by T. C. Edge
Now it’s my eyes that grow wet. It’s been so many years since I’ve shed a tear, my heart growing cold to such emotion. Not today. Today I feel my cheeks grow warm, salty brine silently sliding towards the corners of my mouth.
“Your parents knew that you’d be hunted down if they discovered you. The last thing they wanted was to give you up, you must understand that. Your father made me promise to keep the truth from you…until you came calling for it. He knew, like I did, they this day would come.”
Now I can’t hold back. I reach for my whiskey and let the burning liquid fizzle in my throat, distracting me from my grief, if only for a moment.
“What happened to them?” I whisper. “After they gave me up?”
“I don’t know for sure,” she says. “I…I never saw him again. But…”
“You think they’re dead?”
She nods silently.
“And the picture?” I sniff.
“Your father brought it with him. He wanted you to at least know what they looked like, if not who they were. It’s all he could do. Anything else could have put you in danger.”
I take another sip of whiskey, and sniff away a few tears, wiping my cheeks with my sleeve. Mrs Carmichael reaches forward and refills my glass. I don’t object.
Then my mind turns backwards, and I think of Mrs Carmichael’s dislike for Inner Haven, her hatred of the doctrine sent down by the Court and Consortium. Such things must be rooted in what happened to my parents, the fate they suffered because their relationship was deemed illegal. We here in Outer Haven think we’re hard done by, but truly the Enhanced have it worse.
They’re little more than slaves to their masters, so entrenched in their world that they no longer know the benefits of freedom that we continue to enjoy. After so many years of indoctrination, they’ve learned to accept their place, living in an emotionless world of the Savants’ design.
My parents broke those rules, and they suffered for it. It breaks my heart to think of their pain at giving me up, knowing what I’d become should I take on their gifts.
But I haven’t. All my life I’ve been normal, human, just a regular Unenhanced living a regular life.
I look to Mrs Carmichael, sitting silently and watching my mind tick over. A question bubbles to my lips, but before it can fall, a realisation does so first.
“The pills,” I whisper. “I…I don’t have diabetes, do I?”
My guardian continues to look at me, her eyes sunken and tired and old. Her head shakes.
“The black market,” I continue. “You go there to get pills to suppress my gifts, to keep me human? You’ve been doing it all my life…”
“I had to,” she says, her voice a croaky whisper. “I had to keep your abilities from emerging, I promised your father I would.”
“And…is that what Drum saw,” I ask. “I heard you in here the other night, telling him to keep quiet. You’d taken him to the black market, hadn’t you…and he’d seen something he shouldn’t have.”
Her frail fingers linger constantly around her mouth now, her lungs filling and emptying of smoke almost every other breath.
“I suppose you might as well know now,” she says. “I’ve been getting your medication from the Nameless for years…they manufacture it to help keep people safe, and to shield their gifts from the Consortium. Drum saw me with them. I doubt he truly knew what was going on, but I didn’t want him saying anything. I never wanted you to find out about this…”
“But I had to eventually,” I say. “What would you have done when I left this place and moved elsewhere, or found a man to marry?”
“I guess I thought I’d keep giving you the pills. Keep track of you. I want better for you than what happened to your parents, Brie. If you go off your medication, your powers will manifest, and you’ll be found out. It might take a month or a year or more…but they’ll find you eventually.”
She looks at me more closely again, the cogs ticking behind her eyes.
“Unless,” she continues, “you’ve already been found. Who was it that told you, Brie. Tell me.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Just a boy…one of the Nameless. He’d seen me at the ceremony. He knew who I was…”
“But how? I’ve kept you hidden from them. They never knew who the pills were for…”
“I don’t know. We didn’t get to speak for long. We were…interrupted.”
She grits her teeth and narrows her eyes.
“Interrupted?”
“Stalkers,” I say, almost guiltily. “They found us…but he got us away from them.”
“Oh, Brie! That’s exactly why I didn’t want you going to that ceremony. I knew something was going to happen. I knew it would be a slippery slope…”
“Something did happen,” I cut in. “I found out the truth. And I’m happy for it.”
“You shouldn’t be. I can already see where this is going…you’re already falling deeper. You should forget all of this, Brie. Stick with your medication, forget who you are, and get on with your life. It’s what your parents would have wanted.”
“No,” I say quickly. “No…if my parents were killed for falling in love, then that’s not something I can live with. I can’t just sit back and do nothing…”
Mrs Carmichael drops her head, her posture deflating like a popped balloon. She looks older than she ever has before, more weary. As if she’s been trying to hold back this tide for so many years, trying to prevent the dam from bursting.
But she can’t stay the flood forever. Something has changed in me now. There is no going back.
And she knows it.
“You’re going to try to find them, aren’t you?” she whispers, defeated. “The Nameless…”
Her murky eyes lift again, resignation inside them. It’s a look of failure.
She hasn’t failed.
I stand, and move around the desk, and lean down in front of her. I take a grip of her fingers, wrinkled and sallow from her incessant smoking, and cup them warmly between my palms.
“I love you, Brenda Carmichael,” I tell her. “I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. And I don’t blame you for withholding the truth. You did what my father asked you to do, and you did what you thought was right. But I can’t go on as normal, as if nothing’s happened. These last few days, they’ve opened my eyes, my mind. I have to do my part. You had no choice, and neither do I.”
She smiles weakly, and a trickle of tears work their way down the network of wrinkles across her cheeks.
“What will you do?” she asks me weakly.
“I…I don’t know exactly. I need to find this boy again. There’s still so much more I have to learn. After that…I guess only time will tell.”
Her thin lips work into a smile, and she pulls me into a hug, her bony arms coiling round me and gripping me tighter than ever.
“The northern quarter,” she whispers into my ear. “Go to the black market. Ask for Walter and tell him I sent you. If this boy is truly a member of the Nameless, he’ll help you find him.”
I lean back, and see the fresh surge of conviction spread across her face.
“You’re helping me?”
“Sweet girl,” she says, laying her withered hand on my cheek, “I know you’re going to go anyway. The seed has been planted. There’s no stopping that now. So I will do what I can to help, and I want to make sure that this boy is who he says he is. Walter will know. Go to him, and he’ll help you find the truth.”
She reaches into her a drawer in her desk, and pulls out a pair of glasses. They’re simple, built from a thin, silver frame and with a light blue shade to their lenses. She hands them to me.
“Take these,” she says. “The black market moves around to avoid detection. Go to district 5 in the centre of the northern quarter, and put these on. They’ll reveal the markings…follow them and you’ll get to the market.”
I take the glasses from her, and slip them into my pocket.
“I…I don’t know
what to say.”
“There’s nothing else to say,” she says. “Except that…your parents would have been so proud of you. Of the young woman you’ve become,” she croaks. “As I am.”
I smile and pull her into another hug, a large part of me not wanting to let go. Wanting instead to take her advice, to forget all of this, to carry on living in ignorance of the truth. But I can’t now. I have no choice.
And as I grip tight to her old body, I whisper into her ear again.
“You are my parent,” I tell her. “That will never change.”
I release her, and drift away. And with a final look, gaze upon this woman who raised me as her own. Kept me secret and safe. Fulfilled her promise to my father that she made so many years ago.
But now, she’s done her part. She’s done everything she could to allow me to live a normal life. To stay safe from those who’d try to take me away.
Those days, however, are done.
And now, my world is set to open in ways I could never have imagined.
23
I pack in secret. Essentials, nothing more. A few bits of clothing, toothbrush, the glasses that Mrs Carmichael gave me. And, of course, the picture of my parents, folded up as neatly as possible and deposited in the inside pocket of my jacket.
I don’t take much, partly because I don’t have much to take, and partly because, as far as I know it, I might well be right back here later tonight. My path ahead is far from clear. Truly, I’m running on nothing but instinct right now.
But there’s a drive in me to act, and not to just wait around here for Zander to rear his head. It’s been less that two days since we met, and yet I feel an urgency to take the next step. For my entire life, I’ve been consigned to the shadows, kept in the dark.
No longer. I’m seeking the light myself.
My guardian’s suspicions also need to be considered. Right now, I don’t really know anything about Zander other than what he told me, and having complete trust in strangers has always been something that Mrs Carmichael has warned against.
Seeing her contact, Walter, will help me confirm his story and association with the Nameless. It’s only prudent that I act upon her advice, given what she’s done for me.
I decide not to tell Tess. Confronting Mrs Carmichael and learning the truth was one thing. Immediately relaying it all to Tess would be another. Right now, I need to strike out with no distractions at all, and involving my best friend is only going to complicate things.
The same goes for Drum. I console myself with the thought that, should I be gone for long, he’ll be able to take some of the work left in my absence. But, like me, the last thing he needs are any distractions of his own.
I act as normally as I can manage that day, sticking to my room for the most part. Only when Tess has left the room to fetch some food am I able to prepare my departure, hastily packing away my things before hiding the bag under my bed should she return.
The removal of my parents’ picture will no doubt cause some confusion in her when she notices it’s no longer attached to the wall. By that point, however, I’ll be long gone, deep in the recesses of the northern quarter in my continued hunt for the truth.
I suppose I’ve always been a curious girl, although never to this extent. For years I’ve found myself wondering about a great many things about Inner Haven, the nature of the Savants, the truth about exactly what’s going on beyond the borders of this city.
Now, however, that curiosity has reached fever pitch, my own existence, my own past, thrust right into the centre of it all. It’s like a fire has been lit within me, the flames stoked and turned wild. My yearning for the truth – the full truth – is raging inside, a thirst only quenchable by venturing to some dangerous places.
And the northern quarter is most certainly that.
As the afternoon shifts along, and Tess once more disappears down into the common room, I decide to take my leave. Slipping my bag onto my back, I hastily wind down the stairs and head for the communal closet. I fetch my jacket, wrap myself up, and head for the building’s exit.
With a final look upon the academy, I take a breath and disappear onto Brick Lane, quickly swallowed up by the stream of people working their way up and down the narrow street.
I don’t look back as I work my way north, seeking the nearest boarding point for the Conveyor Line. There’s one handily situated at the top end of Brick Lane, a cluster of people queuing up to board as the standing transport slows at a certain juncture, allowing them to step on.
I join the back, and am quickly climbing aboard myself, heading off in a northerly direction. With the afternoon quickly subsiding, the streets begin to grow a little clearer as I journey on.
The boundaries separating the four quarters of Outer Haven aren’t immediately discernible. There’s no wall, for example, like the one separating us from Inner Haven. There are no checkpoints to clarify which part of the city you’re in.
Instead, there’s a distinct feel, or flavour, to each area. The south is mostly determined by its art and culture, by its relative wealth compared to the other quarters.
The west, where I reside, is the busiest residential area, the streets winding and bustling, filled with little trade shops and markets, and larger squares where the neon lights and advertising boards and giant holograms are at their most prominent.
The east, where the shape of the earth rises a little higher, is known for its manufacturing and industry, large swathes of it given over to the factories and warehouses that chug away, night and day, to create the food and other commodities that the residents of the city need.
Then there’s the north, characterised by its destitution and poverty, itself divided by its various districts. In the southern part of the quarter it’s largely residential, linking seamlessly with the tower blocks and other urban dwellings that dominate the western quarter. There, it’s relatively safe, if a little grim and dank and dirty, the neon glow of the advertising growing sparse and dim.
Go further north, however, and you’ll find yourself in an old industrial area, no longer in operation and long since abandoned. Up there, where the Disposables dwell, law and order barely functions, the place mostly forgotten and avoided by the residents of the city.
It’s a place I’ve never been, where remnants and relics of the old world still remain, the skeletons of ancient buildings still littering the cracked and broken streets. Venture there, and you’d better have a good reason. It isn’t a place for the faint of heart.
The change in the light grows apparent as I go, cruising along the Conveyor Line and into the southern districts of the north. As the daylight starts to fade, bringing the first signs of night, so do the advertising boards, thought to be useless around here. After all, no one has the money to buy the products they’re touting.
The multi-coloured drench that I’m so used to becomes non-existent, replaced by a dark grey palette that brings with it a threatening and ominous feel. A menacing atmosphere that only grows more foreboding the further north I travel.
Soon, however, the Conveyor Line swerves off eastwards, reaching its most northerly point. I step off, and look upon older lines and junctions that once spread right to the northernmost part of Outer Haven.
No more.
Now, they’re nothing but relics themselves, left to wither and die in much the same manner as the streets and districts they used to service.
I have no choice but to continue on foot, working my way through the gritty streets and towards district 5. As far as I know it, the black market remains hidden to those who don’t know about it, a necessary means to keep it concealed from the authorities.
Only from district 5 can you find the markings that will take you there, hidden in plain sight and only visible through the special lenses Mrs Carmichael provided.
The light continues to weaken as I go, the sun giving way to the moon and the grey sky to a black blanket of night. Around here, the streetlights are poorly maintained too, some
flickering or only emitting a faint glow, others not working at all.
The only saving grace appears to be the lack of cloud cover. Above, the night is clear, the stars and moon visible and providing some illumination on the streets.
Unfortunately, the market only operates after hours, necessitating this night-time venture. Still, the streets aren’t entirely absent of life, people lingering here and there, some of them perhaps searching, as I am, for the latest location of the market.
Given my lack of knowledge of the area, I have a little trouble knowing if and when I’m actually in district 5. Asking a few of the local residents turns out to be fruitless, no one willing to offer any aid to a girl like me.
Seeing this place for what it really is makes me value the work and care of Mrs Carmichael even more. And yet, so many who come through the academy will still end up around these parts, spat out here to the cesspool of the city to scratch a living in the dirt.
I wonder if I pass anyone I might have known from the past, or anyone who came before me. Over my lifetime at Carmichael’s, many have come and gone, some going on to live normal lives, others cast adrift when they’re unable to support themselves.
I think again of Drum, still so close to that particular precipice. Despite his size and strength, I doubt he’d survive long out here.
Given the looks I’m getting, I might not survive long either. As I continue to press on, asking passers by for my location, I get the distinct impression that I’m not wanted here. It’s as though they can tell I’m an outsider, drawn here for a specific purpose. I guess they have reason to be distrustful, given the treatment they’ve endured.
Still, I finally get a straight answer from an old woman, shuffling along the street, her back curved and hunched over.
“Yes…district 5,” she mutters without looking up, the warped shape of her back making such a thing impossible.
