The Scent of Lilac: An Arrow's Flight Novella (3 page)

           
“Your
mate eats when I say he eats.”

           
I can’t
breathe. She eases back. I step around her to the door.

           
“Don’t
let me ever find you in here again, breeder.”

           
I push
out of the barracks and scurry toward
Chad
’s
cave, trying my best not to run. As I round the corner, I spot another jailer
at the far end of the Pit pushing the food cart. Confused, I scan the rest of
the Pit, but there is no one else.

           
Inside
the cave,
Chad
takes the confiscated egg and devours it immediately, barely taking the time to
shell it. I settle onto the edge of his mat, ringing my hands. Two jailers.
This is all I’ve seen here today. Where are the others? I glance once again at
the broken lock. What of the Council? Do they know that the Pit is unsecured? Have
the jailers reported it? Perhaps I should go back to the barracks and ask.

           
I climb
to my feet, wary. I don’t like the idea of facing the awful jailer again.

           
“I’ll
come again later,” I tell
Chad
as I push open the gate, not bothering to close it once I’ve passed through. He
merely watches me go, savoring the last little bit of his egg.

can’t bring myself to confront the jailer. She scowls at
me as I pass by the barracks, so I simply scurry past and take to the ladder.
And it’s not until I’m halfway back to the Village that I decide to go straight
to the Council myself. Not that this is any less intimidating.

           
The
Council’s private meeting room is located at the east end of the Great Hall.
Two enormous mahogany doors separate it from the main assembly room, and when I
knock, the booming sound of my tiny knuckles against the wood causes me to
shrink back. I swallow, waiting.

           
I’ve
never seen the inside of the meeting room. I’ve never had reason to come
before, and as the minutes sneak past, I quickly remind myself that there’s
still time to retreat. I don’t have to play the hero. I could take my leave,
crawl back to my hogan, and forget everything I encountered in the Pit today.
It could be that easy to simply not care.

           
I furrow
my brow, frustrated. And just as I come to the conclusion that maybe I should
say nothing for once, the door heaves open, planting my mission firmly in
place. I stand very still staring up into the surprised eyes of Eleanor, the
Bear.

           
“Yes?”

           
The
councilwoman’s fingers curl around the edge of the door as she assesses me. I
try to smile.

           
“Hello.
I’m Mia,” I remind her. My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “I need to
speak with
Tara
, please.”

           
Eleanor
frowns. “
Tara
is indisposed. Perhaps I can help.”

           
“Oh. Of
course. Well—”

           
I stop,
unsure how to begin. Frankly, I hadn’t thought this part of my message through.
Eleanor frowns again.

           
“What is
it, girl? I must return to the meeting.”

           
I take a
deep breath. “Something has happened at the Pit.”

           
Eleanor
raises a brow and pushes the door wider. Behind her, I see the others gathered
around a long, wooden table at the far end of the room.

           
“And what
might that be?”

           
By now,
the other women have stopped their chattering and turned in their seats,
curious as to what has disrupted their meeting. I ease back a tiny step.

           
“The gates,”
I begin. “They’re open. All the locks are broken, and—I only saw two jailers.”

           
Eleanor
purses her lips before she nods. “Yes. We know.”

           
“You—” I
stop, confused. “Then, what’s to be done?”

           
“What is
it, Eleanor?” someone calls out. Eleanor answers over her shoulder, not taking
her eyes from me.

           
“It’s
Mia. She has some concerns about the gates in the Pit.”

           
The heavy
scraping of a chair is the answer, and then
Tara
comes
into view.

           
“Let her
in.”

           
Eleanor
steps back a pace, pulling the door wider.
 
Hesitantly, I step into the room.
Tara
comes around the side of the table.

           
“Mia? You
have a report?”

           
“Yes,” I
nod. “The locks have been broken on all the gates in the Pit. And the stock are
not being fed. It appears several jailers are not at their posts. I wasn’t
certain you’d been notified of the situation.”

           
“Yes, we are
aware,”
Tara
raises a brow. “We are diligently working
to remedy the situation.” When I sigh in relief,
Tara
pushes
her brows together, frowning. “Still, I’d say bringing news of something we are
quite aware of is... useless.”

           
I meet
her eyes, that old fear mounting. I have never had too many interactions with
Tara
.
She has always been the silent second-in-command, a background figure who only
had power when Mona allowed it. Now, my voice is small when I speak.

“I—I have nothing more to report. I’m sorry to have
bothered you.”

           
I take a
backward step.

           
“It
appears Kate’s rebellion has done more than unlock gates.”

           
I stop in
my tracks, hold my breath.
Tara
casts her eyes toward the
other councilwomen briefly before returning her gaze to me. When I don’t
answer, she huffs, a deep sound in her chest.

           
“No word
from her, then?”

           
The women
shuffle, all eyes focused on me. I swallow.

           
“No. I
told you this earlier. Kate is gone. I have had no communication with her.”

           
My voice
squeaks, and I nervously dig my big toe into the wood floor while
Tara
stares me down, anger dancing fiercely in her eyes. I dare not move a muscle.

           
“Mia.”

           
I flick
my eyes toward the voice. It’s Leah. I mentally shuffle through the signs until
I remember hers. The Lion. Other than Anna Maria, she is most certainly the
kindest council member of them all. She leaves the table and comes to me.

           
“Let’s
take a walk.”

           
Tara
puffs her chest in protest, but Leah ignores this, edging around her to rest an
arm over my shoulders.

           
“I’ll
return shortly,” Leah offers with a wave of her hand. “Carry on without me.”

She ushers me out.

           
“Was that
wise?” I whisper once the solid door thuds into place. Leah only smiles.

           
“
Tara
is not our leader, as much as she pretends to be.”

           
“She
isn’t?” I’m surprised by this. “But I thought…”

           
“Oh,
yes,” Leah nods. “She is second-in-command, which gives her some authority over
the Village. Not over the Council. She must concede to our authority as a whole
until a unanimous decision is made concerning our next leader.” She leans in,
giving my shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Kate left us in a fix, and we’re having
quite a time agreeing on a solution.”

           
We exit
the assembly room, simultaneously squinting in the setting sun.

           
“But… why
would that matter?” I inquire, confusion clear in the question. “Fate will
decide, will it not?”

           
Her eyes
flick toward me, a keen glint of some underlying knowledge. But whatever I see disappears
as quickly as it came.

           
“Yes. Of
course it will.”

           
The
smells of supper waft on the air, and my stomach grumbles on cue. Leah walks a
few paces ahead of me on the path, her long, sandy hair rolled at the nape of
her neck. Though not as light as Diana’s, her skin is lighter than most. A
creamy brown that I have always admired up next to my bronzed complexion. I set
my pace to hers.

           
“You’re
the third person to report to us about the gates.”

           
I study
her. “I am?”

           
“Yes. Of
course, our suspects are long gone.” For a moment, her eyes turn tender with
sadness. “So much happened the day of Mona’s death. We were completely caught
off guard, you know.” She smiles again, trying to regain some of her formality.
“So. You’re holding to your conviction?”

           
I blink.
“What?”

           
“To keep
Kate from us.”

           
I sigh.
“Leah, I don’t know where she is. I left her just there.” I point toward the
path that leads to the clearing. “She and Diana said their goodbyes, and it was
the last time I saw them.”

           
“So this…
banishment Kate proclaimed. You believe she followed through?”

           
I shake
my head in resignation, casting my eyes to the ground. “If anyone had the
courage to do so, it would be her.”
   

           
Leah
nods. “She’s always been strong-willed.” She eyes me. “She left with those boys
I have no doubt.”

           
I purse
my lips, but I nod. “And what did
Tara
mean just now?
About Kate’s rebellion?”

           
I would
never dare to ask anyone else. But this is Leah, and she’s kind and caring and
approachable. We walk a few paces more before she sighs.

           
“The
jailers aren’t the only ones choosing to defy Fate.”

           
I crease
my brows, puzzled. “Who else, then?”

           
She
shakes her head. “A majority of the gardeners are refusing to plant a new crop.
And several nannies have left the nursery. It is becoming quite a headache for
the Council. And every day the problem grows.”

           
Her voice
sounds too casual, and this only adds to my shock. My hand inadvertently
scrambles to my throat as a lump grows there. This is unimaginable. Are the
women so bold? How can they defy Fate after Kate was severely punished by the
gods for her own defiance? Even after her bold words, this should have been a
warning to all of us to keep our proper places.

           
Another
more temporal fear suddenly comes tumbling over me. If the gardeners have
stopped tilling, who will be next? What if the hunters refuse to hunt? Or the
cooks decide they are finished preparing our meals? How will we ever survive?

           
These
thoughts shove me toward a harsh panic that stops me in my spot.

           
“Mia?”
Leah, full of concern, turns back to take my elbow. “Are you all right?”

           
I clamp
my eyes tightly, sucking in another lungful of breath. And in answer to her
question, I pose another, my voice loud and erratic.

           
“Why are
the gates still open?”
 

           
In
defense to my sudden fear of starvation, this irrelevant thought is what leaks
to the forefront of my mind. The stock. There they sit, one step away from
freedom, and no one has taken measures to repair the locks. And I would feel so
much better if someone would do so. Perhaps then, my small world would right
itself some, if only a little.

           
Two women
on their way to the dining hall, toss me a glance as they pass, but with the
calm demeanor she always exhibits, Leah tugs my arm gently.

           
“Come,
Mia.”

           
I stand
firm.

           
“Why,
Leah?” I ask again. “If there is so much chaos abounding in the Village, don’t
you think locking the gates would be the first call to order?”

           
She
quietly steers me away from the gaping eyes and into the shadow of the dining
hall, and her voice seeps with pure understanding when she speaks.

           
“It’s been
six days since someone broke open all the gates,” she says quietly, “And not
one male has attempted to leave his cage.” She shakes her head, lifts upraised
palms slightly. “The stock know their place.”

           
She chuckles,
and I don’t know what to make of it. The sound seems out of place in light of
this conversation. But my shoulders relax as her words take form in my brain.
The stock know their place, as we all should.

           
“So the
gates will remain unlocked?”

           
“Of
course not.”
 
She lowers herself to the
ground and leans against the side of the building. “But I must say, I am
enjoying the experiment.” She glances up at me with a sly smile. “Locks are
only needed to keep something in that won’t stay put, don’t you think?”

           
“I
suppose,” I shrug. Leah takes a breath, studies her hands.

           
“The
current number of stock requires us to repair just less than half of the
two-hundred locks for the time being.”

           
“And?” I
settle beside her.

           
“And… the
locksmiths have banded together, refusing to work until a true leader is in
place.”

           
“Oh,” I
let the reality of this sink in.

           
“We have tried
to negotiate with them, but they will not be persuaded.”

           
“Why do
you not simply order all of them… the jailers, gardeners, locksmiths… to return
to their duties?”

           
“It is
not so simple, Mia. There are eleven of us and several hundred of you.”

           
“Mona
managed,” I remind her.

           
“And not
one of us is Mona,” she concedes. She looks off into the trees, her voice
growing distant. “Only one name was in that box.”

           
My
stomach dances with a sudden and unexpected excitement when she says this. She
glances at me sidelong.