Guardians (14 page)

“Now stand down there,” the stranger said.

Still barely conscious, Eli agreed. He wandered down to the far end, past Nur, who ceased what she was doing to watch.

“That good,” Trey called. “Now hold it up . . . beside your head.”

Eli stopped. He did what Gideon instructed. The bottle trembled next to his temple.

“For true?” Gideon himself was a little alarmed. “What if you miss?”

Trey shrugged. “Miracles happen.”

In one motion, he whipped out the small weapon, aimed it, and fired.

It made an astonishingly loud bang in the windowless room. Both Nur and Eli screamed as the bottle exploded in Eli's hand, the shards spraying by his face and into his hair. He dropped to the floor, a trickle of blood running down his cheek, moaning in terror.

“He okay.” Trey's voice was dismissive as he put back his weapon. “He ain't hit.”

“I saw,” Gideon said, taken aback.

“So. We good?”

Gideon smiled. He even let Trey shake his hand, an intimacy he never allowed anyone.

“We good,” he replied.

Despite the prevalence of illness, the mood on the upper floors was festive.

By now, the Outsiders viewed Esther with a kind of awe; she had not only saved them, unbidden, from a slow and certain death, but also treated them with kindness and respect. As patients grew stronger, Esther brought them into the library,
where Joseph read out loud to them. The stories, fanciful tales of imaginary characters, were popular enough; but to her surprise, the idea that the words themselves were somehow recorded on paper seemed even more remarkable.

Esther had assumed only a few would be interested in learning. Yet by the second day, nearly all had stayed behind to pore over the tiny black marks that they could not decipher. Seeing their hunger to learn, Esther and the older boy had begun to teach all of them how to read for themselves.

Yet one of them now watched her with an intensity that arose not from gratitude, but from overwhelming curiosity.

Although Saith could neither read nor write, she possessed an instinctive cunning that was almost animallike. She had always understood without thinking the basics of a certain kind of survival: who was in power, whom to fear, and whom to ignore. She had survived off these skills, for although not powerful herself, she knew how to flatter and ingratiate herself with those who were. In the best cases, they would in turn protect and take care of her; in the worst, they would at least spare her the brunt of their violence. And now Saith realized that Esther possessed unquestionable authority.

That in itself was a mystery to Saith. Until then, she had only witnessed power of a specific type: the cruelest and most brutal person using physical intimidation to subdue and punish everyone else. Although barely nine, she had seen many such tyrants rise to power for a day, a week, a month, until they were challenged and defeated by someone even more savage (for there was always someone waiting to take a turn).

Saith had never once seen a girl like Esther in charge of anything.

It was true that Esther possessed a wiry strength. Saith had seen her lift an injured boy much larger than she was and then carry him for a long distance. Yet Esther didn't appear to be a fighter and in all other ways was unintimidating. She carried no weapons; even her voice was soft.

More intriguing to Saith, Esther was direct in her manner, openly emotional, and impulsive in word and action. At first, Saith assumed it was a game the older girl was playing, a way to keep her real intentions hidden. She had not trusted Esther's show of sympathy when her brother, Gera, died; from experience, she had assumed Esther was attempting to manipulate her grief for reasons Saith did not know. It had made her deeply suspicious, and for days she hated the older girl.

But soon Saith realized to her astonishment that it was no act: Esther was guileless. Yet she was also the undisputed leader of the small community atop the District. Growing stronger each day, Saith began to spend her waking hours observing and studying her.

How did Esther do it?
Saith wondered.

Saith had made sure to win over her affections; by now, she knew she was one of the older girl's favorites. Esther had been down that morning to bring coffee and water for the sick. As usual, Saith was waiting to help her carry the tray and bring drinks to those who couldn't get up. As Esther smiled at her with what seemed like real affection, Saith said nothing, but ducked her head in a bashful way that she knew made
her appear younger than she was. Then she had collected the empty cups and handed them back.

Now Saith watched as Esther headed down the hall and disappeared through a metal door. On a whim, she decided to follow.

The girl found herself in a dark and echoing stairwell, the air stifling hot. Groping her way forward, she discovered the metal banister as well as steps made of cement that led in both directions. Esther and the others, she knew, lived on the floor above. She crept her way up, leaning on the rail, for she was still weak and could be short of breath. Reaching a landing, she fumbled for the bar of the door and pushed it open.

Saith emerged onto a drab hallway carpeted in beige. Not seeing Esther, Saith wandered down the corridor, peering into each room. They were all unoccupied yet filled with humble belongings: bedding, clothes, shoes. She was nearly at the end when the last door opened and someone stepped out, nearly bumping into her.

Saith drew in a sharp breath.

The creature was bald and dark skinned, wearing a shapeless sack. Its limbs were covered in a welter of scars and tattoos, and its face, Saith thought, was hideous: bulging lavender eyes set on the sides of the head, with slit nostrils and tiny, pointed teeth.

It was a mutant.

Although she was much shorter than the other, Saith drew herself up to her full height, trembling with indignation. “How you get in?” she hissed. “What you steal?”

The creature blinked at her, as if it didn't understand. Then it had the audacity to give a faint smile, its eyes crinkling at the corners.

“If you're looking for Esther,” was all it said, “she's on the roof.”

Without answering Saith's questions, the mutant slipped to one side. With no sign of haste, it sauntered past Saith and down the hall. Trembling with anger at its insolence, the girl watched it go. Then she made up her mind.

Esther had to be told right away what had happened. True, it didn't seem as if the mutant had stolen anything; its hands were empty. Yet it had clearly broken in and needed to be reported and punished. Even if it managed to escape, Esther would at least know that Saith was on the lookout for trouble.

Saith headed back to the stairwell and climbed the final flight, her heart pounding with righteous fury. She pushed open the heavy door at the top and stepped onto the roof. For a moment, she was stunned by not only the brilliant sunlight but also the suffocating heat and the profusion of growth that surrounded her. The garden seemed to go on for miles in all directions. Others were moving about, holding baskets and tools, talking quietly among themselves. But Saith only had eyes for Esther. She glimpsed her at the far wall, a bucket in one hand as she talked with someone.

“Esther!” Saith could not convey the news fast enough. “Esther!”

The older girl turned around as Saith ran to meet her. Esther's companion turned as well, and when Saith saw who it
was, she stopped in her tracks.

It was the mutant.

“What's wrong?” Esther had already seized the younger girl by the hands and crouched to talk to her. “And what are you doing out of bed?”

Saith said nothing. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach, and she lowered her eyes, even as she quailed under the mutant's even gaze.

“N-nothing,” Saith managed to stammer. “I . . . I had a bad dream.” Her confusion was so great, she found herself on the verge of tears. Then she let out a childish sob. “Scared.”

Esther gathered her in her arms, and for a moment, Saith shut her eyes and luxuriated in the attention. She found herself almost believing her own lie as Esther patted her on the back. “Don't worry,” she said. Then the older girl pulled back.

“Saith,” she said. “I want you to meet my best friend. Skar, this is the girl I told you about.”

Saith finally looked up and met the mutant's stare. There was no anger or hatred in the lavender eyes, just an opacity that unnerved Saith. The creature smiled in a polite way, revealing her little teeth. Saith smiled too, but only out of nervousness. She had a wild and fleeting hope that the mutant hadn't recognized her, but it was dashed by what the creature said next:

“We already met.”

As she often did with Esther, Saith hunched her shoulders and opened her eyes wide to make herself look younger and smaller. She started babbling obsequiously:
She had been dreaming. She ran upstairs; when she saw Skar, she mistakenly thought she was a being
from her nightmare. She was foolish for having made such a stupid mistake; how could she mistake someone so distinguished as Skar for a monster?

Saith knew she was exceptionally good at making things up on the spot. Esther listened to her story with an amused and sympathetic smile, and even Skar nodded once, as if in forgiveness.

Inside, however, Saith's mind was whirling.

Esther's best friend was a mutant. That meant he, she, or whatever it called itself was a person of consequence in a position of influence. Yet how could that be? A mutant in power would be an abomination, like a dog standing on its hind legs and talking
.

Then a girl, heavily veiled, wandered up to them, towing a boy by the hand. Saith recognized the child as Esther's son, who had once tried to play with her brother. For a moment, she couldn't breathe; she was filled with bitterness and pain at the sight of the child, alive and laughing while her beloved Gera lay dead in the ground.

Then a cry caught her attention.

The hooded girl was holding something else in her free arm, something bundled in a dark blanket that had begun to squirm.

“Here,” the girl said. “Sarah wants her mama.” Esther reached out her arms and took the child, murmuring into its neck as she bounced it up and down.

In the bright sunlight, Saith clearly saw: the bulging, wide-set eyes. The slit nostrils. The hairless skull.

Like her best friend, Esther's baby was a mutant.

Saith drew a sharp breath. At first, her mind was unable
to take in what she was seeing. It was bad enough that Esther treated the mutant Skar as an equal, free to roam the halls unescorted. Yet what she was seeing now was so sickening that Saith felt she must be dreaming, caught up in a repulsive nightmare.

Esther was making no secret of her affection for the tiny monster; to Saith's horror, she even brought her face close to its deformed features and nuzzled it. For Saith, the shock of witnessing that kiss was like a physical blow.

How was it even possible for a human being to give birth to it? What father had been responsible for such a demonic offspring? Fighting a wave of nausea, the little girl now saw Esther in a whole new light, as something that was filthy, unclean, and utterly repellant.

Still, it suddenly made certain things clear to her: why Esther chose to live up here, far from the others downstairs. And why she chose to have a mutant as her second-in-command.

Saith didn't know how many people knew about Esther's shame, but she guessed it was very few indeed. If so, the information could prove to be useful.

She suspected that someone else might want it.

Days later, Esther sat on a dusty couch, fidgeting.

She was alone in the living room of the house Aras had chosen for them. She had not come back to lacerate herself with painful memories; instead, she was waiting with impatience for someone to show up. Esther had been there for so long, she
was beginning to think that no one was coming. Just when she was about to return to the District, she heard a fumbling at the front door.

When she stepped into the front hallway, Gideon stood there, removing his sunglasses.

“It been a while,” he remarked.

Esther gave a brief nod and said nothing.

“What this about?” To her surprise, the boy seemed nervous, his eyes darting around but not meeting hers. “Why can't you say it at the District?”

“I've been
trying
to reach you.” Then she bit her tongue; she had something important to discuss and didn't want to be sidetracked by bickering. “I wanted you to see this place for yourself.”

Only then did Gideon bother to look up, giving the entrance and living room a cursory glance. “So?”

“Not here. I want to show you something upstairs.”

She turned to go. When she didn't hear him follow, she glanced back and was surprised by his expression: He looked guarded and wary. “Come on,” she said, unable to keep the trace of impatience from her voice. After a moment of hesitation, he followed her as she walked with sure steps through the living room, the dining room, and the kitchen that lay beyond. Then she entered the small stairwell that stood behind a door, climbing to the next level before reaching a smaller flight that ended in a glass door.

Esther turned to him. She was so excited she found she was able to forgive the boy, both his tardiness and his insolence.
“Here it is,” she said before turning the handle and pushing it open.

Gideon had been on his guard when he had first received word that Esther wanted to see him. The complicated directions and obscure location of their meeting only deepened his suspicions. He had even been tempted to bring two of his boys with him and had only decided at the last moment that doing so might make him appear weak.

Gideon was convinced that Esther had somehow found out about the basement. Only the week before, he had decided to put Nur in charge of a new business that promised to be even more successful than the room where proof was sold. From the moment he walked in, he had braced himself if not for a literal ambush, then at least some kind of confrontation. But to his shock, she showed no indication of doing that. If anything, she seemed as if she had some kind of wonderful secret she wanted to share.
Clearly,
he thought,
she had no idea of what he had been up to
, and for the hundredth time, he was relieved that her silly work tending to the poor had distracted her from the important business he was doing downstairs.