The Choosing (The Arcadia Trilogy Book 1) by Rachel Hanna, Bella James
Authors: Rachel Hanna, Bella James
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"Right," Simon said brightly, as if unperturbed. "I'll start. Plow, plow, plow your field, gently in the rain, Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is not a pain. Come on, everybody, join in!"
Despite all the eye rolling and expressions of This is so stupid! Most of them joined in, and for a few minutes the bus rang with the voices of sixteen year olds, singing a round, one group starting, the next coming in a line later, the next a line later, until one by one, as if prearranged, the groups began falling out and at last, one group finished the last of the round.
When the song ended, most of them grinned at each other, briefly comrades who had created something, however ephemeral.
Into the silence, a voice asked, "Anyone know To Call the Sun ?" and several voices instantly chimed in:
To call the sun in dark of night
To start the fire and bring the light
To turn the year and start it right
To end the dark in a blaze of light.
Livy sang with the group, but her sharp eyes missed nothing as she sang. She had seen who suggested the song and knew it was one of the Centurions. She saw the tension in the others at the suggestion that they join their charges in something communal and joyful. She knew from the choice of song that the Centurion who suggested it was from Pastoreum because To Call the Sun was the regional name given to a traditional ballad called The Turn of the Year.
And she knew that the Centurion who had asked for the song was a woman.
----
T he following day they stopped to load more prisoners from one of the southern towns near the edge of Pastoreum. They were close enough to the capital now, even the guards were anxious, watching out the windows as the bus traveled along a land bridge over the Pac, the ocean the islands of Oceanus rose out of. Not true islands, they were also connected by thin fingers of land to the whole of the super continent. Before much longer they'd be reaching the capital.
The Centurions let them off the bus. This had become habit. There was nowhere much to go. Everyone's faces were familiar now and everywhere they stopped the townsfolk pulled together, as afraid of the kids as they were of the Centurions. Somewhere, Livy realized, the Magistrate had to be riding also, perhaps a day ahead of them, but on the same road, because everywhere they went the sorting happened, the culling of sixteen year olds as some kind of tax or tithe. Those times Livy would burn with anger, her grandfather's words in her mind – she would remember who she was and where she was from, and she would not let them change her.
She may be a prisoner on the outside, but she would forever be free in her own mind.
No one ever went very far when they left the buses, it was just a pleasure to be free of the metal beasts and walk on the ground again. Livy, used to having time alone or being able to plant or walk with Tarah, the two of them able to go long tracts of time without speaking, would instantly seek solitude, wandering in the nearest Agara-like field or near trees or anywhere that allowed her to touch nature and walk alone.
Today she did the same thing, leaving the square where new families were just beginning to wail as they understood what hell had come to them and what loss they were facing, seeking the solitude of a field that reminded her of home. The second bus pulled up before she'd gone more than a few yards away, and several of the prisoners disembarked waving their hands madly, swearing and shaking their heads.
Livy, half smiling, shrugged at Simon, who called, "Grain flies." Livy nodded. The things were pests, with a hard sting that could raise a welt, but common enough in her village. If they'd brought corn or grains with them in the belly of the metal beast, likely a new crop of the flies had hatched.
She nodded at Simon and continued toward the edge of the field when a scream came from the assembled villagers. Livy started running before she even knew why, her mind moving
"Right," Simon said brightly, as if unperturbed. "I'll start. Plow, plow, plow your field, gently in the rain, Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is not a pain. Come on, everybody, join in!"
Despite all the eye rolling and expressions of This is so stupid! Most of them joined in, and for a few minutes the bus rang with the voices of sixteen year olds, singing a round, one group starting, the next coming in a line later, the next a line later, until one by one, as if prearranged, the groups began falling out and at last, one group finished the last of the round.
When the song ended, most of them grinned at each other, briefly comrades who had created something, however ephemeral.
Into the silence, a voice asked, "Anyone know To Call the Sun ?" and several voices instantly chimed in:
To call the sun in dark of night
To start the fire and bring the light
To turn the year and start it right
To end the dark in a blaze of light.
Livy sang with the group, but her sharp eyes missed nothing as she sang. She had seen who suggested the song and knew it was one of the Centurions. She saw the tension in the others at the suggestion that they join their charges in something communal and joyful. She knew from the choice of song that the Centurion who suggested it was from Pastoreum because To Call the Sun was the regional name given to a traditional ballad called The Turn of the Year.
And she knew that the Centurion who had asked for the song was a woman.
----
T he following day they stopped to load more prisoners from one of the southern towns near the edge of Pastoreum. They were close enough to the capital now, even the guards were anxious, watching out the windows as the bus traveled along a land bridge over the Pac, the ocean the islands of Oceanus rose out of. Not true islands, they were also connected by thin fingers of land to the whole of the super continent. Before much longer they'd be reaching the capital.
The Centurions let them off the bus. This had become habit. There was nowhere much to go. Everyone's faces were familiar now and everywhere they stopped the townsfolk pulled together, as afraid of the kids as they were of the Centurions. Somewhere, Livy realized, the Magistrate had to be riding also, perhaps a day ahead of them, but on the same road, because everywhere they went the sorting happened, the culling of sixteen year olds as some kind of tax or tithe. Those times Livy would burn with anger, her grandfather's words in her mind – she would remember who she was and where she was from, and she would not let them change her.
She may be a prisoner on the outside, but she would forever be free in her own mind.
No one ever went very far when they left the buses, it was just a pleasure to be free of the metal beasts and walk on the ground again. Livy, used to having time alone or being able to plant or walk with Tarah, the two of them able to go long tracts of time without speaking, would instantly seek solitude, wandering in the nearest Agara-like field or near trees or anywhere that allowed her to touch nature and walk alone.
Today she did the same thing, leaving the square where new families were just beginning to wail as they understood what hell had come to them and what loss they were facing, seeking the solitude of a field that reminded her of home. The second bus pulled up before she'd gone more than a few yards away, and several of the prisoners disembarked waving their hands madly, swearing and shaking their heads.
Livy, half smiling, shrugged at Simon, who called, "Grain flies." Livy nodded. The things were pests, with a hard sting that could raise a welt, but common enough in her village. If they'd brought corn or grains with them in the belly of the metal beast, likely a new crop of the flies had hatched.
She nodded at Simon and continued toward the edge of the field when a scream came from the assembled villagers. Livy started running before she even knew why, her mind moving
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