UNBREATHABLE (3 page)

I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered, despite the warm breeze. I didn’t dare breathe again. It was an accident and I was sure I wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. But I couldn't stop myself. This air was different. As unbreathable as it should be, I needed it, desperately
wanted
it. It was a living thing, caressing my lips, coaxing them open. It wanted to suffocate me. Fill me. Complete me.

Some part of me was sober enough to pick up my mask with trembling fingers and push it against my skin. The internal shield signaled on, shattering my lust. Cool oxygen blew against my skin as it came rushing in through tiny unseen tubes. I sucked in breath after breath. Never had I been so happy to breathe oxygen.

But.

I didn’t
want
to breathe it. It was bland, defined by nothing. I wanted to yank off my mask and inhale breath after breath of this new air.

“I’m Jute,” I whispered, my voice coarse. Father watched me for a few long heartbeats, each one ticking louder than my harsh breathing. He set aside the scope and sat beside me, eyes alight with something I couldn’t read. He cupped my face in his hands, ten pinpoints of heat on my skin.

“No.” His voice was firm. I’d never had reason to doubt him before. But how could he be certain when proof breathed right beside him?

“Then?” The scope lay discarded a few feet away. The very thought of touching it made me nauseous. Everything I loved about the hill and the night disturbed me. Even the sky was suffocating me, pressing down in black, black, black.

“You are something greater. You are
you
,” he said, and stood. He walked to the scope, picked it up, looked through it. My discovery was nothing compared to seeing Earth, but disappointment raged through me all the same.

“Fath–” I started.

He held up his hand. Strands of his graying blond hair fell over his high forehead when he looked at me.

“Don’t ask, Lissa. What you are is greater than man, greater than Jute.” He spoke the words as if he was reading them off a page. He tucked the scope under one arm and held the other out to me, before looking up to the night sky. “It won’t be long before they come for me.”

I stared at his outstretched hand. He was telling me the subject was closed.

“I know,” I finally sighed. His expression gave away nothing, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask him anything more.

I would ask him the next day. I had the whole night to think. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders.
There’s time
, I told myself.

They came that same night.

Soldiers, fully clothed in rich uniforms emulating the night sky. Such thick material is hard to come by.

The masks over their mouths and noses were made of the finest Louen, so their breath would never cloud over and suffocate their skin. They never took them off, though oxygen roams inside every home.

Perhaps it was because they knew, they’ve had experience after all. For as soon as they set foot inside our small home, the air became stuffy, claustrophobic. The walls were suddenly pressing closer and I had to force myself to breathe. Their eyes were cold and hard. Father always said you could glimpse inside a person’s soul through their eyes.

And these souls knew nothing of mercy.

Father stole from the Chamber, an act punishable by death. But without a word, he ran to his room, leaving me alone under the harsh glares of the three men. The tiny flames swayed in the wake of his presence and his bare feet kicked up the dust we never swept in our candle-lit rooms. With a life so short and pointless, what was the point of cleaning?

He stumbled back with the scope, ready to show them we had a reason to live, that he had seen the Earth.

For a moment, everything was silent. The walls held their breath with me, as all eyes fixated on the shaky contraption.

Heartbeats passed before anyone moved. In a flash, the closest soldier ripped the scope from Father's hands. A snarl echoed in the room. His pale eyes met Father's and in the dark, I couldn’t see his emotions. Were his eyes as wild as his actions? Did he feel the slightest pity as he threw the scope to the floor? I stopped myself—it didn’t matter how the soldier felt. I stared as the glass shattered and the metal scattered. My heart pounded and my mind whirred.

Anger surged inside me, something I had never felt before. I ached to step forward, do something,
anything
. But I couldn’t. My fear rooted me to the spot.

The same soldier broke the shocked silence with orders to the two beside him. Blood roared through my ears, and I heard nothing but the cadence of his voice. They grabbed Father by his arms, while he stared at the broken pieces on the floor. For all the years I had lived with him, I had never seen defeat on his face.

As they pulled him out the door, his head hung limp against his chest. They dragged him along the road because he didn’t bother to walk. The fire flickering in him was destroyed, along with the very scope that lit it.

The pale-eyed soldier didn’t even glance at me before pocketing the metal and jogging off behind them. He didn’t care who saw him stealing from a thief.

There was nothing I could do. I was raised within these four walls, breathing, reading, and not much else.

But Father needed me. Despite the hope he had thrown away, a part of him would count on me. I quickly pressed my mask against my face and dragged myself out the door, before fear and reason could hold me back.

The pounding of my feet synchronized with my heartbeat. There was no sound other than the protesting wind. No chirping of bugs, no shuffling of animals like on Earth. Humans and Jute are all there is on Jutaire.

Up ahead, the faint shadows of three men stalked the ground as they passed the rows and rows of houses. Moonlight lit up Father’s fair hair. No one spoke.

My breath hitched when I realized where they were going. I stumbled.
No
. They were going to the Tower, the place Father wove terrifying stories about. Where the four Chancellors lived and worked. But subconsciously, I knew it was inevitable. Where else would they go?

I slowed to a brisk walk when they stopped at the top of the five stairs, and someone rapped against the Tower door. They all fell silent as the door swung open with a slow creak.

Soft yellow light spilt forth, revealing Chancellor Kole’s gaunt face, his eyes hollow pits of darkness. Shivers ran up my spine, like icy fingers dancing up and down the expanse of my back.

Everyone was wary of Chancellor Kole, even the well-dressed soldiers. The man had sentenced more people to hang than anyone can remember. He looked deathly, his face a pale, ghostly white.

As if all the lives he had stolen had taken him closer to the threshold of death.

I ducked beneath the shadows of two large boulders by the closest row of houses. There is nothing aside from rocks and rusty dirt in the barren landscape to offer hiding.

The Chancellor's gravelly voice carried on the dry wind. I held my breath and strained to pick out the words he enunciated in his painfully slow way. “Act... Earth... punishable.”

Each word sent my heart beating faster and faster, louder and louder. In the end, only one word mattered.

Death
.

I didn't need to hear the rest. I choked on the air brushing against my skin. Darkness edged into my mind, threatened to shut me down.

The door slammed shut. The meager light was gone. I looked up slowly from behind the boulder. Father was gone too.

I sank to the ground, the sudden weight of it all holding me down. It was real. It was happening. No matter how many times Father had told me they would come, it always sounded like something that
could
happen, not something that
would
.

Father had less than a day,
one day
, to live. Years of seeing his face, hearing his breath, listening to his voice. And tomorrow there would be nothing. I shuddered.

I heard a snap and my heart picked up speed. I forced myself to my feet. With one last glance at the Tower, helplessness stinging my chest, I turned back.

My hands were covered in red from the boulder, as if Father's blood already stained my hands, my heart, my life. I passed house after house, all uniform and small. I shivered at the single windows glinting at me, dim yellow eyes relishing my anguish.

When I finally climbed into bed, I expected tears, overwhelming fear and the shadows of soldiers looming on the walls.

But when I pulled the sheets over me, all I felt was a numbness encasing me from head to toe.

And a thought: I could save him.

I tumbled out of bed the next morning, knowing I only had till noon. Every beat of my heart brought Father's closer to eternal silence.

But I didn't find Father until noon, on the threshold of death.

It was a different kind of hanging. Chancellor Kole sought me out. He was calling Father’s sighting of Earth a lie that would disrupt the peace and it took everything in me to stop the tears from spilling.

Disgusted people shoved me helplessly through the crowd until the tips of my boots were pressed against the ring of stones surrounding the gallows.

“Did you see the Earth with him last night?” Chancellor Kole's voice rumbled through the silent people.

I was stunned, because questions are never asked at hangings. No one is ever granted the privilege to speak. Even so, Chancellor Kole’s dark eyes pinned me with loathing, forcing me to say yes.

Beside him on the scaffold, Father’s neck was secured in the tattered rope, his hands tied behind him. His pale hair shone in the midday sun, reminding me of how we never looked alike.

I shivered at his blank stare, loneliness already aching between my ribs. His eyes didn't speak the words they usually did. A sob lodged in my throat and I looked back at Chancellor Kole.

“No,” I whispered. The lie slipped easily from my mouth and I felt nothing. Fear eased the guilt of lying.

My voice gave Father life. He looked at me, eyes strangely focused. My heart quaked as it always did before Father told me something important.

“You are not my daughter.”

My breath rushed from my lungs.

Chancellor Kole smirked and my legs nearly gave out beneath me. Remorse creased the edges of Father’s mouth before he opened it again. But I didn't want to hear more. Anymore and I would have collapsed in the ring of stones and joined him.

I blinked in a vain attempt to hold back tears. Blood splattered against the white-washed wood before I turned and—

I wake with a start.

It takes a few moments for me to remember I am in my room, not in the Tower or in front of the gallows.

There’s a pounding in my skull, and my head feels heavy when I force open my eyes. Outside, the sky is still dark, though splotches of red will soon creep over the horizon, tainting a blue sky. The stars will still shine beside the sun, dimmer, but there.

The blood from the day of Father’s death clings to my mind, refreshed from my dream. I just don’t understand. Hangings are bloodless, but Father bled on the day of his death.

Father’s rickety desk leans against the foot of my bed, stacks of books from Earth decaying against the wall. Everywhere I look, I see Father. I rub at my eyes and slip out of bed. I need to get to the gallows early if I’m to save the boy.
Attempt
to save the boy.

I hear it again.

The pounding.

I slowly raise my gaze to the rattling door. The pounding was never in my head. No,
no
. I stumble to my boots and pull them on with trembling fingers. I’ve heard this pounding before.

I touch the mask plastered against my face, making sure it’s there. It used to be comforting, in days past. Now, it’s an annoyance, an obstacle.

And a reminder of how similar I am to the Jute.

There’s nowhere to run. Two small rooms, one excuse for a kitchen, and one small, sealed window that if I can somehow open, I can barely fit my head through. It’s either I open the door, or they break it down. I jump when the door rattles again.

With a deep breath, I reach for the rusted handle with shaky fingers.

First, I see his silhouette against the waking sun. Then, I see his deep brown hair, the shade so much like mine, and the black suit of a soldier. I lock my eyes on his.

Pale.

That’s all I register before his hand clamps over my open mouth and darkness clouds my vision.

Many nights ago, I sat in front of a fire with Father. The sky was dark and I could barely make out the Chamber in the distance.

“Tell me something,” I whispered to him. Because the silence of the world around me was harsh.

He sat back on his heels. “Tell you what?”

I shrugged. About my mother. About why I was secluded. But I didn't say any of those things. Father never answered those questions no matter how much I pushed.

“I don't know.” But as soon as the words left my lips, a thought struck. “Tell me about the Jute.”

My curiosity is too great for my own good, he would sometimes say. He leaned into the fire and stirred the water, coaxing it to boil.