“Your mother knows about the memory wipe and that I have nightmares, but not what they contain.”
I roll the words over in my head, testing them for the truth. “So, is that why Mom didn’t want me to be chosen?”
My father lays a hand on my face and rubs his thumb against my cheek. “Cia, I haven’t seen my parents since the day I left to be tested. To have a child chosen is an honor, but it also means loss. Your mother didn’t want to lose you.”
I don’t know how long we sit in silence. Long enough to hear my brothers’ voices announcing their return and my mother’s shouts chastising them for sneaking sweets. It all sounds so normal.
When my face is dry of tears, my father takes my hand and walks me back inside. We don’t mention Dad’s dreams or my new fears as Hamin teases the twins about my friends flirting with them. Mom puts out a platter of small cakes and sweetened mint tea as the boys pull out a deck of cards so we can all play one last game as a family. Even as I enjoy the laughter and warmth around the table, it feels incomplete without Zeen, who has yet to return. More than once I find myself watching the front door. I love all my brothers, but Zeen’s the one I go to when I have a problem I need to talk about. Zeen is always patient and insightful. He asks questions, and without fail I feel better after any discussion. Tonight I have a problem, but Zeen isn’t here.
When the game is over, my mother gently reminds me of the hour and of the task still in front of me. Excusing myself, I take the Commonwealth bag and slip into the bedroom I share with my brothers.
Knowing I may never see the room again makes me look at it with fresh eyes. A fire glows in the hearth nestled into the back wall. A square, worn brown rug sits in the middle of the room. Two sets of bunk beds are arranged on either side of the rug. Only mine, the bottom bed closest to the fireplace, has the sheets tucked in and the quilt smoothed. As soon as the boys graduated from school, Mom declared them old enough to tidy up their own beds. And they decided they were old enough not to care whether they slept in tightly tucked sheets.
We each have a wooden chest for our everyday clothes and shoes. The special clothes are hung in the large wooden armoire in the corner. Mother always talks about first impressions. I gnaw on my bottom lip and weigh the merits of all my clothes. Feeling confident is always easier when dressed in something special, but I hear my father’s voice replay in my head. I imagine the abandoned city street he walked in his dream. The two dresses I own won’t help me there. And even if the dreams aren’t real, I know in my heart pretty clothes won’t help once The Testing begins.
Ignoring the special attire, I walk to the wooden chest I’ve used since I was a little girl. I select two pairs of strong, comfortable pants and two sturdy shirts and my most comfortable boots. They are all hand-me-downs from my brothers. Knowing I have a piece of them coming with me helps ease the loneliness I already feel. I grab sleepwear and undergarments and carefully stow the selections in my bag. There is still plenty of room for the two personal items I am allowed to bring with me.
Sitting on the edge of my bed, I look around the room. Had my father not shared his dreams, I might have taken my flute or the silver necklace my mother gave me on my sixteenth birthday. Instead, I consider what might help me if The Testing is more than paper and pencil examinations.
After several minutes I slide off the bed and pull a small pocket hunting knife out of my chest. Each of my brothers has a similar knife—a gift from Dad. The knife also has a screwdriver and a few other gadgets attached. That’s one. Now for number two. There is only one other thing I can think of that might help, but it doesn’t belong to me. And Zeen isn’t here to ask permission.
Last year, Dad began letting Zeen experiment at work with his own projects. Some of those projects take him outside the colony boundaries. The boundaries were designed not so much to keep people or animals out, but to remind Five Colony citizens that the land beyond is potentially unsafe. Poisonous plants and meat-seeking animals are only part of the danger. During the last three stages of war, violent earthquakes ripped the fabric of the land. A lone traveler who falls into one of the earthquake-made fissures can easily find death waiting at the bottom from a broken neck, exposure, or hunger. To prevent the latter two, Dad gave Zeen a small handheld device called a Transit Communicator sent to him by the Commonwealth government. The device has a compass, a calculator, and a communication system that allows Zeen to contact a matching device in Dad’s office if ever there is a problem. I don’t know how it works, but I’m betting if necessary I can figure it out.
When Zeen isn’t working beyond the border, he keeps the device on a shelf next to his bed. Sure enough. My heart aches as my fingers close over the device. I wish Zeen were here to give me permission—to tell me he forgives me for being chosen when he was not. I want to tell Zeen that our father was trying to protect him when the announcement about the potato was made yesterday. That it wasn’t motivated by ego, but by love.
I wrap the Transit Communicator in a pair of socks to keep it safe and slide it into my bag, hoping Zeen returns in time for me to tell him I’ve taken a piece of him with me to Tosu City. Even though I know he will not. Zeen is the smartest of my brothers, but he is also the most emotional. While Win, Hart, and Hamin are loving and kind, they possess a carefree attitude about life that frustrates our mother. Zeen, however, is fiercely passionate. His temper is quick to flare, but his love is all encompassing. Which makes the loss of one he loves almost unbearable. He barely spoke for a month when our grandfather died.
Sitting on Zeen’s bed, I write a note that will serve as a request for his device and a reminder of my love. Not the farewell I hope for, but the only one I am certain I will have.
Now that my selections are made, panic sets in. Tomorrow I will be walking away from everything I know into something strange and potentially dangerous. What I want most in the world is to climb into bed and pull the covers over my head. Instead, I snap the bag shut, sling it onto my shoulder, and walk back out to my family, hoping to enjoy the last hours I have left with them.
Chapter 4
MY BROTHERS ARE still sleeping in their room when my father wakes me from a fitful sleep. I slip on a pair of tan leggings and a light blue cap-sleeve tunic, pull on my boots, and grab my bag. My mother holds a cup of milk for me to drink. Her eyes are red, but she isn’t crying now. She tells me she’s proud of me. I do my best not to cling to her as we hug goodbye. Suddenly, I am sorry for all the times I was angry at her for not encouraging my dreams of attending the University. Now I understand why she was scared for me to succeed. Now it is too late.
Fighting back tears, I drink my milk, take the apple Mom has waiting for me on the counter, and promise to write when I get to the city. My father waits at the door, and I give my mother one last hug before walking out into the moist morning air. The sky is still dark as we follow the same path we took yesterday. We walk about a mile before Dad breaks the silence.
“Did you get any sleep?”
“Some.” Interspersed with anxious dreams.
“More than likely, Flint is right. The dreams are just dreams.”
“I hope so.”
“So do I.” He laces his fingers through mine as we trek uphill. “You’re smart. You’re strong. I have every faith you’ll pass whatever test they give you. Just don’t let the other candidates psych you out. Some of the kids from my colony were vicious. They’d do
anything to be number one.”
“Like what?” Staying up all night to study was common in my class. I’d done it a few times myself.
“Poison was a favorite tactic of a couple of the girls in my class.”
I stop walking. “Poison?”
“Not enough to kill. Just enough to make someone too sick to sit for a test. By my final year, I was careful to eat only what I brought with me to school.”
“Were they punished?”