Luminary (26 page)
“I should go.” I stand, feeling empty and cold as I move away from Alex.
Alex stands as well. He looks toward the hallway and then back at me. With a nod, he pushes a stone on the wall and the evening sky welcomes me—outside the walls of Athens, back to New Hope.
W
hy didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” Berk does not even greet me.
As soon as I entered the city, crowds gathered around me, asking all kinds of questions. I cannot answer them yet. I asked to be alone. So I returned to my room in Carey and Kristie’s house. But Berk followed me.
“I couldn’t tell you.” I look at Berk. His face is hard, angry. “You would have stopped me or followed me.”
“Of course I would have.” Berk’s eyes soften just a fraction. I can see the battle taking place behind them. “You should never have gone to Athens alone. Again.”
“I had to.”
“No, you did not.” Berk rarely raises his voice, but he is raising it now. “They want nothing more than to kill us, and they will use you to find out how best to do it.”
“They will not kill us.” I think of all that happened in Athens, all I have yet to tell the people of New Hope. I think of Alex watching me as I left. Heartbroken. Alone. “Please, I need to be alone, just for a while. Then I will tell you everything.”
Berk’s face falls. “You used to tell me everything without me having to ask.”
I want to comfort him, but something holds me back.
“I thought you might want this.” Berk reaches into a large bag slung over his shoulder and pulls out a violin. It is older, like the one from the music room in Athens. It is not in good shape, but it looks beautiful to me.
I take the instrument from his hands. His fingers brush mine, and I feel the connection we have always had there, in that touch. I want to tell him everything will be fine, that all will be the way it was. But I cannot say that. I do not know that.
Berk leaves and I shut the door behind him. I wipe down the surface of the violin. I wish I had oil to rub life back into the dried wood, new strings to replace the old. But I hear the music in my mind before I even lift the instrument to my chin, and I thank the Designer for this gift.
I close my eyes and ignore that the violin is slightly out of tune, that the sound is not exactly what I would like it to be. I think back to my violin, perfectly tuned, beautiful, well kept, but trapped in the State. Like I was. I decide the imperfections of this violin, stored in the freedom of New Hope, are far more beautiful.
I play Athens, my imprisonment and false accusations. I play Helen’s murder. I play the king’s death, Peter’s sacrifice. And throughout, I play Alex. He is a melody that repeats in every refrain, in every movement of my bow. I see him bending over the still form of his father, grief and relief battling in his face. He has suffered so much. I play the comfort I would like to give him, the hope for a better future I want him to have.
I finish playing and I feel the peace that always comes with playing music for the Designer. I close my eyes in thanks. I want to play more, to stay longer, to be alone with this violin, alone with the Designer. But I cannot. I must leave this chamber. I must tell the others what happened. They deserve to know they are safe. They deserve to know Peter paid the ultimate price for their safety. I caress the violin once more before placing it on the sleeping platform and moving toward the door.
Never has good news seemed so difficult to deliver.
D
iana knew Peter was dead. I do not know how, a sense that siblings have perhaps. But when I went to her, she looked at me, heartache in her eyes.
“As soon as he found out what happened to Helen, he knew it was the king’s decision,” Diana says. “Helen told Peter about her biological father. He knew the king planned to kill Helen.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Tell me what happened.” Diana wraps her arms around herself. “Everything.”
I think of Peter, blood seeping from his body, that last moment as his life drained from him. “He was very brave.”
“I know that.” Diana closes her eyes. “But I want to know what happened. How did he die?”
I do not want to relive those moments, but I cannot deny Diana the facts she so desperately wants. I tell her everything—how Peter found the secret entrance, how he climbed up the walls of the palace, how he killed the king and was killed by his guards. I tell her how he made his way back to Helen’s room so he could die among her things.
“He loved her.”
“Very much.”
Diana clears her throat. “Too much, I think. If he loved her less, maybe he would still be here.”
“Peter did not just avenge Helen.” I lean toward Diana. “He saved all of New Hope. He delivered the Athenians from the terrible rule of King Jason. He is a hero.”
“I would rather have him here.” Diana uses both hands to wipe her eyes and then she stands. “You need to tell the others. They are preparing for battle. They need to know that isn’t necessary.”
“I will tell them.” I stand beside Diana. “They will know what Peter did for them.”
“You’ll understand if I don’t come?”
“Of course.”
I leave the room, exit the house. All of the town seems to be waiting outside Diana’s door. They are quiet. A few are crying. They have guessed the truth about Peter. They know he left and did not return. They know I insisted on seeing Diana before speaking to them. They know he is dead. I wish that meant I did not have to say the words.
“People of New Hope.” I try to speak as loudly as I can, but my voice fails me. “There will be peace.”
The people release a collective sigh. There is too much sadness, too much fear for anything more than that. Cheering would be out of place.
I tell them what happened when I returned. I tell them Alex recognized that his father was drugging him, that he knew I did not kill Helen. I tell them he recognized that his father must die. I tell them we were planning just how to commit that assassination when Peter arrived and did it himself.
I wait as the people process this news. “Alex will remain to bury his father and be coronated as king. Then he will come here, to make peace with us.”
The people are silent. Some appear afraid to talk; others seem skeptical. A few have tears rolling down their faces. Most, however, look like a massive burden has been lifted from them. They had been planning how to face the wrath of the powerful Athenian army, to be annihilated together, and now they hear there will not be war, but peace.
Kristie steps forward. “We owe Thalli our thanks. She did not mention that she was imprisoned and almost killed, that she was willing to do almost anything in order to procure our peace—including sacrificing her own happiness. She is new to our village, and yet she has given more than most of us ever will. Thank you, Thalli.”
A slow clap begins, growing louder. I want them to stop. I do not need applause. I do not deserve it. Peter is dead. Helen is dead. Diana is heartbroken. Had I not come, none of those deaths would have occurred. Perhaps New Hope would have simply gone on the way it had before—bothered by Athens, but not destroyed. I do not feel like a hero.
“May I suggest,” John says, stepping forward, “that we gather
together to give thanks? I have been working on something. If you would all follow me . . .”
John turns toward an old building in the center of town. It has a tall, sharp cone on its roof and it appears as little used as the music room.
I catch up to John and ask him what this place is.
“A church, Thalli.” John smiles up at the old building. “And I will be the pastor.”
I
cannot stop thinking about Alex. Even as John shows us the church, as he preaches what he calls sermons to the people, I think about Alex. I listen but I do not hear. Every story reminds me of Alex. I keep picturing him in his room, lying in bed with the covers over his head, crying softly. I do not want him to suffer through this alone. But if I went back, I would create more problems for him. The Athenians surely are angry with New Hope, blaming us for the king’s assassination. I would inflame that anger. It’s best for Alex that I remain here, to wait for him. But I have to battle within myself to do that.
The church is beautiful. I do not know how John was able to
restore the interior of this building, but every window is clean, the floor shines, and the seats he calls “pews” are oiled and welcoming, if not terribly comfortable. In the front of the church is a raised platform. John stands there and speaks to all who will listen from the Designer’s book—a copy he found here. He reads from the psalm he gave me. I pray those words for Alex, that he will find still waters, that his soul would be restored, that he will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
John concludes and Rhen motions for me to follow her. We walk out of the building toward the orange groves near Dallas and Nicole’s home.
“I am worried about John.”
“What?” John is happier than I have ever seen him.
“He is not well,” Rhen says. “I can tell. He worked too hard on the church. We would have helped. But he told no one.”
“I imagine he enjoyed the solitude.” I look back at the church. “His communion with the Designer, as he says.”
“Perhaps, but he is old, Thalli. Very old. His body cannot do all he wants it to do.”
“We’ll have to make him slow down, then.”
“We can try.” Rhen shakes her head. “But the people here have a saying, ‘Easier said than done.’ ”
I laugh. Rhen seems happier too. Her cheeks have color in them and her hair is down.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
I realize I have stopped and am staring at my friend. “You are beautiful.”
Rhen lowers her eyes, her cheeks turning even more pink.
Realization hits me. “I’m not the first person to tell you that, am I?”
Rhen looks ahead, bites her lip. Rhen and Berk will be a good team—like Kristie and Carey. They can be leaders here in New Hope. “It’s all right.”
“It
is
all right.” Rhen says this like it’s the first time she has thought it. And it very likely is. My logical friend has always been normal by State standards. Feeling something for Berk is new for her—it would have been unthinkable a few months ago.
“He’s a wonderful young man.” I am surprised at myself—saying this and meaning it, not choking on the words, not fighting anger or sadness. My time in Athens, with Alex, has changed me in more ways than I realized.
“You hardly know him well enough to make that assessment.”
I raise my eyebrows, my calm beginning to dissolve. “I know him better than you may think.”
Rhen leans her head to the side—her contemplative posture. “I did not know. Dallas told me you only spoke a few times.”
“Dallas?”
Rhen’s smile is bright. “Yes. Who did you think I was speaking of?”
I am momentarily stunned. Rhen and Dallas? I think of that young man, his relaxed manner and attitude. When he visited Peter after the house caught fire, Dallas was lighthearted. So different from Rhen’s calm and focused personality. Rhen is waiting for me to respond, but the answer to that question comes limping through the groves.
“Thalli.” Berk is out of breath, still not completely recovered from his injury. “Can I speak to you?”
Rhen looks from Berk to me, her smile fading. I must be communicating displeasure because Berk’s face mirrors Rhen’s.
“I will go.” Rhen says this as she is walking, her feet barely making any sound as she makes her way quickly through the grove toward the house.
“I apologize.” Berk is standing across from me, his hands at his sides, his eyes searching mine. “This has been difficult. More difficult than I imagined.”
“You do not need to apologize.” I feel almost as if I am talking to a stranger. But Berk is not a stranger. He is the same as he has always been: kind, diligent, controlled. He stayed behind, helped New Hope the same way he helped the State, the same way he helped me. No, Berk is not a stranger.
But I am. I am not the same person I was when we left the State. I am not the same person I was when I left New Hope for Athens. I have changed. But Berk has not. He takes a step closer to me, and I know he does not see that change.
We remain silent. I study the grass at my feet, unsure of what to say. This distance I felt between us is getting wider. I could reach out my hand and touch his hand. I could take one step forward and hold him, lay my head against his chest, and listen to his heartbeat, will the feelings that were always there to resurface. And maybe they will. Maybe I have felt so many emotions over the past weeks that I am spent. There are no emotions left to feel.
“Thalli!” Nicole is running from the direction I just came. She is out of breath, her dark hair damp with perspiration.
I forget Berk for a moment, forget the uncomfortable thoughts invading my mind, and simply smile. I have missed this girl. I reach out to hug her, but the look in her eyes stops me. “It’s Mr. John. He’s sick. Get Rhen and Dallas. Hurry!”
I
am running as fast as I can. Nicole said that John is by the lake. Baptizing, she said. I don’t have time to think about what she means because all I can think of is what she said. John is sick. I think of my podmate Asta. She was sick—the Scientists annihilated her because of it. Rhen was sick too, but she got better. I do not know what other kinds of sicknesses there are. John is old, but he is so happy here in this village, with his church. Those things should bring him health, not sickness.
I am almost at the lake. I see a crowd of people, but I do not see John. Voices are quiet; no one moves. I push myself harder, run faster. I break through the crowd and fall to my knees. John
is lying on the grass, his face pale, his lips a frightening blue. But he is not frightened.
“I see it.” John is whispering, looking into the distance.
“What, John?” I look into the sky, following the path of John’s eyes. There are no clouds. The sky is a beautiful blue, and birds are circling above us.
