The room echoed back the familiar saying like a glorious choir, and Isaac let the words rush over him. He continued, “Today begins a journey of righteousness and obedience for each of you. Today, accountable for your own actions, having been removed from the protection of your parents, you will have the opportunity to seek purity through the law you have been taught.
“For we know, according to the holy book, that all things work together for the good of those who obey God and follow the law. You are to follow with grace—with joy—even as you travel this road given to you by He who rules over us all.
“Heed with caution the warning against feeling pity for your position. For pity is not a quality of the righteous, and without righteousness God will cast you aside, for you will no longer be worthy.”
Isaac stepped around the pulpit and stood at the front edge of the stage. “Women were created to be the help-maids of the people, brought up to understand that their true purpose is to serve their husbands and children. But without either, you are now called to serve this city. Do so knowing you are following in the path of God, under the direction of the holy Authority He has appointed to lead you. As the Veritas says, ‘Whoever has My commandments and keeps them is righteous. But the wages of disobedience is death.’”
The girls before him sat still as stone, fear keeping them motionless and seeping through their expressions. His calling was clear: lead them to perfection. He would bring them down the road of purification, even if he had to drag them.
“Go forth and do the will of God. He has saved us and called us with a holy calling. In all tasks remember your purpose and place. As God set forth the law, so the law must be obeyed.”
Isaac turned as the girls once again repeated his words. He picked up the Veritas and headed back toward the curtain, the voice of truth singing his praise with each step. The refining fire had begun.
4
Remko Brant pulled his shoulder-length hair back at the nape of his neck and tied it into a knot.
“You know if you let me cut that mop off your head you wouldn’t look so much like a girl,” Helms DeMarko, Remko’s friend and fellow CityWatch guard, taunted. He shot Remko a goofy grin and stuck the toothpick he had been rolling between his fingers back into the corner of his mouth. “Actually . . . not sure that would fix the problem.”
Remko fought to keep the smile off his lips as he turned to walk across the field.
Helms chuckled quietly, which was typical of the guy. It didn’t matter if anyone else thought he was funny, because he always amused himself.
A couple yards ahead Remko could see the other CityWatch guards who had gathered with the medical investigator. It was the same group as before, just a different area. Dodson Rogue, Authority member and head of the CityWatch guards, would be among them, and Remko prayed for all their sakes that he wasn’t in a bad mood.
“You work the Lints transport tonight?” Helms asked.
Remko nodded.
“Man, I keep hoping they’ll put me on that shift.”
Remko raised his eyebrows and threw Helms a glance over his shoulder.
“What? Don’t you think I’m trustworthy?”
“Not with wo . . . wo . . . wo . . .” Remko cursed himself and stopped trying to get the word out across his tongue. Women. He could easily think it, but his mouth was irritatingly dysfunctional.
“Keep your opinion to yourself. Women love me.”
Remko shook his head and huffed.
“Man, you should see the looks I get walking through town, and it ain’t just because I’m wearing this CityWatch uniform. No, girls know a catch when they see one. It’s just too bad no one will ever be able to tie me down. It’s their loss, really. A tragedy, man, a freakin’ tragedy.”
Remko saw the cocky grin on Helms’s face but could hear the hint of sadness permeating his tone. CityWatch guards weren’t allowed to be married or have families of their own. Their duty and complete focus was to keep the city and its citizens safe. A family would only be a distraction. For some, joining the CityWatch was a choice, but for Helms and Remko it wasn’t.
Remko had known early on that his place would be with the CityWatch. He couldn’t remember a day in his life when he hadn’t stuttered. His parents said that although he didn’t speak much as a child, there had been a time when his words were clear and came easily. But at some point he had lost the ability to express himself through language. Remko knew that for the right price, the Authority had the ability to fix the problem with his speech, but coming from the Farm Lands and being the son of a poor farmer, Remko did not have access to the medical advances that could have made a difference in his future.
He had accepted the fact that being a CityWatch guard was his destiny before his twelfth birthday. How could he lead a family if he couldn’t even speak to them? Logically it made perfect sense, so when his emotions threatened his resolve, he switched them off and focused on being pragmatic.
Helms, however, had more difficulty accepting his reality. He never talked about what had gotten him here, and Remko had never asked. It was one of the unspoken rules in the CityWatch barracks: you don’t press for details if they aren’t volunteered.
Even so, Remko saw the way Helms watched mothers with their children and the way he looked at young women during their courting season. Clearly this life had not been his choice.
“Remko, Helms! I didn’t call you out here for a casual stroll. Get over here,” Dodson yelled.
So much for a good mood. Remko picked up his pace and covered the distance in a couple seconds; Helms was right on his heels.
Dodson towered over his men. He was as mean as he looked, his face decorated with battle scars and his eyes darker than the sky. He pulled the thin cigarette from where he had it clenched between his teeth and turned his head to spit tobacco-stained mucus to the side. “Enjoying the evening breeze?”
Remko could hear Helms’s nervous swallow to his right. “Sorry, sir,” Helms said.
Remko locked eyes with Dodson and nodded his apologies.
“Helms, go help Bradley scan the banks for evidence,” Dodson said. “Remko, you’re with me.”
Helms saluted and trotted off toward the river. The field around them was one of the few undeveloped areas inside the city grounds. It sloped down into the river and ran along the outside of the High-Rise Sector wall.
Smith, a promoted lieutenant with a bite as bad as his bark, appeared at Dodson’s side. “Nothing,” he said. “Same as the last time.”
Dodson cursed and flicked his spent cigarette to the ground. Smith smothered it in the dirt with the tip of his boot.
Remko let his eyes fall to the body a couple of feet away. It was hard to make out details in the dark, but the stars and moon showed enough for him to know it was another girl. Judging by the shade of her uniform, she was a Lint, same as the last four. Her skin was breaking apart across the surface of her arms and legs like paper dissolving in water. The medical investigator was still working over her, inputting data into the flat panel he held.
Dodson walked to the body’s side and tried to wait patiently for word from the doctor. Unfortunately, patience wasn’t really a virtue for the hulking man. “Out with it, Doc, before my men freeze out here.”
“Your men have well-equipped suits that accommodate temperatures much lower than this. I won’t rush my examination because of a little breeze,” the doctor said. He was a small man, a pair of glasses hanging on the tip of his nose. He seemed frail enough to break like a stick, and Remko worried that his response was almost enough to encourage Dodson to do just that. Remko could see the color draining from Dodson’s knuckles as he tightened his fists.
“My patience is running thin,” Dodson said.
“As if you had any patience to begin with,” the doctor rebutted. Remko wondered whether the doctor really wasn’t afraid of Dodson or if he was just too stupid to know he should be.
The panel beeped, and the doctor stood from his kneeling pos
ition. He studied the results on the thin screen and shook his head curiously as he did.
Remko could almost feel the heat cascading off Dodson’s body. He struggled to keep his face from revealing his astonishment as he watched the doctor play with Dodson like a toy soldier. Remko couldn’t think of a single other person who got under Dodson’s skin so easily.
Dodson was raising the fist at his right side as if gearing up to smash something when the doctor began to report.
“Based on my calculations, the cause of death and MO are the same as with the last four victims.”
Dodson’s fists released a bit. “Meaning this is the same killer?”
“Preliminary toxicology reveals the same substances in the system: sodium hypochlorite—bleach—which has eaten away the esophagus and stomach lining. The body has been scrubbed with bleach as well, causing significant deterioration of the tissue, which is why you have the flaky appearance. Same ligature marks on the feet and wrists; same indicators of malnourishment . . .”
“Same as the others,” Dodson said.
The doctor nodded. “If I had to make a call in the field without a full assessment, I would have to say the evidence points to this being the same perpetrator.”
Dodson turned to Smith. “And no trace evidence on the scene?”
The lieutenant shook his head firmly.
Dodson ran his fingers through the short hair at the back of his head. “Any connection between the victims other than their uniforms?”
The doctor held up his screen again and scanned the information it held. “I have been running the data for commonalities, but nothing stands out. All different ages, different body types, different trades—as if each girl had been randomly selected.”
“We’re missing something,” Dodson said. He turned back to Smith. “Survey the area again, like your life depends on it . . . because if we don’t come up with some way to break this case, it will.”
Smith nodded and left.
“Do let me know if your men discover anything,” the doctor said.
Dodson ejected another glob to the side, and the doctor cringed. “If it’s relevant to your work. Otherwise this information is need-to-know.”
The doctor dropped his eyes to slits, but Dodson was already walking away. “Helms, Bradley,” he yelled across the field.
The two guards ran over and stood at attention, waiting for instructions.
“Get this body loaded into the good doc’s vehicle and send him home. Remko, come with me.”
Remko didn’t hesitate before falling into stride behind his superior. The two walked for a few moments in silence until there was a safe distance between them and the rest of the group.
“I don’t like the way this is starting to smell,” Dodson said. He pulled up to a hard stop and Remko nearly tumbled over him. “The Authority wants this situation kept quiet. The victims are only Lints, but if word of this spreads into the Flats, we’ll have a panic situation on our hands, and we do not want to deal with that.”
Remko gestured that he understood.
Dodson pulled another thin cigarette from his front shirt pocket and lit the end. He took a deep drag and blew a gust of smoke toward Remko’s face. Remko didn’t breathe as the rank pollutant lingered around his head.
“This stutter of yours sure is a pain in my behind. It would be nice to get a word from you once in a while,” Dodson said.
Remko opened his mouth to attempt a response but Dodson held up his hand.
“I don’t have time for you to stumble through your words. I need you to keep an eye on the Lint Stacks. Got it? You have a way of getting around without people noticing, and it seems whoever is doing this to these girls does too. We need to find a way to use that against him. And let me know if any of the guys open their mouths on this one. We gotta keep things hush-hush.”
Dodson began to walk away but paused and turned back to Remko. “We both know you’ve done good work for the Watch—always been one of the best. We don’t promote often, but you help me nail this freak and we’ll talk.”
He started back toward the crime scene, calling loudly over his shoulder, “Now get over there and help Smith find me something that will give us a lead, or I’ll hold both of you responsible for hindering this investigation.”
5
Carrington gives herself a final scan as she runs her hands down the front of her red dress. She has been staring at this dress in her closet for the last two months, dreaming about this moment. She is only hours from being chosen.
The day before went well, she thinks. Seven men requested an opportunity to visit with her and her family. Seven is a very good number; her mother is extremely pleased.
The face of each man plays through her head on a carousel—some more handsome than others, but all polite and kind. Each one would make an excellent husband, and she would be proud to be seen with any of them. Then again, being chosen by anyone will be enough. Butterflies erupt in her chest as the word chosen forms on her lips. It is hard to believe the time has finally come.
A knock sounds behind her. She turns to see her mother pushing open her bedroom door. For a moment, a wide smile captures her mother’s face, but it soon falls away at the apparently displeasing sight of her daughter.
“Carrington, you’re hardly ready and we have to leave soon,” her mother says.
“I’m ready, Mother.”
“Please tell me you’re joking. That is how you are going to wear your hair? And your makeup? Don’t you understand how important tonight is?”
“Of course, but I think I look—”
“Don’t think. You’re obviously not very good at it. Here, let me help you finish. Seriously, Carrington, how will you ever be chosen without me?”
Carrington drops her eyes and bites her tongue. She still thinks she looks fine—beautiful, even—but her mother knows best, so she doesn’t say a word as the woman begins to fix her.
“I have been replaying the visits from yesterday, and I think your best options are Bryant and Koshic,” her mother says.
“I thought Bain was very sweet, and his family is from the Cattle Lands, so I wouldn’t have to move very far.”
“Carrington, that is exactly why he is the wrong choice! Cattle Lands. Our family needs you to reach higher. Believe me, being stuck with a man who can hardly afford the things a woman deserves is no way to live. No, I think Bryant or Koshic is better for you.”
“I think I would be happy with any of them.”
“This isn’t about happiness. Of course I want that for you, but trust me—you will be happier with a man who has more than this.” She motions around the room and Carrington understands.
From the day Carrington was old enough to comprehend status, her mother has constantly reminded her that status is everything. Since women have no say in whom they marry, it is important to attract the attention of men in stations above their own. The joining of two families is always a delicate negotiation to ensure all parties involved benefit from the transaction. The union is about far more than just a woman’s happiness.
“Make sure you spend extra time with both Bryant and Koshic tonight.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Inexplicably, the scene around her shifts, and suddenly she is sitting at a desk in her practicing room. Familiar faces surround her—girls who have studied with her for years. But they are young, maybe eight or nine. Their curls are pulled up into sweet ponytails, their white dresses pressed and ruffled. These girls are giggling and whispering among themselves, none of them acknowledging Carrington.
Carrington looks down at her hands. Long, lean fingers, nails trimmed and painted to match her red dress. They aren’t stubby and small as they were when she was young. She notices that she is still in her ceremony dress. It sparkles in the sun coming through the windows.
“All right, girls. Come to order.”
Carrington turns to see Mr. Holden’s warm smile. His light-gray hair and neatly trimmed beard look soft
as always. His blue eyes remind Carrington of comfort and security. She can’t help but smile.
“Let’s begin again with our truth statements. Can anyone recite them from memory?” he asks.
Carrington’s hand shoots up as she thinks through the statements in her head.
Mr. Holden looks around the room and right over Carrington as if he doesn’t see her at all. “No one? Come now, you have been learning them all summer.”
Carrington glances around and sees no one else has her hand raised, so she stretches hers higher into the air, wiggling her fingers in earnest. She knows the answer; she has been studying the truth statements with her mother for months, just as Mr. Holden instructed. It seems important that he know she did what was asked of her.
“Fine, let us recite them together then,” Mr. Holden says.
“Wait, I know,” Carrington says. Her voice is small, her fingers no longer painted, her dress no longer red but white—the required uniform for all girls during their practicing lessons.
“Truth One: I am part of a community led by God, and the function I fulfill is essential to the success of our people,” the room says.
“Wait, wait, please . . . ,” Carrington cries.
“Truth Two: I take pride in my role and how I will serve under God’s law, set forth by the Authority.”
“No! Stop! I know them!”
“Truth Three: My first responsibility is to make myself worthy of being chosen.” The little voices echo through the room. Mr. Holden starts to pace up and down the aisles between the desks.
Carrington pulls her hand down and feels tears fill her eyes. She knows the statements! She has been learning them all summer. Her mother will surely ask Mr. Holden if she knew them, and what will he say?
The Choosing Page 3
