CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A shadow uses light to cast its shade
Consolidating two opposing foes
And if this unity causes some doubt
The shelter that they make is unopposed
The beauty of a silhouette is worth
The contradiction captured in its birth
—THE BOOK OF UNVEILING
Decorative streamers hung from lighting poles and roofs, crisscrossing the main road winding through town. Surrounded by a throng of people, Zeli stared up in awe at the elaborate designs.
She’d thought Mercy Days in the Lake Cities would be the grandest in the country, save for Sayya, so she was truly amazed at the variety of tapestries, flags, and ribbons that hung from every window and door. The displays were much, much more than what they’d done back home.
At every corner, a street urchin or elder carried a basket of wreaths woven with artificial flowers. The colors of each flower were bright enough to rival Avinid clothing, and if you were offered a wreath, tradition bound you to accept.
Zeli dutifully lowered her head to allow an old woman to lay yet another of the lightweight collars around her. Each flower was crafted from some sort of tissue paper. Somewhere there must be a factory of people doing nothing but making these wreaths for Mercy Days. Though the wreath weighed almost nothing, it hung like a noose.
As the girls wound their way through the crowded streets, Zeli got her first good look at the bulk of the town. She hadn’t had much opportunity over the last week to explore. Her body was still getting used to the grueling yet tedious labor at the factory, and she spent her off hours sleeping or resting, trying to gather the strength to go back to her shift the next day. This was her first day off and despite the reason for the break, she was grateful.
The level of celebration and cheer was also much higher than what she was used to. In Laketown, everyone gathered in the market squares for free food and wine, and to witness the executions. The citizenry did their duties, smiling their strained smiles, cheering on command—surviving. But here, whether due to an edict of the local Magister or simply the culture of the Midcountry, everything was bigger, brighter, more.
The appearance of gaiety was in distinct contrast to the poverty of Checkpoint Ten; perhaps they shouted louder because they had so little else. A sense of discomfort washed over her. She’d never liked Mercy Days—sure, the chance to sample foods she’d never be able to otherwise was exciting and the day off from work welcome, but the rest of it … She shivered thinking of what was to come.
They’d reached the edge of the market square. Directly across from them on the other side, a platform had been erected right in front of the statue of the True Father. Every town had at least one such statue, usually more than one, and Checkpoint Ten’s was nearly identical to Laketown’s. The robed and masked figure of the king had one hand up, as if in greeting, and one hand shading the place where his eyes should be on his masked face, as if looking afar. Though she couldn’t see them from this distance, she knew the words EVER WISE AND EVER WATCHFUL were inscribed on the statue’s base.
She stood in the center of a clutch of factory girls with Tana and Ulani right beside her. The sisters always gravitated to her whether on their walks to and from the dormitories, at meal times, or in their few free hours.
The square was quickly filling and more people streamed in behind them, pressing them closer together. While she hadn’t seen Kyssa or Nedra, one of Nedra’s cronies, a willowy girl whose name Zeli couldn’t recall, seemed to be keeping a close eye on Tana. Her narrowed gaze was often trained in the girl’s direction.
It made sense for the watchers to have watchers, but Zeli’s stomach sank all the same. There had been no convincing Tana to at least appear to be playing along with Ora’s edicts. The girl was resolutely opposed to even looking like she was gathering information on anyone—no sense of self-preservation, that one.
Zeli scanned the crowd around them, looking for others who might have been assigned to keep tabs on Tana. Instead her gaze was caught by the blue domed roof of the Avinid temple, just across the square. She thought of the revival, of Devana and Kerym. Homesickness filled her, and she blinked back tears.
She tore her attention away to take in the rest of the square. Shops, inns, and stables flanked the open area that would usually have had additional merchant stalls set up. But they had been cleared away to make room for all of the people. The entire town’s population would be here along with anyone passing through who needed to be witnessed participating in the mandatory holiday.
Already, volunteers had been conscripted into passing out skewers of roasted meat, fresh apples, and oranges otherwise unknown to the Midcountry, and small cups of ale. All could partake, whether payroller or peasant. The smell of delicious food made Zeli’s mouth water. She wasn’t used to subsisting on the rations the factory workers were given each day. So she accepted a meat skewer with no guilt whatsoever. It was Mercy Day, after all.
At first she thought Tana would refuse the food, but the girl reluctantly took the offering, showing at least a little sense. But her obstinate expression made Zeli’s heart race.
As she wiped a dribble of juice from her chin that had squirted from a tender bite of goat’s meat, Zeli stopped short. She noticed a telegram office wedged in between an apothecary and a leather goods shop.
She craned her neck to check the platform—still empty. The local Magister had not yet arrived to kick off the ceremony. Zeli grabbed Ulani’s hand.
“Let’s go over there.” She motioned with her head toward the telegram office. “I think we’ll have a better view.”
Tana narrowed her eyes, but didn’t protest and followed when Zeli led her sister away. They moved through the crowd, avoiding elbows and shoulders as best they could. Finally, they emerged just at the edge of the square, directly in front of the office.
The door to the shop was ajar. Zeli took a quick look around to see who might be watching them—no one she could identify—before approaching and peeking in. A white-haired man bustled about behind the counter.
“Wait here,” she said to the younger girls before slipping inside.
The man looked up. “Closing down now. Mercy Day, you know,” he said, as if it were possible for her not to know.
“Yes, of course.” Zeli craned her neck to take in the small space. “But you’ll stay here, right? It isn’t Mercy Day everywhere, is it?” Because all production stopped during the holiday and every town couldn’t be expected to have executions at the same time, Mercy Days only usually affected a handful of towns at a time. It was possible to travel the Great Highway and be waylaid by a Mercy Day on successive days in each town you passed through.
The telegram operator looked up to answer, when the machine began to whir, indicating an incoming message. He sat down and put his headphones on, listening for the coded signal that he would have to transcribe. As people in other towns would still be sending messages, someone was always needed to be on hand to receive them.
Zeli watched the man carefully, noting the two stacks of papers beside him. The words he transcribed were written on a pad to the man’s left. On his right were a half-dozen slips of paper. As she stretched to see, she could tell these were outgoing messages.
An idea sprung to mind. While the operator was busy transcribing the incoming message, Zeli left the shop.
The platform was still empty, but she noticed that Nedra’s nosy friend had moved closer to them. The girl stood a few paces away at the edge of the dense crowd.
“I have an idea,” Zeli told the girls, quietly. “I need you two to create a distraction.” Then she straightened and spoke loud enough for their spy to overhear. “I’m going to take another look at those outgoing telegrams. Could be some good intel in them for Ora-mideni.”
Tana rolled her eyes, but little Ulani smiled.
“You two, go into the alley and around the back. Find the back door and rattle it or something. I need the operator to think someone is trying to break in and leave his post so I can take a look around.”
Ulani grinned at her assignment and even Tana’s eyes brightened, excited to be making some mischief, no doubt. When the girls scampered off, Zeli looked at their spy triumphantly. Hopefully, the news would get back to Ora that the girls were helping seek information.
Zeli went back to the office’s main door. Inside, the telegraph operator was still at his desk, shuffling through his papers. Suddenly he looked up, then stood sharply before disappearing into the back.
She rushed in and leaned over the counter to rifle through the outgoing messages in case someone was somehow watching. A second pad, the one on which customers wrote their messages was just out of reach. She climbed onto the counter and grabbed for it. She had a pencil in hand and was scribbling a message to Devana in moments.
She had no money to pay for a telegram home, but she reasoned that if she slipped her message in with the others that had already been paid for, no one would be the wiser. She’d just completed the note when she heard footsteps approaching again from the back of the shop. She tapped the stack of messages to neaten them and quickly scanned the counter to ensure she hadn’t upset anything.
The operator was grumbling to himself about urchins and thieves as he returned, but Zeli prowled back outside the front door before he could spot her.
Dangerous as it was, crime wasn’t unheard of during Mercy Days. Just about every shop and business in town would be closed down, so it made sense. Though if you were caught thieving on such a day, it was virtually assured that the next Mercy Day would feature your execution.
Zeli met the girls back outside just in time for the Magister to take the stage. She could only hope that her actions would convince Ora to keep all of them right where they were. As for her message to Devana, she didn’t even want to allow herself to hope. It was a long shot for her mistress to care enough about her to buy her back. She rubbed her single remaining bracelet. If luck was coming, now would be a good time.
We have to watch and not turn away, Ulani reminds herself. She remembers Papa drilling this into her head over and over again. No gasping or crying when the men and women are dragged onto the stage. No shutting your eyes when the ropes are draped over their necks.
The Magister drones on and on about crimes against the Fatherland and the dutiful citizens who keep us safe with their vigilance. A gussied-up payroller preens under the attention given him. He informed on the people who are about to die.
Ulani’s neck is weighed down by colorful wreaths. Thicker and lighter than the ropes the people on the platform wear. She touches the petals of one of the delicate flowers. They’re pretty, but they don’t feel like real flowers at all. She imagines the velvety texture of a dune sunflower, both butter soft and butter yellow. Both the vision in her head and the feel of it on her fingertips make her smile.
Her eyes are open, looking straight ahead but seeing something totally different. A green stem, slightly fuzzy but strong. Pointed green leaves. An orange center with its little fluffy bits and coming out of it, the petals, split at the ends like a fork.
Tana hits her in the shoulder, and Ulani’s focus comes back to the present. The bodies on the stage are only half visible now, having fallen into the holes in the bottom. They sway slightly, heads at odd angles.
Tana kicks her foot, causing a sharp pain. Ulani looks down to see a dune sunflower growing out of the crack between paving stones just between the two of them. She wants to pick it and keep it. Once she kept a flower alive in her room for months, hidden in the jar where she stored her writing chalk. When it would wilt, she would sing it back to life, sensing its will to live and helping it along.
But Tana frowns at her now, before replacing the expression with the same splintery smile everyone around them wears. Tana slides her foot over the flower to crush it and hide it from view. Ulani knows she isn’t supposed to make flowers anymore, especially not where people can see. She hadn’t been trying to, but she hadn’t been not trying to, either.
When Tana moves her foot, the little plant is gone. Not just crushed, but shriveled and brown, like all the life has been drained out of it.
Kind of how Papa looked all crumpled and empty and cold on the floor.
Ulani takes her sister’s hand, threading their fingers together. She’ll have to be more careful. Then again, so will Tana.