Atlantia (19 page)

What would it be like to stay here in the gondola, the fog around us, the sound of the bats winging their way across the skies, Atlantia breathing, lulling us to sleep?

True's lips brush against mine and I kiss him back. We hold each other tight. Earlier, under the trees, we were hungry and relieved to touch each other.

We are still hungry.

The gondola stops. We need to get out and get home before the peacekeepers find us.

“I'll walk with you to the temple,” True says.

As we come closer to the temple, the fog lifts. It is lighter here. And so we can see that the trees have lost their leaves, all of them, in silver drifts on the ground. The gods are naked in the branches, their broken arms and shining teeth there for all to see, and as I watch a temple bat drifts down to land on Efram's shoulder.

I have never seen Atlantia like this, unleaved, unloosed. The breach, the fog, the trees undone.

The city is decaying before our eyes, and I realize that it has always been this way. It is such work to keep Atlantia alive, to keep any of us alive. But the work is what draws us in, what gives us purpose. This city is our ship, sealed tight to keep us safe, and it is breaking.

“How could this happen so fast?” True asks. “We haven't been gone for long. The trees were fine an hour ago.”

“Maire was right,” I say. “We need to go home.”

“We will,” True says, and I wonder how his voice is so deep and so clear. How his hands can be both strong and gentle. How he can know what I am and still be unafraid to kiss me like this.

I can't see True again after tonight.

My mother was right. She told me that one word could undo the work of years; could be overheard by many.

First Justus, then Maire, now True. Who is the most dangerous of the three?

I know the answer to that. I've known for some time.

D
uring a special broadcast the next day, Nevio tells us that the breach was a terrible accident. That the water that came in was too powerful, too fast, that there was nothing to be done but seal off the deepmarket to prevent the water from reaching the neighborhoods.

Hundreds of people died. There's no way to give everyone an individual burial with a death toll so high, no time for family members to prepare the bodies. The priests are working all day and late into the night to bless and shroud the dead, and the bodies will have to go up through the floodgates in groups. There is not enough time to bury them one by one. Nevio tells us that the first group will be released tomorrow morning.

We lost more people in the deepmarket breach than we have ever lost in a single day in Atlantia. This is a terrible tragedy.

And I am a terrible person, because in the tragedy I see an opportunity.

This is my chance to go through the floodgates.

And it's even better than I could have hoped.

The mass burials are the perfect cover for my attempt to get Above.

Instead of just one body, there will be dozens going up at the same time. I'll wear Bay's wetsuit, the one I didn't cut up for a costume, and find a robe to shroud myself in and conceal my air tank.

This time
I
will be the one who leaves.

I wait until it's late at night, until the hours when even the priests have to steal a little sleep, and I slip into the morgue, find a shroud in a pile, and put it on over my wetsuit and air tank. The dead rest in their rows, and I lie down and pull the shroud over my face, making sure that the air tank is adjusted and strapped on tight.

I lie on the cold floor and wait. Wondering whether I've timed everything right, wondering if this will work.

And then people come inside. They move body after body. When it's my turn, I hold very still. I pretend not to breathe.

The workers bring me from the morgue out to the floodgate chamber. They carry me on a stretcher, so they don't touch the air tank, which is a mercy, and they settle me on the chamber floor. I know where I am by the echoes in the room and the smell of cold stone and salt water. I hear the workers placing other bodies around me. The floor feels very hard through my shroud.

A chill of foreboding shivers down the back of my neck.
What if it all ends here? What if I drown before I even get out of the chamber?

Think about something else. Think about True.

I wonder if he is watching the burial. He won't know that I'm here with the other bodies, but soon enough he'll know that I'm gone, that I left Atlantia somehow. I wanted to leave a message for True, but I realized it was complicated—who could I trust to give it to him?—and, in the end, unnecessary.

I told him everything last night in the gondola. I didn't tell him when I was going, but he knows I've always wanted to go Above, and he knows how much I miss my sister.

In the end True will think that I loved Bay more than I love him, which is true in some ways.

I have loved her longer.

The priests begin to say the prayers over us. They speak as one, and I can't make out Justus's voice.

I hold so very, very still. The priests are everywhere, walking among the rows. I wonder if any of them think they see a flutter of breath when they come past my body. My mask is in place, the tank still undiscovered, the control to the airflow in my hand. It will take a tiny movement to switch it on, one that I hope no one sees. And then I'll have to hope that the air is good and the ascent slow enough that my lungs don't burst.

The priests stop chanting. I hear the door to the chamber close as they leave us alone.

Somewhere in the viewing area, Nevio and the Council are watching. Is Maire with them?

The water coming from the gods' open mouths hits the floor. I wonder if True will understand when he finds out what I have done. I hope he knows how I feel about him, that I didn't want it to have to be like this. But how else could I go?

My shroud is soon sodden.

The last time I was in this chamber was with Maire. That's when I had the idea to go up through the floodgates.

This is the perfect way to escape. But it's also the perfect way to get rid of the last remaining daughter of a Minister you wanted dead, a Minister who knew too much. The Council killed my mother. Did they ask Maire to kill me?

What if going up through the floodgates wasn't my idea after all? What if it was hers?

All it takes is a little fear to creep in. It's like the water in the deepmarket. Once it breaks, you will soon have a flood. And then there's no telling what could happen.

Don't panic. Don't be afraid. You're meant for the Above. Your inner voice has
always
told you this. Trust it.

It is a good thing that I practiced in the lanes, because as the water lifts me I am buffeted and spun around, and I have to adjust and move without seeming to do so. I have to work to keep my head upright, hoping that with so many bodies they won't notice. I switch on the air, and it flows into my mask.

Up, up, up, I go. They accelerate the water once the bodies have lifted off the ground. Artificial currents keep us away from the walls and toward the center, but we bump into one another.

Bile rises into my throat, though I've eaten nothing.

Don't think. Just breathe.

I feel the cold of the water, even through the wetsuit. I know that the exposure might send me into shock. I know the suit might not be enough to protect me.

Up. Up.

The shroud comes loose over my face. I must not have tightened it enough. I can't help it. I open my eyes.

The petals above me spin, and it is all I can do to keep staring up and not swim straight for the exit. It's bright. So bright. Is that real light or artificial light? I don't think the sun can reach this far down, but other things I've thought were certain have been proven wrong.

Some of the bodies reach the opening of the chamber before I do.

They become blazing, brilliant, bright; they disappear.

Is this the third miracle? Do I believe in the miracles?

I do. I believe in the sirens, because they exist and I am one of them. I believe in the bats, because I've seen them. I've scrubbed up their leavings and marveled at their wings. So a third miracle could be true, too.

But something is happening. A darkening. A pulling down on the inside, the very heart of me, on my body.

Am I dying?

The petals spin inward instead of outward, closing instead of opening.

“Open,”
I say.
“Open back up. Let me out.”

But it doesn't work. Because of the mask? Because I am too far away?

The water is lowering.

They are bringing me back down.

They know.

H
ow do they know?

Did Nevio figure it out somehow?

Or did I give myself away? Did someone notice that the shroud came open or see me move?

I want to pull the shroud closed, but I can't risk it. Perhaps they shut the gates for another reason. Maybe it's not me at all.

On the way down, I get caught in a current as the water swirls toward the floor. My head bobs under, and water floods into my mask. The seal must not have been tight enough, and I choke, my body convulsing. I can't breathe, and I'm moving far too much. I reach up inside the shroud and fix the mask, hoping that in the whirl of bodies going down, no one will notice the movement.

The water settles me roughly on the bottom of the floodgate chamber. I lie perfectly still, on my side, flung there as haphazardly as the rest of the bodies.

I didn't even make it out of the chamber.

For several long minutes, I rest there on the floor, surrounded by corpse-filled shrouds, trying to keep my chest from heaving up and down, willing myself not to shake with the cold, listening to the last of the water drain away.

Peacekeepers take me straight to holding and put me in a room by myself. It's small, with a dark-glassed window and a table and two chairs inside, nothing more. But the chairs are beautifully carved and made of wood, true treasures from the ancient Above. Why would they put such things in a holding cell?

They don't give me anything else to wear, even though the air coming through the vents feels icy. I stand in the middle of the room in my wetsuit and drip and shiver.
I'm alive,
I think.
I'm caught.

Maire comes inside, a rush of warm air from the hall following her.

She looks neat and tidy, her hair braided in a way that reminds me of how Bay and I wore ours on that day in the temple. There's even a ribbon, brown velvet, winding through Maire's hair, and her clothes are neatly pressed. “Raise the temperature in here,” she says to a guard in her gorgeous, dangerous voice. “Bring her dry clothes. Now.”

Then she turns to me. “They've sent me in to talk with you,” she says. “Sit down.”

I stay standing. I don't want to obey her. And I don't want to ruin the chair. Salt water on that old wood—I can't bring myself to do it.

“The Council wanted to interrogate you,” Maire says, “to find out why you tried to go up through the floodgates. I told them that it wasn't necessary to question you. That you simply wanted to go Above because you missed your sister.”

I don't say anything.

“You're very quiet, Rio,” Maire says. “Is there anything you'd like to tell us?” She gestures to the mirrored window at the back of the room.

I wonder how many people are listening.

I know what Maire wants me to say.

I'm not sure if I hear it in her voice or see it in her eyes, but I know. She's not commanding, but she is asking.

She wants me to say that I'm a siren.

In front of her. In front of whoever watches from behind that window. She wants me to give myself away, even though all this time she's told me to save my voice.

A guard appears at the door with the clothes Maire requested—shirt and pants, underclothes, socks, and they're all
dry
. I want to wear them so badly that my teeth chatter. There's a blanket, too. Maire holds it up to screen me from the window.

“Go ahead and change,” Maire says.

I want to resist her, the way I refused to sit down on the chair, but I'm too cold. As fast as I can, I slip on the dry underclothes, the pants and shirt. My chilled fingers fumble with the buttons.

“Finished?” Maire asks, and when I don't answer, she lowers the blanket. “There,” she says. “That's better.”

And then she takes my chin in her hands and looks right into my eyes.

“Rio,” Maire says, “it's time.” She leans in and whispers into my ear,
“You need to tell us who you are.”

She pulls away. “The people from Above are tired of helping us,” Maire says, her voice brutal and clear. “Our mines are depleted and useless to them now, and they have stopped sending us food. We're a drain on their resources. And you know what happened in the deep-market.”

Is she saying that the people Above caused the breach somehow?

The door opens, and Nevio comes into the room. So
he
was behind the dark glass. “You've said too much,” he says. “As always.”

“I'm right,
as always
,” Maire says. “By telling Rio what's happening, I'm giving Atlantia a chance.” She nods to me. Her lips form the word
speak.
But she doesn't command me to say it. Why? Even now, she still wants me to have the choice?

I don't understand any of this. They're working together, that much is clear, but I see nothing warm, no sign of collaboration between the two of them. In fact, when Maire addresses Nevio, I hear a simmering, long-brewed hatred that she doesn't bother to hide.

Maire meets my gaze. “This is the last chance, Rio,” she says. “We're out of time. If you want to go to the surface, this is the way.”

My mother trusted Maire. So did Bay. And Maire gave me the shell and told me many things I'd never known. And I have no other way to the surface. I have to trust her, too.

And I
want
to speak. I
want
to go to the surface.

I tried to get there myself, and I failed.

So I do it. I use my real voice. I say what I've wanted to say all my life.

“I am a siren.”

Maire closes her eyes.

I've spoken the truth. I've said what I am as loud as I can.

It sounds so powerful that I feel my heart will break, or break free from me.

I am.

A siren.