Authors: Kate Wrath
Eden (31 page)
There is a beginning and an end. Sometimes they are the
same.
I stand barefoot in the strip of sand at the edge of the
ocean, feeling against my empty fingers the last touch of the rough wood, the
funeral pyre that slipped from beneath my hand, the soul that went with it.
Laid out in white, nested in tropical blossoms, my brother's peaceful body is
licked by rising flames as the waves push, push, push it further from the
shore. I watch silently, one amongst a quiet mass. A whole tribe wearing salt
tears. The sky speaks for us, rolling and grey and flashing. The world moans
its grief.
West stands beside me, his shoulders caved forward. He is
empty. As empty as I've ever seen anyone. He has no strength to cry.
I squat down on the beach and run my fingers through the cool,
damp sand, my eyes on the now-distant fire. After a moment, I ease myself the
rest of the way down, leaning onto my palm, and fold my legs in a crisscross.
Hands on my legs, I sigh. I forget everything—all the others—and it's just me
watching the flames until they are gone. Even then I sit, forever until
everyone else has left. I'm alone with the grieving sky. My heart makes
thunder, rolling thunder. Sorrow and restlessness caress my face and slip
their fingers through my hair. The rain is there—heavy, heavy, heavy in the
clouds—but it doesn't fall.
There is a beginning and an end. Sometimes an end is a
beginning. A beginning of the end of everything.
***
The spaces of silence are not countable. Not always there,
but mostly there. I place my grief in them, hoping it will stay.
A balm of healing sunshine is on my shoulders, the sky blue
and vibrant. I sit on the roof outside my brother's home. Apparently it was
my home, too. I have a room there—an untouched room. Debris scatters across the
floor, and on the long line of windows 'Wynwood' is scrawled in blood—dark and
flaking after all this time, but still legible. I'm not ready to hear the
story. One glimpse of the room was story enough.
My mind sweeps away into dark imaginings, taking me for a
ride I don't want to go on. I close my eyes against the must-have-beens.
Stubbornly refuse. No. Not my Jonas. That was someone else. Someone who is
gone.
It's a pointless struggle. I lost this battle with one
fleeting realization that now plagues me. One glimpse of truth. Jonas
knew
.
He knew because Celine told him. Or Spec or Kobee. It doesn't matter. But he
knew, and he chose not to tell me. Looking back, it's so clear. I can see
through him. The nervousness. The pushing to leave the past behind. He could
have explained—tried to explain, but he didn't. And my journal.... Was it
really an accident? Did it simply fall into the water?
I wince and try to pull myself out of these conspiracies.
It's too much. Jonas wouldn't. He wouldn't.
I drum my fingers on my leg.
Would he?
A stripe of shade falls over my lap. I blink and look up.
Apollon's face is in shadow, his golden hair waving on the breeze, outlined in
the sun's metallic shimmer. "Hey," he says, dropping to his knees
beside me, then settling in to a more comfortable position.
I manage a small smile. "Hey, you."
We listen for a moment, like the sun and the breeze and the
blue sky and the silence have so much to tell us.
Finally, Apollon shifts. "Have you decided?"
I turn my face to the distance, though the wall around the
roof blocks everything but sky. "I'm staying. At least for now."
But I was never staying, was I? I was always going to find Oscar. Only
this... this
place
.
He doesn't answer, at first. He fiddles with a small piece
of something he picked off the roof. "What does West have to say about
that?"
I turn my face back to my friend. "He wants me to
stay."
Apollon's eyebrows go up. "Really?"
I nod, my eyes trailing from his face to his hands, to his
feet, to the rooftop. "He agrees that it's the best thing for me. Says
that Kade was right." I hesitate, unable to say more about the things
that I've tried so hard not to think about. I push onward. "He says I
don't have to decide about Brickell right away." My eyes drop.
"About ruling, I mean."
Apollon frowns, like something I've said doesn't make much
sense, but whatever it is, he doesn't bring it up.
"Thank you." I look up and meet his eyes, hoping
he can see all the gratitude in mine. "For coming with me. For being
here." I reach out and place my hand over his, tears welling up in my
eyes. All the emotion makes it difficult to speak, but I continue, despite the
way my throat tightens and my voice trembles. "I couldn't have done this without
you. I really couldn't have."
Apollon pulls me into a hug just as the tears begin to
fall. He pets the back of my head, his chin tucking onto my shoulder.
"You can’t get rid of me that easily."
I laugh and sniffle, drawing away.
He wipes a tear from my cheek and we share the tenderest of
smiles.
But my gaze drops, because the next part is one of the
hardest things.
"Charlie promised to see you safely back in
Wynwood," I blurt out before I can fail—before I can dwell on the
difference between
see you later
and
goodbye
. "Whenever
you're ready to go." And I look away. I can't look at him. I don't want
to know if he's ready. No. Not yet. Please, not yet.
Apollon doesn't answer.
Finally, I have to look at him. And he's just looking at
me.
"I'm not going back," he says, casually, like it's
nothing.
"What?" My legs shift beneath me. "You have
to. You can't..."
But Apollon is shaking his head.
I look at him like he's nuts, like I'm deeply concerned for
his mental stability, like I can't believe him.
He smiles at me.
I blink slowly. "...But... No. No." I shake my
head vehemently. "This isn't about you. It's my messed-up life. It
doesn't have anything to do with you." Out of all the things in the world
I never wanted to do, coming between Jonas and Apollon was at the top of the
list. Even now, with anger and hurt swirling inside me, I refuse to drag
Apollon into it with me. "You have to go back. Jonas—he's your best
friend in all the world."
Apollon lets out one soft laugh, looking at the ground, shaking
his head slightly. His eyes move up to my face. "Jonas will always be my
friend," he says. "We're like brothers." He leans forward and
places his hand on top of mine. "But you...
You're
my best friend
in all the world. Idiot."
I'm laughing as I tackle him with the hugest of hugs. He's
not ready for it, and we tumble half-sideways, half-backward. My elbow slams
into the rough pavement of the rooftop with enough force to rip a bloody gash,
and his head takes a knock, but neither of us care, because even in moments of
acute pain there can be joy. Death and loss, separation, confusion, and
despair can be carried away—for a moment, at least—by the lightness of a
friend's laughter.
***
Charlie and I stand on a bridge countless stories in the
air, suspended between two skyscrapers. The city sprawls away, far below our
feet, making me sure I could leap right over the horizon. I lean on the
railing, looking out over the city toward Wynwood, and sigh wistfully—but part
of it is breathlessness. The height has me feeling dizzy, wobbly-legged. I
suppose, eventually, if I stay long enough, I'll get used to it. But maybe
Charlie's news didn't help.
"The Contest? I don't understand. Does that mean he's
stepping down?"
"Not exactly," Charlie says, leaning one elbow on
the railing. "They say he's competing."
I blink and look at him. "I thought that was against
the rules. That you could only be in it once."
Charlie offers a disinterested shrug. "Dunno. We do
things differently here. From what I understand, most people don't make it out
to compete in
anything
."
"It doesn't even make sense," I say, trying to
puzzle it out. "Why would he step down and then be part of the
Contest?" If Jonas is entering, then he has to still mean to rule
Wynwood. But then why have the Contest at all? They must have forced his hand—McCain
and all his groupies. It can't be good for Jonas that his ticket to destroying
the Sentries has up and abandoned him. I refuse to feel guilty, though. Funny
how guilt doesn't really listen to refusals. And what if Jonas
doesn't
make it out? Is this my fault? Should I try to stop him? Or is it all a ploy
to bring me back? To bring the chip in my head back?
I sigh again, this time with fierce exasperation. Can't
anything ever be straight-forward?
"Look," Charlie says, and even though he's kind of
scary-looking—sharp-eyed, brawny, a few too many scars—there's something about
him that makes me feel safe. Understood, even. "None of that is your
problem. Right now, you just need to worry about you."
I sigh again, turning around and leaning my back on the
railing. "...I know..."
There's a long silence.
Charlie pushes himself away from the railing, his voice and
mannerisms changing, more upbeat. "Hey, did you—" He stops and
squints at me. "You're bleeding."
I roll my eyes, shoving myself away from the railing to walk
with him. My hand flies to my elbow. "Stupid thing. I keep knocking the
scab loose on everything."
Charlie shakes his head. "No. Here." He reaches
out to the side of my face, touches my ear. His fingers come away with blood.
I swallow, take a deep breath, and smile. "...Yeah, I
scratched that the other day, too." I start walking, moving past him,
despite the pounding in my chest and the way I feel ever-so-slightly
off-balance. "I guess I'm just a mess."
Charlie wipes his hand on his pants as he follows along
after me. "You're home now. A little rest, and you'll be as good as
new."
I flash him a grin over my shoulder. "It's good to be
home."
End of Book Three
This is the dangerous book. Don't read it unless you're
sure.
You're here. You've gone to some length to find it. You've
done this despite my warnings.
You must think you're sure.
I ask you one more time. Are you?
Here's the thing: You can never unread this. Not knowing
it is a gift. If you want to know for curiosity's sake, it's not worth it. If
you think knowing your past will fulfill some deep need, will make you whole...
you are dead wrong. You want to know me? Then I tell you this. Trust
yourself. Live, and find happiness. Out there. Not in here. In here, you
will only find pain.
There is only one reason to read this book. Do not turn the
page unless you've brought it back.
Once, his name was Jason.
This is the last time I'm going to warn you. If you haven't
found him, you have to stop reading now. If you haven't found him, reading
this is a complete betrayal of everything I've done for you.
If you haven't found him, you will regret this. Turn back.
Burn this book. Do it before you lose the will.
I promise you. There is only one reason.
The
Meeting
OK, then.
For a long time, I thought about where to begin. Should I
tell you about growing up? About Mom and Dad? About Kade? Maybe you know
something about that already now. Or maybe you want to know. This story is
not really about all that. There is only one beginning that makes any sense.
Only one that matters.
It was a hot afternoon in August. I was eleven. All arms
and legs. Still very much a child.
I scampered across the rooftops after Kade. In case you
don't know, he's my brother. Or was. When he heard what happened, there was a
letter that said, Lily, come home. For a moment, I considered it. But as I
have said, there is no turning back.
There was only one path for me, after it happened. And now
there is you.
How strange to think of you reading this. A fleeting hope.
In truth, I believe these words will sit in the dark until time destroys them.
Moisture. Rot. I have so little hope. Hope, you see, invites more pain.
I've had enough.
But you'll see, soon enough.
The story was a hot day in August. I was young. I had no
idea. The things that lay ahead of me were more beautiful than I could
imagine. But only for a time.
They say everything must end.
Some endings are soft like feathers. Some fade into silence
that in itself is beautiful. Some are gentle. You see them coming. You are
slowed gradually. Your body has time to adapt to the change. Are they
easier? I don't know.
My ending was like suicide. Too soon.
My ending was a brick wall in the face.
Mind. Body. Soul. I was robbed.
There was nothing left.
But it was August. It was hot. I was young. I had no
idea.
I scampered across the rooftop after Kade. Each of his
steps were like two of mine. Behind me were West, Sam, Razor, and Charlie, all
in a line. They were tall, and built, and tireless. I'd been running for
blocks to keep the pace, but I didn't mind. I loved to run.
Kade finally stopped in the center of the roof and nodded to
the edge. West and I assembled at his side. The others spread out to the
edges, steady, prowling, checking everything out. They were there to protect
us.
I stood and looked up at Kade and West. Both of them were
slick with sweat, skin glistening. West was wearing a hat that shaded his
face, his blonde hair spilling out from under it. He was sensible. Not like
Kade and me. I touched my head, where my hair was hot above my little
ponytail, and thought of Mom. I could hear her voice telling us we were going
to fry our brains. Kade glanced down at me, and I could see in his eyes that
he could hear her, too. West, as much as he knew us, was oblivious to this
subtle communication between siblings. I looked away from Kade and smoothed
back the strands of hair that had escaped. I adjusted the strap on my
sungoggles. I fidgeted. I had to get the fidgeting out before they got there.
Now West looked down at me and ruffled one hand on top of my
head, undoing everything I'd just done. "Ready, Lil?"
"I'm always ready," I said, pushing his hand away.
Kade made a noise in his throat. But he said, "She's
right. She always is."
Looking over the left edge, Charlie made a hand signal. A
pause. Another signal. They were coming.
"C'mon," Kade said, leading us fifteen paces
across the roof. Razor and Charlie flanked the door that led up from below,
and Sam moved behind us, nodding to me. He wore mirrored sungoggles. The
shimmer of summer played between the silver of his goggles and his glistening
chocolate skin. Sam always made intimidating look beautiful. I wanted to be
just like him. His fingers twitched, but did not reach for the gun tucked into
his waistband. I looked away, toward the door, confident that he had our
backs. He had always protected us, ever since the fire. Razor and Charlie
were good, but Sam was our real lifeline out there in the No-Man's.
Silence descended on us. I counted backward from a hundred,
like Dad had taught me. I thought of the numbers and the silence, and fixed my
eyes on the door. Footsteps moved up the stairs behind it. They did not
pause. The door opened suddenly, and a tall, bald man came through it, weapon
slung diagonally in his hands. He stepped to the side. More came after him.
Three, bearing weapons, fanned to the sides with their backs against the wall.
Then two like Kade and West. Younger, but intimidating. Fit, alert, and
guarded. Leaders.
I studied them as they moved toward us. One was blonde and
blue-eyed, like West. He swaggered. The other was wearing sungoggles,
mirrored, like Sam's. His face was a perfect, blank mask. Olive skin. Strong
jaw. Not a lick of emotion. Not a single nervous twitch. Not a sign of
tension. His dark hair curled gently around the strap of the sungoggles. He
moved with an easy confidence. I'd never seen him before, but I knew him right
away.
I tapped my foot twice, for right.
Kade fixed on him. "Jason," he said, nodding.
If it fazed him, he didn't show it. They stopped a few
paces in front of us, and Jason nodded back, once. He was still. His lips
were relaxed. His goggles were already driving me crazy because I couldn't
tell where he was looking, or who he was studying. I knew, right then, that
I'd met my match. But I didn't understand the half of it. I was frightened and
fascinated. I felt challenged, and I was determined to come out on top. But
that day, Jason was no more than an interesting problem. He was as old as Kade—fifteen.
I was a little girl who expected to be overlooked. That was always my
advantage, being overlooked. There was a distance between us. Neither of us
had any idea how that distance would fall away.
On that day, I was busy worrying about Kade and West.
Neither of them were very good at these things. West was too honest. Too
transparent. Kade should have left him at home, but he never did. And Kade...
he had more of Mom in him than Dad. He was a nurturer. A builder. He was
great at home, and confident. But not here. He didn't deal well with
unknowns.
"We were told you'd be willing to trade," he said,
jumping in ahead of himself, as usual.
Jason didn't answer. He just looked at Kade. Or at West.
Or Sam. Who could tell? After a moment of silence, he finally said, "You
have aether?" His voice was as disinterested as his face—rich, and dark,
and distant. I couldn't pull anything meaningful out of it.
"Yes," Kade answered. He made a good attempt at
the same distance, but underneath, there was tension.
"How much?" asked Jason.
"How much do you have to trade?" countered Kade,
too quickly.
Now Jason's eyebrows flicked up, nonchalantly. I squinted
behind my glasses, trying to get a fix on him, but nothing.
"Enough," he said. Still nothing.
Kade avoided looking at me. He was learning.
"Enough," he repeated impatiently. "And exactly how much is
that?"
"Depends on exactly how much aether you have to
trade," said Jason in the same level voice.
I tried not to sigh. This could go on and on. None of us
wanted to reveal exactly what resources we had. This trade had huge potential,
though, at least, for us. We had plenty of aether, and it couldn't be trapped
forever. What Jason had would be of far more use than an energy abundance that
would soon evaporate. And since we weren't exactly on trading terms with
Mendoza right then, and since the Hides were leaderless, in flux, and
unpredictable, this trade was far more important than we could let on. We
didn't know Jason, though. We had no reason to trust him. We weren't even
sure we believed that he had what he claimed.
"Let's start with proof," Kade said, switching
gears. He produced a small trap from his pocket and held it in his palm.
"You can see the quality of the work." He held it out to Jason.
Jason took it and turned it over in his hand. His face
remained frozen.
I wanted to lean closer, but I didn't. Inside, I was chaos.
I couldn't figure him out. It was eating at me. I only had moments, and I
needed to make a decision. But I had nothing. He'd given me nothing.
Jason held out his hand, and his blonde companion—Specter,
I'd later learn he was called—reached into a pocket. He pulled the thing out,
and placed it in the waiting fingers. Jason rotated his wrist, displaying it
casually. It gleamed round and colorful as the sun, too vivid for our world.
He raised it to his nose and sniffed, his eyebrows lifting, saying to us you
really want this. We did. He tossed it to Kade.
My brother caught it without taking his eyes off of Jason.
But he sniffed it. He'd been sucked in. At least he didn't smile. I could see
he wanted to, though, and I was certain that Jason did, too.
"Can you do two hundred bushels?" Kade asked,
jumping in ahead of himself, yet again. He was too eager. His eyes were lit
with greed—not for himself, but I didn't like the expression on him, anyway.
Jason, infuriatingly, showed no reaction. "Two
hundred," he said. His voice was still the same level tone. "How
much aether do you have? Enough to fuel the whole city?"
Anger flashed across Kade's face, but he stowed it away
quickly. "I'm told you need aether," he said. "I'm told half
the ground in Wynwood has gone dead."
Jason said nothing. For that comment, there should have
been something. A twitch of the fingers. A tightening of the jaw. But Jason
was still perfectly composed. "I'm told aether doesn't keep
forever," he said, as if any of us had to be told that.
He had a way. Even as an opponent, I could appreciate it.
I forced my breath in slowly through my nose to keep the corner of my mouth
from curling.
"I'm also told," he went on, in the same easy
voice, "that the Hides might not sort themselves out for some time."
He didn't have to say the rest.
Kade's jaw worked. I could sense it from his side without
even looking. He said, "That must be problematic for you."
Sometimes I didn't give him enough credit.
Jason smiled—a cold smile. What did it mean? I was
suddenly aware of tension in my shoulders. I released it. But I was running
out of time.
"So do we trust each other?" Kade asked, laying
the question out before us. Out before me.
Silence stretched on. I had no answer. Panic flitted
around inside me, a caged bird.
"Do we?" Jason finally echoed.
I felt myself working up to a scream. I always knew. I
always had answers. But here, there were none. I could feel it building,
worming its way up my throat. Instead, I crossed my arms, cocked my head, and
said, "Why do you wear those glasses?" I shouldn't have said it, but
I was desperate. I was angry. And I was curious.
Jason's head moved the slightest bit, his gaze switching to
me. I thought it was for the first time, but it wasn't. In a moment, he threw
my challenge back at me, soft as it was. "Why do you, kitten?"
"I have sensitive eyes," I said, lifting my chin.
The slightest pause. "Me too."
"We could go inside." I flicked one finger toward
the door.
"Maybe next time."
We stared at each other across the roof, and I did the best
I could to look the part of the impertinent child. But I had a suspicion that
I'd blown it. I'd been caught out.
"Then let's start small," said Kade, possibly
catching on to the fact that I didn't have a verdict, or possibly forging
forward without caution. He wanted this trade, and he was going to get it,
whatever the risk.
"I don't do small," said Jason. "Do you want
to trade or not?"
Kade's eyes narrowed. "How much are you talking?"
I turned my face to him casually, hoping he would notice my
dissent. If he did, he ignored me.
"Can you provide 17,000 KVWs?" Jason still
sounded as if none of it mattered.
I could see Kade bite down on his reaction. He said,
levelly, "Do you have enough oranges to feed the entire Core?"
Jason's mouth curled in amusement, but I couldn't tell if it
was real or contrived. "I'll give you three hundred bushels for
that."
There was the slightest contraction of muscles under Kade's
eyes. He was taking the bait. But he said, "It would have to be four, at
least, for that kind of energy. I mean, we'd have to cut into our own stores
for that." It wasn't true, but it sounded good.
"Same here," said Jason, not missing a beat.
"It would be the last of our crop. I can't go that high." It was a
lie. I suspected it, then, but I didn't know it.
The rest was haggling. Kade did a decent job of it, even if
Jason bested him in the end. We settled, after ten minutes of discussion, on
three hundred and thirty bushels for 16,500 KVWs of aether. Not a small
trade. I didn't like it at all.
As we picked our way back through the No-Man's toward
Brickell, I told Kade so. "We've never traded with him before," I said.
"And you want to throw sixteen-five out where he can get it? What if he's
lying?"
"You really couldn't tell?" asked Kade. "I
thought you would have stopped me...."
I shook my head. I was nervous right down to the pit of my
stomach. I didn't like not knowing. But it was too late. We were going to
find out, one way or another, and all we could do was hope to hell that it
didn't go bad.
In all fairness, it was the way that most leaders struggled
through business. We just weren't used to it. We had me. It was my first
true taste of uncertainty—a taste I would start to get used to. It would be a
long time before Jason really let me see behind that wall.
***
On the night of the trade, Kade left me at home, despite my
protests. I spent the entire time pacing the meeting hall at the top of the
tower, gnawing on my fingers, and casting occasional hard looks in Nina's
direction. Nina, one of Kade's "close friends", had been left behind
as well, to babysit me. I resented it—resented being treated like a child.
You're too little, he'd said. I don't want you to get hurt. But what he had
meant was that he didn't need me. I hated how easily he could forget who I
was. I hated how well he kept the secret. I was my father's successor. Not
him. No one else knew, and it wasn't time to tell them yet. I bore the burden
on my shoulders every day, though. I spent my childhood mediating meetings and
settling disputes. Everyone thought I did it because I was Kade's sister.
They didn't know that he pretended to lead us because he was my brother. Kade
was very good at pretending.