Talk to the workers. Letta knew the Desecrators didn’t just talk to people. They incited them. Tried to lead them to revolt against John Noa. She felt sick.
“Where?” she managed to ask. “When?”
“The main wheat field at midday. There’s a shed there with a flat roof.”
“They’ll be on the roof?”
“Yes,” Marlo said.
“Maybe by then you would be well enough to go meet them?” Letta said. “And tell Finn about Daniel?”
He nodded again but didn’t say anything.
“And if you are not well enough…”
His beautiful blue-gray eyes looked up at her, and she could see the fragility in them.
“I will go,” he said. “I will be ready.”
The words hung there in the air between them, sparking with electricity. Finally, Letta nodded.
“So be it,” she said.
Chapter 5
Non-List
Music
Agreeable, harmonious sounds
Letta didn’t sleep well that night. Her dreams were full of panic, and more than once, she shot up in bed, convinced there was someone in the room. By the time morning came, she was relieved to be able to get up.
She tiptoed out of the house, going out the back door, pulling it quietly behind her, careful not to wake Marlo. The streets were quiet. A shrew crossed her path, darting by only a stride from her ankle. She hated shrews. If they were bigger, Benjamin had once told Letta, they would be one of the most feared animals on the planet. She watched it go, its tapering snout investigating every stone on the road. Like all animals, it was protected in Ark. It reminded her of Marlo’s dream. Her stomach tightened every time she thought of Daniel. Was there a wolf out there following his scent even now? How long could he last without food and water?
Her feet seemed to find the path to the beach all on their own. Fifteen minutes later, she was standing on the sand, watching the waves break on the rocks. She turned and walked into the wind, feeling it lap her face and pull her hair back so it streamed behind her. The sea mist settled on her warm skin. It feels like I’ve been crying, she thought, wiping the moisture away.
What would Benjamin do? she wondered. Would he help Marlo? Would he talk to Desecrators? What would her parents do? She knew so little about them.
Both her parents were experienced sailors. They had been in the leading team John Noa had put together to explore the ocean and see if they could find land. When Noa called off the exploration, convinced that they were the last humans to survive, her parents had gone out one last time, against John Noa’s orders. Benjamin had always said that they weren’t rebels—just romantics, idealists. They had set off like innocent children, sure they would find other places.
“They had it all mapped out,” Benjamin had told her sadly. “Charts and compasses and who knows what else. Thirty days, your mother told me. They would sail for thirty days, and if they found nothing, they would turn around and come home. Sixty days in all. They had taken enough food and water to last that long.”
Benjamin still didn’t like to talk about them and had warned Letta not to mention them outside the house.
“John Noa was very disappointed,” he told her once. “Disappointed they had not listened to him.”
And Letta had taken his words to heart. She didn’t ask about them, as much as she longed to know more.
The sound of male voices jolted her out of her reverie. She jumped, her pulse quickening. But it was only the water workers coming to start filling the barrels of salt water, destined for the water tower on the far side of town where it would be cleaned and purified for drinking.
She turned and looked out to the horizon. Why hadn’t her parents come back? They had left her with such emptiness inside, an enormous crater that wouldn’t be filled.
She tried to imagine what it would be like to see a small sailboat suddenly appear on that blue-gray canvas. She’d always imagined their boat as having silver sails. How fanciful was that? And yet she couldn’t picture it any other way. Silver sails, a tall, dark man hauling on the main sail, beside him a smaller woman with golden hair and an upturned nose, just like her own. They’d sail right in, and then suddenly he would see her. The rope would fall from his hands. Her mother would turn to see what had distracted him and…
She shook her head. She was getting too old for these daydreams. She had real things to worry about. Reluctantly, she let the imagined boat go and turned her mind to the fugitive living under her roof.
He wasn’t getting any better; she was sure of that. If she did go on Friday, if she did meet the Desecrators, at least they could come and take him. And maybe they could help Daniel.
She tried to persuade herself that if she did go, it would be for Daniel. Marlo was a Desecrator. She should feel no need to help him, and yet…
He wasn’t what she imagined a Desecrator would be like. He was just ordinary. Ordinary and nice. She had enjoyed talking to him when he was well and able to joke with her. She wasn’t used to talking to people her own age and to someone who didn’t talk List. His language was amazing. She knew, of course, that older people had good language, though they were forbidden to use it. She tried to imagine how he had been reared, in hiding obviously, surrounded by people who spoke whatever way they wanted to. She felt a twinge of envy. She loved Ark, but she hated List. She had never really admitted that before, she thought, bending to pick up a shell. Not even to herself.
She raised her arm and threw the shell hard toward the sea, but it fell short, surfing the sand and coming to rest in a small hollow, safe from the waves. No. She couldn’t imagine it. Besides, she had always been taught that words were the root of evil. Before the Melting, people had used all the words there were, and it did nothing to save them. John Noa would say that they talked themselves into the disasters that they created. The animals lived peacefully on the planet—doing no harm, living in harmony with nature. Man was the one who spoiled everything. Man and his words.
She dragged her toe in the sand, making a narrow trench. Tomorrow, she would go to the wheat field. She couldn’t see any other way forward. She looked out to the horizon again. Sometimes, people didn’t have any choice about which road they took. She knew that now. She raised her hand and saluted them, as she always did, and turned for home.
Marlo was worse, much worse. She found him tangled in a damp sheet, raving incoherently. His lips were caked and dry—so dry she could see the tiny fissures in them. His eyes rolled in his head, and he kept trying to sit up. His words were slurred and delivered in that strange, half-pitched whine.
The List Page 5
