happen to him. He had no idea what his sentence would be, but
his few days in the House of Correction had taught him that his crimes were far
more serious than those of the other boys in his wing: pilfering from work
sites, faked illnesses, and missed devotions.
Zachariah had sinned against the Holy City State of
Providence. He had contravened one of the first laws handed down to the Elders
by the Wise God, that the mother is a vessel to be filled and emptied. A vessel
has one function only, useful and necessary, but one vessel is as good as
another. Zachariah had pretended his birth mother was something more than a
vessel, and he had dared to do what no child was allowed—to love his
mother.
Sitting shivering in his cold cell, Zachariah made
a resolution. He was not going to rot in the House of Correction. He was going
to get out, get away. He should have known that, despite his schoolmaster’s
request, he would never be accepted into the engineering college with the High
Caste boys. But Zachariah wanted to learn all the things he was never taught.
He wanted to explore beyond the Hemisphere, to feel the hot burning sand on his
face, to discover what the Elders were so afraid of.
Another good reason for getting away was his
impending marriage. On his eighteenth birthday, supposing he was out of prison
by then, a bride would be chosen for him. Probably a former prisoner, perhaps
even the vicious, pretentious slut of the slop buckets. His eyes narrowed at the
thought of the foul words she had shouted at him. Zachariah had had few
dealings with girls before, and he was not sure he had handled the situation
very well. But who would have thought a girl, and an Ignorant at that, would be
so forward?
He imagined himself briefly as some kind of
avenging angel, sweeping away the Elders and their awful Book, setting free the
boys forced to marry stupid, ugly girls they had never met and do stupid,
boring jobs they hated. His eyes glittered. And he would stop the Giving.
The prisoners in the House of Correction were
docile and low-risk, mainly unruly boys and sloppy workmen. Nobody could
imagine them making trouble. Consequently security was slack. Zachariah was
neither docile nor sloppy. He would find a way out.
* * * *
Deborah paced back and forth in her cell, her head spinning with confusing
emotions. She had been so sure she was meant to notice the boy in the
courtyard. It had been such a solid, warm impression. She had known so little
warmth in her life, just the fading memories of her parents, the soft voice
that she guessed to be her mother’s that comforted her when life was darkest,
and the joyful laughter of the unknown boy.
She had recognised something in the boy in the
exercise yard that made her want to trust him. She had wondered if he would
know about the dark terror that beset her and help her fight it. She had hoped
he laughed in a particular full-throated roar. That was why for the first time
in her life she had made an overture of friendship to a stranger, and in return
she had received a slap in the face.
She blushed again at the thought of the insult and
bit her lip, trying to pretend she wasn’t hurt. It was easier to bear if she
let herself get angry. Who did he think he was anyway? Well, she would show him she was no coward. She dared to stand up to them, even if
he didn’t. Nobody was going to shut her up in a cell until she crawled on her belly and apologized.
Mother , she called
silently to the dull sky. Mother! It
was almost a sob, giving in to the misery she remembered from those first weeks
and months after her parents were wrenched from her life. In reply, like a soft
wave of the sea she had never seen, a sensation washed over her, a warm feeling
of peace and calm. She could almost feel it on her skin, like the
half-remembered touch of her mother’s lips on her forehead. Mother! As the echo of the cry faded in
her head she was sure she heard her name.
Deborah!
Her mother was calling
his few days in the House of Correction had taught him that his crimes were far
more serious than those of the other boys in his wing: pilfering from work
sites, faked illnesses, and missed devotions.
Zachariah had sinned against the Holy City State of
Providence. He had contravened one of the first laws handed down to the Elders
by the Wise God, that the mother is a vessel to be filled and emptied. A vessel
has one function only, useful and necessary, but one vessel is as good as
another. Zachariah had pretended his birth mother was something more than a
vessel, and he had dared to do what no child was allowed—to love his
mother.
Sitting shivering in his cold cell, Zachariah made
a resolution. He was not going to rot in the House of Correction. He was going
to get out, get away. He should have known that, despite his schoolmaster’s
request, he would never be accepted into the engineering college with the High
Caste boys. But Zachariah wanted to learn all the things he was never taught.
He wanted to explore beyond the Hemisphere, to feel the hot burning sand on his
face, to discover what the Elders were so afraid of.
Another good reason for getting away was his
impending marriage. On his eighteenth birthday, supposing he was out of prison
by then, a bride would be chosen for him. Probably a former prisoner, perhaps
even the vicious, pretentious slut of the slop buckets. His eyes narrowed at the
thought of the foul words she had shouted at him. Zachariah had had few
dealings with girls before, and he was not sure he had handled the situation
very well. But who would have thought a girl, and an Ignorant at that, would be
so forward?
He imagined himself briefly as some kind of
avenging angel, sweeping away the Elders and their awful Book, setting free the
boys forced to marry stupid, ugly girls they had never met and do stupid,
boring jobs they hated. His eyes glittered. And he would stop the Giving.
The prisoners in the House of Correction were
docile and low-risk, mainly unruly boys and sloppy workmen. Nobody could
imagine them making trouble. Consequently security was slack. Zachariah was
neither docile nor sloppy. He would find a way out.
* * * *
Deborah paced back and forth in her cell, her head spinning with confusing
emotions. She had been so sure she was meant to notice the boy in the
courtyard. It had been such a solid, warm impression. She had known so little
warmth in her life, just the fading memories of her parents, the soft voice
that she guessed to be her mother’s that comforted her when life was darkest,
and the joyful laughter of the unknown boy.
She had recognised something in the boy in the
exercise yard that made her want to trust him. She had wondered if he would
know about the dark terror that beset her and help her fight it. She had hoped
he laughed in a particular full-throated roar. That was why for the first time
in her life she had made an overture of friendship to a stranger, and in return
she had received a slap in the face.
She blushed again at the thought of the insult and
bit her lip, trying to pretend she wasn’t hurt. It was easier to bear if she
let herself get angry. Who did he think he was anyway? Well, she would show him she was no coward. She dared to stand up to them, even if
he didn’t. Nobody was going to shut her up in a cell until she crawled on her belly and apologized.
Mother , she called
silently to the dull sky. Mother! It
was almost a sob, giving in to the misery she remembered from those first weeks
and months after her parents were wrenched from her life. In reply, like a soft
wave of the sea she had never seen, a sensation washed over her, a warm feeling
of peace and calm. She could almost feel it on her skin, like the
half-remembered touch of her mother’s lips on her forehead. Mother! As the echo of the cry faded in
her head she was sure she heard her name.
Deborah!
Her mother was calling
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