Caste (The Corporation)

by RaeLynn Fry

  If it weren’t the Jatis, I wouldn’t think of leaving this much skin vulnerable to the air. But the Corporation brings in extra filters for the night. To treat us.

  I pull my long black hair out of its ponytail and let it fall around my shoulders. I know Papa will be happy if I wear it down. He always says how pretty I look with it this way. I don’t see it.

  “Hurry up, Karis! We're gonna to be late!” Ajna yells at me from somewhere downstairs.

  I trade in my worn work shoes for some black slippered ones, run a brush through my hair just enough to make it shine, and head downstairs.

  “Kariiiiis!”

  “I'm right here, Ajna; stop yelling.”

  “Go faster; I wanna make sure we get good seats.” He starts to run to the door.

  “Slow down, big guy,” Papa says. “Everyone stands; there are no seats.”

  “But I'm short, and I don't wanna have to stand in the back.”

  “You can sit on my—”

  “I’m not gonna sit on your shoulders. I'm getting’ my Mark next month. I'm not a baby no more.” He crosses his arms to make his point.

  “You're right.” Papa sighs.

  “You can push your way up to the front of the crowd,” I say. “Jatis or not next month, you’re still the smallest boy in Neech.”

  Ajna sticks his tongue at me, and I do the same, reaching for my basket of unfinished work.

  “Oh no you don't,” Papa says as he ushers us out into the night. “No more work. You can finish it tomorrow.”

  I snatch my shawl from the peg by the door just before Papa pulls the door shut. “But—”

  “You're going to have fun tonight. That means no work.”

  “But work is fun,” I insist.

  “When we get to the Jatis, you're to find Journey and Kavin and Dhevan and have a good time. Eat and don't even think about work. Can you manage that?”

  “Maybe,” I grumble as I kick at the ground, stubbing my toe. “But it isn’t going to be easy.”

  “It never is.” Papa pulls the shawl over my shoulders and tucks me in under his arm.

  ७

  The small square is packed with hundreds of Neech citizens dressed in their finest, which means clothes with only two patches instead of three or four. Ajna has rushed us through the darkening streets to make sure we’re on time. Despite his fear, we aren’t late. I don’t know how I’m supposed to find Journey mixed in with all these faces and bodies. Everyone looks the same in their drab, subdued colors and plain outfits.

  In the very center of the square is a large stage elevated about six feet off the ground. This is where the Jatis actually takes place. Candidates climb up the stairs on the left, sit at the table erected in the center, and exit the stairs on the right. It’s never been anything fancy.

  “I see Kerick!” Ajna says, jumping up and down. His excitement makes him cough.

  “Cover your mouth,” I say. He does, but only after he’s finished.

  “Kerick!” And Ajna’s off, weaving his way in and out of the crowd to his best friend's side.

  Papa and I take our time, saying hello to friends and neighbors as we meet up with Journey and Kavin’s families. We find Journey’s but not Kavin’s.

  “Good to see you, Déjà.” Papa sticks out his thick arm and shakes hands with Journey's father. “How's the metal work going?”

  “Jeret Singh!” They embrace briefly, slapping each other on the back. “Probably about as good as the lumber yard. Your quotas been increased, too?”

  I leave their conversation behind to find Journey; she can’t be too far from her father and brother. Despite my earlier insistence that I wouldn’t have fun, the atmosphere of the crowd

  is infectious. Conversations and shouts bubble up like boiling water, and there are shrieks of laughter splashing through the talking. For the briefest of nights, we can all pretend we live different lives.

  “Karis!” Journey smiles warmly as she weaves out from behind the crowd and gives me a hug. The smell of lavender fills my nose. “You look pretty; I've always loved that dress on you,” she says when we pull apart.

  “You look gorgeous, too. Has Dhevan seen you yet?” Her soft, rose-colored dress goes perfectly with her yellow curls and bronze skin.

  “Only from across the square, along with every other male here. It's hard not to miss her,” Dhevan says, coming up to us.

  Dhevan’s the cutest guy in our year. Kavin’s handsome, too, but Dhevan’s in a class of his own, and he knows it. His dimpled cheeks and easy smile give some the wrong impression, but there’s no mistaking—Dhevan’s as shrewd as his father when it comes to business and as strong as any of the steelworkers.

  “Good to see you, Karis.” The rancher smiles broadly, his casual looks and easygoing personality enhanced by his muscles and size.

  “Where’s Kavin?” I ask him.

  “I thought he’d be coming with you,” Dhevan says.

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “Huh. He’s around; we just have to find him.” Dhevan tries not to let his smile drop. Neither of us wants to admit that it’s out of character for Kavin not to be the first one here.

  “Yeah,” I say, trying not to think about it. “Nervous about the Pairing next month?” I give Dhevan a teasing smile, distracting myself.

  “Nah,” he says with a wave of his hand. “I was born to be Paired with Journey.”

  “Literally,” Journey says.

  He drapes his arm around her shoulders and pulls her in for a quick kiss. “That’s messed up about that body this morning, huh?” he says when he pulls away.

  “We were there,” Journey says. “We were almost to work when we heard this woman screaming. Then a guy ran into the street and said—”

  A hush has settled over the crowd, interrupting Journey’s story. There’s movement from the corner of my eye.

  “Looks like the Artist is here,” I say.

  Clopping down the broken asphalt is a carriage drawn by two identical white horses. They’re beautiful creatures, well fed and cared for. Unlike our livestock. Or our citizens. We have enough resources to keep both alive. Barely. One of the reasons Papa keeps telling Ajna no to a pet chicken is because we wouldn’t have enough bread and water to keep it alive. These animals look like they have more than enough food to eat. A small boil starts in my chest. The people of Neech are starving but the pets of the Corporation are fat with surplus. How can we be the ones accused of greed?

  As the sleek black carriage nears, the crowd parts to let it through, creating a path to the stage. With a toss of their heads, the horses stop.

  Seik, Neech’s leader, climbs the stage and clears his throat. In the silence that’s fallen, the small sound is more than enough to grab our attention.

  “All Candidates please line up single file on the left side of the stage.” There’s a storm of movement as a small horde of eight-year-olds, around ten total, fight each other for the best place in line. “Orderly,” Seik amends in a booming voice. “And according to family.”

  A wave of groans ebbs and flows as the line is shuffled and rearranged, some of the Candidates in front giving up their positions for a less favorable one near the back. After a few moments, when they’re reordered and still, Seik speaks again.

  “Today’s an important day for our young ones. It’s the day they become contributing parts of our city. The day they find out who they’re destined to be. For some, it’ll be their last night with their families as they go to live with the guilds and learn their trade. But no matter what the result, one thing is constant—tonight, your futures are unveiled. Tonight, you find what you’re made of and who you are.”

  Cheers and fists erupt into the air as not one Candidate is able to contain their excitement. Family and friends let out whistles and shouts of congratulations, everyone clapping loudly. Even Journey lets loose a wild cheer.

  “Kerick was so excited today,” she says to me over the noise. “He was bouncing around the hous
e. No matter what we tried, we couldn't get him to just stand still.” She laughs. “After this, it's off to the guilds.”

  The carriage rocks back and forth gently as its passenger moves around inside. The square falls silent once again. Opening the door, the Artist emerges. He isn't what I expect. He’s young. Not much older than me, probably in his early twenties. His chest rises and falls with a few deep breaths, and his knuckles are white as he grips the satchel in his hands. His long fingers smooth and pull at his deep purple vest. He’s probably counting the minutes until he gets back to the comfort of Dahn.

  Journey leans over to me and whispers, “That’s velvet he wearing.” She’s in awe. The way she says it, I think I’m supposed to be impressed, too.

  The Artist clears his throat and starts towards the stage. Heads move with him as he ascends the stairs, watching hungrily as he takes an empty chair next to the table.

  Not even a whisper escapes into the air as the entire population of Neech watches his every move. He reaches into his bag and carefully arranges his tools on the cramped table—a tattoo needle and cartridges of the special nanoink. There’s a small wooden bowl he fills with liquid and sets beside a small

  cloth.

  I rub at the underside of my wrist as I remember my own Jatis nine years earlier. The pain of getting my Mark was the worst I’d ever felt. I have yet to encounter anything that compares. The process is tedious, and the skin on the underside of the wrist is so thin, each puncture of the needle feels like fire on the nerves.

  There's nothing a Candidate can do but sit and try not to cry as the Artist draws with his invisible ink. I remember thinking, How he can see what he's doing if he doesn't leave a trail behind? Then I saw the blood the needle left in its wake and understood.

  It’s an eternity in a Candidate’s mind before the Artist finally finishes, but then he wipes the surface of the wrist with the liquid in the bowl. That liquid is a godsend, instantly cooling the fire.

  Seik booms out the first Candidate's name, jerking me back from the memory. “Jules Aarnok.”

  A nervous, skinny girl with pale blond hair walks up the stairs, wringing her small hands. When she gets to Seik she asks, “Is it gonna to hurt?” Her innocent question echoes out to the crowd, and somewhere, someone laughs.

  Seik smiles and ushers her to the waiting chair.

  She sits down, her face a bit ashen as she lays her arm on the table and stares straight ahead.

  “Relax,” the Artist says. I look at him, thinking he needs to take his own advice. Jules holds a breath, releasing it in a controlled exhale. With the escape of the air, her clenched fist releases.

  The Artist picks up his needles, snaps in an ink cartridge, and with an electric buzz, begins his work. The sharp point punctures her skin, and Jules lets out a startled cry, her eyes wide. But the Artist doesn’t stop, and she doesn't make another sound.

  Her feet wiggle, and her free hand opens and closes into a fist, but the arm he’s working on remains relaxed and still. It

  takes about fifteen minutes until the Mark is complete. The Artist picks up the soft cloth, dips it in the bowl of clear liquid, and wipes off his work surface. Jules stares at her wrist and stands up, eyes wide and entranced on her blemished skin.

  I remember what I was experiencing at that same moment during my Jatis. A warmth starts at the wrist. Not the fire like before, but a calming, almost comforting burn. The raw skin glows, softly at first, then bolder. Something in the liquid reacts with the invisible ink, giving it life, so that it swirls in on itself until the color develops and settles in the lines in the skin. Mine had turned into long sweeping strokes, crossing over one another in soft curves.

  She gasps, looking out to the crowd. “The gardens,” she says quietly. Then she smiles and grows bolder, throwing her freshly tattooed arm in the air. “I’m going to the gardens!”

  Cheers lift up out of the crowd as she exits the stage. Jule’s family is known for their expertise in herbs, so she'll continue on that course, I expect. Eta may get a new apprentice this Jatis after all.

  My gaze sweeps across the crowd, and I see Kavin's mom, Sari, in deep conversation with Eta. They’re standing at the outer edge of the square; their heads bent low in an intense conversation. Something in my chest relaxes, and I smile. Kavin’s family was just late is all. I do a brief sweep of the people around her, looking for my Pair, but he’s nowhere to be found. My heart stutters slightly, but I try to not let it bother me. At least I know he’s here. All I have to do is find him.

  Eta gives Sari a tight hug, and when they part, Sari pulls out a large package wrapped in cloth from her duster. Their heads shift before an exchange is made. Eta reaches for the object, slips it into her robes, and scuttles off. Sari turns and leaves too, head a little higher than before. I’m trying to process what I’ve just seen when Seik speaks again.

  “Kalaen Aboca.”

  I turn my head and see a dark skinned boy climb onto the stage and take his seat. I look back, but Eta and Sari have disappeared.

  ७

  Journey’s able to give Kerick his steelworker’s necklace. He’s one of several Candidates called to be tradesman, the most common caste. Other castes show up as well—leaders, farmers, ranchers. There weren’t any Sponsors, but that’s no surprise.

  After the Jatis, bonfires in the corners of the square are lit and fed with fuel until they reach taller than a man. The flames cast a warm light to the darkening area, making shadows jump and dance with every flicker.

  Every month, the finest animals are chosen for us to enjoy. Tonight it’s Dhevan’s two fattest heifers. They’ve been quartered and now cook slowly on a rotating spit. The meat is turning a glossy brown and the scent of seasoned beef fills the air, making my mouth water. Tables bear the burden of mounded breads, fruits, vegetables, pies, and sweets, along with a variety of drinks. This is the only time the Corporation approves extra rations for us. They’ve even compensated Dhevan for his stock. Their generosity abounds.

  Music fills the air, mixing fluidly with the talking, shouting, and laughing that typically goes on during a Jatis. It’s intoxicating, and I can’t help but smile and laugh with everyone else. But I can’t let Papa see me having a good time; he’d never let me live it down.

  I stand on my toes, looking for my Pair. I’m a little agitated that he hasn’t shown himself. I know he’s here, so I refuse to let myself get worried; it’s still early. Sort of.

  “Come on, Karis, Let's get some food,” Journey shouts with a tug on my arm, face lit brilliantly with her trademark grin.

  I follow her through the crowd, lacing in and out of friends and neighbors, laughing and calling out greetings as we go, always keeping an eye out for Kavin. We find Dhevan by the food—plates and cups in hand for each of us.

  “Hey again,” he smiles broadly. Handing me a plate and cup, he leads the way to the feast. “Any sign of Kavin yet?”

  I shake my head.

  “He’ll show up,” he says. “I’m pretty sure I saw him in the crowd during the Jatis.”

  I twist and turn through the masses after Journey and Dhevan, slipping in front of a few groups of people who are talking instead of paying attention to their place in line.

  “I heard one of May’s pies made it to the feast tonight,” I say to Journey, scanning the inventory before us.

  “Ooh! Where?” she says with a squeal, scavenging the dessert section. The good stuff always goes first, and if you

  aren’t quick you get stuck with things like Kala’s cookies.

  We pile our plates with salads, vegetables, meat, and rolls, the only time this month where any of us will feel full. I say hello from time to time to people I know, making light conversation as I go through the line. Devna’s talking Ami's ear off, who entertains her with half-hearted nods while giving me a slight eye roll.

  I take in all the activity—Papa dancing with Aaral, Kerick talking excitedly with his hands to Ajna and a group of other eight-year-olds, p
eople eating and laughing, a figure in a bright red shirt standing motionless next to the dance floor.

  I stop, the person behind me bumping into my shoulder. “Hey,” he protests as he walks around. I barely pay them any attention.

  Something about that lone figure seems familiar. His build, his stance. But it’s hard to tell with the hood that’s pulled down over his face. He almost reminds me of…Kavin. But what’s he doing standing all the way over there?

  “Kavin—” I start to shout, waiving a hand in the air, but

  I’m bumped in the shoulder again.

  “Sorry,” someone mumbles.

  “It’s okay,” I say distractedly. I look back at my Pair, but he’s gone.

  “Are you going to take some of that food or just stare off all night?” Dhevan's voice brings me back.

  I shake my head a little. “Sorry.” I move down the line, watching for Kavin and blindly finish filling my plate.

  “Who are you looking for?” Journey asks when we reach the end of the food table; Dhevan’s already getting us a place to sit.

  “I thought I saw Kavin.” I can’t stop my eyes from searching the crowd.

  “It’s about time. I wonder where he’s been.” Journey says.

  I fill up my cup with cold tea. “Let's go find Dhevan, maybe Kavin’s with him.” I pass Ajna who’s coughing into his hand. With the same grubby paw, he reaches out for a slice of cake. “Oh no you don't.” I hit the top of his head with my fork.

  “Ow!” He furrows his brow and shoots me a dirty look. “What’s that for?”

  “You aren't going to reach for a piece of cake with the same hand you just used as a kerchief. Wash it and use your other hand.”

  “Fine,” he grumbles.

  “I mean it, Ajna. Do it again and I'll tell Papa.”

  “Tattletale.”

  “It’s what I was put on this earth for.” I kiss the top of his head as I pass and catch him trying to wipe it off, a scowl buried deep in his face.

  Journey and I find Dhevan and sit on the ground next to him. “Kavin here yet?” she asks.

  “Still haven’t seen him,” Dhevan says around a mouth of meat.