Eden (16 page)
Authors: Kate Wrath
Bloody, red water, cut through with fins, churning.
"Is that—" I squeak, thinking I might faint, but
she cuts me off.
"Not yet." Her voice is so light, like none of
this is happening. Like she's showing me something normal. Something benign.
"They've baited the water to call the Moirai."
I swallow, unable to answer.
She puts her arm around my shoulders. "You will
understand again."
I shake my head, turning my face to her. "I don't know
if I will ever understand this."
The soft smile touches her lips again. "You've just
been to some of the other cities."
I nod.
"What were they like?"
Images flood through my mind—squalor, violence, a sense of
suffocation.
"I lived in Tampa when I was a child," she says.
"We shared a flat with six other families. I didn't know anything
different, so I wasn't unhappy with it. But when one of the other children
came down with the sleeping sickness, it went through all of us. One of the
women and I were the only ones who survived."
My eyes flick across her face.
"You see," she says easily, turning to look again
into the water, "it's better this way. We all have a better life. And
death would come for us one way or another."
I swallow again, closing my eyes. I want to understand—want
to honor this woman's sacrifice—but there's more to the world than what she
knows. Outside the barriers, open sky, endless forests, fresh water and
plentiful game.... What would she think if she could catch a glimpse of my
memories? Would it change her decision? I consider, for a moment, telling
her. Telling all of them. Would it stop them from what they're about to do?
Would I be responsible for a new kind of revolution?
Jonas' voice flows around me, halting my thoughts and making
me turn toward him. He's surrounded by a group of our tribespeople. They rest
their hands on him, and he speaks wishes over them. Their faces are rapt—they
are caught in this moment with him, absorbed in a last instant of joy. Jonas
is able to give that to them, and it makes me want to give it to them, too.
I turn back toward them, walk into the crowd, and they come
to me, ready to receive my final blessings. We hold hands, we touch shoulders,
and I whisper to them all the things I have heard them say.
Thank you for
your sacrifice. We will remember you. In your place, there will be sky and
sunshine
. These phrases absorb me, familiar and strange at the same time.
There's a tugging inside me—an outpouring of emotion. It can't be all me,
because the unease is only a filmy blanket over a growing mass of pride, of
gratitude. By the time that the actual event is ready to take place, I'm wearing
someone else's feelings entirely. Our tribesmates move to the edge of the
bridge, step up onto the small ledge, and join hands, looking down into the
water. There is silence, soft like the air, as thousands of hearts drum out
their final beats.
Jonas and I stand behind them. His hand finds mine and
clings to it, bringing a swell of joy. I glance at his face, expecting
something, though I'm not sure what. But Jonas' jaw is set with an iron
reserve. A tremble moves through his arm, and I'm suddenly sure that we are
not experiencing the same thing at all. But I don't have time to focus on him,
because these...
our
people... are about to give us the ultimate gift.
The woman I spoke with earlier stands in front of us, facing
the water. "Thank you," I whisper, one last time. Not a repetition
of phrase, but something my heart wants to express. She glances back at me and
nods, then faces the water.
My eyes scan down the line of them... past our tribe to the
long span of bodies along the edge of the bridge. This is Miami united in one
purpose, and today, black stars or not, none of these people are my enemies. I
am proud of them all, immersed in thankfulness and something as poignant as
sorrow but full of peace. My eyes move down the line, one by one, trying to
touch each of them, to whisper silent wishes for every soul. I'm looking
several tribes over when my gaze freezes on one man.
He's dark as strong coffee, with close-cropped black hair,
just turning grey at the temples. Tall, wiry, and clearly strong, though not
bulky. There's something about him—something that makes me stop breathing.
And, as though he can feel my eyes on him, he turns his face away from the
water, and looks over his shoulder, down the long line of people, directly at
me.
My lips part, a tiny movement that expresses the jolt of
feeling inside me. I want to drop Jonas' hand and run down the line. Abandon
everything to be there at that man's side right now. But a voice rises on the
wind—a word, a signal. Time is up. The dark man smiles—there's so much light
in that smile—turns his face back to the water, and jumps. They all jump.
Below us, there is one massive splash as the line of bodies
hits the water together. I can't see through my tears. Can't breathe. I'm
gasping, sputtering. Jonas' arms are around me, clutching me to him, steadying
me. He pulls me hard against his chest and holds onto me for a moment, and
from the way he is shaking, it's as much to steady himself as it is to steady
me.
When I'm able to, I pull away from him and move to the edge
of the bridge, gaze down into the water.
"Eden, don't—" Jonas tries, but he's too late.
My eyes find the mass of people—some whole, treading water,
waiting for their turn, and some in pieces already. The red stain has grown to
fill this whole stretch of bay. Fate cuts through the water, massive, and
razor-sharp. I expect to feel disgust, trepidation—and maybe on some level I
do—but for the most part, I feel awe. And gratitude—yes, the gratitude is
still there. I watch the spectacle below me for long moments, experiencing it
from a distance, or maybe through someone else's eyes. It's enough to leave me
shaking, whatever the reason. When I finally turn away from the water, I lean
against the railing, trying to breathe.
Jonas has turned away, now, attempting to deal with this in
his own way. As my heart begins to slow, I'm swarmed with all kinds of
emotions, trying to make sense of what has just happened. More than anything,
I want to talk to Apollon. My eyes rise toward the crowd in the stands,
searching for him, though I know he won't be there. Maybe some part of me
hopes that he'll have changed his mind, decided to come after all. My eyes fly
over face after face, hunting for my tribe. And there, in one of the front
rows of the stands, they land on someone tall and blonde. Across the distance,
I lock eyes with him. But... that's not Apollon.
There's a moment, an abstracted moment, where the universe
seems to move through me. Shifting, changing—some awareness that comes in a
full rush, and then is gone. Like the kind of dream where you discover
something vitally important, and then wake unable to remember what it was. I'm
standing there trying to grasp what just flew through my fingers, when Jonas'
hand closes around my upper arm.
"Eden," he murmurs, "are you OK?"
I look at him, nodding. When my eyes hit his face, I
remember him. I'm overwhelmed with concern for him, strangely aware of the
ordeal he has just been through, as if some part of me experienced the horror
of it with him. "I'm fine," I whisper. "I was just looking for
Apollon. I know he didn't come, but...." My gaze flicks back into the
stands—to the blur of shuffling people. They're all mixing, moving, on their
way out. Whoever I was looking at, he's gone now.
"Don't blame him for not coming," he says, moving
me toward the crowd. "I'm sorry you had to go through this. But I
promise you, it's never going to happen again." There's a darkness and a
certainty in his voice. A frightening certainty.
The child's eyes shine, but she doesn't cry. She stands
proudly before the long line of people as they place gifts—large and small—at
her feet. The pile is growing, as are the piles before the others. They are
the families of those who have sacrificed, and now we honor their loss with
gifts. But most of them are in groups—most of them have each other. This
child stands alone, small against the backdrop of the world.
It makes me think of things—a lot of things. Of Oscar, but
also, now, of Jonas. There’s a story I heard them telling, earlier, and I
sidled up beside the group to listen. Today is a day for stories. For
remembering, and telling. Mostly, the stories are about the dead. But Jason
was their hero. Their great and unlikely champion. And in some ways, he is
dead to them.
They say, at twelve years old, he won the dangerous Contest
that would name him the next leader of Wynwood. He did this in his father’s
place, after his father was murdered in his sleep by a group of would-be
opponents. His mother had died of the flu the prior year. So Jason was an
orphan, too. He was alone, just like Oscar.
Why does this mean so much? Why do these thoughts run so
deep?
A hand touches my arm, soft, lingering. I glance to the
side to see its owner. Celine.
"What will happen to her?" I ask, turning my eyes
again to the child.
"Someone will gift her with a new family. She won't be
alone."
For a moment, I watch the line of people, wondering who it
will be. What if none of them do? What if everyone expects someone else to do
it?
"Don't get any ideas," Celine murmurs.
My eyes widen as they flick to her face. "No
way." But that
is
what I was thinking, isn't it? I just can't do
that. Can't
be
that. My thoughts, as always, turn to Oscar. What if
there was someone in the world kind enough to take him in? To offer him a new
home?
A soft snort escapes Celine's nose. "Good," she
says. "We don't need any more strays." But after she says it, she
looks away, like she's fighting down some feeling that threatens to overwhelm
her.
I don't have the emotional capacity to decipher her moods
right now. My own is heavy, ardent. A raw grief has opened inside of me. I
feel that I should put it down, that it's not appropriate, but I'm incapable.
It's for these people. For the huge loss of life, and empathy for those who
have lost family members, friends. But flashes of that face intersperse
themselves in the present. The way he smiled before he jumped. Why did he
smile? Why did he look at me? He knew me—of course he did. He knew
Lily
.
Coincidence could explain it, a fleeting glance at a stranger—a smile in the
unity of the event—but no. I felt it. Felt her. And I'm feeling everything
now. Too, too much. I can't make it stop—the feeling, the strangeness—the
overwhelming sensation that I was not myself. I want to put away all the
puzzles. To put Lily away. To let go of that, or to embrace it. To be
anything but in between. In between will tear me apart.
"Have you seen Apollon?" I murmur.
Celine's eyebrow cocks.
I sigh and pull away from her. "I'm going to go find
him."
"You should be at Jason's side right now," she
says, catching my arm again.
Maybe I should, but I don't care. The air itself seems
heavy with pressure. It's all compounding, pressing inward, threatening to
crush me. I need to be away from all of this. I need to escape. And the only
escape I can think of is Apollon.
***
His arms are a shelter, lifting the weight of the world.
There is lightness, and happiness, and understanding. He's pain medicine for
my soul.
Apollon extracts me from the hug and holds my shoulders at
arm's length, sighing. His brow furrows with concern. "Are you OK?"
"I'm a raging mess," I mutter, turning away and
lazily kicking at a wooden box that lies on the floor of his tent.
"Well, yeah," he says. "But I meant the
thing
.
Was it horrible? Do you want a drink?"
"Hell yes." I nudge the box into place and sit on
it. "I would love a drink."
"They really like their rum here," he says,
holding up a bottle. He uncorks it, takes a swig, and passes it to me.
Nothing as fancy as cups in Apollon's tent.
I take a long pull at the bottle, then pass it back as he
perches on the edge of another crate in front of me.
We look at each other for a moment.
"I don't want to talk about it," I say.
He shrugs, takes a drink, and passes the bottle back. After
I take another drink, he asks, "How about the dreams?"
"I don't want to talk about anything."
"Fair enough."
So we pass the bottle back and forth for a few moments.
Footsteps at the tent entrance make me look over my
shoulder, expecting an interruption from one of my guards.
"Jack!" I beam. I can't believe how happy I am to
see him.
He gives me that uncertain, shifty-eyed smile—that awkward-squirrel
grin. He walks forward, but stops. There are only two crates, and we have
occupied them.
I scoot over and nod at my side. Jack sits
shoulder-to-shoulder with me. I pass him the bottle.
Apollon gives me a look—amused, disapproving, totally approving.
Did I really just give Jack a bottle of rum? I grin back at him as Jack takes
a swig. Apollon laughs. Jack sputters on the rum, then laughs, too, though
I'm not sure he has any idea what he's laughing about. I love the sound of
their laughter, two strands of music drawing in a third. The thread unravels
from my heart, a wisp floating into the wind of the universe.
***
A hand on my shoulder rouses me, though I really don't want
to be roused. I groan, clamping my eyes against a world that is excessively
bright.
"Here. Sit up." Jonas' voice is also louder than
it needs to be, though I'm pretty sure the effect is coming from inside my
head.
I manage to sit, blinking, hanging my head. He presses a
cool glass of water into my hand. After a moment of trying to convince my arm
to function, I raise the glass to my lips and drink. The liquid spills down my
parched throat. I wish I could immerse my whole body in it, especially my
head. I lower the glass and close my eyes, resting.
"I have to go," Jonas says, clearly keeping his
voice quiet for my benefit. "I just wanted to make sure you were
OK." He rises from the edge of the bed.
"Hold on." I blink and squint, turning my face to
him. My eyes feel puffy. "Where are you going?"
"Don't worry about it," he says, waving me off as
he heads for the door. "Get some more rest."
I open my mouth to protest, but he's already out the door.
His footsteps carry back to me as he hurries down the stairs.
I frown and move to the edge of the bed, swinging my legs
over the side. My head thuds as though my brain has just run into my forehead,
and my stomach protests the sudden movement. I stop, bracing myself with one
arm, clinging to the glass with the other hand. A sudden memory rushes in,
dreamlike, confusing, broken in bits and pieces, but exceedingly uncomfortable.
Me. Darkness. I'm drunk as piss, stumbling my way home in
the middle of the night.
There was something else. It's fuzzy.
Kobee's hand is on my arm, his face in mine. "Let's
get this straight," he's saying. "You belong to Jason. You will
always belong to Jason." I don't like the threat in his voice, but I'm
too scattered to do anything about it. He's not alone, either. Tank is with
him. Maybe someone else, too. It's all too dark, too fragmented.
Did I say something back? I must have. I can grasp the
feelings, my defiance, but not the words. Were there even any words? If I had
any chance of remembering, the rush of embarrassment wipes it away. My face is
hot. I climb to my feet and slam the glass of water down on the table, lean on
the wooden surface, gripping its edges. My teeth are grinding, anger burning
hot in my core. I'm so fucking sick of everyone telling me who to be. And
even sicker of not knowing who I am.
The need to confront Kobee shifts swiftly. I want to
confront Lily. I want to track her down and scream at her for doing this to
me.
But Lily's just a ghost. Isn't she?
***
Hastily composed, I burst out onto the terrace, ready to
send heads rolling if anyone glances at me the wrong way. I stop two steps
out, suddenly aware that I've walked straight into a meeting—one I wasn't
invited to. Everyone seems to be here—all the Council, and a group of men I
haven't seen before, at least not to my knowledge.
One of the men, a tall, shaved meathead with spots on his
long face, is in the middle of a sentence. He hesitates, glancing at me, and
continues, "...not the way it should be done."
Jonas' eyes stay on the man, ignoring me entirely as I walk
to his side. "Things change." His voice rings with authority.
"I've changed things before, and I'll change them again. It's not for you
to question my decisions."
Some of the Council grunt. Some nod. Some of the other men
look uncertain, but mostly, they look stubborn.
I cross my arms and stare them down. I don't like the
tension in the air.
"This is a joke," the long-faced man snorts. He
spreads his hands to the open air. "Does anyone here believe that these
two are anything like Jason and Lily?"
Uneasiness and anger flash across the circle of faces, but I
beat all of them to the response. I have my finger out, and I'm stalking
toward the man to jab him in the chest. "How dare you? How fucking dare
you?"
His eyes widen as he takes the jab. He's a head taller than
me, and twice as thick, but he looks scared.
"This is exactly what I planned," I hiss, glaring
up at him. "I went to bring Jason back, and I did it. I made that choice
with all my memories, knowing exactly what the consequences would be. Did you
come and question me before?"
His answer is a series of startled blinks.
"Did he?" I turn to the rest of them, hands open.
Spec answers flatly. "Nope."
"Why not?" I turn back to the man, raising one
eyebrow.
He says nothing, but his face is burning red now.
Moses answers this time. "Because you would have sent
him packing."
I cross my arms and give the guy a slow, dangerous smile.
"I'm pretty sure I have less patience than the Lily you remember. I'm
pretty sure that all the hell I've been through has left me with very...
little... tolerance... for people like you."
His eyes narrow on my face, his voice dropping low as he
leans forward. "You may have thought you were bringing him
back...." His eyes flick toward Jonas. "But you didn't." He
smiles, turns, and walks away. All the extra men follow after him.
I watch them until they disappear down the stairs, at which
point my dark thoughts are interrupted by a singular slow clapping.
"Classic Lily," Kobee beams, still putting his
hands together in applause.
I turn my eyes on him. "You can go fuck yourself,
Kobee." I shake my head dismissively as I walk past him.
"Dick."
I'm at the top of the stairs, with guards falling in behind
me, when I hear him say, "You might want to get your psycho bitch under
control, Jason."
Rage flares and burns out to be replaced by laughter. I
turn my face to the sky and laugh as I amble down the stairs.
***
I've spent the day wandering Wynwood, checking out things I
should have checked out days ago. Mostly, it was an excuse to walk and think.
There are so many things to think about. The typical end to my thinking was
Apollon's tent... but I found Jonas there. Now, he and I stroll toward home
together, taking our time in the cool evening air. It's good to let everyone
see us like this. At leisure. Apparently careless. We chat about the
day—about nothing and everything. I sink into the easiness of it, wishing it
could all be so simple.
But when we close the door of our apartment, the heaviness
overtakes us both. For a moment, we become silent. I sink into a kitchen
chair, and Jonas takes one near me.
He sighs. The silence stretches out for another moment.
"That was no victory this morning." I figure we
may as well get our thoughts out there and be done with it.
He nods. "I know."
"Who were those guys, anyway?"
He shrugs. "Some of the ones who are opposing us.
That was McCain. I guess he's the one behind most of it, now that Kobee's on
our side."
I snort.
Jonas gives me a look. "You don't have to make an
enemy out of him, you know."
"I'm pretty sure Kobee's always been my enemy."
He shakes his head, looking tired. "He respects you
more than he lets on."
"That's not saying much," I point out.
"Kobee is yours. They're all yours. I’m pretty sure you already figured
that out, though, Mr. Unbreakable Bond."
Ignoring my jab, he shakes his head. "You left Kobee
in charge when you... went away."
"And what do you want to bet I had to? It was a
political move. Clearly he and I don't see eye to eye."
"It doesn't matter," Jonas says. "You
shouldn't alienate him now. We need him."
"I don't need him."
His eyes flick up to meet mine.
"I only wanted to stay because I thought I could find
Oscar."
He opens his mouth, but I'm not through yet.
"You've pointed out the fallacy in my plan. You're
right." I swallow the lump in my throat. "There's nothing here that
can help me."
He looks away, starts to shake his head, then looks back at
me. He scoots his chair closer, grabs the bottom edge of mine on either side
of my legs, and pulls me toward him. With his hands still on my chair, he's
leaning in. He looks into my eyes from inches away. "I want to stay
here," he says. "I want
us
to stay here. We have to do this
thing... take down the Sentries. Once we've done that, I'll go anywhere you
want. Anywhere in the world. You decide."