The Choosing (7 page)

“Come on, girly,” Wes said, trying to assist Carrington back into a standing position. She stood with him and pulled away from his touch the moment she was stable. The guard’s face came into view and Carrington felt an urge to throw herself into his arms. It was her familiar kind-eyed protector.

His face was filled with concern as he glanced over her. She dusted off her shirt and tried to place a cap on her tears. He must have seen them anyway, because she
watched his face grow dark and he shifted his eyes toward the two men behind her.

“Get out,” he said.

His heavy tone had the two men scurrying away like rats and Carrington released a shaky breath. She brushed the dirt from her knees and stole a second to get control of her face. This man had already seen her lose it once.

When she rose again, the guard was standing patiently as if waiting for her to give him a signal that she was all right. There was no longer any darkness in his eyes, only tenderness. She held his glance a moment longer than she should have, expecting him to turn away, but he stood firm. He didn’t seem to shy away from seeing what was really behind her eyes.

Comfort in the presence of a man was a rarity for a woman until she was chosen, and for those who never were, it was practically unheard of. Especially if the man was a CityWatch guard. Carrington didn’t even know this man’s name, but she felt so secure in his presence it made her breath catch and her skin heat in a way that was completely foreign to her.

He said nothing, but she did remember the way he had struggled before and assumed that finding words wasn’t something that came very easily to him. She shot him a small smile and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’m fine,” Carrington said.

“Are you sure?” he asked. His voice was smooth and
kind. He might not be able to use his voice much, but when he did, it made her heart jump.

“Yes, thank you.”

He returned her smile and waited as she walked back toward the door to Alfred’s room. She turned and gave him a final nod and he slightly bowed before walking out of the alley the same way he had come in.

Sleep had always come easily for Carrington, but the last couple of nights had made all her previous night terrors seem harmless. She sat up in the dark and swung her legs out from under the covers. Another nightmare, same as before. Her classmates chanting truth number six.

“Not to be chosen would yield a cruel fate of my own making.”

Even with her eyes open she could hear their horrid, hateful chanting. She knew trying to get back to sleep would be a waste, so she stood quietly, dressed, and stepped out to the main room. The loft was eerily quiet and stuffy enough to make it hard to breathe. Carrington remembered that her Lint guide mentioned a library on the fourth floor during the brief orientation. Maybe reading would distract her mind enough to shut out the wicked little voices.

Carrington carefully made her way out of her loft and down the hall to the elevator. She was thankful that it moved smoothly enough not to be disruptive to the girls sleeping as she dropped past their floors. When the car reached the fourth floor, the door slid open and Carrington used the dim hall light to read the door numbers. The doors looked much
like the ones on her own floor, numbered with a small black box beside each one.

The last door on the right was different from the rest. It had a glass panel in the center and was labeled in small, perfect gold letters across the top:
Library
. The door pushed open easily.

Inside, the room was silent. A breeze drifting from an air vent cooled the space and made it very comfortable. It wasn’t large; maybe ten bookshelves in either direction filled the square room. She imagined they were organized alphabetically and were approved reading only.

After the Ruining, most literature had been collected, but as the Authority grew, they had begun to filter out unacceptable reading. The works that remained were about their past, their hopes for the future, science, math, psychology, and government. Most literature these days featured religious excerpts from the
Veritas
. Very little dealt with art, and none of it was fiction. Carrington couldn’t even imagine reading an entire work of literature based on “make-believe.” Such contraband had been strictly forbidden in her home.

She moved deeper into the room and found a lamp in the center of a little round wooden table and flicked it on. It glowed a soft yellow and Carrington took a moment to relax.

“Hello?” a voice called.

Carrington looked around but saw no one else. “Hello,” she called out. Something shuffled behind a large oak
desk against the far left wall and a body popped up in the dimness.

“Carrington?”

Larkin’s curly brown mop was pulled up on top of her head, and she was dressed in a long housecoat that could have easily wrapped around her twice.

“Larkin? What are you doing here?” Carrington asked.

“I was about to ask you the same thing.”

Carrington could feel Larkin’s defensive stance from across the room. Carrington didn’t blame her. She couldn’t deny the guilt that had traveled with her since their dispute that morning. Twice Larkin had tried to show Carrington kindness, and both times Carrington had practically spit on her. Most girls were barely looking at her, much less speaking to her.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Carrington said.

Larkin paused, seeming to assess the situation, then dropped her arms from their position tightly crossed over her chest. “Me neither.”

“I’m actually not really sure how anyone sleeps in this place.”

Larkin moved out from behind the desk, a book in hand. “I kept telling myself it would eventually get easier, but guess I was wrong.”

Carrington chuckled sarcastically. “Great.”

Larkin stopped a few steps away and placed her book on the table in front of Carrington. “I’m surprised to see you here. I mean, no one ever comes here.”

Carrington glanced around again at the humble room. “I wasn’t sure where else to go.”

“No, it’s fine. The company is probably good for me. Otherwise I end up talking to the books.”

Carrington smiled and walked over to the nearest set of shelves. “Anything good?”

“A couple of things
 
—some older stuff on the Old Americas
 
—but for the most part, it’s the same as what we read in practicing lessons.”

No surprise there. “So no one really ever comes here?”

“Nope. I don’t think most girls even know it exists,” Larkin said.

“I guess it’s always nice and quiet then.”

“Sometimes I come here to avoid too much quiet. At least in here the air unit sparks some life. Seriously, my room can get spooky silent.”

“I know. It’s too quiet to sleep.”

“Too quiet to think.”

Carrington shared a knowing look with Larkin, and for the first time since stepping across the Stacks threshold she didn’t feel utterly alone.

The Authority gathered as they always did on the twelfth day of the month to discuss matters of business. The Council Room was grand, in keeping with the rest of the Capitol Building. The size of the room far exceeded what
it would ever accommodate. The walls were painted gold, the floor was polished daily, and large bay windows let the warm sun sparkle over the marble statues and the mahogany furniture. The draperies were heavy purple velvet and the table sitting in the center was thick oak and a similar color to the chairs surrounding it. An elaborate chandelier glistened over it, throwing beautiful prisms of color around the room.

Isaac sat in his usual seat, to the right of the head seat, and greeted the others as they took their places around him. Ian Carson was the last to enter the room. Although Isaac would never say so out loud, he was sure the Authority President intentionally waited to be seated last so everyone else was forced to watch him glide to his seat . . . because he did, in fact, glide. His movements were uncommonly fluid. Ian was an impressive man with a well-kept head of silver hair, piercing blue eyes that seemed to see everything at once, pristine skin, and perfectly tailored suits. He was king in his court, and he viewed the rest of the members as his instruments.

Isaac had often found Ian’s self-exalting attitude loathsome. He had become consumed with leading the council by his power alone, having to be reminded often that his power lay within the bounds of the law. The way of God. For a time Isaac even wondered whether Ian was suitable for leadership anymore. As head of religious affairs, Isaac could have easily brought into question Ian’s loyalty to the truth before the council, suggesting a deep investigation of his real
intentions, but the voice of truth had stopped him. Ian was a necessary part of the holy plan. So Isaac bit his tongue and let the man’s self-indulgence continue. For now, at least.

Ian took his seat at the head of the massive table and signaled Foster, the secretary. Foster was the only person allowed in the room who wasn’t an Authority member. He sat in the back corner of the room and took minutes of all discussions and reports as the meetings progressed. He never spoke
 
—never even made a sound
 
—and Isaac could count on one hand the number of times he had seen the man outside this room. Isaac respected his diligence to his task.

“Let it be noted that the first traditional meeting of the year 2257 has commenced,” Ian said. “As always, before we begin our agenda, let all Authority members bring forth any new business.”

“I think it is fair to say we need to discuss the serial killer we have wandering the streets,” Monroe Austin said. Monroe oversaw the medical establishments and advances throughout the city.

“‘Serial killer’ is a bit dramatic, Monroe,” Walker Red said. A bit of a softer soul, Walker carried the burden of maintaining proper educational levels for both male and female citizens within the community.

Both men sat to Isaac’s left, on the other side of Ian Carson. Although no one would actually suggest it, many thought that placing the two beside each other was begging for controversy. Neither one ever agreed with anything the other said, even though the two could not be more
similar
 
—stubborn, over-opinionated, closed-minded, holding very little regard for anyone but themselves and what would serve their own interests. Isaac held deep disdain for them both.

“We have four bodies, Walker. How many do we need before the rest of the table considers this a threat?” Monroe asked.

“No one is diminishing the threat,” said Dodson Rogue, head of the CityWatch guards.

“Yet you still have nothing that will help us catch the culprit.”

“My men and I are working around the clock on this.”

“I hope not at the cost of the city’s security,” Riddley Stone said. Riddley held the role of Minister of Justice, charged with overseeing the courts and mediating the community’s legal disputes.

“Of course not,” Dodson said.

Next, Enderson Lane, the member in charge of Authority Workers, spoke up. “A guard reported to me that some Lints were able to sneak out after curfew two nights ago. Are you aware of this?”

Dodson nodded. “We added additional guards to the eastern side of the Stacks, where the incident occurred.”

“Maybe we need more CityWatch guards,” said Rains Molinar, Minister of Projects and Engineering.

“We are functioning fine with what we have,” Dodson said.

“I agree with Monroe; it sounds like until this criminal
is caught, our CityWatch is stretched too thin,” Riley Scott said. Riley, usually the last one to offer anything of value, was charged with the city’s financial welfare.

Isaac watched as the foolish men bantered back and forth about how to maintain control of the city. He had more pressing issues on his mind and was waiting for the perfect moment to speak.

“Enough,” Ian said. “For the moment, we have few personnel resources to add to the CityWatch, and since our victims are Lints alone, we will proceed, business as usual. Dodson, I expect results quickly.”

Dodson said nothing. Isaac could see the blood filling Dodson’s face, and he knew the conversation had lit Dodson’s short fuse.

“Anything else?” Ian asked.

“I would like to make a personal case,” Isaac said.

The rest of the room turned their attention to him, and Ian nodded for him to continue.

“As many of you know, I am mourning the passing of my wife.”

Nods and whispered words of condolences followed.

“To die so young is tragic,” Clyde Bushfield reflected. Clyde, the Minister of Citizens’ Welfare, was always prepared to comment on anything, but Isaac wasn’t sure what, if any, actual value he contributed to the Authority.

“You have seen too much death for your age,” Walker consoled, for once not contradicting anyone.

Isaac inclined his head, silently expressing his
appreciation for their heartfelt concern. “You also know that we were unable to produce any children. I know it broke my wife’s heart as it did mine. Certainly it would have eased the pain of my loss to have a child that could serve as a reminder of her, but as a man of God, I try to see every event in life as leading from one door to another. I was the only son my father had, and without an heir, our family name will die.”

Isaac paused to gauge the room and saw that several men were softly nodding with understanding, but Ian’s face held no expression.

“This is why I am coming to the Authority with the request that I may be permitted to take a second wife in order to preserve my family name. I know that what I am asking is unorthodox and outside existing regulations. I will accept any ruling this council deems fit, but I hope you will consider me worthy of the exception.”

There was murmuring around the room as Isaac stood. It was customary, when the Authority considered personal petitions, for the individual making the request to leave the room while the remaining members discussed his appeal. Isaac’s shoes clacked on the cold floor as he made his way through a set of double doors to the silent hallway.

He could hear voices behind the closed door but couldn’t make out the words. It didn’t matter; he already knew what the answer would be. God did not set a plan in motion only to derail it once it had begun to move.

After several long moments, Isaac was called back into the room and ushered to his seat.

The room was quiet, and Isaac turned his attention to Ian. He waited patiently as the man gathered his thoughts.

“As the leader of this community and head of this council, I speak for everyone as I extend my deepest condolences for your loss,” Ian said.

“Thank you,” Isaac said.

“Regarding your appeal, we find ourselves divided. Many believe that to grant your request would go against the foundations of the law. We do not remarry. A second marriage would cause quite a stir among the people.”

Isaac didn’t speak; he could tell by the way Ian was working his eyes that he wasn’t finished.

“On the other hand, your lack of an heir affects not only you; it has a significant impact on the entire council. The concern is who would take your seat after you. Although it would be possible to find a replacement, we do prefer to keep the Authority table strong with a rich family heritage. Finding a suitable candidate would take time and leave an undesirable void for who knows how long.”