Themeattics

Chapter Four

Burnings had always filled Delen with an odd sort of stillness. He recognized the duplicity of it. The very idea that putting someone to death would foster such peace brought along an underlying uneasiness. That apprehension never managed to fight its way to the surface, however. Even now, when he had every right to feel the weight of the act, when the “someone” being set to Pyre was his teacher, a woman he spent nearly half his waking hours with for as far back as he could remember, Aldridge’s magnificent serenity won out.

Half a dozen steps from Hub, Delen’s conscious, methodical gait had shifted back to natural. He closed his eyes, letting the fiery sepia glow bleed through his eyelids and trusting his memory to guide him through the hall.

By the first bend, a high, singular note began to float through the air. He paused, lifting a hand ever so slightly in line with the tone’s rising volume. In a minute, maybe two, AEGIS would begin piping the Sister’s Song through every corner of Aldridge. It would begin without a single voice. When citizens started to arrive in Commons, the women would begin the song in earnest. But that was only the beginning.

Delen loved it. All of it. The very idea that, over two-hundred years ago, people entered this place not knowing how long they would be forced to remain and built a society to function long beyond their death was astounding. What they must have gone through when they understood the population could not continue to expand. What they must have endured, deciding the best way to keep future generations on track. To kill their own, something which was anathema in the world they had left behind. In the world that was taken from them by the Great Death that befell the planet. Such strength. Such clarity. To continue that rite was nothing if not an honor. To be the benefactor of it could only be considered a blessing.

He was the twelfth person to reach Commons. A much better showing than any other Burning, but considerably behind the curve for one of the three participating members. The other two, naturally, were already there. Nantale marked his arrival with a subdued smile and a wave of her folded hands. Sabina spared him a glance and little more. Understandable, given the circumstances. Delen could muse about the honor of participating in a tradition passed directly from the Ancestors, but he stood only to gain from it. She was there to lose her life. To be reborn, ash assumed into the cycle of Aldridge itself.

The other nine were mostly a familiar lot. His father, Gavriil. Nantale’s mother and father. Sabina’s two direct children. Akello, the soon-to-be Elder, his wife, and his oldest daughter. The only person that stood out from the crowd was Ezequiel. He was usually one of the last to show for a Burning, given his unease around the flame. The boy saw Delen and bared a full grin, beckoning him over.

Delen sheepishly scuttled across the room. While he was a participant of honor, since Sabina was the one being put to the flame, the ritual focused almost exclusively around her and Nantale. It was a woman’s sacrifice, and a time for women to renew themselves to the vision of the Ancestors. So, while he had a place, it was not inappropriate to take a back seat. Still, he could feel the eyes of some of the others on him as he moved.

Ezequiel met him with a firm embrace. “It’s here.”

Delen smiled, hugging him back. “You’re here.”

“I know, right?” Ezequiel let him go. They stood close, letting the still-rising hum of the Sister’s Song to soften their conversation. “I was planning to get here a little earlier than normal, then gramps came by to make sure I was one of the first. Solidarity and all that, you know how it is.”

“I’m glad he did.”

“So am I. How was the exam?”

Delen shrugged with his eyebrows. “It was something. Can’t really talk about it.”

“Right, right, right. But you’re both here, so all that worrying you did wasn’t for a damn thing. What did I tell you?”

Delen nodded. Ezequiel’s eyes shifted from him to Nantale, and back again. “She looks amazing, man. You’re looking the wrong way.”

“Jealous?”

Ezequiel laughed. Delen thought it was missing its usual levity. “She said she got to talk to you for a bit after. Said it was good. What happened?”

“She wanted to talk after the exam, so we did.” Another shrug. “It was good. Great. Amazing? I don’t know, AEGIS usually finds me a better word for that kind of thing. Wasn’t long, but… she remembers things, you know? Things I forgot years ago. From when we were kids. The things she said, I, well,” he turned toward the door as it opened and waved a greeting to Katya and Rotero. “You know what she does to me. But we did talk. And kissed.”

What mirth might have been lacking in Ezequiel’s laugh came back tenfold. He hit Delen’s shoulder so hard it nearly sent him backward. His eyes widened to saucers and his hands folded up over his mouth. “Do not shit me right now, Del.”

“Would I shit you on that?”

Ezequiel jumped. Literally left the floor, knees pumping up to his chest, and punched the air. Right in the middle of the gathering for an Ancestors-be-damned Burning. Delen felt the color rising in his own cheeks as the room’s eyes turned toward them.

“Ez.”

His face turned deeply, obnoxiously somber. He put his fingers around his chin and stroked it forcibly. “Ah, yes. Quite good. A stellar performance, I’m sure.” Then, rolling his eyes, he continued. “I’m sorry, man, but come on, what did you expect? That’s unreal. Actually unreal. I knew you had it in you.”

Only a minor protest to correct him. Delen ignored it. He heard the door open once again, this time welcoming even more people to Commons. With half of the population in place, the first stage of the ceremony could begin.

Sabina Onaedo walked from her place toward the far end of Commons. She moved through where the tables usually stood to the place they were arranged for the day. Each of the metal surfaces was covered in a thin, pale blue canvas. Atop the outermost canvases were three panels a piece, each cycling through various images AEGIS had captured from important moments of Sabina’s life. Birth, both hers and those of her children. A countless string of firsts; crawling, walking, talking. Kiss, laugh, word. The images faded slowly to be replaced by another, inviting the woman to look back on a life well lived. Well earned. From his position, Delen could see her smile as she took one of the panels into her hand. She ran a hand over the image, set it back on the table, and shut her eyes. She went steadily to her knees, leaning the weight onto the table as she moved.

Her lips moved. Delen did not need to hear her to know the prayers she said. With each repetition, she traced a crescent over her breast. He looked away. Whatever tradition said, Sabina was involved in a private moment. He knew enough to let her have it. AEGIS ought to be proud of that.

While she prayed, the women in the room drew nearer. First Nantale, who came to a stop only a foot or so back from the older woman. Then the rest, in no real order. They took up positions around the other two, some moving around the tables to face them, others staying behind, other still to the side.

Somehow, Delen had failed to notice the Joining gown.

When the dress was first made, it had been a pure white. Delen remembered the pictures from some of his earlier lessons. Or, rather, he remembered the way he imposed the dress on what he dreamed Nantale would look like when they joined. He could no longer remember what he had imagined her to become when she grew older – the sight of her there must have been beyond what his limited, childhood imagination had conjured – but the phantom image of that dress remained with him. The years had worn it down; its fabric was more taupe than white. Visible stitches ran along its hems, from where it had been taken in, expanded, stretched, shrunk, added onto, and Ancestors knew what else. The dress had been worn by every woman to go through the Joining from Aldridge’s birth until Nantale and would continue as long as the material clung together. Whatever it was made of, they could not begin to replace it.

Delen watched Nantale as she took controlled, deep breaths. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, exquisitely dark against the dress. Beside him, he noticed Ezequiel doing the same. No blame to go around, it was a captivating sight. He lifted his gaze to her lips. Another breath. Two. She blew the last one out through pursed lips. Then, after a purposeful inhalation, she began to sing.

The Sister’s Song had never been so beautiful. At the start of every Burning, the woman who was to enter into the Joining performed the first verse of the song alone. During the past five Burnings, Delen had always positioned himself nearest her, trying to let her voice overcome the rest. He loved listening to her, even mingled with the rest of the women, but every time he left disappointed that hers was muddled in. He wanted this moment. Now he had it, and it was all he could have hoped.

No, she was not the best singer of those who had assumed the role. She was not even the best one in the room then, but she was his best. That moment, that first, unsteady pitch, lit his heart ablaze. Ancestors, nothing could have been better.

Her verse ended and her voice was once again lost in the chorus of Aldridge’s women. All but Sabina, who continued her prayers before the altar. The words, their meaning untranslated and utterly lost to time, hung thick in the still air. Each verse, each repetition, was met with a new layer of voices piped in from the past by AEGIS. After an hour, maybe two, the song would reach its pinnacle as the intonations of every generation mingled together, forming a bond from the first Ancestors down to the youngest among them. They would sing together in Pyre, taking Sabina’s voice into the choir for the last time, and implanting it into AEGIS’ recording until the end of time. Never lost. Never gone. The first step of Sabina’s eternity.

After a time, Sabina got to her feet. She kissed the palm of her hand and pressed it onto the table, then turned, waded through the scattering of women – Sisters, until the rite was over – and went to the door. The Sisters formed a line behind her. The men followed in a loose clump, several spaces back. This was not their service. During the next Burning, when Akello made a path for new life, the Brothers would have their time.

Sabina turned back toward the door once she was in the hall beyond Commons. She waited as everyone filtered out around her before leaning forward and pressing her weight into the wall. She whispered. No one thought to listen in. What she needed to say to Commons was her own. With a swiftly drawn crescent, she was on her way. Sabina Onaedo would never see Commons again.

They continued on that way – Sabina leading Aldridge from location to location, praying, touching, saying goodbyes while the Sisters sang – for just over an hour. A short path. She seemed ready to be over with it. Delen did his best to keep his focus on her, to show her the respect she deserved at this juncture of her life, but it was damn hard with Nantale so close behind. He found himself ready to be over with it as well, for considerably different reasons.

All that changed as they approached Pyre. When Sabina took the last turn, she drew up flat and sucked in a breath. Thick, dark crescents had appeared on the door. One about a foot from the top, another the same distance from the floor, and a third dead center. The crescents were ash, stuck to the door by some means Delen did not begin to claim he understood. Another of AEGIS’, and thus the Ancestors, talents. Each mote of ash had come from a once-living part of Aldridge. When the ritual began all those years ago, most of the ash had come from plant refuse. What Sabina looked upon was entirely human.

Those crescents were the last step. The last willful act before stepping into Pyre, accepting the end. No one rushed Sabina. No one would. Though the ritual was, at that point, rote, it was never an easy step to take.

Half an hour later, Sabina closed the gap.

“Ancestors, by your will I come to this place of homage. Find my offering worthy and accept me.”

She pressed her palm onto the upper point of the leftmost crescent and ran it along the grain. Delen closed his eyes, trying to recall the prayer before she said it.

“Ancestors, by your voice we have come to know the full extent of your will. May we never abandon your path.”

The third. “Ancestors, by your strength we are preserved. Let future generations revere your limitless knowledge.”

Pyre opened.

Nothing about the expansive room had changed from earlier that morning. There were no decorations, no new furnishings to add an air of mystery or ritual to take away from the emptiness. The lights had not taken on the orange tone that coated the rest of Aldridge. Pyre was just as it had been. Just as it always was, whether it burned for Celebration or for disposal. Buried deep in that lack of change was the true heart of the Burning. Of the Celebration. Bathe Aldridge in color, rearrange it, feast to those gone and generations to come, but know that those times of change are fleeting – each of them would die; their home was forever. A beginning of an end. An end for a beginning.

When Sabina crossed the threshold, the clear cylinder which occupied the center of the room ascended. In the past, others had paused at this time as well. Possibly they found the time they spent before entering insufficient, or found some other thought to reflect and pray upon, or simply felt the grip of fear and required a few moments to overcome it. Sabina was not one of those people. She did not hesitate to enter the opening. Once inside, she turned and beckoned the rest of her people to follow.

The Sisters – still singing, though their voices had certainly lowered – took up position around the center, with Nantale close enough to touch her teacher. Delen walked in with the rest. His stomach churned. Moments left. Only moments.

As the last of Aldridge entered Pyre, Sabina cleared her throat.

“My Sisters,” she began, her voice firm like this was just another day in Education. She smiled. “Today is a day of Celebration. This first day is always an interesting one, isn’t it? So much apprehension. What will she say? What will she do? Where will we go? How long, what tone? We get so caught up in the individual acts we overlook the purpose. Each of us is guilty of this, and guilty of it often. I know I let the mundane aspects affect me during most of the rites I grew up with. But we know the truth of this day, as well. We know it when our mothers are offered up. Our fathers. Our brothers or sisters. Our spouses.

“That sacrifice brings us to a certain kind of clarity, doesn’t it? The value of life paving way for life. The wisdom of those who came before, to recognize such a need, and the courage to do something about it. I always thought myself a cut above in that clarity, as though no one around me had seen these connections or truly understood what they meant. Ancestors, I was a fool. I knew nothing until this day.”

Sabina lowered her head. “Ritual for its own sake is meaningless. The spirit of that ritual, the reason for its being, is everything. My days of teaching are to come to an end today, however, if you will indulge me this last time. Nantale?”

Nantale’s eyes widened. Usually these final speeches were monologues. “Yes, teacher?”

“What is the purpose of the Celebration?”

“To open the way for new life,” she answered without hesitation.

“Why?”

That warranted a pause. “So that future generations will continue.”

Sabina shook her head. “True, but why must we take a life?”

“Aldridge is only capable of sustaining so many people. Children must be trained in order to be a productive part of our home, and during that time the – pardon my phrasing – elderly will become less able to assist with their tasks, thus affecting our stability.”

“No pardon needed, my dear. I feel the wisdom of the Ancestors’ decision in my bones every day. Now, we all know what she said to be true. I die, as you will all someday die, to make room for new life. Productive life. Life that, by its very presence, will not simply maintain Aldridge for generations to come, but nourish it. That is the true purpose of this day, is it not?”

There was a murmur of agreement around Pyre. Delen felt someone approaching and quickly glanced over his shoulder. Gavriil settled in next to his son.

A tear fell from Sabina’s left eye. She dabbed the eye with her wrist. “I know each of you. Have known you for every moment of your lives. Every heartbeat, every act, has played its part in my life. Every decision, I have felt the impact. The same holds true for you – every moment of your lives has been in some way influenced by my presence, whether directly or not. Remember that and remember the reason with which you have all agreed. Keep it with you as you Celebrate and reflect on this day.”

She pressed both palms to her chest, linked her fingers together, and drew herself in tightly. The time had come. Nantale’s head dipped ever so slightly toward the woman. She knelt at the base of one of Pyre’s activation panels and ran her fingers along the screen. The transparent cylinder descended, locking in place with a delicate hiss. Inside, Sabina’s shoulders relaxed.

Akello Ude made his way through the crowd to the center of the room. He stood beside Sabina, bowed his head toward her, then turned toward Nantale. “Nantale Dieye, daughter of Jaheem and Klavdia of the Dieye and Belov lines, step forward and present yourself to Aldridge.”

She did, the dress rolling gracefully across her with each step.

Delen watched as she took her place. Though he had barely been able to take his eyes off her the entire time, it was as though he had never seen her before. His heart traded its beats for something closer to a steady vibration. His breath caught in his throat. His palms began to sweat. He wanted to run up there before he was called and throw himself at her feet.

“Aldridge, your daughter stands before you, a woman made ready to give you a future.” Akello continued. “She has been deemed worthy of this responsibility by the Council, chosen and named by Sabina, who is prepared to shed her body in Burning to bless this Joining. With our affirmations declared, only the word of the chosen remains. Nantale Dieye, do you come prepared to enter into your Joining?”

She cocked her head to the side. Her eyes fell on Delen. The ghost of a smile brushed her features. “I do.”

His senses left him. Akello spoke once more, but the words passed over him in muffled ignorance. Everything but her fell away from his vision. Perfection embodied. All his life had built to this moment. All the failure, all the disappointment, it had all been worth it. Akello’s arm rose in front of her, beckoning the second member of the Joining. He began to take a step forward.

A hand closed around his shoulder. He turned to acknowledge Ezequiel and gently shrug him off, but the boy was not looking at him. His eyes were distant, jaw slack. Delen furrowed his brow and looked at the hand on his shoulder. He fell back into himself.

There was a murmur running through the crowd. He looked about the crowd and saw nothing but confusion. Not his father, though. Gavriil was a statue.

“Again, then,” Akello said, once more reaching forward. “Ezequiel Ude, son of Francisco and Zoe of the Onaedo and Ude lines, step forward to present yourself to Adridge.”

Ezequiel continued to hesitate, his face incredulous, until his father deftly set him to motion. His first step was not of his own volition, but the next was, and when it landed, Delen’s insides sank.

The pressure on his shoulder increased. It hurt, which was wrong. Pain had no place in a dream, which had to be what he was experiencing. There was no other explanation, really. A dream. It explained a lot, actually. The aggression AEGIS had shown him during the exam. His kiss with Nantale. All obvious aspects of a dream. He was under a lot of pressure, after all, it only made sense to have such a vivid story play out in his mind. Unfortunately, that meant he would need to get up soon and handle the real exam, but maybe then he could use the courage he felt from his time with Nantale in the dream to follow through in reality. A noble thought.

If only he would just wake up.

Ezequiel was up there, next to Nantale. One moment standing, the next on his knees, messing with the same panel Nantale had used earlier. Somebody said some words, Ez moved his fingers, and the cylinder filled with white-hot flame. The people around Delen squinted against it, shielded some of the light with their hands, or turned slightly away from its brilliance. Delen simply stared. There was no need to blink in a dream.

The two of them – his best friend and the woman he had loved since before he could remember – stood there, trading half-cocked looks at one another in an effort to out-bewilder each other. Delen had to admit, that was a particularly intricate detail for a dream. Then again, he had always prided himself on his imagination.

In the blink of an eye, Sabina was gone. The flame receded, leaving nothing inside the cylinder but air. Somewhere beneath Pyre, shuffling through several of those damned sub-edificial manifolds, her ashes were being shuttled to different parts of Aldridge for use in other aspects of the Celebration ritual. Hopefully, Delen mused, he would wake up before they made it that far. Given how long the dream had been already, it was due to end any time now.

Any. Time.

Now.

No such luck. More talking. More incredulousness. Delen rolled his eyes at the display and huffed loudly. The grip on his shoulder tightened once again and – to hell with it, it was only a dream – he turned to throw a punch at Gavriil. Gavriil caught his fist before he had even finished pivoting, bent it up, and used the force of it to bring him to his knees. Pain shot through his wrist, down and out into his shoulder and beyond. So much of it. The crowd turned toward the two of them, those closest backing a step or two away, and at that moment he knew there was no mistake. No dream. No final act of self-flagellation that he’d conjured up on his way to victory. No victory at all. Only this, pinned to the floor in agony by his own father while the two people he cared most about stood a dozen feet away, openly betraying him.

He wept. Screamed. At some point his father released him. Maybe before that, maybe after, the room cleared out. He was left in Pyre, curled in the fetal position, shaking with sobs, with nothing but an empty incinerator to keep him company.

If he listened closely, he would have been able to hear music seeping in through the gaps in Pyre’s door.

The Celebration had begun.

Continue to Chapter Five