Alina rarely paid attention to Father Sampson’s words, but this time they interested her. She tilted her head to Jade and asked, “What is blood? And what is death?”
Jade corrected Alina’s head and continued to braid, then answered in a fixed tone. “Blood is what flows through the bodies of mortals, and death is what happens to all of them. Their bodies stop working, their brains stop thinking, and they fall to the earth, never to rise again.”
The finality in those words stunned Alina. “Never? Will death happen to me? Or you?”
Jade’s hands paused. “No. Because of Father Sampson, all of us will live forever. No one in Pria can die.”
Alina felt relieved, not for herself, but for Jade. Nothing terrified her more than losing her caretaker. Perhaps Father Sampson deserved the praise he received. If no one in Pria could die, then she and Jade would always be together.
She listened with new ears as he spoke of the Last Great War and how he’d watched his loved ones die, including his beloved lover and their only child. The audience shed tears and Father Sampson choked on his words, allowing the despair to thicken the air.
Then he squared his shoulders and raised a clenched fist.
“I decided in that moment of ultimate suffering, I wouldn’t rest until I found the cure for death, and once found, I’d create a world where no one would ever” —his voice swelled— “know the meaning of pain, war, or death again!”
The audience leaped to their feet, clapping and crying, and Jade laced Alina’s hair so fiercely, her head jerked with each pull.
Father Sampson bowed his head, and as the applause faded, he paused for several moments before speaking again.
“It’s difficult to reflect on these things,” he said, as one long finger brushed a tear from his cheek. “But I know I must share my story. No one here has experienced such pain, such terror. For that I am glad. But there is a risk of forgetting how blessed we are because we have no painful memories to remind us. Our world is fragile. We cannot allow divisions of any kind to exist, or Pria will fall. We must all be vigilant in our loyalty to Pria, to me, if we are to avoid the fate of Carthem. We must pledge ourselves to preserve our peace.”
At these words every person stood up. Jade and Alina followed. They crossed their hands over their mouths, moved them to the heart, and directed one open palm toward Father Sampson. Alina heard the echoes of thousands reciting the Prian pledge: some shouting the words, others whispering through their tears. They swore fidelity to Pria and Father Sampson, their Creator, or be cast into Carthem to die.
Alina glanced at Jade, who went through the motions with a face of stone. Just as Jade didn’t sing the anthem, she never recited the pledge. But the last few years Alina noticed something she found the most peculiar of all. She waited to see if it happened again.
As the citizens chanted, Father Sampson turned his eyes to where Alina and Jade stood, by themselves, on the outskirts of the crowd. He never took notice of them at any other time, but on the Day of Genesis, and always during the pledge, he glared as if they were the only ones he could see.
Jade returned his glare with icy contempt in her eyes.
When they sat down, Alina leaned over to Jade. “Why does Father Sampson look at you like that? Have you offended him?”
Jade’s eyes widened for a moment. “He wasn’t looking at me.”
“I saw him,” Alina insisted. “Every year, he stares at you during the pledge and he seems angry.”
Father Sampson blew kisses from his pedestal and extended his arms as he descended, dismissing everyone for the Sleep. People began to stand, gathering their things.
Jade shot to her feet. “I haven’t noticed.” She bent over and picked up her bag. “Hurry, let’s go claim our spot for the Sleep.”
“But—” Alina started, then sighed. When Jade closed down, there was no way to press answers from her.
Alina stood up, and as she gathered the blanket, a spot of red caught her eye. She stretched out the heavy cloth. “Jade, look! Where’s it coming from this time?”
Jade looked at the blanket and gasped. “Are you—” She grabbed Alina’s shoulder and whipped her around. When Alina looked back, Jade’s face was white.
“What is it?” Alina’s heart sank. “Is it on my new nightgown?”
Jade tried to smile. “Don’t worry, it’s perfectly normal. Good news—now we can enjoy the Sleep at home!”
“What? But I thought no one was allowed to spend the Sleep at home.”
“We are,” Jade rushed. “Father Sampson permits it for special circumstances, and this is one of them.”
“But I thought you said it was normal,” Alina puzzled.
“Don’t you want to go home?”
“Yes‚ of course,” Alina replied.
“Then I’ll explain later. Hurry, or we’ll fall asleep on the way.”
Alina grabbed the blanket and followed Jade to the street, clasping her nightgown behind her to hide the stain. They darted between men in silk pajamas, partially buttoned to flaunt their pectoral muscles, and women in frilly robes with long trains trailing behind. Children danced around in their slippers, giggling as their caretakers set up sleep stations with mounds of blankets, deep pillows, and furry pets.
Father Sampson shut off the sky and lit the stars, and everyone stopped to look up, a chorus of oohs echoing around them. Jade quickened her steps.
“That was fast,” she murmured. “I hope we make it in time.”
“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble?” Alina fretted as she skipped to keep up with her.
“I’m sure,” Jade answered, and her confidence put Alina’s mind at ease. Jade seemed to relax as they distanced themselves from the crowd.
“So why am I leaking? I didn’t fall down or touch anything sharp,”
