Ahmad

  Despite his assurance to Rowena that he can perform his task without further interruption, Ahmad has been removed from the guard shift at the visitor’s quarters. It doesn’t come as a surprise. Rowena must have decided he’d gotten a little too concerned about the prisoners to be asked to enforce their captivity.

  Still, she never tells him he can’t visit Tali, and the other guards are also scouts. They’re his people and not likely to raise an alarm about one of their own without a good reason.

  Now that he’s not directly responsible for preventing the visitors’ escape, they even invite him in sometimes. Instead of Tali chatting with him on the porch and at the point of his crossbow, she pours him coffee and they talk across the kitchen table now. Evan Lucas has warmed up to him a little, though Xan has yet to speak a word in his presence. She, he thinks on more than one occasion, is the one to keep an eye on. She apparently thinks the same about him.

  Today, he passes their quarters without stopping, only glancing toward it long enough to wave congenially to the scout on duty. Today, at last, is the Council Meeting and he intends to be there. After Rowena’s reticence during his visit, he was surprised to see it appear on the schedule the next day. It was scheduled for a frustrating two weeks out, but scheduled nonetheless. Maybe his visit was not quite as useless as it felt when he left.

  One can hope.

  Like all Council Meetings, this one is open to the public. Community rule, and all that. Most of them are bogged down enough in mundanities that people not directly affected by the day’s topics rarely attend. This is, of course, unavoidable considering the number of topics a community this size needs to discuss. Still, a newly awakened part of Ahmad wonders if there’s some intentionality to the process. If anyone on the Council has an agenda they feel strongly about, it’s probably not hard to bury it in the quagmire of irrelevant debates that makes up many of the meetings. “It was open to the public,” they can say later if there are any objections. “You had your chance to weigh in.”

  The Council Meetings are held in the unambiguously named Center Circle, to make them accessible to everyone.

  From where Ahmad, Rowena, and the prisoners all reside in the Skyfrond Circle, named after the tall, wavy trees that occupy the middle area, it’s a journey of three or four circles to get there. Long enough to justify taking one of the many bikes available for cross-city travel, but Ahmad opts to walk. He needs to stretch his muscles and calm his nerves, which are wound surprisingly taut considering the indirect nature of his own involvement. Tali has managed to infuse him with her own anxiety to an extent he would not have thought possible three weeks ago.

  The walk to the Council Chamber takes longer than he anticipated and by the time he reaches it, he’s sweating slightly and beginning to regret his decision to forego a bike.

  The meeting has already begun when he slips in and sees the chamber is more crowded than usual. Word of the newcomers has spread, of course; people must be curious about the situation.

  He chooses a seat near the back, where he can hear the proceedings without feeling too much like a part of them. He’s still a little embarrassed about having gone out of his way to question the head of the Council to her face and feels more comfortable staying out of her view for a while.

  Tali and the others are at the bottom of today’s agenda, presumably because their case will be the most complicated. Before discussing their situation, the Council must address an irrigation issue in Half Moon Circle which is stymying crop growth and giving an unusual earthy taste to the drinking water. Then there’s a debate about the ownership of a house in Weaver’s Circle where a woman has died, leaving her house occupied by her daughter-in-law but claimed as an inheritance by her estranged son, the daughter-in-law’s ex-husband.

  By the time they turn to the topic listed as Transient Dilemma on the agenda, Ahmad’s stomach is starting to make uncomfortable noises. He should have eaten before the meeting. While he’s considering whether there’s time to run to a kiosk across the quarter where he can get something with a spicy sauce and a lot of rice, Rowena starts talking.

  Ahmad tunes back in to hear the head of the Council apprise her colleagues of the presence in Sky Frond Circle of three interlopers, caught snooping in the forest three weeks prior.

  Ahmad can’t hide his scowl at the framing. She knows as well as he does they are not some sort of dangerous miscreants. It has to be intentional: planting the seeds of her desired outcome.

  Rowena goes on to explain that one of the interlopers claims to be on an urgent rescue mission requiring her immediate release. When she says it like that, even Ahmad can hear how patently ridiculous the claim must seem.

  She reminds them of the rules regarding interlopers and visitors, and the many critical reasons the Council has voted to uphold those rules every year since its inception. Then she tells them, in a tone of apology, that as head of the Council she felt it only right to bring their case before the Council in spite of these rules, lest they see fit to make an exception in light of the interlopers’ claim.

  She informs them she will offer no opinion of her own, but instead trust the Council members to deal appropriately with the issue at hand without her weighing the scales in either direction. Ahmad has to bite his tongue to quell a burst of bitter laughter at this.

  When Rowena resumes her seat, another Council member raises a hand. Ahmad doesn’t recognize the woman, but her position at the Council table marks her as a representative of Little Nokon Circle.

  “Did the interloper provide any evidence of her claim?” she asks.

  “No.”

  “And what was the nature of the urgent rescue?”

  “That was unclear,” Rowena lies. “She said only that it involved a city north of Cabe’s Falls.”

  “But the three were headed south when you found them?”

  Ahmad doesn’t remember Rowena including this detail in her monologue. His belly tightens in suspicion.

  “That’s correct.”

  “What was her explanation for that discrepancy?”

  “She claimed to be heading to the Citadel to seek aid.”

  For a few seconds the words rest on a pregnant silence. Then the murmuring and laughter start.

  A few more Council members raise hands and ask questions, each as damning as the last. Ahmad wonders if all the questions were assigned in advance by Rowena, or only the worst of them.

  In response to a question about her impression of the interlopers, Rowena says that two of them seem nice, if a bit naive, and expresses her concern that the third, a quiet, dangerous-looking woman, might be using them for some unknown agenda, or even trafficking them.

  Peter, the aging representative of Starview Circle, suggests assigning the three to different circles and restricting their travel and communications until they are fully assimilated. There are some nods and murmurs of agreement at this.

  Another woman, Artemis, raises a hand without standing up and asks, “But if one them is a trafficker of some kind, do we want her to be assimilated?”

  Rowena dons a contemplative look and pauses to consider before reminding her colleagues that the possibility for change is built into the fabric of Sunward City. She suggests Xan be offered citizenship on a trial basis. From the way she says it and the way the rest of them responds, Ahmad realizes this isn’t a new concept.

  With a cold feeling, he wonders what usually happens if the trial citizenship doesn’t work out.

  “Why aren’t they here to speak for themselves?”

  The question leaves his mouth before he’s fully aware he meant to ask it. All heads in both Council and audience turn toward him.

  “What’s that young man?” one of the councilors asks politely.

  A little louder this time. “The interlopers.” He can’t keep the sarcasm from his tone when he says the word. “Since you’re discussing their fate, shouldn’t they be able to speak on their own behalf?”

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  The councilor nods, sympathetic. “Unfortunately the nature of this settlement is such that we cannot allow anyone to attend our meetings until they are fully part of the community.”

  “Even when you’re deciding whether to hold them prisoner for life? Or whether their story is credible?”

  The councilor’s eyebrows shoot upward, her expression offended. “Prisoner?” she begins, but Rowena silences her with a gesture.

  So much for Community Rule.

  “Thank you, Ahmad,” Rowena says. “Your concern is noted, and I assure you there will be time allotted for community input, as there always is, before we make any decisions.”

  Ahmad snorts. “Oh come on. You’ve already made your decision.”

  Rowena’s smile is calm. Professional. She is the picture of an unruffled leader carefully handling an unruly citizen.

  “If you are unable or unwilling to wait for your allotted time to speak, I will unfortunately have to request your removal from this chamber.”

  “No need,” says Ahmad, an entirely unfamiliar anger blooming in his chest. He storms out of the chamber of his own accord, feeling simultaneously righteous and foolish as he slams the door behind him.

  Tali

  Ahmad’s expression is dark when I answer his knock. My stomach sinks with the sudden certainty that I know what he has come to say.

  I have been preparing for this—we all have—but I still hoped. Possibly, the fact that he seemed so optimistic is why I still held out hope, even though I have always known the outcome on some level.

  “They decided against us,” I say flatly. It’s not a question, and he doesn’t answer it. Instead, he steps inside and puts his head in his hands. I give him a moment to collect himself, fear and anticipation warring in my belly for what’s to come.

  He lowers his hands and looks at me with an anguish that endears him to me, as much as anyone who has ever kidnapped me at crossbow-point can be endeared.

  “They want to separate you. Assign you to different Circles.”

  I nod. It’s about time, honestly. I still can’t believe they’ve kept us together all this time.

  “Tali, I’m sorry, I…” he starts, but I lay a hand gently on his forearm to stop him.

  “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” I pause and rethink. “Well… It’s not entirely your fault.”

  I give him a little grin to soften the words, but it bounces off him unnoticed.

  “I might have made things worse,” he says miserably. “I caused a bit of a scene at the Council Meeting.”

  My grin widens. I should be terrified right now. I probably will be later, but right now the relief that comes with being finally released from the limbo of indecision has me feeling almost giddy.

  “Appreciate that,” I say warmly. “Really. I do.”

  He frowns and looks me up and down, taking in my composure. His expression turns confused, then suspicious.

  “You don’t seem that upset.”

  I sigh. “It’s not that I’m not upset. It’s just that I expected this.”

  “Sure but… what about your friends? They’re going to die, aren’t they?”

  The words sober me. It’s a fact that haunts my every waking moment, and more than a few of the sleeping ones. His concern almost brings tears to my eyes that I would not have guessed were so close to the surface.

  I consider him in silence, wondering whether I should give him a hint or a warning of some kind. After all he’s tried to do for us, he deserves at least that much. On the other hand, as Xan constantly reminds me, he could be planted there for exactly this purpose. It wouldn’t be the first time a clever leader sent someone sympathetic to build a rapport with their enemies. I search his eyes, wondering if that kind of infiltrator would have a tell of any kind.

  Xan makes the decision for me, or tries to anyway.

  “Thanks for letting us know, Ahmad,” she says from behind me in a tone that is clearly intended to end the visit and dismiss the messenger. I turn to look at her, trying to plead with my eyes. Her answering look is stony. Unyielding. Not taking her eyes off me, she adds, “If we’re going to be assigned to separate circles, we’d like to spend our last hours or days together if you don’t mind.”

  “Oh,” Ahmad glances from her to me and back again, apologetic. “Of course. Sorry. I… I’ll see you later.”

  He turns toward the door and something about the stubbornness in Xan’s gaze triggers a sudden defiance in me that I will almost certainly regret later.

  “Ahmad,” I say, arresting his progress. He turns, one hand on the door handle. “Don’t be around here tonight.”

  A flash of hurt crosses his face, followed quickly by understanding. He pauses, his internal war visible in his expression. I don’t look at Xan, but I feel the anger radiating from her steps as she retreats from the room. I may have just ruined everything, for everyone.

  At last the struggle fades from Ahmad’s eyes, resignation taking its place. He nods once.

  “Okay.” He turns to leave again, and again stops before opening the door and turns back to me.

  “You should know something else,” he says. “You know that lady doing the lights that night?”

  It takes me a minute to follow the sudden change in direction, during which I stare blankly at him. He watches, seeing when my eyes clear that I’ve made the connection.

  “She wasn’t the mage.”

  “What? She had to have been. There were no mods…”

  “She was a mage,” Ahmad clarifies. “She wasn’t the mage.”

  His next words suck the air out of the room, leaving me lightheaded.

  “We’re all mages here.”

  I blink at him, unable to conjure up a response.

  “Everyone in Sunward,” he says. “We all have magic.”

  Tali

  Lucas and Xan stare up at me with equally stunned expressions. It would be comical If I weren’t still feeling the waves of awe myself.

  We’re sitting in a circle in our little common area. I’m on the sofa and Lucas and Xan are both sitting on the floor—he on a soft cushion placed there for the purpose, and she with her back against the wall. Combined with the news I’ve just brought them, it creates an unintentional feeling of a teacher schooling her young class.

  “That can’t be true,” Lucas says.

  “Yeah. I know,” I agree.

  But it is, I don’t say.

  “They don’t have a Committee-level mage,” Xan repeats what I’ve just told her. “They are all mages.”

  It doesn’t seem possible, but it also explains a lot. How this massive underground system of symmetrical circles with vaulted ceilings was built, for one. Why their food tastes so cogging fresh. Why they’re so desperate to keep it secret.

  “How?” Lucas asks the obvious question—the one we’re all turning over in our heads. “Are they all descended from the same rogue mage or something?”

  Xan laughs.

  “Ahmad thinks it has something to do with this location,” I tell them. “Like maybe they just got lucky and found the last place in Salus not affected by The Siphoning.”

  He shakes his head. “That doesn’t make sense. It’s not just about The Siphoning, you have to… you know… be a mage to be a mage.”

  “Yeah,” I say again. “I know. But what other explanation can there be? They came here, to this place, and now they can all do some amount or some type of magic.”

  Xan looks thoughtful at this. “So it’s not all the same?”

  “I don’t think so. Not the way he said it at least. It sounds like people have different aptitudes. Like singers and musicians who have natural talent. I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense.”

  “What was his?” Lucas says.

  “His what?”

  “His aptitude? Did he show you any magic?”

  I shake my head. “He said it wasn’t something he could show me. That with him it’s more… passive. Like he can sense vibrations in the ground and tell where things are coming from and how fast and what kind. That sort of thing.”

  “Hm,” Lucas sounds skeptical. “So how do you know he wasn’t making the whole thing up?”

  “I guess I don’t,” I concede. “Although I did see the lady fixing the lights that night and she definitely was not using mods.”

  “Are you sure? How close was she?”

  “I’m sure. I don’t know how to explain how I know. It didn’t look like any mod I’ve ever seen.”

  “Okay, but nothing here is like anything we’ve seen elsewhere. Maybe they have super advanced mods.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know though, he seemed really genuinely scared. Like he was really not sure he should be telling me.”

  “So why did he tell you?” Xan asks.

  “I think he wanted to warn me. In case we decide to fight.”

  Before they can respond, there’s a knock at the door.

  Medore

  Medore doesn’t go to the Council meeting. She doesn’t need to. She’s seen enough of the furtive communications between Rowena and other members of the Council to know exactly how it will go.

  She’s not angry at her partner. Rowena believes she is doing what is right for the city. Nearly 8,000 people rely on this city’s resources and protection. They have lives and families here. Against all that is at stake, a few less than honest turns of phrase here and there seem insignificant. Even the lives of three strangers mean little in light of all they have built here and the need to protect it.

  Medore understands all this. So she’s not angry. Not even disappointed. She does not, however, share Rowena’s moral flexibility in service to the city. She almost wishes she could. The rigid expectations of her conscience are burdensome at the best of times, and Rowena’s argument is more than a little compelling. But that’s not who Medore is, and she knows herself too well to pretend otherwise.

  During the Council meeting, Medore runs errands. There’s not much need for mods in Sunward City, but some people do make them for distribution to the black markets of the Citadel and Nokon City. Medore picks up a few, then visits the grocer and the bakery in preparation for tonight’s dinner.

  She visits her friend Marcus, whose husband is sick, to bring him a tin of warm, garlicky soup with plenty of salt for his throat. Then she makes one more stop.

  After the final errand, she goes home. She hums while she cooks dinner, as she always does. Medore loves cooking—the rhythms of it relax her in the same way that solving logistical problems soothes Rowena.

  When Rowena arrives home, Medore welcomes her with a smile. They eat vegetable curry and drink wine. Medore doesn’t ask about the Council Meeting, and Rowena doesn’t volunteer information about it. The fact that she doesn’t means it must prick at her conscience, at least a little. Medore’s glad about that.

  They talk about Marcus, and about the upcoming expedition to the Citadel. It’s not that no one ever leaves Sunward City—they buy and sell mods, clothes, textiles, machine parts and other goods without which life in the city would be more difficult. But those who do go are among a trusted few. They know how to blend into the nameless city dwellers and conduct business without raising eyebrows or questions. And they are devoted to Sunward and its inhabitants.

  Medore says when the next expedition goes out, she’d like some floral fabrics. Rowena says that would be nice, and maybe it can be used to brighten up the bedroom for spring.

  Then the shortwave radio Rowena uses to coordinate with other Circles crackles, and Medore sighs and finishes her wine. The pleasant part of the evening is over.

  It’s the guard currently on duty at what Rowena refers to as the Visitor’s Quarters, and Medore privately thinks of as the local jail.

  “There’s a problem with the visitors,” the voice says.

  “Okay,” Rowena answers calmly. “What’s the problem?”

  “Um…” the guard’s voice is chagrined and the look Rowena flashes her tells Medore she knows the answer before it comes.

  “They don’t seem to be here.”