Guardians (28 page)

“Sarah,” she said instantly. “She's still alive? What did you find?”

“She alive. But ain't that simple. They holding her.”

“What do you mean?”

As Trey talked, Esther crouched down to pat Pilot. The animal had come out to investigate the stranger and although he growled at first, he stayed close to Esther. Occasionally, she scratched his stomach, something he loved. But mostly, she listened.

After finding a white sheet to cover himself, Trey had found it easy to slip into the District. Inside, things were much worse than they had been when he'd left only weeks before. The worship of Saith had become even more crazed than ever. The pilgrims who arrived every day waited for hours to see her. Praying and bowing, they wound their way around the lobby in a seemingly endless line. Then they were given a sip of colored water that the girl promised would give them eternal life
.

“I tasted some,” remarked Trey. “Waited my turn so I could see what was up. It ain't proof, but it close. Water with something nasty in it.”

But that was just the beginning. After listening to her speak and talking to
a number of her most devout worshipers, Trey realized that Saith no longer saw herself as just a priestess or seer. She claimed to be transforming into something greater than that . . . something that was no longer human
.

She was becoming God
.

Esther gave Trey a sharp look. “And Sarah?”

Grim, the boy shook his head. “I couldn't get much information, but Saith planning something. I heard everyone say the same thing.” When he finally met Esther's eyes, his expression was full of anger and contempt. “She aim to do something with your baby. Something bad.”

Esther said nothing.

She was swept up with a feeling she had never experienced before. It went beyond rage or hatred or the fierce need to protect. It surpassed even the love she felt for Sarah, Kai, Skar, and her friends.

In a moment, her world, which had never before been simple or easy, became stunningly clear, and for the first time, Esther saw everything as if it were laid out beneath a brilliant light. On one side was Saith and all that she represented: greed, cruelty, and pride. Saith stood for death, for innocent blood being shed, for lies and madness and grief.

On the other side was everything else: not just Esther's family and friends, but everyone who lived. She did not need to know them—their lives, their joys and struggles—to understand their worth. As flawed as people could be, she was fighting for every single one of them.

Then she felt something. Trey's hand was intertwined with hers.

Esther did not remember moving, but a second later she was in his arms. She pressed her face into his shoulder and then his chest. He smelled of fire and smoke and the outside world. Her lips brushed the taut skin of his neck, then pressed upon it. She moved her mouth to his, exploring. His arms went around her and clasped her fast.

Kissing Trey was an exquisite relief after all that she had endured. For a moment, she yearned for him, was tempted to move even deeper into his embrace, and to hide herself in him. Yet she found herself resisting.

She and Trey were united in a crusade. There was no time for this now. After their mission had been completed, they might be able to afford the luxury . . . but only then.

Esther forced herself to pull away. “Let's go,” she said, and he nodded, with reluctance.

When they reentered the storefront, Michal had Kai on her lap and was preparing dinner as Uri boiled water in a firebowl. Although Ava was still motionless, Joseph was awake and drinking from a plastic bottle.

Everyone looked up as one and faced Esther for instructions. It was clear they could not make a move without her.

Yet Esther knew that she no longer mattered. Even if she died, it would be all right. The cause would outlive her. It was the newest and most exhilarating feeling of all.

“All right,” she said. “Here's what we're going to do. We're going back.”

W
HEN
G
IDEON RETURNED TO THE
D
ISTRICT AFTER INSPECTING THE NEW
building, the setting sun threw brilliant light that cast deep shadows behind him. As he brushed past the guards who opened the lobby doors, he seemed cold and impassive.

Yet secretly, he was exhilarated.

The construction had gone exactly as he had planned. Although Joseph's understanding of building was primitive at best, he had still managed to oversee the completion of a small section of roof. This had been Gideon's goal from the start: that the workers finish a single piece of the garden as quickly as possible. All that Gideon needed for now was something that
could comfortably support a few people.

One of those people, of course, would be him. The others would be his guards.

Watching Saith, Gideon was convinced that she had no idea what he was planning. He had gambled on the chance that she would be so distracted by the altar in her honor, she would not notice what was actually taking place on the roof. The crude shrine had served its purpose.

Gideon would be ready to leave the District that night. Traveling with him would be three of his most trusted aides, who would patrol his new home, work the garden, and see to his needs. As far as Gideon could tell, the time had arrived none too soon.

His guards, ever watchful, had informed him only days before of something he had long dreaded: The first of Saith's pilgrims were becoming sick. Giddy with the promise of eternal life, they had ventured back onto the streets of Mundreel to test their new invulnerability by doing stupid things: drinking runoff water, wading in whatever streams they could find. Gideon recalled the brief yet fierce shower earlier that week. He could only imagine how the foolish and hopeful had stayed outside in the deadly downpour merely to flaunt their convictions.

Apparently,
he thought with a grim smile,
the disease itself didn't care about Saith's promises or her magical blue water
; instead, it had made its usual swift and inevitable progression. Now, dozens of her disciples—bewildered, frightened, and clearly dying—were starting to return to the District in greater numbers each day.
They were there to demand not just an explanation, but a miracle.

It was all,
Gideon thought with distaste,
so pathetic. And so predictable
.

According to Gideon's informants, Saith's panicked guards were dealing with the problem the only way they knew how: with a trip to the eighth floor and a bullet to the back of the head. Yet clearly, such actions could not continue much longer. Every day, more and more of the dying were showing up at the front doors of the District; very soon, it would become impossible to dispose of them all that way. It was only a matter of time before word spread . . . and Gideon could only imagine what the reaction of the crowds would be.

He smiled. Within hours, such things would no longer be his problem.

The boy now stood alone in his room. Although moonlight shone through the skylight far overhead and filtered down to the basement, Gideon sensed it was still too early. He had told his three guards to move out together when everyone was asleep. He would go first; they would follow, transporting all of the glass in as many trips as it would take.

Idly, Gideon picked up a few items then set them back down. There was nothing he wanted; he had never cared much for luxuries, and objects held no sentimental value for him. As for clothing, what he wore on his back would do. Certainly, if he were to ever want for anything in the future, he would soon have the means to acquire it.

Gideon realized that there was one thing that he wanted to
bring to his new home. His notebooks, filled with figures and inventory lists, might come in useful. He searched his meager shelves for a few minutes before recalling that he had left them locked in the tiled office upstairs.

The District was mostly silent. Yet as he approached his office, his hand already digging for the keys in his pocket, he stopped abruptly.

He thought he heard something coming from within the locked room.

But that was impossible,
he thought; he allowed no one inside. Leaning forward, Gideon pressed his ear against the wooden surface and listened. The sounds were muffled yet distinct: an odd splashing and a voice murmuring low. Trying not to make a noise, he inserted his key into the brass opening.

Then with one swift gesture, he twisted it and shoved open the door.

At the far end of the room, Saith stood over one of the white sinks. Too late, Gideon remembered that she possessed the only extra key. She was bent forward at the waist, splashing in the white basin, which was partly filled with water. A gray plastic bucket sat by her feet. The girl was washing what seemed at first to be a doll, until he noticed it was moving. To his confusion, Gideon registered what it was.

Esther's baby.

The mutant infant lay placidly on its back in a shallow pool of water, blinking its strange eyes as it beat the air with tiny fists. Saith was using a plastic cup to scoop up water and pour it over the child, talking to herself as she did.

“What you doing?”

Gideon's voice echoed in the tiled room. Wincing at the sudden noise, the baby jerked its head in his direction. But Saith turned with a smile, as if expecting him.

“I make it clean. See?” With a cooing sound, she poured something from a nearby bottle, which she rubbed into the child's pale skin. Even from where he stood, Gideon could smell the sickening scent of flowers as suds foamed up. “It nice and clean now.”

Gideon pursed his lips. He was not interested in Saith's little-girl games, and within a few hours, he would never have to deal with them again. Without a second glance at her, he turned to his notebooks, which were stacked against the wall. After he picked them up and leafed through a few to make sure that everything was in order, he turned to go. Then his eye fell on the pile of glass that glittered in the corner. Although he was not sentimental, he could not help himself. On impulse, he scooped up a handful of the smooth green shards and slipped them into his front pocket.

“You want to know what I do?”

Gideon started. As always, Saith's tiny, high-pitched voice had a drawling, singsong quality that made it compelling.

“No.” Gideon turned and started heading back out. Tired of the girl's manipulations and game playing, he was looking forward to leaving her forever.

“I make it clean for the ceremony.”

Her words had the desired effect. Although Gideon hated being drawn in by her, he could not keep from asking:

“Ceremony? What ceremony?”

She smirked. “The one that make me God. I kill this baby, then I gonna live forever.”

For a moment, Gideon felt as if he was going to vomit. He had no sentimentality about infants, certainly not mutant infants. Yet Saith's bizarre plan revolted him in both its senselessness and cruelty. For the first time, it dawned on him that the girl was not merely grandiose, but insane.

She actually believed what she was saying. And that made him shudder.

Head cocked, Saith was watching him, her eyes glittering like black stars. “I know what you do,” she said unexpectedly.

“What?”

“You know.” Her voice was still lilting, but now it sounded insinuating. “I know you think you move to the new place by yourself. Without Saith.”

Gideon felt his face flush as he took in her accusation.
How did she know?
He began to stammer out a denial, but she continued to speak over him.

“You think I don't see what you do. You think I stupid. Maybe even that why you build that altar. So I don't see.” Helpless, Gideon could only gaze back at her as she continued. “But boys tell me things. That slave master? He tell me everything.”

Jud
. Gideon swallowed hard. He had to force himself to remember that she was just a little child, that he was the older of the two, the more powerful. He had the upper hand.

But did he?

“So what you aim to do about it?”

Saith cocked an eyebrow as if the question was impertinent. “Maybe I move there myself,” she drawled. “Maybe soon . . . after the ceremony. That what you aim to do, ain't it? Leave without saying? That why you take those books. Well, maybe I do it. I move there instead of you.”

She gave a smile that was both sweet and self-satisfied.
She was missing a tooth,
Gideon noted,
which made her seem even younger than she was
. Suddenly, the boy felt as if the ground had begun to crumble beneath his feet. In the next moment, he was filled with a rage so violent, he thought he would choke on it.

Blood rushed to his hands. Without thinking, Gideon took a step in the girl's direction. But even as he did, he heard a sound behind him.

Two of Saith's guards stood in the entrance. As if in warning, one kept a hand idly at his waistband.

Slowly, Gideon forced his arms to his side. Saith was no longer looking at him. She had lifted the baby out of the sink and was drying it on a towel as she cooed at it.

Their meeting was over. He had,
he realized with a sense of disbelief,
been dismissed
.

As he walked with faltering steps to the doorway, he heard Saith's voice at his back.

“Ain't you clean now?” She gave a throaty little chuckle. “Ain't you pretty?”

The door closed behind him.

Minutes later, Gideon emerged from the hidden staircase at the end of the lobby.

Now that Saith was onto his plan, he had no time to lose, and he couldn't afford to be caught disobeying her laws about comingling of the sexes. So, he took care only to advance when he saw that the coast was clear.

He headed toward the store on the fourth floor that adjoined Saith's quarters.

Seeing that a light was on, he waited behind a corner until two hulking guards walked past. Then he darted into the small room.

By the glow of a torch, a girl, short haired and thin, stood with her back to him. She seemed to be examining different bottles and jars that were arranged on a glass table. Then she turned, and when she saw him, she gave a cry of surprise. Gideon silenced her with a finger to his lips, and gestured out the door at the guards. She nodded in understanding and fell silent.

Nur looked different—so much so that for one heart-stopping moment, he thought he had made a mistake. He had not seen her for several weeks, and during that time, she had undergone a terrible transformation. Gone was the vibrant, luscious, and pretty girl he had been expecting—the one who had once teased his feverish imagination. Now noticeably thinner and with her beautiful chestnut hair shorn nearly to her skull, she looked exhausted, haggard, and older.

Sensing his dismay, Nur recoiled. Then, turning away, she
fumbled with her hood and attempted to draw it over her face.

“Don't,” he managed to say.

She froze where she was.

He crossed to her and, summoning all of his willpower, took her by the shoulder and gently turned her back around so that she faced him. Since any kind of physical contact made Gideon uncomfortable, it would have been hard enough to touch her like this even in the old days. Now, he had to force himself to hide his disgust.

With difficulty, he smiled.

“You look good,” he said. “As good as ever.”

She winced as if struck. “You lie.”

“No,” he insisted. “You pretty.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes. Then she wrenched herself away as they spilled down her wasted cheeks and she began to sob.

Gideon had hoped that Nur would be upset, but he hadn't realized how bitter she would be. Seeing her now, her beauty gone, he realized he had seriously underestimated her reaction to what had happened under Saith. He understood that Nur had had a treasure stolen from her, not one that could be tallied and entered in a book, like glass, but one just as valuable.

Still, her pain was to his advantage.

“I been thinking of you,” he continued. “All the time. The way we used to be.”

As she wept, Nur gave a mirthless laugh.
Even so
, he noticed,
she was listening
. He racked his brain for more compliments.

“I think of your face,” he said, stumbling over the words. “Your body. How you let me watch you.”

She shot him a look through reddened eyes, and Gideon realized he had struck a nerve.

“I miss talking to you,” he said. “You the only one who ever understood me. I miss you.”

A smile flickered across Nur's face. “Me, too.”

“You been up here too long,” he said. “I want you back. This time for real.”

The girl didn't say anything for a moment. “What you mean?”

“I mean . . .” Gideon let out a breath. “I want you be my partner. My queen.”

To his surprise, Nur didn't break into a smile or attempt to hug him. She continued to stare at the ground, as if the pattern of tiles fascinated her. Then she spoke. “How I know you serious?”

Gideon was flummoxed. “B-because,” he managed to say at last. “I told you how I felt.”

“Did you?” She glanced up at him, and he was startled by the hardness of her expression. “So how come you leave me up here all this time? Make me work for that girl who treat me so bad? How come you forget me?” The boy tried to answer, but she wouldn't let him; the accusations were now tumbling from her lips as if they had long been held back and finally allowed to burst forth. “You told me before we be partners. Then Esther come around. After that, Saith. All the time you don't come to me. Not even downstairs, where all the boys come. Why would I trust you now?”

Because Gideon had no defense against what she was
saying, he acted purely on instinct; he had no idea what else to do. Forcing down his distaste, he reached out and took her clumsily in his arms. At first, she struggled against his awkward embrace; then she stopped. Suddenly, she was clinging to him and burying her face in the side of his neck. She was crying again, but this time he sensed it was not from anger but for release.