Aquifer (24 page)

Men rush toward Talya, lift her high, and carry her to the pyre. I press after.
Protect her
. The words pound in my head, but as thousands converge, my height and strength betray me. She is out of my reach. She is doomed.

I’m lifted high and tossed from grip to grip. Punches strike my head and my back as I’m buoyed by the mob’s hate, hoisted toward the blaze.

It is my end, but I feel no fear, only sadness — sadness for Talya.

I can’t watch the one I love meet this end. Alaya and Talya. Taken by water and fire. They were too good for the surface world.

Speak, Luca. Finish your task. Fulfill your piece of the prophecy. The world watches your undoing
.

The Voice, ever my companion, fills my being, the words fitting with Akov’s plea. I know nothing about this elusive prophecy, the one scribbled on Wren’s museum stand, the one
for which Wishers gladly perish. But I now go their way, the way to death. There is nothing to lose. I open my mouth, and the pronouncement comes, firm and bold and complete.

“For as long as I draw breath, I am a judge, I am a Deliverer, and I must speak.”

Cameras focus on me as I near the blaze.

“My words, my words now go out to the world. And the words I give you are peace. Peace with those below you and peace with those you once thought your enemy. Peace with the Voice above, the one who spoke you into life, and peace with yourselves.

“And I will not be silent. That Voice pounds in my head, saying, ‘What I have done for you will be known below and remembered above, and freedom will be offered to you all.’ ”

I close my mouth. There is no more. I try to remember what I said, but I can’t.

The roar of the crowd intensifies, and, suddenly, it eases. Those around the fire are stricken with a severe quiet, one that spreads throughout the amphitheater.

Cameramen scuttle away to film whatever power has gripped the masses. Hands release me and I thud to the ground, pained but not broken. In the space vacated by hate, a voice rises, faint but clear.

Talya.

How often I’ve heard her hum the tune, but now the words explode from the depths of my mind. It’s a song from the edges of my memory, one filled with words I once heard in the darkness.

One I learned first from my mother. One I sang as a Rat.

One that now stills a mob.

“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound …”

Her voice strengthens, and the last catcalls fade away. The crowd stands, leans in, entranced by each phrase.

“That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I’m found. Was blind but now I see.”

Walery slinks out of view as every gaze fixes on Talya, and throughout the theater, people — mostly the old — mouth the words. I am not alone; the lines live in others’ memories. Surely the Birthers did not sing to them as Mother did to me. Who taught them this mystery?

There is only Talya and the song and the strange weight that blankets us, wombs us — a presence more powerful than hate, than fear.

What is this feeling, this trance that draws us together?

We are not alone, and Toppers scattered about the stage fall to their knees. Are they Wishers? I don’t know, and my eyelids grow heavy. I feel a gentle rocking and hear my mother’s whisper. When I open my eyes, I, too, have fallen.

How can a song, a simple melody lay claim to the moment? How can it warm and strengthen and reach into our pasts where nothing else can?

And what has Talya ushered into the amphitheater?

“My people! I plea for my people! We are human and have so much more than water to offer.” Talya lifts her hands toward the skies.

Talya is a Wisher?
Seward was right — how little I know of her.

I have never known a scene like this. It is full, complete, and though her song has ended, nobody moves.

No, we are not alone.

I stare at the crowd, minutes ago so ready to kill, but now subdued and drawn toward an irresistible idea for which they
have no words. I felt its tug before, first warming to the strange thought while speaking to Wren, and then rediscovering the passion recorded by Mother’s hand.

Above, below; we are not so different
.

All around me, people weep. I think they weep in shame, and weep for the years our world has lost. They weep because weeping alone makes sense, and because for the first time they feel the freedom.

Freedom. They’re captivated by Alaya’s wish, united by Talya’s voice. And it hits me: Our future - the hope of above, the hope of below - can’t be quenched by the Council’s deception or the Toppers’ rage. The wailing that surrounds me contains a joy. Hope has survived, despite all controls and punishments; sleeping just beneath the surface, a dormant peace waiting for its time. Waiting for Talya to remind Toppers and Rats of our shared past. Our hope rests in the common peace of this song, and the revelation behind the song, and the Presence I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.

And then it rains.

Drops fall gentle and soaking. I’ve never felt a rain like this, one that drenches the skin but also seems to penetrate further with warmth and peace and a joy indescribable. I marvel at the rain, and then the sight. Throughout the amphitheater cupped hands raise to collect the rare gift.

Hello, Luca. The Age of the Deliverer will soon begin
.

The Voice in my head resonates deeper, if that is possible.

“But isn’t that me?” I whisper.

Come see
.

I
scramble to my feet, weave through the crowd, and grasp Talya’s raised hands. Her eyes flutter open and I pull her to her feet.

“Come! Come quickly!” We run through the rain and into the tunnel.

“Luca! Where are we going?”

“I don’t know. I only know we’re supposed to run.” We fly into the Birthing Tunnel, and my joy turns to mourning.

Lendi’s body.

I can’t leave him; I don’t know why, but I can’t.

I yank out the arrow and toss it far from us. Together with Talya, I muscle over my mate, and we drag him out of the tunnel. Behind us, the sound of rain on water, and as we emerge and face the inlet I blink like a fool, because I cannot speak.

“What’s happening?” Talya gently releases Lendi’s hand.

The Swan is filled with boats. Hundreds, maybe thousands of boats, stuffed with Amongus, many whom I recognize from
Massa’s isle. They rip the PM’s mark from their pockets and toss their dials into the water.

But there are more. There’s Fundin, the youngest council member, the nervous one, now smiling. And beside him, in the nearest boat, Father and Seward.

For a moment, I cannot move. I can only take in the sight of those before me. I gently set down Lendi and place my hand on his heart … and watch the rain slowly wash away the crimson from his hands.

I am released!

I shout and splash and swim to my Father. “I don’t understand.” Seward hauls me up, and I hug them both.

“Oh, Talya!” I turn and pull her in, and suddenly panic returns. “The water. It’s off. There is no more coming up from —”

“No, mate. They dug too deep, and the sea always reclaims its own. The isle is no more — the cone above the waterline collapsed in on itself.” Seward peeks at Talya. “Nothing below remains.”

Talya takes a deep breath. “And what of … those below?”

Father lifts both hands. “Perhaps they found safety. With all the digging, my guess is they had ample warning. But the Aquifer is no more. Surely it flooded and is swamped with salt.”

“So we failed.” I stare into the sky at the rain beating down.

“I’m not so sure.” Fundin lifts his head and pulls from his tunic a sheet, old and crumpled. Rain soaks the torn page, and he reads. “And Hope will be shared throughout the world. And then the end can come.” Fundin’s eyes sparkle, and how clear it is now; they are the eyes of a Rat. “I followed you when you left the isle, but lost you in the storm. I wish I would’ve reached you sooner.”

I frown, and he repeats, “Hope? Shared throughout the world? You know, like what was accomplished in that amphitheater? You two were on all the screens.”

My face blanks. “What happened in there is lost in a fog …”

“I’ll speak it again. Hope must be shared throughout the world, and then the end can come!”

“Why do you keep saying that?” I ask.

“This, Luca, is what the Council truly feared.” Fundin lifts the page, shaking it above his head. “This prophecy. These words, ripped from Rabal’s ancient book. This is the reason why all books were destroyed. This is why the barrier between the worlds was created. It was never for the Aquifer’s protection, as the Rats and even the Deliverers believed. Rabal and his Council conspired to retain power, something difficult to accomplish if the world perishes.

“In this, Massa too played into their hands. Deliverers cemented the barrier. In order for the Council to retain power, to keep down whatever this Hope was, it became clear that Rabal’s book must never reach the People of the Rock. See?” Fundin thrusts the page before my eyes. “It says
all
people, which includes those below. For hundreds of years they were cut off, and so the end was delayed.”

“Without a water source, the end won’t delay much longer.” I exhale long and slow.

“Hear me to the point,” Fundin continues. “Suddenly a terrifying message arrives from Walery. The Council learns that you, Luca, possess scratchings from long ago, and in their paranoia they order your shanty burned. Those books must be destroyed. Ancient words from above must not reach the Rats.”

He grins. “But you did reach them, did you not?”

“Luca.” Father stares at the shore, at the crowd gathering along the Swan. “While below, of what did you speak?”

I stare at Talya and shake my head. “Etria only wanted my judgments.”

“Did you make any?” Father asks.

“Only Phale’s, but it was nothing.”

A smirk crosses Seward’s face. “But did you leave anything with them, lad?”

“No … Yes! Well, better put, Wren demanded I do. My two books. Father’s and one other.”

“And can you describe this
other
book?” Fundin’s eyes widen.

“It had no title, and I never read it. But it was old. Lendi …” I pause and glance at my mate on the beach, and my heart aches. “We found it in Glaugood.”

Fundin leans forward. “Can you … describe it?”

I rack my brain.

“It was protected by an undone, and I figured it belonged with me. There was a pair of cupped hands on the cover.”

Fundin eases down in Father’s boat. He whispers, “Well now, I suppose that could be the one.”

A light, bright and piercing, explodes up from the sea, strikes the clouds, and spreads like a rolling wave across the sky. The radiance intensifies, consumes, and in ships and on land men cower and fall. But not all. Some stare unflinching into the brilliant dawn. Father. Seward. Talya. Fundin. And from a boat not far from the beach, Phale and Mape raise their hands to the light.

What happens now? Now that hope has reached the Rats and words of peace have touched the surface? Will water fall from
above, in quantities enough to satisfy our thirst? And what of our rage, will we release it to the sky and go in search of the Rats, our underground brothers and sisters?

I know nothing for sure, nothing except that the future no longer depends on me. I am no longer Other. I am Luca, son of Massa, one of thousands gripped by Talya’s song.

I am small, and small is good.

And along with every other creature that moves, I have a choice.

Talya reaches for my hand and squeezes, while the world collects its breath.

Jonathan Friesen
is an author and speaker from central Minnesota. His first young adult novel,
Jerk, California
, received the ALA Schneider Award. When he’s not writing, speaking at schools, or teaching, Jonathan loves to travel and hang out with his wife and three kids.

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Aquifer
Copyright © 2013 by Jonathan Friesen

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