“That still might prove to be valuable,” I say. “If not, I can give you some of mine.” I’ve done a little better. I have some poetry and two books full of stories that are not among the Hundred. I glance over at Eli’s pack. “We’ll have to ask Eli what he brought when he wakes up.”
Vick turns some pages. “Wait. This is interesting.” He hands me one of the pamphlets, opened to the first page.
The paper is pulpy. Cheap, mass-produced somewhere on the edges of Society with old equipment, likely scavenged from a Restoration site. I open the pamphlet and read it by the light of the flashlight:
THE RISING:
A Brief History of Our Rebellion against the Society.
The Rising began in earnest at the time of the Hundred Committees.
In the year before the Hundred Selections began, the Cancer Eradication Rate remained stagnant at 85.1 percent. It was the first occurrence of a failure to improve since the Cancer Eradication Initiative took effect. The Society did not take this lightly. Though they knew total perfection in all areas was impossible, they decided that closing the gap on 100 percent in certain areas was of utmost importance. They knew this would require complete focus and dedication.
They decided to center all their efforts on increasing productivity and physical health. Those at the highest level of Official voted to eliminate distractions such as excess poetry and music while retaining an optimal amount to enhance culture and satiate the desire for experiencing art. The Hundred Committees, one for each area of the arts, were formed to oversee the choices.
This was the beginning of the Society’s abuse of power. They also ceased to have each generation vote on whether or not they wanted to live under Society’s rule. The Society began to remove Anomalies and Aberrations from the general population and isolate or eliminate those who caused the most trouble.
One of the poems that the Society did not approve for the Hundred Poems was Tennyson’s “Crossing the Bar.” It has become an informal password between members of our rebellion. The poem references two important aspects of the Rising:
1. A leader called the Pilot directs the Rising and
2. Those who belong to the Rising believe it is possible to cross back into the better days of the Society — the time before the Hundred Selections.
Some of the Anomalies who escaped the Society in its early years have joined the Rising. Though the Rising now exists in all parts of the Society, it remains strongest in the Border and Outer Provinces, particularly where Aberrations have been sent in increasing numbers since the advent of the Hundreds.
“Did you already know all of that?” Vick asks.
“Some,” I say. “I knew the part about the Pilot and the Rising. And I knew about the Hundred Committees, of course.”
“And about destroying Aberrations and Anomalies,” Vick says.
“Right,” I agree. My voice is bitter.
“When I heard you saying the poem over the first boy in the water,” Vick says, “I thought you might be telling me you were part of the Rising.”
“No,” I say.
“Not even when your father was leading?”
“No.” I don’t say more. I don’t agree with what my father did but I don’t betray him either. That’s another fine line I don’t like to get caught on the wrong side of.
“None of the other decoys recognized the words,” Vick says. “You’d think more Aberrations would have known about the Rising and told their children.”
“Maybe all of the ones who did figured out how to get away before the Society starting sending us to the villages,” I say.
“And the farmers didn’t belong to the Rising,” Vick says. “I thought that might be why you were leading us to them — so we could join up.”
“I wasn’t leading you anywhere,” I say. “The farmers knew about the Rising. But I don’t think they were part of it.”
“You don’t know much,” Vick says with a grin.
I have to laugh. “No,” I say. “I don’t.”
“I thought you had some kind of greater purpose,” Vick says thoughtfully. “Gathering people to bring to the Rising. But you came into the Carving to save yourself and get back to the girl you’re in love with. That’s all.”
“That’s all,” I agree. It’s the truth. He can think less of me if he wants.
“Good enough,” Vick says. “Good night.”
When I scratch into the stone with my piece of agate, it leaves clean white marks. This compass won’t work, of course. It can’t open. The arrow will never spin, but I carve anyway. I need to find another piece of agate. I’m wearing down this one with carving instead of killing.
While the other two sleep, I finish the compass. When I’m done, I turn it in my hand so that its arrow points in the direction I believe to be north and I lie down to rest. Does Cassia still have the real compass, the one that my aunt and uncle saved for me?
She stands on top of the hill again. A small round piece of gold in her hands: the compass. A disk of brighter gold on the horizon: the sun rising.
She opens the compass and looks at the arrow.
Tears on her face, wind in her hair.
She wears a green dress.
Her skirt brushes the grass when she bends down to put the compass on the ground. When she stands up again her hands are empty.
Xander waits behind her. He holds out his hand.
“He’s gone,” he tells her. “I’m here.” His voice sounds sad. Hopeful.
No, I start to say, but Xander tells the truth. I’m not there, not really. I’m only a shadow watching in the sky. They’re real. I’m not anymore.
“Ky,” Eli says, shaking me. “Ky, wake up. What’s wrong?”
Vick flicks on the flashlight and shines it in my eyes. “You were having a nightmare,” he says. “What about?”
I shake my head. “Nothing,” I say, looking down at the stone in my hand.
The arrow of this compass is locked into place. No spinning. No alteration. Like me with Cassia. Locked on one idea, one thing in the sky. One truth to hold to when everything else falls to dust around me.
CHAPTER 16
CASSIA
In my dream he stands in front of the sun, so he looks dark when I know that he is light. “Cassia,” he says, and the tenderness in his voice brings tears to my eyes. “Cassia, it’s me.”
I can’t speak; I reach out my arms, smiling, crying, so glad not to be alone.
“I’m going to step away now,” he says. “It will be bright. But you have to open your eyes.”
“They’re open,” I say, confused. How else could I see him?
“No,” he says. “You’re asleep. You need to wake up. It’s time.”
“You’re not leaving, are you?” That is all I can think of. That he might go.
“Yes,” he says.
“Don’t,” I tell him. “Please.”
“You have to open your eyes,” he says again, and so I do, I wake up to a sky full of light.
But Xander is not here.
It’s a waste of water to cry, I tell myself, but I can’t seem to stop. The tears stream down my face, making paths in the dust. I try not to sob; I don’t want to wake Indie, who still sleeps in spite of the sun. After seeing the blue-marked bodies yesterday, we walked all day along the dry streambed of this second canyon. We saw nothing and no one.