The Sun Dwellers (20 page)

“I’m not sure,” I say. “Do they volunteer for that?”

“They’re not slaves,” Roc says. “Well, not technically. They’re servants, like I am…I mean, like I
was
. But they might as well be slaves. They don’t get paid, just fed and sheltered and clothed.”

“Why don’t they just leave?” Tawni asks, lowering her voice as we get closer to the back row of the crowd.

“It’s called a breach of contract under the law, punishable by being sent to the Lower Realms or by imprisonment—usually both. Wealthy sun dwellers travel to the Lower Realms to find servants. They promise them an extravagant lifestyle, easy jobs with lots of time off, gourmet food, things we could only ever dream about.”

“You mean, you were a moon dweller?” I ask.

Roc laughs. “My father’s father was a
star
dweller.” His laugh fades and he screws up his face, wincing slightly, as if he’s just been slapped. “I guess he’s not my father anymore,” he murmurs, staring off into space.

“So the man who raised you—his father was a star dweller?” I ask, trying to distract him from his dark thoughts.

“Exactly,” he says. “He was recruited by President Dervin Nailin to come and work as a servant for him.”

“Mine and Roc’s grandfather,” Tristan adds without turning around. Apparently he’s been listening to every word.

Tristan plows into the cheering crowd, jostling his way through. I dive after him, heavier things on my mind than bumping into a bunch of sun dwellers. As I swim through the sea of parade watchers, I notice something. These people seem different than the ones in subchapter eight. They’re less…
horrible
. At least that’s my initial impression. There are kids, for one, riding on their parents’ shoulders and laughing and craning their necks to see the next float coming down the street. And the adults seem more civilized and fully sober, cheering and making noise, yes, but in a much more respectful manner than the young partiers we came across in the last sun dweller city.

A different crowd.

Even their clothes are different, albeit still strange and unusual to me. The women wear long, elegant gowns in silvers and purples and greens, some sparkling, some shining, all beautiful. The men are in gray or white suits, the kind I’ve only seen people wearing on the telebox. In my subchapter you’d look ridiculous wearing a suit like that. But here it just seems normal. The kids are dressed like their mothers and fathers, their faces bright and cheerful as they dance with delight at the parade passing by. I wonder whether the people here are really bad, or just ignorant. On the face they don’t look bad, which gives me hope.

The throng parts momentarily and I have a good view of the parade. Girls wearing flowery dresses dance and wave flags over their heads and around them, fully synchronized. Behind them are men dressed in sun dweller red, riding horses, carrying rifles and wearing black hats.

My first thought is:
Horses!
And then:
Soldiers!
Instinctively, I duck, trying to get out of their sight.

But then Tristan’s by my side, holding my hand. “They’re not real,” he says, his lips practically touching my ear. “It’s just for show.”

My heart slows and my face goes warm.
Duh.
Of course all the real soldiers would be fighting in the war.

I gaze at the horses, having never seen the majestic animals in person before. They’re much bigger than they look on the telebox, their majestic heads held high above the heads of the people. Magnificent. That’s the only word to describe them. With lustrous black, brown, and white coats, they prance along, bucking their heads from side to side at the people lining either side of the street. Growing up, I always wanted to see the horses, especially after my grandmother read me a story about a girl and her horse, and the adventures they went on together. Why there are no horses in the Moon Realm, I do not know.

Tristan pulls me away from the parade just as a squad of smallish acrobats dressed in bright gypsy outfits appears, leaping and somersaulting and springing through the air. Watching the parade and the horses, I’ve almost forgotten why we’re here. There’s no time for fun when death awaits.

Due to the much thinner and more well-mannered crowd, we manage to make good time getting to the end of one of the longest streets I’ve ever seen. Three quarters of the way to the end, the line of people end, wrapping around a bend and onto another street, where the parade continues along. It’s weird walking along with just the five of us again, our voices naked in the hushed silence where the only sounds are distant and almost surreal. The road ends at a T. To the left is a sign that reads: To Nailin Tunnel, Spoke 3.

“We’re heading that way, right?” I say to Tristan.

“Yes. Once we get in the tunnel, it’s only a little over a mile to subchapter one.”

Roc adds, “This is called the Capital Cluster. It’s four subchapters—one through four—number one being in the center and the other three surrounding it. Subchapter one is connected to each of them by a separate tunnel, like the spokes of a wheel. The spokes have numbers, always one less than the subchapter they lead to.”

“Which is why we’re heading into Spoke 3 when we’re in subchapter four,” I say to confirm my understanding.

“Exactly,” Roc says.

“So if the trains aren’t running today the only way to get out of subchapter one will be…” I say.

“Through the tunnels,” Tristan says.

My heart sinks. In other words: once the alarms sound, the tunnels will be blocked and we’ll be trapped.

Tristan

I
hate seeing the look on Adele’s face when she realizes we don’t have an escape plan, when and if we complete our mission. But it only lasts a second before being replaced by narrow eyes and tight lips and a proud incline to her chin. I have the urge to kiss her right here, but the others are watching and now’s not really the time.

She understands the situation, so I don’t say anything more. Instead, I start down the road that leads to the tunnels, seeing no one. The entire subchapter is at the parade, enjoying the festivities like the rest of the sun dwellers, while the other two-thirds of the Tri-Realms fight for their lives. It disgusts me, although this is one of my favorite Sun Realm cities. The people here are kinder, less radical, a slightly older crowd, more family-oriented—but they’re still spoiled, just like everyone else up here.

The road runs right up to the cavern wall, which rises hundreds of feet above us, all the way to the diamond-studded roof. Cut into the rock is a massive tunnel, arched at the top and rectangular at the bottom, wide enough for a hundred men to walk side by side, and tall enough for a dozen people or more to stand on each other’s shoulders, if they were into that sort of thing.

As we enter the gaping tunnel mouth, Adele cranes her neck, as if she wants to watch herself being swallowed whole by the earth. “Will we run into any sun dwellers in here?” she asks to the tunnel roof.

“If we do we can just
blend in
anyway,” Trevor says. “In these digs I fit right in.”

“It’s unlikely we’ll see anyone,” I say. “As Roc said earlier, most people will stay in their own city for the Sun Festival. It’s kind of a tradition, like people are proud of the celebration their subchapter comes up with. They’re always trying to outdo each other.”

Nodding, Roc motions to the wide expanse of the tunnel. “On any other day, the tunnel would be pretty much full from side to side, end to end. People in the Capital Cluster frequently travel to the Capital and back again, either for work, shopping, or entertainment,” he says.

“I’m glad it’s not any other day,” Adele says. “I’ve had about enough of large crowds for my entire life.”

“I don’t know,” Tawni says. “I kind of enjoyed it.”

“Me, too,” Trevor says. “Although I had the urge to smack most of ’em around.”

I laugh, my voice echoing through the empty tunnel. “I know the feeling.”

We walk in silence for a few minutes, the orange tunnel lights pulling our shadows forward, back, and then forward again. It’s a wonder this group ever runs out of things to say, especially with Trevor around.

“Where should we stop?” Roc says.

“Stop?” I echo.

“To tell your BIG
secret
,” Trevor says, over-exaggerating his words. “Or have you chickened out?”

Ugh. Yes. I might feel more comfortable if I had any clue how they would react. Especially Adele—her reaction worries me the most. It doesn’t help that I’ve kept it from her this long. I swallow a thick gulp of spittle, which only adds to my nervousness.

“Uh, yeah. I mean no. I mean I’m going to tell you. I have to.”

“Where?” Roc repeats, glancing to the side as we pass the doors to a rest stop meant for the oldies, who can’t make it the whole way through the tunnel without stopping to use the bathroom or rest their legs.

“Maybe at the next stop,” I say, trying to delay as long as possible.

“I think there’s only one left,” Roc says.

“That’ll do,” I say, my mind whirling through what I want to say, how I want to say it. It’s like all the information is there, but is broken into a million pieces, none of which I can make sense of, or which fit together. As I desperately try to connect the facts, they disappear, as if my memory’s been wiped. My palms start to sweat. My lips are dry. My mind’s a black hole, empty of logical thought. I’d rather face my father in a fight to the death a hundred times over than tell the truth I’ve hidden to those I know it will hurt the most.

“Last rest stop is just ahead,” Roc says, and my head jerks to the side, my eyes locking in on the doors I dread opening, the doors that might change my relationship with Adele forever. Where did the last few minutes go? It’s like I blinked and we were a quarter mile further along the track, some trick of time and distance. My face is hot and my chest tight, my breathing short and shallow. What is wrong with me? Step up and be a man. I’ve faced much graver dangers than this—dangers that threatened my life and the lives of those I care about—and yet I’m much more scared now.

“I’m ready,” I say, not to them, but to myself, trying to convince myself that I am.

We reach the doors and I stop, just stare at them. They’re the exact opposite of how I’m feeling: bright pink and blue striped with ornate carvings of a city—the Capital, the presidential buildings, a statue of the first Nailin president. A happy and light scene leading the way to a tale of darkness and the unfairness of the world my father controls.

“Are we…going in?” Trevor says from behind, a verbal kick in the butt.

I want to move aside, to let Roc or Adele or anyone else open the door, but I know I have to do this myself; by opening these doors I’m metaphorically opening the door to what Roc and I know. The door to the truth.

I take a deep breath. Take a step forward. Place a hand on the door.

Then I’m in, having pushed the door open without even really realizing it, holding it for the others behind me.

Once everyone’s inside, I let the door swing shut behind me. We’re in a sanctuary of sorts. A sanctuary from the sun dwellers, from the tunnel that leads to our destiny, from my father. The room has brown wooden floors and crimson matted walls. Table lamps light a plush seating area with a half dozen couches and chairs. A second door leads off to an area marked as a bathroom.

“This is the nicest room I’ve ever seen,” Trevor announces, which doesn’t help me at all. Just another example of inequality in the world we live in.

“You should all sit down for this,” I say, motioning to the couches. I wonder how the seating positions will end up. Naturally, Roc and Tawni sit together on a black two-seater, Trevor grabs a solo lounge chair, immediately resting his feet on a cushioned ottoman, and Adele snags the end of a large couch, clearly inviting me to join her.

I sit down next to her, but keep a space between us, leaving it up to her whether to eventually fill the gap. I take in the four faces watching mine. Tawni looks interested, Roc serious, Trevor amused, and Adele uncertain, her expression neutral, with clear eyes, her brows raised slightly, her lips as straight as a sword.

“Do you want me to participate?” Roc asks, a kind offer, one I know I must reject.

“Thanks, but no. All your information is secondhand, whereas I’ve experienced it.” Roc nods, as if he already knew what my answer would be and agrees: it has to be me.

“We shouldn’t linger too long,” Adele says softly, pushing me to get started. She slides her hand into the space between us, palm up. An offer.

I meet her eyes, thankful for the gesture, and then place my hand atop hers, embarrassed by the moisture on my skin. I take another deep breath but it catches as a lump forms in my throat. My body’s rebelling against me, I think.

“Where do I start?” I say under my breath, trying to gather up all the crap in my mind and turn it into a coherent thought.

“From the beginning,” Adele suggests, raising an eyebrow.

Yes. The beginning…which is where exactly?

My fifteenth birthday. My father’s gift. Not a new sword or a trip to the Sandy Oasis or a new dress tunic, but a revelation.