by Perrin Briar
She made sure that all of the children were able to see before she started.
“Taller ones in the back…” she said. “Yes, okay. You can stand on this chair by me. Now, this is a dung beetle.”
The beetle had its head down, its tail up, pushing backwards with its front legs. Its back legs walked around a dung ball keeping it going in the right direction. It approached a hill in the landscape of the terrarium, repeatedly trying to ascend it, and repeatedly losing its cargo and having to retrieve it from the bottom of the hill it had just rolled down.
“See how the beetle keeps trying, pushing and pushing until it achieves its goal?” Bess said, looking into each child’s face for signs of comprehension.
“Why does it keep going?” asked one of the older boys. “Why doesn’t it just give up?”
Everyone, including Siren, looked at Bess for the answer.
“Because giving up would mean death,” Bess said.
A flash of sadness crossed her face. Most of the children had witnessed death or some violence recently.
“But,” Bess said, her eyes brightening, “not giving up means life. If it keeps going, keeps pushing, and never gives up, it will be successful eventually.”
“But it’s hardly getting anywhere, Miss Bess,” said a girl right by the glass who was barely tall enough to see inside. “Just moving a little at a time. He goes back as much as he goes ahead.”
“Usually that’s how the biggest changes are made,” Bess said, “a little at a time, never giving up.”
She looked around at the children again, then gazed intently at the beetle.
“I think he’s going to do it,” she said. “Go on, little fella.”
Bess cheered him on, so did the kids. Even Siren found herself clapping. After one last try, the beetle pushed the dung ball over the top of the hill, and continued on its journey.
Siren watched the whole scene play out, considering the lesson’s significance for herself. Suddenly, through the brain-fog of the rizena, she had an idea.
Chapter Thirty
SIREN struggled to step out of the way of the throng of children running for the door of the stuffy classroom seeking fresh air and play time. As she straightened the chairs and cleaned the blackboard, she started to feel a little better. Her mind began to clear enough for her to dread appearing before Rafael again, but she also had ability enough to consider her options for getting something done about his destructive reign.
When she had pretended to agree with Rafael, effectively sending Quinn away, Siren’s plan had been to use her power to fool Rafael and get the better of him. That no longer worked. He had proven to be far more cunning—or rather, paranoid—than she had anticipated. Even without the burden of the rizena, she may not have been able to Compel him to change his mind about letting the Raiders in.
Siren considered Rafael, studying him in her mind. Then she realized she was disgusted, or bored, with the thought of him. For a moment, she allowed herself to despair of everyone over twenty. The children had given her back a moment of childhood. Then she shook it off and returned to the task at hand. Strategy.
Years ago Wyvern had taken Siren hunting.
“The goal of hunting,” he began.
“-is to kill the prey,” Siren interrupted.
“No,” Wyvern said, shaking his head. “That’s the goal of shooting. When hunting, you want to put yourself in a position of advantage. The same is true in war. All great generals know this. The thing to remember is, it doesn’t really matter how you get there. But getting there is still the most difficult part.”
He showed her a squirrel in a tree, then walked directly away from it. Slowly he rounded the tree that held the squirrel, but many yards away. Siren could barely see the animal. Then it was right in their sights. If they had gone directly for the tree, the squirrel would have heard them, and scurried to the other side before they could shoot.
Rafael would always see Siren coming. She had to forget about Compelling him or influencing him in any other way. She needed to find another plan, one that would put him directly in her sights, in which he would never see the shot coming.
A revolt among the people would do the trick, Siren thought. If she could influence them just to doubt him, that might be enough to start something and momentum would carry it forward. According to Bess, there was already a contingent that was not confident in Rafael.
So she would not have to sway the entire town. Still, there were about seven hundred residents of Whitegate, few of them trusted Siren, and almost no one knew her. She would not have time to get the kind of backing she needed with that many people, even if she was at full strength.
The council, she thought, could be swayed. Most of them had been councilmen since Greer was leader. Perhaps some of them even ran against Rafael or envied his power. In any event, they all had some kind of influence or respect among the people, or they would not have been on the council. The idea of influencing Rafael by influencing the people by influencing the council was intriguing, but it was also complicated. And it might backfire, especially if any of the councilmen were close to Rafael.
“Siren, we’re about done here,” Bess said, gathering up dirty rags in a sack to be washed. “Why don’t you go see what’s for dinner and I’ll see you there later.”
It occurred to Siren that Bess was one of the most influential people in town. Siren smiled, nodded, and handed Bess the bottle of all-purpose cleaner she was using. She did not want to give Bess or anyone else the impression she was more clear-headed for fear it might get back to Rafael. So she slowly, dreamily, walked out of the room and drifted down the street.
On Main Street, not far from the school, was The Corral, the biggest restaurant in town. It had become the town’s kitchen, where shared food was stored and prepared, and where most of the town had their dinner. But though it was the largest restaurant, it still did not have the capacity to seat the entire town all at once. Picnic tables had been dragged in or built on the spot and covered a wide area in the street right in front. The inside was reserved for the buffet, dishes, and the like.
Emile was the undisputed ruler of The Corral. He was the head cook, in charge of the entire kitchen and everything that had to do with food in Whitegate. He and his staff were eating their own dinner inside the restaurant, before the big rush started.
Emile looked absently out the big storefront window at the picnic tables and noticed a girl in a blue dress sitting at one of them, just staring at the table top.
The lesson of the dung beetle had given Siren inspiration. She had to continue to try to Compel others and sway them against Rafael. Perhaps her weak attempts would add up over time and across a number of people.
At this point, she had no better option. It would be pointless to grab a knife and run at Rafael, only to be gunned down before she got halfway there. Her best bet would still be influence, so she needed to keep trying.
Emile walked out to Siren’s table and sat down across from her. She did not notice him at first.
“Siren, hello?” Emile said, putting his hands flat on the table and bending his head trying to look into Siren’s eyes.
Siren raised her head enough to see him, and smiled.
“Do you remember me?” he said.
Emile was a good-natured man, well-liked by everyone. His job was to provide them with edible food. He was a good cook and conscientious about sanitation. His goal was to make a five-star restaurant for the whole town. With what he had to work with, it was near impossible. But he worked hard to make the best of it.
“Of course I do,” Siren said, looking Emile over.
No more than thirty years old, he was portly, some might say jolly. His hands were small with fat stubby fingers. His smile was friendly, but his upturned nose and deep-set dark brown eyes made him look like a pig. He wore a white double-breasted chef’s uniform. His chef’s hat concealed a greasy mop of black hair.
Siren remembered that Emile had made some advan
ces to her a month earlier. Influence. She could see his blood pumping fast through a pulsating artery in his neck, and the brightest pink orb of emotion in her mind that she had felt in a long time—Emile’s desire for her. The feeling was not mutual, but this was her chance to Pull someone to her side in the Rafael affair.
She wished she was more experienced in such things. A mistake would get her nowhere. Success could make all the difference. She looked back over her shoulder, in the direction that Emile was facing, at one of the guards walking the street with a shotgun.
“Emile, don’t you miss the old days, when we could walk around and feel free and safe at the same time?” Siren said.
Emile’s eyes brightened as if he had the answer to her problem.
“We’ll have that when the Raiders come,” he said. “They will protect us.”
He was nodding, wanting her to believe as he did. Siren Pushed Emile’s confidence and belief with all the effort she had, and could feel how small the effect was.
“Do you really believe that?” she said.
Emile stroked an imaginary beard as he pondered this.
“All I can say is, I’ve been out in the world—other places, even other states,” Siren said, “but I’ve never met a Raider who wasn’t worse than the Grayskins. They` would sooner kill you than help you.”
“The Raiders are misunderstood,” Emile said. “They can be powerful allies. That’s what Rafael says. We should be open to them.”
He was nodding again. Siren widened her eyes as if she was listening to a very wise man.
“I know, but maybe Rafael is saying all this for his own benefit,” Siren said.
Emile looked confused. Siren Pushed him like the classroom dung beetle, not giving up. He began to melt a little. He could not take his eyes off her. His fear intervened and he looked away for a second, as if searching for Rafael right next to them.
“You could get in trouble for saying things like that,” he said, fidgeting.
“I could,” she said, nodding, then locking eyes on him. “And do you really want to live in a place where that’s true?”
Emile stood up with the intention of getting back to work. One family had arrived and sat down at a table close to the buffet tables. Siren bounced to her feet with Emile, a mischievous smile on her face.
Emile took in her body from head to toe. He never failed to admire it. Siren stood with her hands behind her back, thrusting her chest out, receiving his wanton gaze.
“But you may have a point there,” Emile said, a smile forming and a flash of embarrassment showing in his pudgy face.
“Don’t worry,” Siren said, bouncing on her toes. “I won’t tell.”
She gave him a conspiratorial glance.
“It’ll be our little secret,” she said.
“I know,” said Emile. “I trust you.”
Three little words. That’s all she needed to hear.
Siren stood there in the same pose as Emile turned toward the kitchen. Then he turned back toward her.
“Let me tell you a few things about Rafael, and see what you think,” he said.
He walked and Siren followed, close beside him, being sure to ‘accidentally’ bump into him a few times. She listened intently, and when Emile looked at her, she appeared enthralled in his wisdom. He was tall enough, but she bent her knees a bit to make herself as small as possible, looking up at him.
Emile said nothing revolutionary, but all the questions he had considered over the past weeks about Rafael came out. Siren realized that this would be true of any leader, good or bad. If they were doubting Greer’s competence or sincerity, a similar conversation would result.
What mattered was replacing his fear of Rafael with his fear of what Rafael’s actions could do to him. Before long it seemed that Emile was trying to convince her of Rafael’s weakness, and not the other way around.
“I’m sorry, but I really need to get back to work, Siren,” Emile said, looking out at the family that had just arrived. “It’s an unusual situation. I’m not sure how I’m going to find enough food for us and the Raiders tomorrow. Maybe we could continue this conversation later.”
Siren cocked her head as if surprised and pleased that he would want to see her again.
“I’d like that,” she said, and smiled at Emile as he walked away, glancing back at her every few steps.
Siren exhaled, a little tired. Somehow this effort went better than it should have in her mind. Maybe the dung beetle approach had an advantage. It kept her from overdoing it. It is easier to get your way with someone else if they think it is their own idea. If it worked with Emile, it might work with less pliable subjects, even those that knew her power.
Making sure Emile was out of view, Siren picked up a piece of charred wood from a cold stove. She had to get a message to Quinn. A plan was forming in her mind, one that would put all the things she had learned today to good use. She grabbed a handful of cold potatoes in her other hand. Dinner. Then she slipped out the back door.
Shadow covered the whole alley behind the restaurant, but Siren knew exactly where she was going. She walked past dumpsters tied shut because it would take a team of horses to service them. A cat was prowling around the top of one of them, attracted by an ancient smell, or perhaps another animal that had been trapped and died inside. Siren startled the cat and it jumped to the pavement and sprinted away.
Other than non-humans, the alley was empty. But it would not be easy to look inconspicuous walking in the wrong direction as much of the town’s people were going to Emile’s. Anyone who recognized her would also know that her house was near the school, near downtown, near the dining area. No need for her to be anywhere else at this time.
But she managed to walk through yards and alleys and behind the buildings facing the major streets, until she was far enough away that everyone was walking away from her and looking towards downtown.
On the south side of Whitegate was a junkyard. It was left over from a time when the whole town was populated by trucks to haul junk there. More importantly to Siren, it was a place that was deserted, and right on the edge of town.
She walked to the wooden shack of an office, made her way around to the back, and counted up six slats from the ground. She threw a cautionary glance over her shoulder. The sixth board was loose, and she pulled it out. Reaching inside, she produced a black ledger book.
The book was damp, but the writing in it was still readable. She flipped through the pages to the very back, and with the piece of charred wood, wrote a message:
Making a few Friends. Hard work.
Siren replaced the book, reversing the process she had just been through. She examined the back wall carefully to make sure the loose board was not obvious. Then she turned and walked back toward Emile’s, confident with a job well done.
Siren did not trust her feelings now. She was sure the rizena was at its lowest strength, and Rafael would force another dose on her. But she had done well today, despite the handicap, and there was reason to be optimistic.
As she passed through the picnic tables, she looked down the street at the Chamber of Commerce building. Rafael was standing on the roof. She could see his silhouette in the dying sun, certain he was staring at her.
So despite having already eaten, she sat down with a plate of food and shared a meal with some people she had never met before. They talked until dark.
Chapter Thirty-One
POINTS of warm yellow light persisted and pulsated in the shadows of Quinn’s mind. Grayskins. Waiting, not feeding. All had either drifted out of Whitegate or been killed as they stood motionless, with no purpose.
Quinn had not sent them away as he once did when his father was town leader and protector. But Siren was in there now. He couldn’t risk her safety. He sent the Grayskins to forage for rodents in the surrounding land, miles away from Whitegate.
Quinn opened his eyes. The sun was setting behind a stand of trees a quarter-mile in the distance. Its orange fingers
laced through the branches, giving them an illumination brighter than high noon, just as the day was ending and the darkness was about to fall. A light breeze was blowing the sweet smell of Greer’s pipe tobacco in Quinn’s direction. It mixed with the dusty nothingness in the air that surrounded them.
They sat in rocking chairs on a wooden porch someone had attempted to attach to the extension office. Its warped oak boards had never been painted and had faded to gray in the sun. The deck sat on the ground below the level of the back door, and blades of grass that had grown through the cracks swayed in the breeze.
“You don’t have to pretend you don’t care what happens to her,” Greer said.
They hadn’t spoken for the better part of an hour.
“What?” Quinn said. “Care about who?”
Greer smiled, shook his head, and took another draw on his pipe.
“Who says I care about Siren?” Quinn said.
“I recognize the look in your face,” Greer said, pausing for a moment, staring toward the sunset. “You should grab Siren and get her away from here. You tried, and were turned away. Those people put Rafael where he is. They can’t ask any more of you.”
“It was all based on lies,” Quinn said. “We know more than they do. We have a responsibility because of that knowledge.”
Quinn relaxed a bit, then gazed to the right, in the direction of Whitegate.
“Besides, she doesn’t need my protection,” he said. “She’s tough. I just wish I knew what she was up to.”
“Hell, their security isn’t great,” Greer said. “One man can get through without being seen. Why don’t you go find out? Though I still think you should move on, mind you.”
He looked out where the sun had just dropped below the horizon. Greer’s face showed concern for his stepson’s safety, conflicting with concern for his happiness.
“I already did,” Quinn said, a slight tremble in his voice. “They’ve done something to her.”
“What do you mean?” Greer said.
“After lunch, you took a nap,” Quinn said. “I went up to get a look at the town, hopefully Siren. I took some binoculars from the house.”
