Illya could not help grinning when Julian handed him the slingshot. It was by far his best weapon. He still had an old crossbow that his father had rigged for him, but he had never gotten over the feeling that hit him when he braced it against his shoulder. The first day he had used it was the day his father had been lost. It stirred up far too many memories and too many regrets for him to develop any talent with it. A slingshot, though, was a different story.
He placed the pebble then held on to the handle and drew back the sling. Squinting one eye to aim, he let go and ricocheted the pebble off a nearby tree to land squarely in the center of the smallest circle.
The boys around him erupted into cheers and whoops, the ones nearby pounding him on the back. He smiled unchecked then, reveling in the praise, and passed the slingshot on to Aaro.
Illya didn’t talk to Benja or anyone in his family at all over the following days. Samuel, too, was conspicuously absent, almost seeming to avoid him. Each time Illya began to feel a twinge of guilt over it, he reminded himself that none of them were seeking him out either. If they didn’t want anything to do with him, then that was just fine, that was the way it was going to be.
The plants were growing well, and there had been no further sabotage of the wheel. Illya spent more and more time with Conna and the Enforcers. After being gawked at by the rest of the villagers all day, it was a relief to sit among them and laugh, playing games and passing the skin of brew around.
Ban, who Illya knew was responsible for one of his greatest successes, had taken the name “Builder” to heart. With the water wheel complete, he was working on plans for reservoir troughs near the field and had already forged several new digging tools of metal, similar to the ones that had been left behind in the shed beside the stone house.
These accomplishments reminded Illya, even at his lowest moments, that it was all worth it. Still, he could not completely suppress the nagging worry that he had made a mistake. Everyone was doing their job, but he wished that they were following him out of something other than fear.
Alone one evening, Illya sat back against the wall of his hut, thinking. If only everyone had taken to their work with the same pride that Ban had. Ban Builder. It was as if, by naming him, he had given the blacksmith an identity. Something he could be proud to be.
He wondered what it would be like if all the gatherers, cooks, and soil-diggers could do their jobs with the same love. They would get a lot more done and probably be happier doing it.
As he thought, a new idea began to form in his mind.
Control. His mother had said he couldn’t control everything.
Anger flared through him at the memory.
She didn’t think he could do anything right, but hadn’t he succeeded in protecting the plants? Since the arrests, two weeks had passed without an incident. He thought again of Ban and his new building projects. It was because of Illya that Ban had the chance to build new things at all. Any other year, he would have joined the rest of them gathering, desperate to get enough before winter. Because of what Illya had done, there was the sea of waving leaves in the field. It was because of him that they were all going to have enough to eat.
The things that he was controlling were the things that were going right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
AARO SHOOK HIM awake before dawn.
“It’s time,” he said.
The air was sharp and bit at Illya’s face: a chilly morning, the first in months. It felt like it had come far too soon. He shivered, more from the trepidation that was building inside him than the cold. Every time he thought about what he was about to do, he became more nervous. Resolutely, he stopped himself from thinking about it at all.
He had agonized over what to do to make everyone happy. After days of worry, he had approached Conna. When Illya had mentioned how Ban had seemed to take to the title of “Builder”, Conna came up with an idea. It was radical, but Conna had said that it would be the first step towards making sure the new way of life continued for future generations. If they didn’t think about the future, if everything that they had learned would be forgotten and they might as well not try at all.
He had a good point.
Illya allowed himself a moment of wild fancy, dreaming of future generations. He wondered if they would remember him and what he had done, the way they remembered Jones, Ph.D. and the first settlers. People in the future would learn about him as littles. “This is the gift that Illya left us,” they would say when they planted and harvested the fields.
Despite his nerves, he couldn’t suppress a grin at the thought of that. He couldn’t chicken out now.
A cry of agony ripped from the hut at the end of the lane. Illya halted his steps involuntarily, shuddering, then went on, glad that Conna and Aaro were with him. Usually, he would have been left far outside the circle of mystery that surrounded birth. When Molly had been born, he had spent the night at Benja’s. What he remembered about that night was the novelty of sleeping away from home and that he and Benja had gotten into a sword fight with Aunt Ada’s carved wooden spoons and broken one of them.
There were births in the village every year, and the intensity of the cries always terrified him. But it could be so sweet when it was all done, with another little in the village.
When a mother finally emerged from her hut, clutching a wrinkly new person, all wrapped up in furs, everyone would feel the joy of it. She would be exhausted but carry a new grace, as if she had taken a glimpse at infinity and lived to tell about it. Birth was a mystery, dark and beautiful and terrible. Just now, Illya felt like he had little right to be a part of it.
They didn’t all turn out like that; sometimes they didn’t come back at all. It seemed like women had one foot on the other side during this time. It didn’t take very much to take another step that way instead of returning to the world with a new life.
There was another howl. He wondered what was happening inside the hut and if the baby would be born soon. They called him a prophet, but he could predict nothing of this.
Leya howled and howled. Charlie paced up and down outside the hut. Illya stood beside him, putting his hand on Charlie’s shoulder awkwardly from time to time, knowing that he could do nothing to help.
There was a new scream, if possible worse than the ones that had come before. Charlie started towards the door of the hut. Conna stopped him.
“Keep it together,” he said.
Charlie paced, starting his way into the hut again and again, and stopping himself again and again. Illya, Conna, and Aaro leaned against the wall of the hut in silence.
“Oh, Leya!” Charlie sobbed.
After some time, she fell quiet. They stood up, holding their breath, while the silence seemed to last an eternity. Illya caught Conna’s eye. Conna shook his head and looked at the ground.
Then the night was pierced by a cry, with Leya’s laugh closely following. Charlie pushed his way into the hut, sobbing freely. Marieke poked her head out of the door and smiled at the three of them.
“It’s a boy!” she said.
The sun had just risen in the sky: a bright yellow disk.
To Illya, it seemed like a sign—a new birth and, with it, a new dawn. Conna gave him an encouraging nod and he pushed his way inside.
Leya, wrapped in blankets, was holding a tiny, red-faced bundle. Charlie stood over her, stroking her hair, kissing her forehead. He didn’t appear to be capable of words and kept looking back and forth between his wife and the new baby as if he couldn’t decide who he wanted to look at more. Illya’s hands sweated, for a moment he felt wrong for intruding on the scene. Then Leya looked up and beamed at him.