Shadows Cast by Stars

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

We’re at war. The siren wasn’t signaling an emergency. It was a call to arms, a general muster. Word has reached the Band that the hospitals where they harvest Other blood were wiped out in the last earthquake, and now the Corridor is out of Other blood. That means they’re coming for us.

Madda doesn’t stay to learn the details. She pushes our way out of the crowd gathered around the longhouse and storms to the cottage without speaking a single word.

The cottage watches us with wary eyes. It knows we’re leaving, and as if to reinforce that point three ravens fly overhead, a trio of black periods in the sky. Dot, dot, dot. What happens now…

Helen’s inside, wide-eyed and pale.

“You’re going to stay with Adelaide,” Madda snaps at her. “Go pack.”

Helen scurries off. “Why isn’t she coming too?” I ask before I can stop myself.

Madda is half bent over, about to pull a basket full of bandages out from a shelf, when she pauses and turns back to me. “Because the first and last time Helen went on one of these things with me, I left her alone and she was raped. She was eleven. Does that answer your question?”

I don’t know what to say. I just stand there gaping as Madda pulls stuff out of cupboards-bundles of cloth, packets of things that crunch, herbs, syringes, vials. She fires them all at me. “You wanted to know,” she snaps. “Now you do. Let that be a lesson not to ask questions you’re told not to ask.”

“Who?” I whisper as I try to catch the jar Madda tosses to me, but it slips from my fingers and breaks, sending a rain of lavender rolling under our feet. I sweep it up as fast as I can. Madda doesn’t even seem to notice.

“Don’t know. She says she doesn’t remember, but she’s been afraid of men ever since. Can’t say I blame her. Bran was the one who brought her back to me…”

Madda stops speaking. Helen has appeared in the hallway. “I’m ready,” she says.

Did she overhear us? I don’t know. Maybe. Even if she didn’t, it’s all I can do not to rush over and hug her. But I don’t. I also remember what Madda once told me, that Helen didn’t want pity, so I say, “See you later?”

She nods and closes the door behind her.

Madda turns to me. “Thank you. That was kind.” She points to her bedroom. “There are bags in there. Bring them both out, and start packing.”

I find the bags stowed behind a set of drying racks, and set them on the table, stuffing bandages and clothes and whatever Madda tosses at me into their leather bottoms while she searches for something in the back of a cupboard. “There it is.” She straightens up and hands me a cloth bundle. “You’ll need this.”

I hold the bundle in my hands. Whatever’s under the cloth is hard and heavy. I peel back the layers to expose a silver barrel, and immediately thrust it back to her. “I can’t have this.”

She doesn’t hear me. She’s back in the cupboard. “I know I’ve got some bullets in here somewhere,” she growls.

“Madda,” I say. “Madda, I can’t have this.”

She’s out of the cupboard and has a hold of my shoulders before I can blink. “Child, you have no choice. We’re going into battle. If you want to come, you come armed.”

“You don’t understand,” I whisper.

“Tell me what I don’t understand.” She peers into my eyes. “That your mother shot herself with one of these? I know that. She did it, not you.”

And that’s that.

What I remember is this:

A kitchen table.

One chair, knocked to the floor.

The door open.

A bottle of bleach, empty.

The apple tree outside.

Smoke from a smoldering fire.

Shadows behind it.

My mother’s arm, blackened by Plague, piercing those shadows.

Her blood feeding the roots of the apple.

A letter on the refrigerator, tacked up with the letters C and P.

It reads: I’m infected. I cleaned the house and burned my clothes. I’m sorry. I love you. I can’t let it take you, too.

A year later, just after I turn twelve, a scientist in Bangladesh discovers that those of aboriginal descent are immune to Plague. Our blood carries antibodies. Liquid gold.

I make my father promise he’ll never have a gun in the house again.

And then the searches begin.

We gather outside the longhouse, a hundred head strong. My father stands beside me. We are grim-faced and silent. My father’s not going. Someone has to stay behind, tend the crops, prepare for winter, and watch for our return. He’s not the only one-a few of the Elders, most of the women, the children-they’re also staying. The young, the infirmed. This is what the UA does to us: divides us into groups, makes us see who’s expendable, who’s not. Who’s strong, who’s weak. I’ve heard it said that conflict unites a nation, but I don’t believe it, not for one second. All conflict does is break things apart and scatter the pieces so far that it’s impossible to pick them all up again.

Paul hasn’t been home in days, and when I spot him in the crowd, it’s just as I suspected. He’s walking hand- in-hand with Avalon.

“Did you know?” I ask my father.

“About the girl?” He shrugs. “Yeah, he told me. Not who I would have chosen for him, but that’s love for you.” My father nudges me. “Madda’s over there. You should go to her.”

I kiss my father’s cheek and head off, not knowing what to think. The division has already begun. Does my brother deserve to be happy? Yes, of course he does. But with Avalon? Avalon, who will break his heart? Because she will-she’s said as much herself. I wish I didn’t know this, but I do, right deep in my bones. What will happen to Paul then? Who will tell him that his heartache will pass? Who will watch him slip into himself and disappear into the blackness that has haunted him since he was a little boy?

Please, let me be wrong. I have never wanted to be so wrong about anything in my life.

Madda is parked under a pine tree, ordering women around. “No, that doesn’t go there,” she says, scurrying over to snatch a bundle away from a flustered-looking woman. “What if someone takes a bullet? How would I get to it in time?” The woman mutters something and bends back to her work as Madda looks around and rubs her forehead with a grimy hand. She spots me and waves me over. “I need your help,” she says. “Sort through the surgical gear and take out anything that’s not essential. We’ll be traveling light and fast.” She nods at the pile of supplies behind her. “Anything that’s too heavy, stick over there. The men will carry it.” She marches off.

Avalon finds me wrapping bandages.

“You’re going too?” she asks.

I force myself not to snap at her. What she said about Helen hasn’t escaped my memory, and now, with what Madda has revealed, I’m not about to suffer Avalon’s games. “Yes” is all I say, in hopes she’ll just go away.

Avalon glances around. She sniffs and tries to pick up one of the backpacks, but it’s clearly an effort for her and she sets it back down right away, even though I can lift it without any problem at all. “I could carry one of these.” She sits down beside me, but makes no effort to help. “Healing isn’t so hard. Maybe,” she says as she gives me a sidelong glance, “you could ask Madda if I can come too.”

“Maybe,” I say, though I already know Madda’s answer, and therefore won’t bother. It’s then I notice she’s watching someone. Bran. He’s walking across the park, a pack on his back, his eyes full of storm clouds. Avalon can’t take her eyes from him.

Oh, Paul. If only you could see what I’m seeing now. I couldn’t make him, even if he were here, but when Avalon breaks his heart, I will help him pick up the pieces and glue them back together again.