Awakening the Mare (Fall of Man Book 1) (2 page)

Very basic living, much like people lived in
the old days before the act of enslavement was originally
abolished. Every town was a mirror image of each other.

Like Italy resembled a boot, looking at a new
map, the pocket of life resembled more of a hand with a rebellious
finger gesture.

The bulk of the hand was formerly Arizona,
the knuckle of the pinkie extended into New Mexico, and the middle
finger reached into Colorado.

A bit of New Mexico, all of Arizona, a
section of Colorado and a tuck of California. The ‘ends’ stopped
just before the Salton Sea.

Two things the Sybaris hate: bodies of water
and horses. They stay away from coastal cities and lakes. That’s
what I never got. Why didn’t we, as a race, set up civilization in
those areas?

I suppose there are people who did. The
runners. The nomads. The Prey.

For as scared as they were hungry, they were
at least free.

We lived in a part of the country known as
The Straits of Esperanza. Or Passage of Hope. It was far from a
place of hope, it was a façade. At first glance, we were safe, fed,
clean, and healthy. In reality, however, we were no more than
livestock fenced in and fattened until our time to be slaughtered
was at hand.

The educator made me laugh, and not in the
way he believed.

He tried to be the cool guy to those in the
fourth and final tier of schooling. Trying diligently to be one of
us, making jokes, being animated.

But he wasn’t and never would be one of
us.

The girls in my tier found him beautiful and
adored him. I guess most of them pined for his attention. Not me.
Iry, our teacher, was at the age where he would be selecting. The
girls were placing their bids ahead of time. It was degrading.
Maybe I thought differently because at eighteen years of age, I was
older and more mature than most in my class.

It was the final stages of school. Graduation
for me was not moving on to the next level where I became prime
selection material. Graduation to
me
meant convincing my
mother that my leaving Akana was for the best and I would return
for her and Sophie to make a better life.

Some believed giving your family a better
life was by being selected. I hated the monthly visits by the
Ancients. Those wanting badly to be selected donned their best
attire, all for a mere chance to be a competitor, companion, or
house servant, otherwise all slave positions.

The loss of all my dignity, not to mention my
slow death via loss of blood, was not worth it. They claimed your
family received the best life had to offer. But how do we know?

The Sybaris lie.

Those praying to be picked are going on
faith. Not me. How can I believe they offer my family a better
life, when I don’t even know where the Sybaris really live? No one
does.

I am different, because in my class, I am the
only one who remembers living outside of Akana.

It wasn’t that many years earlier that I
remember living under the bridge in Angeles City. My mother gave up
much for us to live here. Her sacrifice was something Sophie would
never know. But I did.

I didn’t hate my mother for it, I hated the
Sybaris.

No matter how ‘great’ Iry tried to pretend to
be, he wasn’t. He was one of
them
.

Iry stunk. I could smell him. His odor was
masked by an offensive oil that was musky and earthlike. I hated it
and it made my head hurt. There was nothing attractive about him,
despite what the other girls thought. His ears were predominantly
Sybaris, even though he was third generation. His skin was dark,
his eyes sunken and large. While he looked to be in ‘man’ years
about twenty-five, he was probably more like two thousand years
old.

The Sybaris weren’t immortal; they just lived
long and aged slowly.

One of the forbidden books is called The
Bible. I asked my mother if the Sybaris knew of the prophet Jesus
Christ who was in the second half of that book and she said if I
mention that name, it meant my head.

Once I got out of Akana, that was something
to look into. Why was something like the mention of a man in a book
so offensive and illegal?

According to the educators, the only history
that mattered was the history before they were pushed into
hiding.

I was grateful I had seen forbidden books and
I knew there a was a wealth of them outside of Esperanza.

In my own world and thoughts, the sound of
the class laughing snapped me out of it and I looked up.

“Let’s break to eat,” Iry said. “Close your
books, we’ll continue then.”

I shut my book, the other students stood in a
rush.

“Not you, Vala,” Iry said. He put on a smile
and headed my way.

“I’m hungry.”

“You will have time to eat. We need to
talk.”

“About?”

“I engage the students. Yet, for some
reason…” He sat on a desk near me and I backed up. “What is it?” he
asked.

“Your fragrance hurts my head.”

He kept his distance, even sitting on a desk
a little farther from me. “Better?”

“No. But not as bad as when you’re
close.”

“Vala—”

“Am I in trouble?”

“No. I am concerned. Is something bothering
you? Are you worried? As I stated, I engage all students, but you
are in your own world.”

“I’m hungry. I didn’t get a chance to eat
before school.”

“Does your family not have enough food?” he
asked. “I can make sure—”

“No. I just didn’t have enough time. I had to
move…” snidely I said, “the horses.”

“I see. Is this every day?”

“No.”

“Then why is it every day you slip further
away?”

I shrugged. “I don’t want to be here
anymore.”

“You can come to me, Vala,” he said. “I’m not
like other educators, not like other Elders. You can speak freely
with me.”

“You are part of the Ancients.”

“I am. But I am not—”

I stood abruptly. “May I please go eat?”

“Yes.” He lowered his head. “Yes, go
eat.”

Grabbing my book, I began to walk.

“Vala?”

What now
? Slowly, I turned. “Yes?”

“One more moon cycle.” He held up his finger.
“One. Then you will be eligible for selection. You are beautiful,
smart, strong; I fully believe that you’ll be sought out.”

“Contrary to what you believe, Iry, not
everyone dreams of being selected.”

Iry seemed shocked. “Do you speak this way
because your time in my class is coming to an end?”

I cocked an eyebrow. “I speak this way
because you say you are not like the others.”

“You don’t dream of a better life for you and
your family?”

“Oh, I dream of a better life for us. But it
is not, nor will it ever be, through selection.” On that I walked
out. I’d have my meal alone, like I always did. I was different and
I knew it. Iry knew it.

I didn’t look back after my exit to see his
reaction. If my words were going to get me in trouble, I would know
soon enough.

My midday meal consisted of a piece of fruit
and bread laced with jam. I sat off to the side, enjoying the
outdoor breeze. It would only be a matter of time before the single
bell rang and I had to return to the class. In the meantime, I was
the observer, as I always was, watching the others interact,
laughing and happy. Sometimes I was envious that they were so
oblivious and knew nothing but good and believed only good.

They only thing that made me like them was my
appearance. Visually, we were all alike, from the way we dressed to
the way we wore our hair. Boys and girls, long hair pulled back in
a single braided tail.

Yes, I
looked
like the others, but I
wasn’t like them. Deep down inside of me I knew I was different and
was destined to be somewhere else, something else.

From as early as I can remember, and I didn’t
arrive at Akana until I was five, we were taught to walk, talk, and
behave a certain way.

Before the age of five, little girls wore the
plain and carefree white dresses. Between the ages of five and
graduation, there was no distinction between male or female. We all
wore the same brown pants made from hides of our slaughtered cows.
Passed down from one girl or boy to the next, whatever you fit
into.

Our shirts were loose white blouse material,
all the same, and never with a stain.

We were not allowed to be boys and not
allowed to be girls. Purity was embedded in our brains as the only
way of life. Being pure was the only way to be selected as the
highest level of companion. The second highest honor was a
competitor. Both of those gave families of the chosen rite of
passage into the city of the Ancients.

But no one knew what all that entailed.

The educators made it sound glamorous. I
always envisioned a companion as a well kept body servant with a
limited supply of energy.

Your service was complete when they expired
your resources or took too much too fast, and in that case you
became a vicious watchdog, primed for battle.

I had arrived at an age where I was in the
middle age group; too old for one type of selection, not old enough
for the next.

My mother tried her hardest to appear strong
when we arrived, I knew she wasn’t. Even at my young age I could
feel my mother’s heartbreak. She had paid the ultimate admission
price for us to live there.

My memories go all the way back to when I was
only two, so being five upon my arrival was fresh in my mind. I was
filled with confusion when we arrived. Still upset over what I had
witnessed, I then found myself standing in a line with everyone
else when the Ancients arrived.

They were my boogey men. The Sybaris. They
were the ones we ran from in Angeles City. Yet, in Akana, they were
well dressed and proper, browsing before us as if window shopping,
making some of us step forward and turn.

They acted like royalty and people bowed to
them. I may have been too young to understand, but I never liked
it. I guess it was because I did see what they really were.

I’m sure the people of Akana and other towns
did as well, but they refused to act as if they did. Living a
short, fear free life with food at hand was more important than
freedom.

My mother was scolded that first day. Some
Sybaris, a woman with high hair and too much paint on her face,
grabbed my mother’s chin.

“You smell of man and sweat. How dare you
present yourself like this? And this child …” She looked down at
me, “she reeks as well.”

“I’m sorry,” my mother said. “We just
arrived. We didn’t know.”

“I should take the child to spare her of a
mother such as you.”

I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but
her words caused me to creep behind my mother and hide.

The Sybaris woman reached for me and was
stopped by her husband.

“The child cannot be taken, Nito,” he told
her. “The mother has gifted the Elders.”

Nito cocked her head in arrogance and stepped
back. “Then I will wait for this one to become of age. She will be
perfect then.”

Her fingers ran across my cheek, they were
cold and hard. “Isn’t that right…” she leaned down and whispered,
“Mare?”

Mare?
I didn’t know what that word
meant, or why she would call me that. In fact, every month when she
came to choose, she called me ‘Mare’.

I asked my mother what that meant, and she
only shook her head and said not to worry.

I was just curious. Nito seemed to single me
out and that
was
a worry of mine. She paused to stare at me
each month, case me up and down before selecting someone.

I only paid attention when they selected
small children. The mothers would proudly hand their offspring over
to the Ancients. The Ancients would cradle the small children as if
they were prizes. Adoring them instantly and showing them
affection.

Only once was I given an explanation from my
mother on why they took the young children, why those under five
years old would be selected.

“They cannot have children of their own, so
we give them ours to raise and love. They will have better lives.
Much better lives than we can give,” my mother told me.

"What about my baby brother?"

“He was different,” my mother said. “He was a
gift.”

No. My brother wasn’t a gift. He was a
sacrifice.

“Gretchen, you cannot do this,” Davis argued
passionately with my mother.

We were in the basement of an old parking
garage in Angeles City, old, abandoned cars all around us. Our home
was a corner sectioned off by curtains and blankets. We had been
there for a while, weeks, and we hadn’t moved. It was safe.

“It’s the only way!” my mother cried. “I have
to. Vala cannot go another day like this.”

“Like what?” he asked. “We have been good for
weeks.
Weeks
. They can’t see or smell us down here. Or hear
us.”

“That’s because when they are near we get
quiet. What about the baby when he comes?” she asked. “What about
then?”

Davis lowered his head.

I held my doll in my hand, listening to them
talk.

I remembered Davis. My mother tells me he is
just a fragment of a dream, but he wasn’t. He was there when I was
child, caring for me, protecting me. He hid me when the Sybaris
would come and seek a meal, swooping down at us and snatching us
up.

Many times, I remember people ejecting into
the air by the force of the dark shadows, screaming in agony as
they were flown away.

Davis kept that from happening to us. He was
a strong man with a hairy face and I remember his smell. It was a
smooth, smoky smell.

He always seemed to find food and water and
always handed it to me with a smile. I sensed my mother didn’t
believe he could keep doing it. In fact, I know, or why else would
she seek our rite of passage?