Elected (The Elected Series Book 1) (9 page)

“I’m not worried about that!” My voice is panicked. “I’m worried they’ll harm you. They won’t know who you are. You’ll be intruders!”

“Nonsense,” says my father. “We’ll be fine. Last thing you need is to worry about us!”

“You shouldn’t have told her,” Ama says. “Now she’ll be thinking of it!” Her voice is high.

They’re starting to fight, and that’s the last thing I need to worry about. I don’t want to look back on my last night with them and picture them arguing. So I raise my hands up in defeat, hoping to quell the situation.

“Fine, fine,” I say. “I won’t think about it. You’re right. You’ll be fine.”

But before I can truly let the words settle over me, I realize I’m crying. Tears are streaming down my face, and for the first time I do absolutely nothing to stop them. My mother comes to my side, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and up to my face. She leans into me, trying to soothe but for once not trying to stop my actual tears. My parents let them flow.

I splutter, “You can’t leave, you just... can’t!”

Finally, my father walks to where Ama and I are sitting. He squats down in front of me so we’re eye to eye.

He looks at me squarely, “We can. You’re ready. My father left me when I was your age too. I survived. You will too.”

I know he’s right, so I don’t try to argue. His words are solemn but assured. I sniff, trying to be as strong as he thinks I am.

He gets up again and fetches something from the corner of the room.

I look up to see he’s holding a ratty looking toy out to me. It’s my old baby doll they took from me when I was four.

“I was hard on you,” he says.

I grasp the doll by the arms and hug it close to my stomach, hoping to feel an echo of the comfort it gave me in childhood.

His voice grows quieter. “Perhaps too hard.”

My mother says, “We did what we thought was best. For you. For this family. For the country.”

“I know,” I say. “I understood.”

My mother and father both grasp my hands in theirs. “We always hoped you did.”

We stay like that, hands clutched together and silent for what seems like hours. I don’t know if they’ve fallen asleep, my mother next to me, her body leaning heavily upon mine. Or my father in front of me, seated on a high-backed chair with his eyes closed. But I haven’t slept. I’ve looked at them closely, trying to memorize the rise of my mother’s forehead, wrinkling now that I see it up close. And my father’s white hair, thinning on the top, a symptom of age I know our people wish they could all achieve.

When I finally see the sun starting to rise, I gently touch each of my parents. They stir and stare at me kindly, thinking they’ve only fallen asleep for a few minutes. I let them keep this illusion and stare back at them. When the knock comes at our door, it still seems too soon. But my father gets up to answer the door.

It’s Tomlin. “You have just five more minutes. The people are lined up,” he says. His eyes are downcast, sorry for interrupting our last moments.

“Thank you. We will be out shortly,” says my father, his voice thick with emotion. The “thank you” seems to be for more than just this reminder of time.

The door closes again, and my mother is still attached to my side, hugging me hard. “You will make such a good leader,” she says, wiping tears from her lashes.

“We are proud of you,” my father says. “Lead with a kind heart. But lead. Don’t forget that, my child.”

I nod, not able to get any words out of my throat. It’s closing up.

I watch as my father grabs up a small bag. In it I know are the essentials: a water pouch, food to sustain them for a few days, and a blanket. One thing left out are the purple pills. They don’t need them anymore. They will no longer be part of the Elected family.

My mother wraps a traveling cloak around her shoulders. It’s lined with wool. They’ll need the warmth, heading out into the unknown.

We walk out of the room together, holding hands in a small line, me in the middle. The maids and other help line the corridors. This is custom. People will line my parents’ walk to the front of the house and will form a tight line all along my parents’ path into the hills. For as many people as we have in our country, that is how long the line will extend on either side of my parents’ path. Arms will be linked together, in solidarity with my parents but also as a sort of fence, knotted together to prevent my parents from veering back into our country. The linked arms signify my parents must leave. As much as this custom is for my parents, it’s a pact of solidarity for me too. It signifies the people’s recognition that my parents’ time is over. That I am the next Elected.

We mount horses and ride forward together, my parents in front of me, side by side, with me behind. My parents stop in front of Tomlin and bow their heads. He returns the gesture, locking eyes with my father.

Without my father saying anything, Tomlin promises, “I will take care of him.”

My father doesn’t utter a word. I wonder if this is custom too or if he’s trying to control his own sadness—if he fears the moment he tries to talk, his voice will crack. He gives Tomlin a small smile and another nod.

We ride for approximately an hour at a ceremoniously slow pace. That is all it takes to ride past the entirety of our people. As we go, I think I see Griffin in the crowd, but I can’t look at him now. I fear my resolve will break at seeing a friend, and I’ll fall apart. So, I keep my eyes forward and formal.

Finally, at the end of the line of people, it’s just me and my parents left. The people are all in back of us now. The linkages of arms won’t break until I’ve said goodbye to my parents.

Ama and Apa turn their horses around and look at me.

My mother juts her chin up, in a sign I know is meant for me. I’ve seen it many times when I’m about to cry. It’s her reminder to me to keep my head up. This time the gesture seems softer, affectionate. I jut my chin up to her in response, and she smiles. I look over at my father and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to capture this last picture of my parents before they go. Then I put both my mother and father in my line of sight and mouth the words, “I love you.”

They mouth it silently back to me.

I lean forward on my horse to say my last official words to them. Words that will be marked down in history as being my first act as Elected.

I raise both of my arms out in front of my face at forty-five degree angles. Elbows close to my sides and palms facing up like I’m offering a present. The physical salutation of our country.

And then in a booming voice reverberating off the mountains in front of us, I give them my final goodbye.

“A new day to you both!”

9

I watch as my parents become dots on the horizon. Even as their forms grow distant, I don’t turn around. I can’t seem to let them go. I stay face-forward for another reason too—I don’t want my people to see the anguish carved into my eyes. I’m trying to collect myself.

I feel a tingling on my cheek. I brush it away, frustrated, thinking my emotions have taken over and I’ve ended up crying after all. But then I hear nervous murmuring behind me. I turn the horse around to look at my people. They’re still linking arms, waiting for me as is customary, but they’re growing restless. I wonder why until I feel another needle prick on my forehead.

I look up at the sky and see dark green clouds.

I need to lead. Now!

“Everyone find shelter!” I yell. As sharp drops of acidic rain fall down on us, everyone lets go of their neighbor’s arms and starts running. I only hope my parents are able to
find a cave or some brush to hide under until the onslaught passes.

Greenish clouds mean rain tinged with radiation-born chemicals. I should have seen the clouds earlier, but a wind must have blown them in quickly. The drops on bare skin will leave tiny blisters. Not enough to really hurt a person, but how would I truly know? We’ve never before stood out in the open as buckets of this rain fall down on our heads.

I reach down and grab up two small children onto my saddle. I look down at their parents and see their nods of agreement. I ride fast, heading straight for my house. Once under an awning, I drop off the children and ride out again to grab more kids onto my horse. I think I see Griffin helping more children to shelter on the back of a bike, but we don’t have time to stop and talk to each other.

After a half hour everyone’s indoors, and my skin is itchy and red. I return the horse to the stable, brushing it down because it also felt the acidic rain. Maran is already in the stable, ready to assist. He helps me walk the horse over to a fountain so it can get washed off. The horse thrashes its head around impatiently.

Maran doesn’t make eye contact with me. He’s too busy tending to the horse. But he says, “Elected, you should get inside and wash up as well.”

He’s the first person to call me “Elected.” It sounds strange the way it rolls out like the word is too big to fit in his mouth.

I nod and exit the stables, careful to stay under the awning.

It’s been a long time since we’ve been caught off guard by acid rain. I chide myself that it was under my watch on my first day as Elected. Now I’m not only reeling from my parents’ departure, I’m also frustrated at my inability to protect my people.

I make my way up to my bedroom and immediately splash water from a basin onto my skin. Thankfully, not much of me was exposed since it was cold outside and I was pretty bundled up. But my face is blistered. I can tell as I look into the cracked mirror over the basin.

As I run a hand over my broken skin, I can’t help feeling hopeless. I have a rebellion bubbling up, assassination attempts against me, and an environment slowly killing my people. And I’m alone. So utterly alone.

I give a tortured moan.

“Your face doesn’t look that bad,” comes a soft voice from behind me.

I wheel around, surprised someone is sitting on my bed.

The someone is a girl, and she’s radiant. The rain outside must have stopped because this girl is bathed in light from the window. She looks serene in a white, somewhat sheer gown. Her long blonde hair flows down her back and a string of pale pink flowers circle her head.

It’s Vienne. I’ve never seen her before today, but I know I’m right. I slowly walk across the room, taking in her presence. She sits with folded hands in her lap.

At once a rush of feelings envelops me. I’m jealous of her. She’s everything I desire to be. Alluring. Poised. And most of all feminine. But at the same time, I’m proud she’s mine. I feel a wave of possessiveness well up from my stomach to my throat. I’ve never seen any girl who looks like Vienne. I have a strong desire to protect her—to keep her all to myself. She seems delicate, like a gossamer-winged butterfly, but upon closer inspection, I can see the strength she exudes as well. It’s obvious in the firm tilt of her chin and the way she doesn’t break eye contact with me. Hers is a quiet but strong presence. Vienne is utterly enchanting. Every man will want her, but she’s to be my wife.

When I’m almost in front of her, she turns her face to the nightstand near my bed and picks up a teacup and saucer. Offering it to me, Vienne says, “I thought you might like some mint tea.”

Vienne’s been raised for this position her whole life. She knows exactly what to say and do politically. It’s a powerful feeling knowing someone was crafted just for you.

I look down at the delicate china cup in her palm and see three small mint leaves floating in the liquid. I take the tea from her hands, our fingers touching slightly. “Thank you.” My voice still cracks from my fears of a few minutes ago. I sip the liquid, tasting a hint of bitter liquor balancing out the sugar. Vienne prepared it the way I most desire.

I try to gather myself so I can talk to this girl, my future wife. “I didn’t expect to see you today,” I say.

“I know it’s customary for us not to meet until our wedding day. “However...” She pauses. “I thought you might need someone to talk to.”

She doesn’t apologize for breaking the rules. She is more my match than my parents and Tomlin may even have realized.

“You couldn’t have known about the rain,” she continues. It’s like she’s read my earlier thoughts. “I was watching from up here. The clouds swept in with the wind. No one noticed because it was already so cold.”

“I need to notice.”

She doesn’t negate me. Doesn’t placate me. “Well, now I’ll be here to help you notice.”

And with her words, I know Vienne won’t just be a figurehead by my side. She is like the female leaders from long ago—the ones who, ironically enough, wrote the very Elected and Fertility Accords ruling out the option of women in office.

I watch her looking at me and eventually, because I don’t know what else to do, I say, “Your hair. It’s like spun gold. Like a princess in the old fairy tales.”

“You were allowed to read fairy tales? I thought your parents discouraged your reading of fantasies.”

At the mention of my parents, my eyes grow solemn. I stare past Vienne’s face, concentrating instead on one of my birds in the background.

“I’m sorry,” she says. It’s not just an apology for bringing up my parents. Her “sorry” holds much more. From her years of instruction on me, she knows all about my parents’ refusal of anything feminine in my childhood.

I look back at Vienne. “It’s okay. I kept one book hidden under my bed for a while. When I was nine, I burned it in the fireplace.”

“You burned it yourself?”

“Yes, I needed to grow up.”

“What a hard childhood.” She shakes her head.

“My parents spent their lives getting me to this spot. They were hard on me for a reason. I always knew that. And I always knew I’d miss them come today.”

“It’s okay to miss them.” The way she whispers her words makes me sit down next to her. I realize I don’t know her story like she knows mine. She’s moving out of her parents’ home now that she’s to be married. It may not be the same as completely losing them, but I’m sure it’s a shock. I realize I’m being callous by not asking her.

I stand again with my hands on my hips. “When can I meet your parents?” I am resolute, trying to pin a cheerful smile on my face.

But Vienne doesn’t jump up with the same enthusiasm to match mine. “You can’t. I’ve never even met them.”

I look down and purse my lips. Was Vienne taken away from her parents long ago to get ready for the Madame Elected role?

Before I can ponder this for too long she says, “They died right after I was born.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. We must go honor their grave site together on the day of our wedding.”

“I know it’s the custom, but it won’t be necessary.”

I stare at Vienne with shock. I know she’ll have to be tough for this role, but not even wanting to honor her parents’ grave site? This is too much.

Then she laughs slightly. “Don’t look at me that way. I’m not unfeeling. They’re not buried in East Country. I don’t know where they’re buried.”

This is odd. All our people are buried in formal ceremonies. Even people who broke the Accords and took hemlock are prayed over in specific rituals by the Madame Elected—buried away from the regular graveyard—but still buried in East Country.

“What happened to them?” I ask.

“Supposedly, they started showing signs of radiation poisoning when I was young and left.”

“Where did they go?”

“No one knows. But they never came back. So I figure they’re deceased.”

She is so formal in her tone when speaking of them. I want to push the issue. Ask her for more specifics. But then I look at her eyes and realize she’s told me everything she knows. I make a mental note to ask Tomlin more about Vienne’s parents.

“Where have you lived?”

Vienne perks up and turns her body so she’s facing me fully. “You don’t know?”

I shake my head.

Her answer is simple. “Here.”

Vienne has lived in this house? Close by me for practically my whole life? And I’ve never known it?

“What better way to study you than from up close?” She seems amused I hadn’t guessed. “What better way to learn about your family’s ideals and the policies I’ll be upholding now as Madame Elected?”

“Have I ever seen you before?”

“Of course! Although I did try to keep a low profile. I’ve been disguised as different maids around your house through the years. You’ve even borrowed some of my disguises. I have quite a few wigs.”

I’m embarrassed until I realize if Vienne truly knows me, then she already understands my desire to be more feminine. I don’t have to hide from her the fact I’ve often daydreamed about being a girl with long flowing hair.

I think back to the new maids I’ve seen flit in and out of my house over the past years. The ones who always looked sort of the same but with different colored hair—red, black, and yellow blonde—sometimes so straight it seemed like pieces of plastic. I realize my subconscious was smarter than my eyes. They were all the same girl.

“Sorry,” I say, my hand now on my brow. “I didn’t know the wigs I found in one of the rooms were yours. When I was younger, before I mastered this charade,” I explain, my hand gesturing to my masculine attire, “I wasn’t really allowed out. So I used to explore the house. I shouldn’t have trespassed into the maids’ bedrooms.”

“It’s nothing. Don’t apologize. I never did get the blonde one back, though, since your mother tossed it into the fire.” Her eyebrows rise in amusement.

I choke out a tortured laugh, remembering my mother’s scolding just two weeks earlier. I want to say more. Ask Vienne about the many other times we’ve seen each other. Talk to her more about the night I snuck out. How, as the red headed maid, her dare to sneak out had gone wildly wrong. Did she know the danger I’d been in? And I want to talk to her about my parents. I miss them now, and I want desperately to tell her about it.

But the moment is interrupted by an urgent knock at the door, and at once it’s pulled open.

A surprised guard stands in the frame, looking back and forth from Vienne to me.

I snap him out of the trance. “What is it?”

He coughs, remembering himself and that he shouldn’t be staring so fervently at this vision of an angel that is Vienne. I have a premonition that, for the rest of our lives, Vienne’s beauty will render people speechless, and I will be an accessory on the fringe. But I shake off the feeling, instead focusing on the guard’s worried face.

“Elected,” he says, “we have another accused.”

At once, I am at attention, poised behind the guard, exiting the room after him. I look back quickly at Vienne. Her face is grave. She gives me one steadfast nod, and I raise my chin back at her in a goodbye.

“Is it the assassin?” I’m almost hopeful as we round the corner.

“Unfortunately, no, Elected. The scoundrel is still on the run. This accused is in possession of a unique technology.”

“Unique? They’re all unique.”

The guard leads me out of the house. I keep pace with his brisk walk to the prisoner’s quarters, almost running to keep up with him. I wonder why we’re hurrying so fast. A prisoner just caught isn’t going anywhere. What must this technology be?

At the entrance to the prison, I already see Tomlin standing outside. He gestures me in, his fingers tapping fast on his temple. I stare into his eyes intently. And then I see it.

He’s excited.

It’s unmistakable. Whatever’s been found has rendered Tomlin
giddy.

“Tomlin, is it dangerous? A bomb?”

Tomlin’s eyes dart back and forth to see if anyone is close enough to hear us. He leads me to a corner of the room, away from the guards who are watching us like hawks.

Tomlin’s actions are so odd, so out of character for him, suddenly I’m worried. The guards are watching us differently than usual. A wash of fear overtakes me. Is Tomlin the accused? Is he the one in possession of the technology? Is he the prisoner?

Before I can delve too deeply into that nightmare, Tomlin grasps my wrists. “Elected, it’s a Mind Multiplier. I’ve never seen one before. Only read about these. You must come see it.”

I breathe a sigh. So it’s not a deadly bomb or a weapon threatening to destroy my people.

I follow Tomlin down a long corridor, past the set of wooden prisoner doors. I vaguely think about the fact that behind one of these doors sits our accused right now, awaiting his fate. All of the doors start to look alike until Tomlin eventually stops in front of one. A guard moves aside as the door is opened for us.