by Terina Adams
The desolation lasted a second before destruction raged through to sweep my weakness aside. How dare he judge me like that?
At the end of the passage, I found Jax shaking hands with the stout man in the atrium, the gesture filled with familiarity and fondness. Both looked at me when I appeared. Jax dropped his eyes, but the stout man continued to watch me as I approached, eyes set to neutral. I wasn’t even a curiosity to him.
Jax said a few more words to the man before he released his hand.
“Thanks for this.” I pointed behind my ear. “And this.” I pointed to my wrist.
For the first time, the corners of his mouth creeped into a smile, but his drooping bottom lip made the smile heavy. Encouraged by his sudden warmth, I stepped closer holding out my hand, returning my own smile and hoping he would do likewise. No hesitation, he clasped my hand in both of his. This close to him and the dusty smell, which seemed to permanently live in the air, mingled with a subtle musky-earthy aroma like wet soil.
No tattoo on his wrist. Without thinking, I grasped his wrist and turned the underside facing up so I could see the clear, pale skin underneath. “You don’t have a graft.” Not sure he understood me, I ran a finger down the inside his wrist. “Where is your graft?”
He turned his head to look over his right shoulder, revealing the skin behind his left ear. No tattoo there either. This man was free.
“I don’t understand.”
He nodded as if agreeing to something I said as he settled his gaze on me. The softening of his eyes spread to the rest of his expression, continuing farther to diffuse through his body, crossing the connection of our touching hands and into me. It was like a great exhale had swept us in, stripped us of our rigidity and strain, then released us back into this room. My first desire was to hug him close, a thank you for understanding and accepting the choice I made without judgment. With the gentleness pouring from his eyes, the lump welling up my throat made me want to cough. I’d not realized how much Jax’s reaction to my tattoo upset me. I would’ve chosen another, but in the brief seconds as the stout man peered down at me, I’d been swamped by my fear.
I heaved out the truth on a long sigh. The stout man continued to hold my hand, accepting the light tremor that rushed through my body with a gentle squeeze.
“Sable.”
I wasn’t sure if Jax was warning me to stop or calling me over. “Thank you once again.”
I left him smiling his funny, almost smile to join Jax at the entrance to the passage that led to the front door.
“That man has no tattoos… well, except for the obvious ones on his face.”
Jax looked over my head. The man eased himself down on a metal chair at the far side of the atrium.
“He can’t leave his home.”
“Why? Because he has no tattoos?”
“It’s his silent rebellion against the senate, but his choice imprisons him. If he dares to spend too much time out in the open, the senate’s sweepers will find him. And out here on the fringe, they are merciless.”
“Sweepers?” I’m sure I heard the name before but couldn’t remember when or where.
“Don’t worry about it. Look, I have to leave you for a while. The tattooist has agreed to keep you safe until I return.”
“Where’re you going?”
“I have to do something. Nothing important, but it will be easier if I go on my own.”
“What am I going to do?”
He shrugged. “Sit, wait, whatever you want. Just don’t leave. I’ll try to be as quick as I can.”
As if to stop me from asking any more questions, he fled down the passage and out the front door.
Once Jax was gone, the stout man rose awkwardly from his chair and hobbled toward me, waving his hand for me to join him. He took my hand like we were old friends and led me up a wide flight of stairs built from light-colored stone. On the second level, I was able to look down onto the atrium and only now noticed the outline of tiles in the shape of a scythe. The tiling of the scythe was a few shades darker than the rest of the tiles blending the pattern into the floor when viewed from ground level.
“You’re Aris.”
The man nodded.
“What’s your name?”
A gulf of silence, so I patted my chest. “Sable.” Then I pointed to him. “And you?”
He straightened as best he could, dropping my hand. “I know what you’re say. My name is Islia.” Because of his lower lip, his words were jumbled, but I still understood. “Yes, I am Aris.”
“But you choose not to wear a tattoo.”
“I am old. When I was young, there were no grafts.”
“You hid when they tattooed everyone?”
“Like a few, I escaped to the fringe when they did. But many who made the same choice as I did have since died because of their choice.”
“You were born in central Califax?”
“To a very prominent family. I had a wonderful job I enjoyed very much. I was a pilot, would you believe?”
At his height, I wouldn’t, but I guess things were different over here than back home.
“But this is my home now. Has been for many a year.”
“Has Jax told you anything about me?”
“You’re not Aris. Come.” Islia guided me to a spiral staircase sandwiched between two rooms. “Up here, you will see the place we call home.”
At the top, I stepped out onto the flat roof. Clothes flapped in the gentle breeze on a line draped between two poles. It reminded me of Jax’s apartment back in my world, minus the comfortable cushions, the chaotic city noises drifting up from below, and the fateful night when he first showed me the in-between. I crossed to the edge and looked down over one of the marketplaces. Instead of horns, screeches, and sirens, stall holders announced their latest sale and people haggled for a decent price. Somehow, everyone managed to find a spot to display their produce in the small open space crammed between buildings.
“How many of these markets are in the fringe?”
“Enough to meet our needs. Each free space sells something different. The location of space granted to a particular stall holder will depend on what they sell. Similar stalls are clumped together.”
I looked down on the earthenware pots filled with colorful powders surrounded by sacks filled with vegetables.
“This would be the grocery free space. Convenient for you. Where is everything grown?”
“In the country provinces. The senate controls agriculture, but we have our own network that supplies the free spaces with enough to keep us fed.”
“Why doesn’t the senate put a stop to your networks, if they’re so paranoid of mixing factions?”
“Logistics and cost. We also keep our heads down and our channels closed. They don’t appreciate the extent of what we do out here.”
“What about in the countryside? Do the factions mix there?”
“No. Most stick to the old ways. Only those who benefit financially from trade are willing to mingle. Califax is the only city where the factions live side by side.”
“Because they are grafted.”
“There was a time in the distant past when there was little segregation. Turbulent times, or so we’re told. There are great monuments left from the destruction to be seen in the outer provinces. We’re taught our segregation is our evolution to civility. It began many a lifetime ago.
“Representatives were elected to trade with other regions, other factions, for anything they were unable to produce themselves. Califax was the first of our cities and the first to form a senate of mixed factions. It sits within the confluent of the surrounding factional regions and is still the only city where mixed factions live together. But the first people to populate Califax were ungrafted because the technology did not exist.”
“Were they peaceful?”
“Not quite. The city has been rebuilt numerous times. With each destruction of Califax, it proved harder to repopulate. People were afraid. It was not until the
graft was developed did anyone feel comfortable enough to live side by side with a different faction. In the regional areas, people mostly cling to the old ways even though the senate ruled they too would be grafted.”
“If they lived segregated from each other in their factional regions, why did the senate graft them all?”
“A graft takes away their ability to revolt.”
Of course. Why had I even bothered to ask the question? “Why do you oppose the grafts if it’s the only reason you can live side by side?”
“Look around you.” With a sweeping wave of his arm, he encompassed the expanse of the flat-topped rooflines that formed the outer fringe. “Some of these people are like me. We hide to protect our freedom. We are not grafted, and yet we live here amongst each other in relative peace.”
“Why in the fringe? Why now, if it’s never been achieved before?”
“Hardship gives us a commonality, so too a shared enemy. We’ve forgotten to hate each other. But it’s not just here. Although the senate would have us believe our history is full of nothing but violence, there are shared stories from our past that tell us some of our ancestors lived in harmony.
“When the grafts were first legislated, the senate promised they would be temporary, that Califax would move toward a peaceful solution of living together without altering the people’s nature. But the people became dependent on the grafts. They believe it is the only way for any of us to survive.”
“What do you believe?”
“I believe everyone is frightened. They no longer know what it means to live with a factional nature, to be in control, to live with choice. The senate tells them they are incapable of controlling their true nature, so they fear themselves, unable to make their own judgment. They alienate us from our own bodies.”
“And if they were freed from their grafts?”
“History would say we cannot survive together that way, and yet us fringe dwellers do.”
“But if you had wealth with no common enemy, what would happen then?”
“That, I cannot tell you. I can only tell you what I hope for now, and that is to see us all free. These grafts are a cage.”
“If you are graft-free, why don’t you leave? I gather you can shift.”
“My family is here, as are my memories. This is my home.” He placed a hand on my elbow. “I am sorry, but I must leave you. I will send my grandson, Nada. He can take you down into the market and buy you something to eat.”
I nodded instead of refusing, because Jax told me to stay put. “I’d like that.” The market was just below, so we weren’t wandering far. How could it hurt? And if Islia saw no problem in me going to the market, then there was no danger.
Islia hobbled back toward the stairwell and called to his grandson, who had to be the boy I spied hiding behind the railing. Within moments, he appeared, a smile across his innocent face as he looked at his grandfather. An emptiness opened inside me. It felt like my heart had fallen into a big crevasse. Mum and Ajay were supposed to fill that empty place.
Nada appeared about Ajay’s age. Another year of growth and he’d be looking down on his grandfather, just like Ajay would soon be looking down on me. His short-cropped black hair exposed the symbol of Aris tattooed behind his ear. Islia was willing to make a stand, but he would not risk the safety of his grandson.
Islia rested a hand on Nada’s shoulder as he spoke to him, but I didn’t hear the exchange. Nada glanced at me, sharing the same broad grin he’d given his grandfather, and my heart fell a little further into the crevasse.
“Trust Nada to find you something good to eat. He will take care of you.” Islia flicked a finger under Nada’s chin. “Not far. Do not take risks.” We both watched him shuffle to the stairs and disappear inside, and then Nada turned to me, his eyes roaming over me with boyish curiosity.
At that moment, my stomach decided to grumble.
“Your stomach’s saying something.” He had a high, boyish voice like Ajay.
“That it needs to eat.”
He slipped his hand in mine, the feeling warm and welcoming. “There’s a great place we can go.” He already smelled like he’d been rolling in cinnamon sugar, but underneath the first hit of saliva-inducing sweet spice was the ever-present smell of dust and staleness.
“It can’t be far. My friend told me I wasn’t to leave your grandfather’s house. I’ll get in trouble if he finds out.”
He screwed up his face. “That’s stupid.”
“Didn’t your grandfather just tell you to stay close?”
“That’s different. I’m a child.”
“And I’m a stranger. I could get easily lost.”
His nose pinched up. “Not with me you won’t,” he said as he pulled me forward. Because I had a child as a guide, we rushed down the stairs, ran across the first level, and jogged down the last set of steps to the atrium. His eagerness to show me the fringe incited my own anticipation. It would be the first time I was able to wander around this alien world.
Out in the alley, I attempted to draw him back to his departing words on the roof. “Why is it important you stay close to home?”
“The sweepers take children.”
“Children in particular?”
His head bounced up and down with big, exaggerated nods, and he widened his eyes to affirm the importance of his answer.
“Do you know why?”
Maybe I shouldn’t ask questions like I didn’t know anything about this world. How much did Islia know about me? Was it dangerous if he knew I was an alien?
“Something to do with our tattoos.” He sounded vague in his reply, his attention snaffled up by the market we just entered. “Do you like hot or cold things to eat?”
“Anything filling. I’ll trust you, like your grandfather told me to do.”
If his smile was any indication, he liked being boss.
The idea this was another world ignited my senses. I wanted to slow enough to touch the vegetables and fruits piled high in barrels, smell to see if their flavor was familiar or exotic, but Nada wasn’t interested in giving me the time. None of this should be strange to someone from this world.
“Here.” Nada dragged me over to another stall. “These are good.”
He pointed to small white pastries.
“I trust you.”
He haggled the price with the stall holder, while I browsed along the row of other treats the owner sold. They all looked like pastries, varying in shapes and sizes, but their crusts weren’t brown.
A darting figure in my periphery caught my attention. I turned in time to catch the skirt of a young girl disappearing between the crates stored underneath the stall next door. I headed over, interested in the idea of finding another child, when the rest of the marketplace was packed with adults, something I may not have noticed had Nada not mentioned the sweepers taking children.
I crouched down and peered through the crates to spy big, round black eyes staring back at me.
“Hello.” I offered the warmest smile I could find, even though the smell that wafted out to greet me was like a bucket full of rotten vegetables. “I’m here on a big adventure to find something good to eat, but I’m new, so I don’t have much idea about what to buy.” I don’t know why I felt the tug to befriend her.
“You’re with that boy.” Her voice was small and tight.
“Nada. Do you know him?”
She shook her head then changed her mind and gave a slight nod. “Kind of.”
“I gather you two aren’t friends.”
She shook her head again.
“Would you like to be friends? I could introduce you.”
This time, she gave an emphatic shake of her head.
“Does he frighten you?”
“I’m not allowed to speak to strangers.”
“You’re speaking to me, and we don’t know each other.”
“I’m not allowed to speak to you.”
“Well… I’m glad you are, but I hope you don�
�t get into trouble.”
“Hey, what are you doing?” Nada came up behind me, which frightened the young girl. She darted out from under the stall and ran down the street on dirty bare feet.
I straightened and caught Nada watching her dart away with a slight crease in his brow.
“You frightened her.”
“Not me, really.” He handed me some of the white pastries wrapped in a netted fabric.
“What do you mean?”
“We’re not allowed to make friends.”
“We, as in the children?”
“It’s safer when we’re frightened of everyone, when all we want to do is hide at home. That way, the sweepers won’t find us. Sometimes I see her in the market when I come shopping with my grandfather. She follows me but never comes up to say hello.”
“Nada, where are your parents?”
“Dead.” Said with all the world weariness of an adult. “The sweepers got them. That’s why my grandfather did me this tattoo.”
“But you said the sweepers were after children because of their tattoos.”
He shrugged and popped a pastry into his mouth, putting my questioning to an end. Only a child could reduce such a repressive life to a mere inconvenience.
“Do you know what faction your parents were?”
“I was seven when they died.”
Should I dare ask the question? “Were they both Aris?”
“We don’t talk about the dead,” he replied then turned and headed back to his grandfather’s house, seeming to have lost interest in shopping anymore.
Chapter 12
Jax returned halfway through a game Nada taught me. It involved the knuckles from animals, a quick eye, and an even quicker hand. Nada beat me every time but admitted to being impressed with my skill, for an amateur.
Jax ruffled Nada’s hair and said to me, “We best go. I want to speak with Elva before the end of the day.”
For a few hours, I’d been somewhere else with a small boy not too unlike Ajay, losing myself in the simplicity of childhood. I hadn’t thought my mind would ever let me forget, but it had let go easily, willingly, quite desperately, until I was happy. With Jax back and talking about Elva, I was back too, in an alien world, pretending to be someone else.
