The Book of M (43 page)

“I'm not her,” she said gently.

“Who?” Zhang asked. Vague pain hovered in his chest, an old hurt.

“Whoever it was,” she replied. “Whoever it was who forgot, and then disappeared.”

They didn't say anything for a time. The glass shone in the afternoon light, so bright it was almost hard to look at. Zhang wondered if Vienna had meant to get a drink and forgotten, or if she'd never intended to drink at all, and was just using the room as a way to escape the constant, crushing love they all were smothering her with.
It's not
our fault,
he wished he could tell her.
You know only what you'll lose, not what we will.

“It's a strange feeling,” she finally added.

“What is?”

“To feel completely in control of your motivations, but know that at any second, absolutely nothing could make any sense,” she said. “What if I'd come in here in a panic because my dad had just been shot and I needed a towel to make a tourniquet?” She glanced at the limp rectangle of fabric draped over the front of the stove. “Honestly, that actually could be the reason I came in here. How would I know I forgot something if I'd forgotten it?”

“Your dad is fine,” Zhang said.

“I know,” she replied. “That's not the point.”

They both looked out the window, at the backs of Ahmadi's and Malik's heads on the far side of the porch. The sun slipped slowly across the sky, its white light beginning to yellow. Vienna finally moved the glass a few inches so it stopped gleaming so sharply.
We'll get you back,
Zhang wanted to say, but it wasn't true, or might not be. Gajarajan had seemed confident when they'd talked, but he hadn't figured all of it out yet—otherwise the rumors would be different. He would no longer be looking or he would know what it was he sought. The strange living shadow was the closest anyone had ever gotten to understanding the curse, but he wasn't there yet, not quite. And Zhang didn't know how he could ever get there. If Gajarajan didn't stop seeking something and go back to trying to attach new shadows, he would never understand exactly what kind of shadow was the type they needed to gather more of to help him. But if he kept trying in order to figure it out, he would kill a shadowless every time he failed.

“I'd like to go,” Vienna said suddenly. Zhang turned to her. “I'd like to go to the sanctuary sooner rather than later,” she continued, almost as if she'd read his mind. “I'd like to volunteer.”

YOSHIKAWA WAS ALREADY IN THE GUARD TOWER ON THE WALL
when Naz arrived for the dawn shift. “Captain Ahmadi,” he said softly as she was almost to the top of the ladder.

“Oh, Yoshikawa,” Naz said, surprised to see him there. “Where's Davidia?”

“With Gajarajan,” he answered. “He came here just a few minutes ago and asked that she meet him at the altar.”

It was finally time. “Transcendence,” Naz said.

“They're only a day away. Gajarajan spotted their forces from his altar this morning at first light, about twenty miles to the north.”

For a moment, she could again feel the singeing heat of the flames on her as she had ridden past Zhang's burning carriage of books, her bow glittering like molten black lava as she doubled back, urging her horse closer and closer, until she thought the tips of her hair would catch fire. Looking into the red blaze for any sign of life and not being able to see Zhang at all. “Are we ready?” she asked. “Zhang told me that he offered our soldiers as help, and Gajarajan declined. He told him the shadowless would fight. That—that only eight of them would.” She didn't understand it, but that's what Zhang had said.

Yoshikawa nodded. “Yes. They are called The Eight.”

So Zhang hadn't misunderstood that first day. Naz had no idea how many shadowless were inside the sanctuary, but the great hall was massive, and there were at least four hundred living in the city among the rest of them. “Eight against thousands? Why not all of them? Even the ones who can barely remember can still hold a weapon.”

“The shadowless won't fight this battle with weapons,” Yoshikawa said. “And it must be eight. We've been doing this a long time, since
the first who heard the rumors began to trickle in. We tried many different ways. It must always be eight. Any less or more is not as powerful.”

“I don't understand,” Naz said helplessly.

“Most of us don't,” Yoshikawa shrugged. “I think probably only Gajarajan and The Eight do. But we know it works.”

She finally nodded. “So there's nothing we can do to help?”

“There is. The Eight will fight tomorrow. But Gajarajan requests that you, Zhang, and Malik go to the altar to meet with them. They're ready to face the threat—and now that Transcendence is almost here, he'd like you to tell them as much as you can about their ways. Numbers, tactics, appearance, how your own battle with them went.”

Naz blinked. “Teach them everything? Now? When Transcendence is just hours away?” She threw her hands up. “I thought they must already know! Why didn't we do all this when we arrived? We could have been filling them in for weeks, instead of all on the last day!”

Yoshikawa smiled sadly as she realized her mistake. “The Eight are shadowless,” he said. “If you'd told them any sooner than this, they might not remember by the time the enemy reached our gates.”

NAZ WENT TO GET ZHANG FIRST AT THE LIBRARY. WHEN THEY
came up the stairs of House 32, Malik's door was closed, but before she could put her knuckles against the wood, it opened.

“Saw you from the window,” he said. “Transcendence?”

Naz nodded. “Gajarajan's seen them. We have a day, a day and night at best. He wants you to join Zhang and me in the final discussions with something he calls The Eight. Share our firsthand experience with them.”

Malik nodded. “Come on in while I get my shoes.”

She and Zhang stepped into Malik's small shared room. A half-eaten apple sat on the table. “Where's Vienna?” Zhang asked.

“In the alcove on the bed, rereading the book you let her take from the library,” Malik said, coming back into the main room from
where he'd just pointed with his chin. “Well, reading. She forgot she finished it before.”

“If I forget again, give it back to Zhang so he can reshelve it!” Vienna called. Then, more quietly, “No point in keeping it.”

Malik sighed. “Vienna, we're going to—”

“Wait, just wait for me! I can't find my gun.” Her voice replied from around the corner.

They'd given them up already, weeks ago, when they'd all arrived in New Orleans. The weapons had been added to the wall guard's inventory. “You don't need a gun right now,” Malik finally said.

Vienna came around the corner. “Yes, I do,” she said. She nodded at Zhang, then studied Naz thoughtfully, for the hundredth first time. “Isn't she—I mean, isn't she from the precinct?” she asked her father. She turned back to Naz. “Did you come to help my dad and Zhang and me find my mom? See if she went farther downtown toward the White House?”

“We're not—” Malik grimaced. “Doing that today.”

“We're going to speak to Gajarajan right now,” Zhang finally said to her, more gently.

“Oh. Well, that's good, too,” Vienna replied. She went over to the floor by the door, where her shoes were. Naz watched her start to tie the laces—calmly at first; then her fingers stuttered once. She'd realized she didn't know
how
she knew Gajarajan, even though she knew who he was. That she'd forgotten some things in the gap between her mother and their new lives.

“Vienna,” Malik said. “You're not going. Only us.”

Vienna looked up at him, one shoe dangling in her hand. “But . . .” She looked between them, confused. “Why are you going then, if not to take me to volunteer?”

Malik sat down slowly on the chair at the table. “Later. Not this time.”

Naz looked down at her hands. So Vienna had told him what she'd said to Zhang in their kitchen the other day. More than once.
It seemed this wasn't the first time this argument was playing out. It made her heart break to hear it, because she knew Malik couldn't win forever.
Don't come to Boston, Rojan. Don't you dare come.
But no matter how many times she ordered her sister not to leave their home in Tehran, it made no difference. Nothing could have stopped Rojan. Nothing would stop Vienna.

“Why not now?” Vienna persisted. “You're going there yourselves anyway. Take me with you. I want to volunteer to try to receive a shadow.”

“Not now.”

“I want to volunteer, Dad.”

“Not now!” he shouted.

Vienna didn't speak again, but she didn't put the shoe down either. She looked at Zhang, begging. But Naz was the one to help her.

“Malik,” she said to him.

He finally looked up from his hands. “I just thought, if I waited a little bit . . .” He trailed off.

“I know,” Naz said. She did know. She would have done the same thing if it was Rojan who was shadowless. “But if you try to wait Vienna out until she doesn't remember, that won't mean that you can decide for her. It'll just make it wrong.”

Malik buried his head in his arms.

Naz reached out and put her hand on his big, slouching shoulder. “You have to let her do this. Before she forgets she wanted to. Don't take away the last bit of freedom she still has from her.”

DAVIDIA WAS ALREADY BESIDE THE SILENT, SEATED BODY AT
the altar, talking quietly with the surface of the wall. As they crested the hill, Naz saw Gajarajan's ears ripple slightly, like an animal catching a sound on the breeze.

“Vienna,” he said warmly. “It's an honor to meet you at last. I'm glad you came.”

It was the first time Vienna had seen the leader of their city. She
stared openmouthed at him. At the blindfolded man—unmoving, almost unaware, almost nonliving. And at its shadow behind on the wall, man
like
—the same rough size, with the same motions—but not shaped like a man at all.

“Hello,” she finally whispered.

Malik was overcome with the urge to protect her and thought what was in her face was fear. But Naz could see what she was thinking. It wasn't fear. It was hope. That was the reason she had wanted to volunteer—to give Gajarajan permission to work his dangerous magic, and possibly fail, without fear, because she'd asked him to try knowing the chances. Naz's hands twitched, wanting to hold Vienna and cry, but she wouldn't want it. Not from a person she no longer remembered she knew. More than that, it wasn't Naz's place. Malik was here, and the grief belonged to him, not her.
Vienna was not her little sister.

“I know it's been a difficult time for you, but I'm very pleased you've come to share what you remember about Transcendence with The Eight,” the elephant said.

“That's not why I came,” Vienna blurted out. Malik stepped protectively in front of her, but she leaned out from behind him again. “I mean, I'll tell you everything I remember, of course. Anything that will help,” she stammered, moving around her father completely to face Gajarajan. “But that wasn't the reason I came.”

The elephant shifted on the wall. “What is the reason, then?”

Naz could feel Malik about to speak again. She reached out and grabbed his arm firmly to stop him—not a shake, but a hug. His other hand appeared on top of hers unconsciously. Naz squeezed as hard as she could.

“I want to volunteer,” Vienna said. “To be the next shadowless who tries to rejoin with a shadow. I know you're close, but you're afraid to hurt anyone else until you're sure you can do it. But you're never going to be sure unless you keep trying. I want you to try with me.”

Naz waited, trembling. Before them, the wall darkened as Gajarajan
slowly grew. His ears unfurled, trunk lifted in a muscular, graceful
S
. Naz didn't know if he was happy or insulted. He was just terrifying.

At last his trunk curled to his chin. “You're very brave,” he said.

“Does that mean you'll do it?”

“Yes,” the elephant said. Malik started, as if he'd been hit with something. But before he could argue, Gajarajan spoke again. “But I need something from you in return.”

Davidia glanced at the wall from where she stood. “She's a child,” she said softly to him.

“She's a shadowless,” Gajarajan replied. “And the only shadowless that's seen Transcendence with her own eyes.”

Naz wanted to look at Malik's face, but she couldn't move. All she could do was keep watching the huge shadow spread before them. “Vienna,” Malik began.

“Tell me the price,” Vienna said to the wall.

“Vienna.” Malik took her by the shoulders. “Honey,” he pleaded, voice breaking.

“I accept,” she said fearlessly, staring into the dark shape of the elephant.

“Hear the price first,” Gajarajan said.

Vienna nodded. “Name it, then.”

“Become one of The Eight.”

They all cried out in disbelief. “You're joking,” Naz said, incredulous.

“I'm afraid not. In fact, we may not succeed without her.”

“But you have eight already!”

“We do. But perhaps not the right eight. Transcendence is strong—and Vienna knows them better than any of the current members.” Gajarajan looked down from the wall. “It will cost her memories to take one of the eight's places for the fight, yes. But it could also be the difference between winning and losing this last battle.”

Beside Naz, Zhang shook his head. “Is that what you tell The
Eight every time you need them to do something for you?” he asked. “Everything you tell them to voluntarily forget?”

“I would never force anyone to do something they didn't want to do,” Gajarajan said. “Each of The Eight is here willingly. They want to help the city.” His ears waved, big gentle fans. “You've seen what's out there. Without their help, New Orleans would be the same as every other place—or worse. How do you think the wall that keeps us safe was built? Where the first food came from before what we had planted grew? How do you think all of the dangerous little misrememberings are all fixed so quickly?”

“Even if it means slowly dying for it?” Naz countered. “That's a high price to pay.”

“Is it, though?” Gajarajan asked. “Any one of you also could have died fighting the Reds to save your home in the Iowa. What The Eight do here is the same thing. Except once I figure out how to give them shadows again and make the shadows stay . . .” He seemed to smile. “In fact, the price you might have paid for the same goal was far greater, then.”

Vienna touched her father's arm. “Gajarajan's right, Dad,” she said. “I might lose something, but if we don't win against Transcendence, I'm going to lose everything anyway. All of us are.”

“If the situation was so dire, why didn't you say anything before?” Malik asked, barely controlled.

Gajarajan shrugged softly with his ears. “I told you. I would never have sought her out, because to join the sanctuary must be a free choice, not a forced one.”

Naz didn't want to agree with him, but she could feel the defeat already beginning to set in. It didn't matter that it was Vienna, their Vienna. It wouldn't even have mattered if it was Rojan. Vienna knew the shadow was right—without Vienna's help, they might not win. She had to do it, even if it meant that she would have to sacrifice who knew how many of her precious last memories to save them all.