The Choosing (The Arcadia Trilogy Book 1) by Rachel Hanna, Bella James Page B
Authors: Rachel Hanna, Bella James
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trees, and you can pick as much as you want and never run out."
Livy rolled her eyes. This was a girl from Pastoreum? Maybe from one of the larger cities. If she'd ever worked a day in the fields she'd understand how hard it was to grow anything, beautiful land or not. The laws that came out of Arcadia overtaxed the land, and the fields were never rotated, never given time to rest. The best that anyone could do was change out what crops grew in what fields what years, and sometimes they couldn't even do that because a family in need would have to have a specific cash crop or they couldn't make it. The rest of the community – they were a community, at least in Agara, and not only because the government ordered them to be – would try to help out, but there was so little for every family, it was almost impossible. And even if they wanted, the families couldn't always assign the top crops to the poorest families – like tobacco, and corn which was made into a million sweet treats for the Arcadians – lest they themselves become the newest group of ultra poor families.
Olivia's grandfather had told her about deserts. He'd told her about the Forbidden Zone, which wasn't the entire Void but a section within it, enormous, more than huge enough to drop several times Agara in it and maybe even more than one Pastoreum.
It's where he'd gone to trade. Where he'd lived before the war. Where he'd returned to learn to work with more and more of the Before Times technology.
He'd gone back originally to bring out Livy's grandmother. He'd failed. After that, her mother had told her once in a more mellow mood when she wasn't calling him a stupid old man, foolish and not to be listened to – after that he'd lost the will to fight. He started collecting anything he could from the borderlands, the stretches between the outright Void and the lands around it, then venturing further and further into the desert.
Until he'd gone in one day as a middle aged man and emerged white haired and crippled, limping and nauseated, dying by degrees.
His disability stopped him venturing into the Void anymore. The inability to travel inside the desert halted the disease before it could spread any further through his system. He grew ill, but never ill enough to die, and he came to live with his son – and with Olivia Bane – in Agara.
He told her stories. Livy knew about snakes and spiders and scorpions and other things she didn't want to know about. She hated them and stomped them when she saw them in the field or in her parents' house. Grandfather Bane, though, told her about four foot tall scorpions and ten foot long snakes. She had nightmares for months and her mother did nothing but swear at her for hanging around that foolish old man and swear at her grandfather for filling her head up with your stupid stories .
Livy wasn't so sure they were stories.
But her favorite stories were of the desert itself, a living, breathing, independent entity indifferent to human wants, needs or suffering.
A fter a week on the buses , one per province, even those from different villages knew each other better than they wanted to. Close proximity and a small number of facilities, shared meals and unsound sleep took their toll. There were scuffles among the boys, face slapping among the girls, name calling between everyone and out and out speculation of what would happen to them when they reached the glass and steel heights of the domed city. Stories ranged from the cannibal leaders of the world, who devoured sixteen-year-olds for their inherent power, a story that made the nearest Centurion simply scoff and tell them to shut up. There were stories in which they'd all be honored and set up as rulers to make the rules for their own lands. That story lasted longer than it should have despite a rational third of the bus asking questions like what would have happened to them all to turn on their families, since the laws that came from the capital were never, ever in
Livy rolled her eyes. This was a girl from Pastoreum? Maybe from one of the larger cities. If she'd ever worked a day in the fields she'd understand how hard it was to grow anything, beautiful land or not. The laws that came out of Arcadia overtaxed the land, and the fields were never rotated, never given time to rest. The best that anyone could do was change out what crops grew in what fields what years, and sometimes they couldn't even do that because a family in need would have to have a specific cash crop or they couldn't make it. The rest of the community – they were a community, at least in Agara, and not only because the government ordered them to be – would try to help out, but there was so little for every family, it was almost impossible. And even if they wanted, the families couldn't always assign the top crops to the poorest families – like tobacco, and corn which was made into a million sweet treats for the Arcadians – lest they themselves become the newest group of ultra poor families.
Olivia's grandfather had told her about deserts. He'd told her about the Forbidden Zone, which wasn't the entire Void but a section within it, enormous, more than huge enough to drop several times Agara in it and maybe even more than one Pastoreum.
It's where he'd gone to trade. Where he'd lived before the war. Where he'd returned to learn to work with more and more of the Before Times technology.
He'd gone back originally to bring out Livy's grandmother. He'd failed. After that, her mother had told her once in a more mellow mood when she wasn't calling him a stupid old man, foolish and not to be listened to – after that he'd lost the will to fight. He started collecting anything he could from the borderlands, the stretches between the outright Void and the lands around it, then venturing further and further into the desert.
Until he'd gone in one day as a middle aged man and emerged white haired and crippled, limping and nauseated, dying by degrees.
His disability stopped him venturing into the Void anymore. The inability to travel inside the desert halted the disease before it could spread any further through his system. He grew ill, but never ill enough to die, and he came to live with his son – and with Olivia Bane – in Agara.
He told her stories. Livy knew about snakes and spiders and scorpions and other things she didn't want to know about. She hated them and stomped them when she saw them in the field or in her parents' house. Grandfather Bane, though, told her about four foot tall scorpions and ten foot long snakes. She had nightmares for months and her mother did nothing but swear at her for hanging around that foolish old man and swear at her grandfather for filling her head up with your stupid stories .
Livy wasn't so sure they were stories.
But her favorite stories were of the desert itself, a living, breathing, independent entity indifferent to human wants, needs or suffering.
A fter a week on the buses , one per province, even those from different villages knew each other better than they wanted to. Close proximity and a small number of facilities, shared meals and unsound sleep took their toll. There were scuffles among the boys, face slapping among the girls, name calling between everyone and out and out speculation of what would happen to them when they reached the glass and steel heights of the domed city. Stories ranged from the cannibal leaders of the world, who devoured sixteen-year-olds for their inherent power, a story that made the nearest Centurion simply scoff and tell them to shut up. There were stories in which they'd all be honored and set up as rulers to make the rules for their own lands. That story lasted longer than it should have despite a rational third of the bus asking questions like what would have happened to them all to turn on their families, since the laws that came from the capital were never, ever in
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