by K. A. Gandy
“Brothers and sisters, I humbly offer myself as a nominee for the permanent leadership role, in place of Helena. I will serve temporarily until the official vote can be organized. All nominees can be recognized this evening in the gathering field, at seven p.m. Let us come together in this time of crisis and rise better than we were before.” He nods to the cameraman, and the video cuts off.
I stare, blinking at the now-blank screen in anger. “So, when we didn’t show up, they decided to, what, spin it to their own benefit? Throw Helena under the bus, obviously. But for what?”
“Power.” Patrick’s voice is clipped. “Brock is clearly making a power grab. He’s tired of sitting beside Helena, watching her run things.” He gestures angrily as he speaks.
Atlas grunts agreement. “It’s definitely a power play. But what’s he going to gain when we don’t show back up as promised?” His tone is cryptic, and it makes the hair on the back of my neck rise.
“You don’t think they’ll try to kidnap us again, do you?” I can’t hide my worry with the words, and burrow under Patrick’s arm.
“Let them try.” Auntie’s tone is calm. “There have been many who’ve tried to find us here, and none have ever succeeded. You are under our protection now, and you are safe at Zanetti.”
Merry
The second full day at Zanetti proves that the people are every bit as good as we initially thought. Now that our story is known, people don’t only greet us, they stop and tell us that they support our work, support us in trying to rescue the captive women. Each and every one brings a tear to my eyes, and I fully blame the pregnancy hormones. After our fourth hug of the morning, the emotions are starting to get to me. No one has treated us differently because of our political positions, and frankly, no one seems to care. Auntie has the ultimate say-so here, and everyone is secure in her leadership.
The men are off lending a hand with a wall repair—with Glitch moaning the entire way about the lack of instantaneous response to his trap; Mav is off in the airport, working on repairs for some of Zanetti’s vehicles; and Nell and I were invited to a women’s circle. I’m not entirely certain what that entails, except that there will be women present. Nell, as per usual, chatters happily to Sheena, who is escorting us to the circle, while I’m lost in thought. Anxiety nips at my heels about the upcoming missions, along with worry over what we’ll do if the person we’re looking for doesn’t take the bait. How will we find them? We can hunt down the trust, but that could genuinely just be an environmentally conscious donor. If neither pan out, we’re back to zero. I do not want to be back at zero. Because the king isn’t going to keep waiting, he’s going to dismantle the so-called EICs, and whoever was responsible will be in the wind.
We arrive at our destination, and I’m surprised to see women and girls gathered around large kitchen worktables, and huge pots boiling along one wall. Rather than a normal stove, they have created an entire wall of cooking surface, and the steaming pots are lined up tidily in a row. Women are cutting chunks off of colored ropes on the work tops, while the children run to various cut piles and pass the colorful chunks to one woman, who appears to be in charge, and who then tosses them into one pot or another.
I stop inside the doorway, confused. Nell doesn’t bat an eye, just walks to the nearest opening along the way, and someone hands her a knife. She starts chopping, and never stops talking. For a woman with a troubled past, she has never had a problem fitting in. Yet here I am, balanced just outside of the action. My right hand falls to my belly, a habit I’m finding more and more automatic these days. As I look around for some clue of what’s going on, another woman bustles into the room with a roll cart piled high with white fabric. I watch her buzz by in curiosity.
“People in doorways are racked with indecision, and that’s no way to lead, Mrs. Royce.” Auntie’s ever-calm tone startles me from my spot leaned in the doorjamb.
“Hi, Auntie. Sorry, I just . . . was trying to figure out what was going on.” I fiddle with the end of my braid nervously. Her mild rebuke makes me nervous, even though we’ve recently met. She radiates wisdom, and I find myself hoping for her approval.
“Ahh, my dear.” She settles one wrinkled hand on my shoulder affectionately. “We can never know it all. Look at your friend, there. See how she jumps in with both feet?”
I nod, and she continues, “She lives with the vigor of one who’s been released from a cage. Yet here you hover as if you’re scared to walk into one.” Her eyes bore into me, and it feels like she sees more than I’m ready to share.
“I, well . . .”
“You don’t have to explain yourself, dearie. But I want you to think on this: Living in fear of the cage, is just putting yourself into it for them.” Her brows draw down, and she purses her lips in consternation. “That’s no way to live. You must walk in abundance, in confidence, and in friendship. You will do great things for this world; I can sense it. But first, you must believe it. And whatever has shaken you, you must cast it aside. For to lead others, you must first lead yourself.”
Her words settle on my shoulders like a warm blanket in a cold wind. “Thank you, Auntie. It feels like I’ll never be as good at this as you are. Were you always a natural leader?”
Her booming laugh startles me and draws every eye in the room to us. “My girl, no! I was a skinny waif with braids on my head and a fire in my belly. Nothing more, nothing less. But time shapes us to its own will, and this is where it has led me.” She pats my shoulder in reassurance. “Now, no more heaviness. Today is a day for companionship, and your Nell has the right of it. We’re dyeing today, and we’ve got much to do—so your extra hands will be appreciated.”
Oh, dye! I look around the room at the rainbow of beautiful linens adorning the women, and smile. This is going to be fun.
✽✽✽
Many hours later, Sheena leads Nell and me—exhausted beyond belief, and covered in specks of dye—back to our rooms. She seems to have come out of her shell after spending the day with Nell, and the three of us discuss the various dye techniques favored by the many opinionated women we worked with today. Thanks to our efforts, we were generously gifted with skirts for ourselves, as well as decorative tunics for both of our husbands. At least we’ll have something for tomorrow . . . Apparently in all of our running and moving and plotting, we’ve all forgotten the time passing—but it’s Christmas Eve today.
Despite our growing independence here, the tunnels all look the same, and we need help to get anywhere off of our own hallway. Luckily, the people have been happy to help us. Warmth for these people has grown in me so quickly, it’s shocking. With the Resistance, I was skeptical—and frankly judgmental—of their lifestyle. I was able to overcome my preconceptions, to see the people in time. But here, it’s an entirely different story.
I’m as far away from my home in Jackson Flats as I can be—we’re underground, on the other side of the continent, buried under countless feet of rock and snow, and yet the warmth and comfort of home surrounds me. It’s the magic of Zanetti.
Once I’m back in my room, I quickly squirrel away Patrick’s tunic, so I can surprise him tomorrow morning. Walking out of the bedroom, I freeze when I see Sheena waiting nervously by our small dining table. “Hi, Sheena. I thought you’d already be on your way home. Is everything okay?”
“Oh, uhm, yes! Everything is fine, it’s just . . . well, are you pregnant? I thought you might be, and it’s okay if you’re not.” She blushes. “We have a tradition here, that the first person to notice the pregnancy gives a gift, and a blessing. So, we all like to guess, and I noticed you kept putting your hand on your stomach earlier, so . . .” She trails off, looking both embarrassed and curious.
I give her a small smile of encouragement. “You’re right, I am. I’m not far along yet, and with everything going on we haven’t really told anyone.” My smile turns into forlorn sadness. My own family doesn’t even know.
“Oh, I understand. Well, I won’t tell anyone else. Bu
t, I do want you to have something, and a blessing for the wee one to come.” She addresses my stomach as she continues, “Whether the sun shines or the snowstorm rages, may the light of your soul always guide you.” She bows low, and then from behind her back she pulls out the tiniest little gown I’ve ever seen. It’s intricately stitched around the neck, and gathered up at the hem, with an opening left for easy diaper changing. The design is a kaleidoscope of colors, using almost every color we made today. She must have worked on it all day, and now she’s giving it to me, someone she’s only known for two days. Tears build in my eyes, and I frantically try to blink them away, to no avail.
“Do you like it?” she asks hopefully.
I sniffle, and without thinking throw my arms around her, and sob into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, it’s - just . . . so . . . nice.” The sobs wrack my body, and it crosses my mind briefly to be embarrassed at crying all over a new acquaintance, but she takes it in stride.
Sheena shushes me and hugs me back for a few moments, until a familiar warmth reaches my side, and takes over. Patrick’s soothing voice and masculine smell hit me at once, and I cling to his shirt like he’s going to vanish. In time, the tears slow, and I continue clinging to him. He carries me over to our stone bench and settles me in his lap.
“Are you okay?” he asks, once the hiccupping sobs have fully subsided.
I nod, unable to speak yet.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Do I want to talk about it? Where to even begin? Rather than answer, I shove the tiny, beautiful gown at him.
He takes it from my hands delicately and admires it with a soft smile on his handsome face. “I think I understand.”
I search his eyes, wondering if he can understand the depth of emotion I’m feeling right now. He strokes my cheek so gently and looks at me like I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. That can’t be right—I’m all red and blotchy.
“This is the first of many beautiful, thoughtful gifts our baby is going to receive. It makes it so real, doesn’t it?” I nod and reach out to gently trace one of the bright streaks of turquoise running the length of the gown. “I can only imagine how hard it has been to be away from your family for so many months, and now with a baby on the way, we both want to be back home with them, to share this special time with them. But we’re so close, Sadie, I promise. Come hell or high water, I will wade through it to get you back where you belong. And I’ll be by your side because that’s where I belong.”
I smile tilts the corner of his mouth, and I sigh. “I love you.” Those are the only words I can say in the moment. They’re so small, but encompass such a huge feeling I have for this man, who’s become my rock so quickly amidst this storm we’re in. He stands and carries me to yet another temporary bed. We’ve had far too many, in this short marriage so far. But there’s one thing I know now that I didn’t before. Home isn’t a single spot in Jackson Flats. It isn’t baked into the sun-drenched fields I worked and loved my entire childhood. It isn’t even a fireplace with my family gathered around it at Christmas time, laughing and sharing mama’s amazing cocoa, though that is part of it.
Home is where your heart leads you, where it clings fast, and where it finds the one your soul loves.
Mouse, Meet Cheese
Christmas begins in a blur of food and fun, but still, I miss home. It’s my first Christmas ever away from my family back in Georada, and I wonder how Peter’s doing with his injuries, how Teddy and Faith are doing with the pregnancy, and I miss every single one of my family members. Patrick promises me that next year we’ll be home, and I hope he’s able to keep that promise. The five of us are sitting around in a small entertainment room off our hallway, with sofas and a decorative mantel. There are no fireplaces or trees here, but they’ve still made it festive with bright swags of linens, and small twinkly lights.
There’s a natural lull in the conversation, and I’m leaning against Patrick’s arm, feeling dozy in the warm, quiet room. My eyelids begin to flutter when a rapid beep-beep-beep emits from Glitch’s watch. He sits bolt upright and taps it to review the alert.
“Guys! They took the bait! We got a response.” He falls silent for a moment, reading.
My sleepy, cozy moment is forgotten, and we all sit forward to hear what they said in return.
“They want to meet me, tomorrow at seven p.m. They sent an address right outside of Wrightsville—only one town over. Let’s see, let’s see . . .” He talks to himself as he quickly extracts his tablet from his messenger bag, and looks up the address.
My heart is pounding, and it’s suddenly very, very real that we are close to the end of this. Please, please let this be the end of this.
“The town has been primarily closed, including this coffee shop. It looks like there’s a single operating waystation, due to proximity to the capital. This is good, I think. Right?” He looks up, and scrunches his mouth to the side, clearly uncertain.
“It sounds about right, to me,” Atlas agrees. “We suspect someone close to your father, so it makes sense to be near the capital. A closed city also makes sense, because there’s a lower chance of witnesses. The only real question is if we can get there in time and provide sufficient surveillance coverage.” He taps his knee idly, thinking it over.
“Time to call Mav, then,” I suggest.
“Agreed, I’ll run and get her,” Patrick offers, giving me a quick squeeze around the waist before he heads for the door.
“Did they sign it in any way, or is there any information you can get from the email address about who it is?”
Glitch sighs. “It’s a randomized account, generated from within the king’s server. While eventually I might be able to get some scrap of information, this person is clearly well-connected. If they want to cover their tracks, it would be easy to access someone else’s comm station in the office to send this.”
“So, we wait. At least we have something to prepare for, now.” Nell shrugs one shoulder, indifferent.
A few minutes later, Patrick and Mav re-enter the room. Glitch quickly fills her in on the location, and Atlas runs down a list from memory of the equipment he’ll need to pick up from his nearest storage warehouse on the way.
Mav rubs her hands together in gleeful anticipation. “A’right, a’right, a’right! Let’s do this thang. I can be ready in three hours. Can you five get your things and say your good-byes ‘fore then?”
We look around the room, all nodding assent. One after the other, we rise and head towards the hallway, to pack up our few belongings and supplies. Atlas puts his arm out to stop me in the doorway. “Sadie, let’s not forget your trip to the med room. We’ll need Glitch’s evidence packed to go.”
I sigh, dreading it even though it was my idea. “I know.”
Mav grins. “Come on, I’ll take you.”
We walk through the twisting tunnels, taking yet another branch I haven’t seen yet. I run my hand along the gentle warmth of the stone wall next to me, and a pang of sadness hits that it’s likely to be my last day at Zanetti. For all its wonders and strangeness, it has been a true sanctuary to our little band of refugees. Mav stops abruptly and holds a door open for me to enter. Unlike the rest of the mountain, there is a nip in the air, and the lights are harsh overhead.
I huff out a breath. No matter where you are, medical facilities don’t change much. A woman in a brightly colored sarong dress waits next to an elevated stone table.
“Hello, Sadie. Please lie back right here, and we’ll get you taken care of.” Her smile is kind, but nerves get the better of me.
“Should I be worried that you want to put me on a stone table, and we’re this close to a volcano? You’re not planning to pull a switcheroo, and sacrifice me, are you?” I joke.
Mav snorts, “Word on the street is, you no longer meet the criteria, wit’ a bun in the oven.”
I’m so shocked by her retort that I let out a great belly laugh and forget to be nervous. The brightly adorned doctor is q
uick and efficient, but I stop her before she pulls the needle from my arm.
“What is it, ma’am?” She looks concerned.
“Do you have a genetic study program here?”
“Yes, but I assure you that your entire sample leaves with you. We do not perform tests without consent.”
I give her a nod. “Good. Take another vial please.” I close my eyes quickly, so I don’t have to see the blood.
She does what I ask, then removes the needle from my arm. Capping the samples, she hands me two vials of my blood, and holds a third empty one. Begrudgingly, I reach up and snatch a few strands from the back of my head before passing them to her to stick into the third vial. She swirls them into a tidy knot, and then tucks them inside and seals it, too.
Once it’s done, she passes me the vial, and gives a short bow. Before she turns away, I stop her with a hand on her arm.
“Here.” I extend one of the vials of blood, and her eyes go round.
“Sadie, Mrs. Royce, ah . . .” She looks to Mav in confusion, who shrugs, and continues watching the exchange with raised brows. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know I don’t have to, and that’s why I am. The people who aren’t hungry for power are those who will use it wisely. I hope this helps your genetics program, and please contact us if I can help in any other way in the future.” I press the vial firmly into her palm, and she finally takes it.
“This will mean so much for the future of Zanetti, and The People thank you.” This time, her bow is low, and the tied top of her sarong nearly brushes the floor.
“It is the least we can do, given your kindness and hospitality. Back home, I’d have made you all dinner. For now, well . . . I suppose that will have to do.”
She looks with wonder at what she holds, and her words are reverent. “You have more than paid us in kind for simple aid, which we would have provided you freely.”
“Good, I’m glad you will accept my offer.” Swinging my legs around, I slowly rise from the stone table. My head spins, and I sway for a moment. I hate blood draws. I’d make a terrible lab rat.
