Ashes of Twilight (9 page)

REWARD OFFERED FOR INFORMATION

LAST SEEN IN THE COMPANY OF SHINER WREN MACAVOY

ANYONE KNOWING THE LOCATION OF EITHER SUSPECT SHOULD NOTIFY THE OFFICE OF ENFORCEMENT

The notice includes a description and drawing of Pace. The drawing and description of me is more vague, yet there is enough there that I will be noted should I venture above.

“What have you been up to, Wren?” My grandfather’s voice is sharp and I flinch at the tone.

“Nothing.” I look up at him, begging him to believe me with my eyes, but he will not be swayed.

“This paper says different.” He takes it from me and waves it before my face. “What about the cadet?”

What can I say? I have as many questions as my grandfather, if not more. Still he is waiting for an answer. “He is the one who saw me with Alex, when he died. That’s all I know.”

“It says he’s a murderer.” He points a finger at the words, but I do not see them. Instead I see the coal buried deep beneath his nails, a stain that will never go away no matter how hard he scrubs. “It says that he was last seen in your company.”

My grandfather’s anger is a tangible thing. It is fueled by fear for me and frustration that I have placed him in this predicament. The safety of all of us is at risk if the filchers decide to come below in an attempt to capture me.

“He didn’t do it.” The words come unbidden, from deep inside me. Why did I say it? I don’t know him. I don’t know anything about him. Is he capable of it, and it’s just that I don’t want to believe it? To do such a thing would be a desperate measure, especially since there is no place to hide. You will eventually be found and sentenced to the fires, to be burned alive while the populace watches. My stomach turns at the thought. “Things are not always what they seem.” I repeat Pace’s words, more for my benefit than my grandfather’s.

My grandfather studies me, his face a mixture of anger, concern, and bewilderment. I see the pain he feels and wonder if it is the same as when my mother came back from above, pregnant with me. His doubt in his ability to raise me is always there, just below the surface, wanting to take hold and draw him back to the past. He seldom speaks of my mother, and when he does, it is with self-loathing and repeated recriminations. It is always accompanied by heavy drinking, as if the liquor brings back the memories.

“Stay below, Wren. For all our sakes.” It has never been my desire to cause him to feel the same pain he felt over my mother, yet there are things I cannot control.

I nod in agreement as my grandfather walks away. I can only hope my face does not betray my lies. I finish the laundry with my head down against the stares of the others who are gathered around, waiting to hear why the council meeting was called. My situation will be the main topic of discussion tonight. The theories put forth around the hearths will be only that. Like me, everyone will have questions without answers.

Thankfully, my grandfather is not at home when I return with the laundry. With a sinking feeling I realize that he has most likely gone off to drink, and I can only hope that he will be able to work his shift tonight. If only I could miss mine as well. I am not looking forward to the questions that will come as I take the ponies down into the mines. As it is with most things in my life, there is nothing I can do about it.

I hang the laundry out to dry and fix the meals for our shifts. My stomach growls while I work and I realize that I cannot recall the last time I ate. I fix myself a quick snack of bread, butter, and dried apples. I taste nothing as I eat; my mind is centered on everything that has happened. One of the cats comes to the door and meows. His look is hopeful so I fill a bowl with the crusts of my bread and the last of the goat’s milk. As I set it down outside the door I see Peggy running up the steps.

“You look horrible,” she says. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she immediately apologizes when I cringe at her words and she pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear. “What I meant was you look tired. Can’t you sleep?”

“I slept, but not well,” I confess.

“Come on,” she says. “I’ve got something that’s going to cheer you up.”

I want something cheerful. I want something that will make the past few days go away, as if they never happened. I know that can’t be but I’m curious, so I pick up my pail and she links her arm through mine as we walk up the ramp that takes us from the village.

7

“We found a way
to honor Alex,” Peggy says when we are away from the village. “It was James’s idea. We’re going to continue with his dream. We’re going to have a seekers’ meeting. We’re going to find a way to leave the dome.”

James’s idea. Of course it was. James, who has a way with people and can convince them to do whatever he wants, everyone but me. Will his idea to honor Alex turn into a death sentence for another one of us?

Alex was right about one thing. Seekers is a good name for us. Since the world became the dome, the royals have kept the lower classes in servitude. Change is prohibited and without change there is no reason to aspire. Man must have something to work for, beyond the everyday drudgery of existence. There has to be more to life than eating, sleeping, and work, or else why even bother?

It surprises me to think that there have not been seekers until now. What were the shiners that came before us thinking? Did they ever wish to rise above their place of servitude? I have to believe that there is a better world out there somewhere. Man was not meant to live belowground. God created the world and gifted it to man. He destroyed it once by flood and it came back to life. Could it not do the same after the fire?

Pace’s words once more come back to haunt me.
Things are not always what they seem. After all this time is there anything left to burn.
And of course Alex’s last words.
The sky is blue.

Peggy and I follow the trail of the bird in flight, marked on the tunnel walls with coal at each crossing. The meeting place is deep, farther down in the oldest part of the mine than I’ve ever been. The walls are cold and damp and the lamps are few and far between. I hear the gay song of a canary up ahead and I pause by its tiny cage. Its feathers are bright yellow and stand out in stark relief against the monotone dimness of the tunnels. It examines me with its black bead of an eye before it resumes its song. As long as the canary sings we are safe against the buildup of the silent and deadly gases. I hope that whoever brought it down here will remember to bring it back to the main part of the mines when we are done. I cannot stand the thought of it being left to die in the darkness alone, singing to the nothingness with its last breath.

Peggy and I are the last to arrive. The soft buzz of quiet conversation fades to silence as I enter the cave and the ominous drip-drip of condensation on the walls accompanies me as we sit cross-legged on the ground. These are my peers, the ones I’d gone to school with, played with, and then, as we grew older, gone into the mines with. Even though I carry the stigma of my birth I trust these people. It is a bond we’d built when we were children. When we played by the underground river we would hold hands and venture out into the water, forming a chain of stability as the water pounded against us. If someone let go, there was the danger of being swept beneath the rocks and drowning. We learned at a young age to depend upon one another and it serves us well now when we work in the mines.

I can voice my fears here, and ask my questions without fear of recrimination. Still I am nervous because James watches me closely. There is something in his eyes, something that makes me think I will, indeed, be sorry for rejecting his kiss.

Finally the shifting of two dozen bodies stops and the buzz of conversation quiets. James looks at each one of us, and smiles mysteriously.

“I think we should start by honoring Alex,” he says. “And what better way to honor him than to hear about his last moments. Wren? Will you tell us what happened?”

My stomach lurches and my hastily eaten meal threatens to come up. I swallow, hard, and shake my head. I don’t like being the center of attention and I certainly don’t want to talk about Alex’s last moments.

“Go on,” Peggy whispers in my ear. “For Alex. So we can know what he died for.”

Tentatively I stand and hesitantly I begin. It does not take much imagination to know how excruciating it would have been for Alex. Death by fire has to be incredibly painful, if the screams we’ve heard from the public executions are any indicator. One of the reasons I have not been able to sleep is I see Alex’s burned face when I close my eyes, and I still smell his burned flesh. These are details I leave out as I tell them the story as I remember it. They all look in wonder at me when I tell them Alex’s last words.

“The sky is blue?” Alcide, who is Alex’s cousin, asks. I realize that the council has not seen fit to share any of the details of Alex’s death with the rest of them. I’m certain Adam has discussed it with Peggy and James but the rest have no idea.

“That’s what he said,” I say. I feel more confident now that I realize they really didn’t know what exactly had happened. It’s better that they know the truth than some story that will get further away from it with each telling.

“Why would he say this if it wasn’t so?” someone asks.

“How can the sky be blue if the outside world is still burning?” Peter asks.

“Where did he go out?”

“How did he find a passageway?”

The questions tumble forth, each one heaping upon another like rocks in a cave-in until there are so many that they stop and everyone looks at one another and realizes that there are no answers.

“Did Alex share his plans with anyone here?” James speaks up. His look is pleasant, even charming, as it usually is. He keeps his eyes upon me as he speaks. I feel trapped under his gaze, much as I did when he kissed me. Perhaps, if I had more experience with kissing, then I could say what it was I didn’t like about it. All I know is that when he kissed me, I felt as if he was smothering me. I couldn’t breathe. The thought of spending the rest of my life like that is unbearable.

Alcide speaks up. “A few nights ago while we were working, Alex mentioned the main fans. They have to lead to a source of fresh air. He thought there might be a way through there.”

The main fans are the most closely guarded part of the dome. Without them, the air inside would fail and we all would suffocate. We do not know how many there are, just that there is a series of them. The blades run continually so it would be impossible to pass through.

“Impossible,” someone says. “He must have gone another way.”

“Has anyone stopped to think that perhaps he did not actually make it out?” James speaks over the quick exchange of opinions that streak through the meeting. His eyes once more rest on me and I have to resist the urge to look away, or to leave under his heavy perusal. “That everything we’ve heard has been a lie?”

What is he saying? I shake my head. “But I saw him,” I say. “I heard him.”

James’s careless shrug dismisses my words and anger surges through my body. A collective gasp ripples through the seekers and I feel all their eyes upon me. Peggy stands and pulls on my arm to stop me and I jerk away.

“Alex burned alive.” I grind the words out between my clenched teeth. My jaw aches from the effort as my hands curl into fists at my sides. “There was nothing left of him but charred flesh, yet he was still alive.” My voice breaks at the memory of Alex, but I am determined not to cry. I must not sound weak. “‘The sky is blue’ are the last words he ever spoke. Why would I make something like that up? Why would I lie about it?”

“Why would you lie?” James pulls a paper from within his shirt and waves it before the group. “Why would she lie? Because she betrayed Alex to the bluecoats. Because she’s been with one of them.”

My jaw drops in shock at James’s blatant lie. “No!” I have to shout to be heard above the protestations of the group. “It’s not true.” Peggy stands beside me. She places her hand on my arm and looks between me and James. I see the pain on her face and the decision she will need to make before this meeting is over. She will have to choose between her best friend and her brother, as James’s accusations cannot, and will not, be ignored.

James reads the paper out loud. His voice cuts through the din and everyone quiets to listen to the words. “‘Wanted for murder, Cadet Pace Bratton. Last seen in the company of shiner Wren MacAvoy.’” Before I can protest he continues. “That’s where you go every morning. To meet your lover. And to help your lover you turned in Alex because of what he said about the seekers.”

“That’s a lie!”

“The proof is right here, Wren.” He waves the paper. “How can you deny it?”

I
could
tell them what I do. That I go to watch the sunrise. I could tell them that I just met Pace two days ago, but it’s related to Alex’s death and that event is already tainted with James’s accusations. I could tell them that there is something beyond the facts, something else that leads to more questions, but I don’t know what it is. I could say that James hates me because I rejected him when I rejected his kiss, but it would all fall on deaf ears. James’s seeds of doubt, well planted, have already taken root. Nothing that I say to prove my innocence will matter because I have nothing to prove my innocence with except my word.

I look around at the faces of the people I’ve known my entire life. James has given them a choice. Believe him, one who truly belongs, or believe me, one who’s lived among them, but always on the edge. Me, the one who spends most of her time by herself, content to keep company with my dreams. There’s no choice, not really. James has always had their love and admiration. I could have too, if I’d accepted him.

Peggy drops her hand and the absence of her touch makes me feel naked. She rubs her arms as if she is chilled and looks away. An image of Lucy comes to mind, of how everyone looked at her after she admitted her betrayal of Alex, followed by her subsequent leaving.

Except I have no place to go and no one is waiting for me above.

Things are not always what they seem …