Flame (11 page)

The table went silent, so still that Waverly could hear the rattle in the twins’ throats as they breathed.

“It’s dangerous,” Selma said warningly, and Waverly realized the plump woman was addressing her. “You understand that, don’t you?”

“You saw the way she turned the congregation against Anne the day of her escape,” Dr. Carver insisted. “This girl is formidable.”

“Are you prepared for this, little girl?” For the first time Deacon Maddox looked totally present and awake. “Are you ready to take on Anne Mather?”

Waverly glared at him so that he could see she was anything but a little girl. He looked away, raising his eyebrows, hiding one veiny hand under the other. Then she stood. “Destroying Anne Mather is the only thing that will make life on this ship tolerable for me.”

“Huh.” The sound came from Selma, something between a bemused chuckle and an exclamation of surprise.

“Thank you, dear,” said Dr. Carver, and he patted Waverly’s wrist. She stared at him until she understood she was being dismissed. Jared had stood, too, and nodded at her in a deferential way, extending a hand to usher her out of the room.

Once the door to the Council chamber closed behind them, he turned to her with a smile. “Want to go for a walk?” he said.

“Don’t you have to stay for the meeting?”

“Dr. Carver will fill me in. And he wants you to get some exercise.” He raised a finger in the air and stooped over. “‘She needs exercise and mental distance from her captivity,’” he said in a nearly perfect imitation of the old man.

Waverly laughed in spite of herself.

He rested his eyes on her, those dark blue eyes that were so unsettling, then took hold of her elbow and led her gently. She pulled away. Each time he touched her, or looked at her, she wanted Seth, missed him more. Where
was
he?

I should forget about him. He’s obviously forgotten me. And so has Kieran.

“Where would you like to go?” Jared asked her.

“I don’t care,” she told him honestly. He held out a palm, indicating for her to choose the direction, so she continued down the hallway. She walked slowly, unsure whether she was matching his pace or he was matching hers. She didn’t look at him, but she was intensely aware of his presence and his scent. Soil, sage, and something more—cardamom and garlic, maybe.

They entered the stairwell and descended several flights in silence. When he opened the door for her, she found he’d taken her to the family gardens, a fabulously lush and beautifully kept acreage. They walked between rows of huge cabbages, overgrown squash plants, pumpkins so large she could have sat on them, tomato plants hanging heavy with rich red fruits. He turned left, passing perfectly straight rows of uniform corn plants, then stopped at a large arched trellis bursting with purple clematis and sweet pink honeysuckle. A small path led from the trellis to a petite stone bench upon which he sat. He patted the seat next to him, and Waverly took it, leaning away because the heat coming from his body made her uneasy.

“Do you like it?” he asked her, waving his hand over the herbs and flowers growing in patches all around them. The colors were perfectly arranged: fragrant lavender next to pale green sage, golden saffron framed by white chamomile.

“Did you plant this garden?” she asked him.

“I’ve been working on it my whole life.”

“It’s…” She tried to find the right word, one that wasn’t too generous. “Nice.”

“
Nice?
” he said, comically outraged. “Decades of my life boil down to
nice
?”

“What do you want me to say?”.

“It’s a work of art!” He threw up his hands theatrically. “Are you blind?”

“Okay, Jared,” she said condescendingly. “It’s a work of art.”

“Better,” he said, squinting at her with mock anger. He was funny, she had to give him that.

“You grow a lot of herbs. Do you take them to the processing plant?”

“Oh no. These are for me. I dry them at home. I don’t share.”

“Never? Not even a tiny bit of thyme?”

“I have no thyme to spare.”

She looked at the huge patch of the herb growing in a tangled knot. “You must eat a lot of soup.”

“I do. I eat a
lot
of soup.” He looked at her sideways with mock suspicion. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

She was laughing again. How did he do that? She was trapped, miserable, and she’d lost everything, but this strange man was cheering her up. She hated herself for relaxing, but she couldn’t help it.
I can’t be miserable all of the time, or I’ll die.

Maybe he knows that,
she thought. She snuck a glance at him. His nose was narrow and straight except for the end, which bulged out slightly, but it was a nice nose, a friendly nose. His skin was very smooth for someone who must be in his forties, and she wanted to ask his age, but she held her tongue. His hair was still thick, though it was salted here and there with specks of gray. He turned toward her, but she looked away quickly.

“You must have questions,” Jared said. “About the doctor?”

“Why do you work for him?” Waverly asked.

“He’s my father, kind of.” Jared swung his feet casually, his attitude completely different from the rigid discipline he showed around Dr. Carver. “He took me in when I was just a kid. My mom … she didn’t deal well after the launch. Being cut off from Earth, never to return. It kind of made her…” He twirled a finger near his temple. “A lot of people were affected that way at first. Most of them got better. Some of them, like my mom, didn’t.” He was silent for a moment, as though caught up in a memory. “Dr. Carver said he liked the way I played with the other kids. I guess something about me seemed smart. Or self-sufficient. So he took responsibility for me.”

“He raised you?” Waverly asked. She couldn’t imagine that wily old man loving anyone, not even a child.

“Not in a traditional way. He brought me into his household. He saw to my education. He hired women to care for me. I was kind of raised by a bunch of people.”

“That sounds … difficult,” Waverly said, remembering her own mother and how she used to be—totally reliable, always on Waverly’s side, and absolutely loving. If Waverly had gone without that kind of love as a child, she didn’t know how she might have turned out.

But Jared shook his head. “I got lots of attention, from all kinds of people.”

“And that’s because of Dr. Carver?”

“Yes. And I’ll be forever grateful.”

She dug her heel into the soft garden soil, enjoying the fragrant smell of loam and tender roots. “Do you remember Earth?” she asked as an indirect way of learning his age.

“No. My mother was pregnant with me when she boarded the New Horizon. I was born a few months into the mission. So I’m not
so
old,” he said with a knowing smile.

“Well…” Waverly grinned while she calculated. “You’re over twice
my
age.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” He laughed.

“My pleasure.” She thought she should remind herself, too, because she felt guilty talking to this handsome man, laughing at his jokes when she had no idea where Seth was, or if he was safe.

Why
should
she feel guilty? Was some part of her being loyal to Seth? Why should she be loyal after the way he’d abandoned her?

But even if she wanted to forget about Seth, she couldn’t. Despite her anger, deep down she knew he was staying away so that, when she needed help, he’d be able to do something. If he were under Anne Mather’s control, or Dr. Carver’s, Seth would be as helpless as she was. And Seth
did
care. She knew he did. The way he’d kissed her, like he needed her so much, communicating everything that he felt with an openness that couldn’t be mistaken. Not even Kieran had ever kissed her that way.

But she kept these thoughts trapped deep, in the back of her mind, because if she let herself feel Seth’s caring, if she felt her own caring for him, she’d have to miss him.

She’d have to worry about him. She’d be
sick
with worry.

Her hand moved over her stomach and she swallowed down her queasiness.
Please please please let him be okay.

If he’s not …

“Your mother is probably wondering what happened to you,” Jared finally said. He stood and extended a hand to help her up.

Waverly picked her way between rows of basil and sage, searching her mind for a topic of conversation. A tobacco plant ahead gave off its heady aroma, reminding her of the corncob pipe Captain Jones often held between his teeth. “Dr. Carver told me Captain Jones is alive.”

“Don’t worry. He’s well treated,” Jared said, but he put a hand to his forehead, embarrassed. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you wouldn’t exactly be his biggest fan.” He opened the door for her with a great show of courtesy. “I’m sure you don’t want to talk about all that.”

“All what?” she asked, pausing on the landing.

He touched her shoulder lightly as they started up the stairs. “The business with your father, and…” He paused. “How he died.”

“How do you know about my father?” she asked sharply.

He stopped climbing the stairs and looked at her, surprised. “The doctor mentioned it to me yesterday.”

“What did he say?” Her voice echoed down the endless metal stairwell. “Tell me the precise words he used.”

“He said your father had been executed—”

She grabbed his wrist. “What?”

He blinked, surprised. His eyes looked black in the dim light of the stairwell. It was as though he had two faces, one blue-eyed and friendly, and one black-eyed and mysterious. “You didn’t know?” he said.

“By who? Why?” she shrieked.

“Captain Jones,” Jared said, hands held up to calm her down. “Are you telling me you didn’t know about this?”

“They called it an accident,” Waverly said.

Jared shook his head, dropping his hands to his sides. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“So my father
was
murdered.” She made a fist.

“He was
executed,
” Jared said, looking confused. “For what he did.”

Waverly’s pulse thudded inside her ears as she whispered, “What?”

He stared at her for a long moment before saying, “Your father was the one who sent the bastardized formula to the medical team here. Him and two others.”

Her legs gave way, and she lowered herself to sit on the stairs.

“Galen Marshall was the architect of the whole thing,” Jared said gently, his hand on her shoulder. “He created the poison that sterilized our women.”

Waverly’s vision blurred. She lowered her head between her knees, panting. She felt two strong hands on her shoulders, and his warm breath as he said into her ear, each word laced with regret, “I’m so sorry. I thought you knew.”

CONGREGATION

Kieran and his mother arrived for services early as Mather had requested. He was surprised to see a long line of people waiting to get into the large granary bay where services were held. He didn’t know what was taking so long until he reached the front of the line, and two armed guards patted him down, then swept a sophisticated-looking detection wand over his body to search for weapons before sending him in.

The granary was huge, one of the biggest bays on the ship. To Kieran’s left, a soft carpet of mulch had been laid on the floor, and there were rows of hundreds of chairs facing a stage draped in enormous swaths of fabric appliquéd with scenes of a harvest celebration. The setting was splendid, Kieran had to admit, and the huge room with its high ceiling had a stately air, like the cathedrals of Old Earth he’d seen in history books. To his right, behind the last row of the chairs, the cornfield began. Tall stalks reached up toward the lights in neat furrows that stretched away from the stage until the rows met in the vanishing point, far away at the central bulkheads. The beautiful spacious room made it impossible not to think of eternity. Such an effect could never be achieved in the little auditorium with its low ceilings and gray walls.

Kieran and his mother sat in the front row, where the guards directed them, and he snuck a peek at her to make sure she was okay. Mather had been true to her word and had sent a doctor to look at Lena. Dr. Jansen, a middle-aged woman with a knot of gray hair at the nape of her neck, had done a series of neurological tests, and her opinion had been maddeningly noncommittal. “I can find no sign of the original trauma, but decompression effects can be unpredictable.” She’d smiled sadly at Kieran. “I’m sorry I can’t give you more.”

Mom still enjoys life,
he reminded himself now, looking at her profile as she took in the spectacle of Anne Mather’s church.
For that I should be grateful.

Anne Mather herself, wearing gleaming white vestments, mounted the steps to the stage. She wore a colorful embroidered stole over her shoulders that glittered as she moved. A spotlight caressed her face so that she glowed with an otherworldly sheen, making her beautiful and awful at once. The lighting, the garb, even the choreographed way Mather moved—all of it conspired to create a perfectly crafted atmosphere. This was a level of theatricality that Kieran had attempted in his services but never achieved.

Slowly the buzzing of the crowd subsided under Mather’s loving gaze, and the choir began a lilting hymn accompanied by effortless guitar playing. The lights over the stage faded, leaving a sole cone of light over Mather, who lifted her arms, miming an embrace of the crowd. She called out with a clarion voice, “Peace be upon you!”

“Peace be upon you!” the crowd repeated.

The music faded away. “Welcome to all on this, the two thousand three hundred and thirty-first Sunday of our mission to New Earth. Joining us for this celebration we have several new crew members. Aidan Johnson was born on Wednesday, a beautiful nine-pound-four-ounce baby boy!” Kieran was shocked. Had enough time passed for the Empyrean girls’ eggs grow into babies? He counted back and realized more than ten months had passed since the New Horizon first attacked. Kieran saw a couple in the middle of the congregation, huddled proudly around a little bundle of wriggling legs and arms. The crowd erupted into applause and the couple beamed.