Drowning in Deception (7 page)

“I’m twenty-two.”

That threw her a little. Clover was
seventeen and she wouldn’t have guessed Arma to be much older. It must have
been her dull clothing and lack of make-up that made her look so young.

 “Thank you, Clover.” She smiled
sincerely at her. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She dug in her sack and pulled out a
woolen shawl and held it out for Clover.

“What’s this for?”

Arma folded it into a triangle, put it
on top of Clover’s head and tied the ends at her chest. The look on Clover’s
face must have been horrific as she imaged how ugly she must look. Arma
explained. “Your hair. No one in our city wears their hair like you do. It has
to be covered.”

Clover looked to the ground. What was
she doing? Was reading her stories to a sick little girl really worth all this?

Before she could change her mind, Arma took
her hand and pulled.

She was very nervous stepping through
that door. She had never dreamed that there might be a door in the Wall to
begin with. And this one was so well-hidden behind thick brush on both sides
that it was a wonder anyone had found it at all.

Her hands were trembling, so Arma squeezed
the one she held to help steady her. Arma gestured at Rye to do the same, so with
a grunt, he took her other hand. His was rough and calloused, and she couldn’t
decide if holding his hand made her feel better or worse. But if she was going
to go through with this crazy idea, she would need all the help she could get.

It was hard to believe that she was
actually on the other side of the Wall, and it took a lot of concentration to
slow her panicked breathing and accelerated heart rate. She didn’t know what she
was expecting, but was certain the other side of the Wall would be very
different from her own world. Perhaps she was expecting something dark, ugly,
and barren - perhaps the setting from a horror novel. In reality though, it looked
much the same as where she had just come from. It was dark, yes, but her side
of the Wall had been dark too. That was to be expected when the sun was buried
behind a mass of thick, grey clouds.

They walked along through a forest for a
while before coming upon the outskirts of a city. They followed a rough path
along the outer edge instead of heading into the town. “That’s our city,” said
Arma, gesturing with her head. “The gods named it Quell.”

Clover didn't say anything, as she was
too busy staring at what she saw. It was ugly here. There were no prettily-painted
houses or manicured lawns with colorful flowers, only large wide buildings with
stinky smoke billowing out of their tops, standing between dusty dirt roads.
And there were so many of them. They had some large buildings in Eadin, but
nothing like what she saw here.

“What are all those buildings for?” she
asked.

Rye pulled her by the hand as he picked
up their pace, and Clover yanked Arma along behind.

“This is the industrial area,” she
explained. “The buildings are mostly factories.”

“Oh. And what one about that one?” Her
hands were both clasped tightly in each of theirs, so she gestured with her
chin to the massive steel building they were passing. It looked as if it was
made with the same seamless metal as the Wall itself. It wasn’t nearly as tall,
but she could see that the same razor-sharp shards that topped the Wall were
present on its crest as well.

“That's one of the livestock farms,” she
answered. “All of the animals are locked inside to keep them safe.”

Her eyes widened. “Safe from what?” Safe
from the monsters, she presumed, and took a shaky breath. What was she doing
here?

Both Arma and Rye quickened their pace, almost
to a jog, ignoring her question.

“So, the animals are safe in there,” she
said as she swallowed hard. From their distance on the outskirts, she had taken
note of a number of people all dressed similarly to Arma and Rye. The people
meandered in and out of the factories and walked here and there along the dirt
roads between. “Where do the people go to be safe?”

Rye and Arma exchanged a glance before Arma
said, “C'mon. We're almost there.”

Clover breathed heavily as they trudged
alongside this strange, scary city. What had she gotten herself into? She
desperately wanted to turn back, but felt like it was much too late for that
now.

When the industrial area ended, the
large wide factories were replaced along the dirt roads by little houses and
huts. Some were built from wood and others from what appeared to be dried mud.

After a few minutes they stopped at the
backside of one of the small wooden structures. Arma dropped her hand from
Clover’s and whispered, “Stay here with Rye.” Then she disappeared around the
corner toward the front of the house where, Clover assumed, she entered.

Rye stepped close and pulled her down so
they were both in a crouching position. On her way down, Clover teetered and
had to grab onto his arm for balance. His bicep was firm and solid. He remained
still until she had settled. Their faces were only a foot apart. He looked
directly into her eyes and put a finger to his lips. “Shh...”

She took the opportunity to examine his
face closer. His skin was deeply tanned and his dark hair hung close to his
eyes. Those eyes. There was something wild about them. They were ebony brown with
tiny flecks of gold speckled throughout. He was so close to her that she could
smell him. Hi scent was a rugged and outdoorsy, like the smell of a freshly planted
garden. Other than Zander, she'd never been this close to a boy before, and she
found herself comparing the two. They were such complete opposites. Zander
always smelled like cologne, his hair was light and usually combed nicely, and
his face was pale. This boy had dark sun-weathered skin and long straggly hair.
He was rough and untamed looking. And the deep scar that ran down his cheek
completed a look that warned Clover to be cautious around him. Although
cautious of what, she wasn’t sure.

She suddenly realized that she was
staring, and self-consciousness hit heavily when she noticed that he was
staring and assessing her too. She snapped her eyes away from him.

“Why do you wear all that colorful,
sparkly stuff on your face?” he whispered, his eyebrows scrunched together.

There was a tapping sound at the window
above where they were crouched. They heard Arma’s voice. “She left. All clear.”

 “It's safe for us to go in now,” Rye
said. He released her hand as he got to his feet, so she followed him around
the house and in through the front door.

She wasn't prepared for what the inside
of this little wooden house would be like. Tiny was to be expected, but it was
so old-feeling. It was mainly one room, which consisted of a kitchen table, a
few cupboards, and a countertop. There was also a rocking chair by the low-burning
fire, which must have also been used for cooking, since she didn't see a stove
or microwave anywhere. She glanced around and, finding no electrical outlets or
light fixtures, surmised that they had no electricity. There was nothing modern
about the place at all. It was something right out of an old-world novel. How
could people that were only a few miles from Eadin live so differently?

Arma led her to a tiny bedroom in the
back corner, then pulled her book from the satchel and handed it to her. Clover
looked around. The room contained only the plain bed, a dresser, and small
bedside table.

The little girl, Abilee, looked up at them
from the bed, with her eyes half-open. She was a tiny, frail looking thing,
nothing more than skin and bone. Her long brown hair lay limply spread across
the pillow in greasy, tangled clumps.

 All of Clover’s fears suddenly washed
away. Her heart told her it was worth it to have come here. This dear girl was
visibly not well. Clover only wished there was more she could offer this child
other than the reading of stories.

“Hi Abilee,” she said, trying to mask her
pity with a smile. She pulled the shawl from her head and let in hang down her
back. “My name is Clover, but my friends call me Clove. Would you like me to
read you the stories in this book?”

Abilee looked to Arma and then to Rye,
who had just entered the room and taken Arma's hand. They nodded to her, so she
looked back to Clover and with a raspy voice, said, “Yes, please.”

Clover took a step toward the bed and
then stopped. It occurred to her then that she had no idea what disease this
child had. She knew nothing about these people and wondered if it would be wise
to keep her distance.

As if having read her thoughts, Rye
stated with a note of sarcasm, “You can't get what she has. It's...isolated to
only our people.”

Without looking at him, she nodded and
made her way to the bed. She only hoped that he was right, that she couldn’t
contract this illness.

Abilee eased herself over to make room
for Clover to sit.

She looked down at her closely. Her eyes
were just like Rye's; ebony brown with gold flecks, and something else -
something she just couldn't place; something that felt dangerous. But that
couldn’t be right. This was a sweet, helpless child.

She swallowed, opened the book, and began
reading the first story. “The Talking Tree.” She held the book still so that
Abilee could examine the picture she had drawn of the tree. The little girl
smiled in appreciation - a small, weak smile.

“Once upon a time...”

She stopped when Arma and Rye gasped at
the sound of the front door closing. Their eyes shot to each other’s in panic.

A woman Clover guessed to be in her mid-forties
wandered into the room saying, “I forgot to tell you...” She was dressed just
as Arma was, with her hair pulled back into one long braid that trailed all the
way down to her lower back. She stopped when she saw Abilee’s story-teller on
the bed. Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the scene. “What is going on here?”

Clover looked to the two of them, hoping
they would explain. But it was Abilee who spoke up in her breathless little
voice. “Grandmama, this is Clove. She's my new friend. She’s come to read me
some stories.”

The woman leered at the speechless Arma
and Rye before walking up to Clover and giving her an uncomfortable once over.
She pulled Clover’s long, loose hair aside, tugged on the back collar of the
dress she had put over her own clothes, and peeked down inside.

She immediately dropped to her knees in
front of Clover and bowed her head.

Clover looked to Arma and Rye, confusion
knotting her face.

“Mama,” said Arma. “You can get up. We
brought her here. She came willingly because we asked. She came for Abilee.”

The woman shot Rye and Arma a nasty look
again before rising to her feet. She turned to her granddaughter with a gentle
smile. “I'm sorry, Abilee. There will be no more stories. You need your rest,
and this young lady must get back to where she came from.”

“Okay, Grandmama.” She didn't sound
happy with the news.

The woman then gestured for all of them
to leave the little bedroom, and clicked the door closed behind them once they
were all in the main room.

She immediately addressed Arma and Rye,
who now had their hands clenched together in one big, tight fist. Theirs were
the faces of children caught being naughty. “What is wrong with the two of you?
What have you done?”

“Mama, we just...” started Arma.

“How could you bring
her
here?
You've done it now. The gods will be furious with us. We will all be punished because
of your stupidity.”

“She won't tell anyone, Mama,” said Rye,
his eyes flicking to Clover’s with a harsh warning in them. She noted that they
both had called the woman Mama, and wondered whose mother she really was.

Clover nodded in agreement. “I won't
tell anyone. I was just trying to… We were just trying to…”

But the woman did not want to hear from
her. “Get her out of here. Take her back. Now!”

Rye wasted no time grabbing Clover’s
hand and pulling her out the door. They rounded to the back of the house and
walked faster than her legs could go, back the way they had come.

“Wait,” someone called from behind.
Thankfully this caused Rye to slow from a run to a fast walk so that he could
turn around and look. It was Arma, sprinting to catch up with them with one
hand lifting either side of her skirt.

Clover pulled her hand free of Rye's
vice-like grip and stopped to catch her breath.

“I'm sorry,” Arma said when she caught
up. She reached around Clover and pulled the shawl back onto her head. “And
thank you for trying.”

“I told you it was a bad idea,” her
husband, or boyfriend, or whatever he was, said gruffly. Clover was suddenly
feeling very confused about this odd family.

“It wasn't, though. Did you see Abilee's
face? She looked so happy when Clover started reading to her.” Arma's eyes
clouded. “I don't think she's going to make it,” she whispered to Clover. “She’s
getting weaker by the day. I wish there was another way to read her those
stories. If a child must die, then she should at least die happy...” Her voice
quivered and her eyes dewed with moisture.