Unworthy: Marked to die. Raised to survive. (24 page)

“It’s alright, Alex,” I say, as convincingly as I can. “Hearing some answers sounds good.”

“Alright then,” she says, and beckons to me. “Come out to the terrace with me. Please.” The pleasantry is a complete afterthought. I can tell this woman is accustomed to giving orders rather than requests.

Alex touches my elbow and whispers to me, “No matter what happens.”

Kassandra has watched the brief moment of intimacy thoughtfully, and he gives her a look full of resentment before releasing my arm. He says to her, “I’m not leaving.”

She looks at him coldly. I’m beginning to see the Polis glare of superiority everywhere. “That’s not an option, Captain.” She adds inflection to his title, a subtle reminder of his duty to follow orders. “You are to return to General Graham and give him your report. He can’t cover for you for much longer.”

She says it as though Alex has been taking a holiday.

He looks troubled by that, as if he’s torn. However, we both know he has to go. “It’s alright,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel.

“Be well,” he says, and briskly turns for his belongings before I can answer. Kassandra raises her eyebrow at his use of the Firstborn phrase, and I wonder at his meaning. She flicks her eyes in exasperation but turns her attention from him.

“Come,” she says to me.

I follow her through the glass and into the courtyard. I can’t help running my hand along the edge of the fountain. Cold and beautiful. Kassandra looks back at me and I guiltily snatch my hand away. On the other side of the courtyard, the glass doors slide apart and we re-enter the house, this time into a formal lounge. She leads me between the couches and through a door on the other side.

We emerge into a tidy garden, where a table is laid with plates of food. Kassandra motions me to sit, and she takes the bench opposite me. The smell of the food makes me suddenly realise how hungry I am, but my hand hovers whilst reaching for the bread. The thought of Polis food at the Festivals has returned to my mind.

When I raise my eyes I find her watching my every move, and I withdraw my empty hand. Her vigilance makes me uncomfortable. I want to shrink away from her.

“What?” she asks, seeing my reluctance. “Go ahead; eat.”

I raise my chin and meet her eyes. “What’s in it?” I ask boldly.

“Oh, I see,” she smiles, and pauses, then reaches for the bread herself. “There’s nothing in it. See?” She takes a bite and chews.

I’m cautious, but also famished, and I take a roll. I eat in silence for a few moments, trying to ignore the way she is staring at me. She makes me feel like prey. I’m reaching for slices of ham when she suddenly catches me by my wrist. My first instinct is to tug it away, but she holds tight, and the bandage which Alex tied so carefully this morning comes off in her hand.

It feels like she’s grabbed the hem of my only scrap of clothing and snatched it away. I feel exposed and indignant, and I clasp my left wrist to my chest as though wounded.

“It’s alright,” she appeases, but my anger is beyond soothing.

“What the hell do you want with me?” I’m on my feet, yelling at her. My nerves are raw and I can take no more. “I’ve been tied up, threatened, locked up, humiliated, dazered and hunted… all because you wanted me here. I don’t care who you are or how important you are. If you’re not going to kill me, I want answers NOW!” The strength in my voice surprises me, but it hardly seems to ruffle her at all.

“Sit down, Arcadia,” she orders me imperiously. “There is no need for dramatics. I’ve told you that you’re in no danger here and I meant it. I intend to answer your questions but I felt it important that you have some food in your stomach first.”

I sit, a little cowed, but can still feel my anger glowing. “So talk,” I say, taking my voice down a notch. “You knew there was a mark under that bandage. This is about me being Unworthy isn’t it?”

“Yes and no,” she answers. “I knew that you are marked because I was there when it was done. I’m your mother.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I stare at her, uncomprehending. The words that have come out of her mouth seem jumbled and I can’t seem to make any sense of them. I gawk.

“I’m your mother,” she repeats.

“How?” I manage. “Grandad said that you died… he told me that you died… all of you. Father, mother, brother.”

She shakes her head, a pained expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Arcadia. That was a story. The hub family that you thought you had lost was made up. We felt that it was best for you not to know the truth of your birth.”

We felt that it was best
? Grandad lied to me? The family I thought I’d had never existed! What a cruel lie to tell. I loved them, I missed them and I grieved for them. The world begins to spin, and I grip the edge of the table for support.

“I’m sorry if this is a shock to you,” she says. “I’ve thought so many times about what I’d tell you if I ever had the chance, and now I’m just making you panic. I’m sorry, please let me start again.”

“What about Nikau?” I breathe. She starts at the name, and her eyes open wide. “What about my brother? Did he ever exist?”

She exhales and looks at me sadly. “Well, if you had been the eldest, you would have joined the Firstborn. A sibling was a necessary addition to your story.”

“Just tell me why I’m here,” I say, pushing the thought of my invented family away.

“You’re here because you’re marked as Unworthy. Very soon, if the Council follows Cirillo’s plan, all Unworthy in the hubs will be in danger. I believe that he intends them to be terminated.”

“And you wanted to protect me by bringing me here?” I find her interest in my well-being hard to swallow.

She nods. “Yes, is that so difficult to believe? I can keep you safe here.” She sees the distrust in my eyes and adds softly, “You are my daughter, Arcadia.”

I press my lips together to stop them from trembling. “Then why did you send me away?”

“It was safer for you. Better. To be raised in a hub, far away from the Polis… at the time I was doing what was best for you,” she fixes me with pleading eyes. “You had the opportunity to grow up in a place that allowed you to be who you wanted to be, not to be constricted by the laws of the City.”

I feel the shock as what she’s saying hits me. She’s talking as Alex did, as though life in the hubs is rosy. “Do you think I’ve had an easy life?” I ask, my anger rising again. “Being marked means that I’m shunned, lonely and undesirable! It means that I don’t fit in. That’s not who I want to be!”

“The marking was unfortunate,” she sighs. “I didn’t want you marked, just hidden. But Matthias insisted. He said he wouldn’t take you unless you were marked.”

A fearful stillness settles on the garden. I can’t move. If I move I just know that I’ll break into a thousand tiny splinters of glass. I can’t breathe. If I breathe I’ll have to live with the realisation of what she’s just said.

I’m numb. Matthias insisted. That I was marked.

I don’t know how I feel. Betrayed? Unloved. Unimportant.
Unworthy
. I have never felt as unworthy as I do now, with the realisation that the man I trusted most had been central in the cause of my misery. I shake my head as rational thought breaks through my overwhelming helplessness. I look Kassandra in the eye with a dawning awareness.

“He insisted that I was marked,” I repeat, slowly. “Are you saying that I didn’t need to be? That I’m not unworthy at all?” My words begin to come faster, infused with hope.

She hesitates at that, and bites her lip. “Before you were born, he made his condition known to me. That you would be marked. But as it happened, he needn’t have made the stipulation. Being marked was unavoidable when you showed all the symptoms of having succumbed to two or three diseases. Vomiting, red welts, open sores, dry red skin… you were very sick.” I see her shiver, and despite myself I feel the same dread run up my spine. “But you
shouldn’t
have been. You should have shown more resilience to the patch. You should have inherited more of my natural immunity. I didn’t expect you to react so quickly, and so violently.” She looks very uncomfortable, as though the puzzle is one that has played on her mind for all these years. “And then you recovered, which astonished us all.”

“Could the symptoms have been simulated? Maybe I wasn’t sick at all,” I suggest.

She shakes her head, her eyes dropping to the table. “No, you were very ill. I didn’t think you were going to survive.” Her voice drops to a hoarse whisper, and for a second I hear one of the hub mothers, terrified at the thought of losing their sick child.

“But I got better,” I remind her. “The vaccine didn’t kill me.”

“Vaccine?” My words bring her back, and she straightens her shoulders. “Oh yes, the patch.” I realise my mistake. It might be thought of as a “vaccine” in the hubs, but here in the Polis the nano-patch is seen for what it really is. It doesn’t precede the baby test; it
is
the test.

“And when I recovered my Grandfather took me to the hub. Matthias, I mean. He was your father…” I start.

Kassandra - my mother - shakes her head again. “Matthias was my tutor when I was young. He is Firstborn. We’re not related.”

“He wasn’t my Grandfather,” I say quietly.

“No,” she says. “How is he?”

“He’s dead,” I say, and I fight to hold back the tears that threaten to flow. For the man who raised me, a man who as it happens I knew so little about. 
Remember who you are, Arcadia
. How can I remember, when I have no idea who I am? He is directly responsible for my ignorance.

I angrily knuckle the tears away, embarrassed that she has seen such a flood of emotions from me, and take a deep, shaky breath.

Kassandra is looking pained. “I’m so sorry to hear that. Matthias was a good man, and brave. I’m sorry to hear that he has passed away.”

“He was - killed. By Polis guards,” I manage, the tears threatening to spill. “By Polis cruelty. He was defending a boy.”

“That sounds like Matthias.” She turns her face from me, gazing into the distance. “So giving, at his own expense.”

Her familiarity towards the man I thought was my Grandfather makes my anger flare. “He lied to me all my life,” I retort.

“He lied for your own good,” she answers sharply, her eyes returning to me. “He had a plan that was much bigger than you; much bigger than all of us. It required great sacrifices.”

Matthias had a plan. I consider what she’s saying and her last word doesn’t sit easy with me. “So I’m the sacrifice!” I state.

“Matthias made sacrifices. I made sacrifices. Many others too. And now you will have to get over your anger and play your part in what is to come.”

My eyes are on hers, transfixed. She’s chastising me for being childish, I can hear it in her voice. The rebuke makes me want to prove her wrong. “What
is
to come?” I ask, carefully.

“Change,” she answers simply.

One word. One syllable. But the way she says it is full of anticipation and promise. Despite myself I lean forward, my resentment forgotten for a moment while time seems to slow. I hardly dare breathe for fear of breaking the silence that has settled on the garden.

She returns my gaze, unblinking.

“What kind of change?” I ask, only just above a whisper. I struggle to contain the seed of cautious hope beginning to grow in my chest.
More than twelve…

She doesn’t take her eyes from mine. “The fundamental kind. Matthias foresaw the need for it seventeen years ago. We’ve waited a long time for you Arcadia. You are the key.”

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Joanne Armstrong

About Joanne Armstrong

Previously a full-time primary teacher, I have fifteen years
of teaching experience with students of various ages from 7 - 15. I currently teach one day a week and spend the rest of the time either with my two children or writing.
My parents tell me they always knew I'd write a book one day, which surprises and delights me, since I certainly didn't know it myself.
A New Zealander by birth, my formative years were spent in some interesting places, and I completed my B.Ed in Art and Education at Cambridge in the UK. I now live in the South Island of New Zealand, which, after close scrutiny of a few other places as a child, I have decided is simply where my soul resides.
Unworthy
is my first novel and I intend it to be closely followed by my second.

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