Guardians (32 page)

I
N THE UPROAR
, E
STHER COULD NOT FIND OUT WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO
Sarah.

A few spoke of a ceremony upstairs. But the details were conflicting and confusing, and when Esther ran upstairs to Saith's rooms, she saw that they were bare.

She seized the knife that lay on the ground and examined it closely, even pressing it to her nose. To her immense relief, the blade was dry and clean; there wasn't even a trace of blood. And when she laid her hand on the table, she could have sworn it was still warm. Yet there was no sign of the baby.

Skar appeared at the door, her face etched with concern. “Gideon is not to be found.”

Esther nodded. “Why don't you check from the basement and work your way up? I'll start on the roof. Wherever they are, I think she's still alive.”

Skar nodded and both girls took off in different directions.

Esther made it to the hidden staircase. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the suffocating darkness and bolted up the steps. Within seconds, she reached the tenth floor and then the roof.

When she pushed open the metal door, she was momentarily blinded by the piercing sunlight. Blinking rapidly, she forced her eyes to adjust.

That was when she saw them.

Halfway across the tarred surface, Gideon stood as if awaiting her. And there was Sarah: crying, red-faced, but very much alive.

A hot wind gusted across Esther's face, blowing grit. She noticed that the boy was standing near an enormous hole in the glass wall, broken fragments still glinting beneath his feet. Her heart lurched as she realized that he was keeping her child balanced somehow on its jagged edge, only a blanket protecting her soft skin.

The two stared at each other for a long moment.

Esther knew that she had the advantage. Saith and the guards were dead and the District had been overthrown. It was clear the boy was afraid; there was no other reason for him
to threaten Sarah. It was the only leverage he had left.

Yet even as she stood there, her knees weakened at the sight of her child, so tiny and unknowing. Nothing else in the world was more important. She would do anything to save her child . . . anything at all. And looking into his eyes, she understood that he knew that too.

“What do you want?” Despite her best efforts, her voice cracked.

The boy said nothing, waiting to hear what she would offer. So Esther continued to speak, stammering as she tried to keep the shakiness from her voice.

“You'll be safe. . . . I won't let anybody harm you. You can stay here. You can have all of this”—she gestured at the garden, the entire District beneath them—“and we'll help you get it back to running order. Then we'll leave you alone. I promise.”

Gideon smiled.

“That generous,” he said. “But it ain't what I want.”

Esther swallowed. “Then please,” she said, “step away from there. I can't think with her like that.”

He complied. Hoisting the child onto his hip, he walked to the center of the roof. Esther moved with him, although he was careful to keep the skylight between them.

“You ain't like Saith,” the boy remarked. “She got no understanding of power. . . . It like proof to her. Make her drunk, then sick. That what kill her. Those people down there, they only helped.”

Esther nodded. She was only half listening; she had her eyes
focused on Sarah, measuring the distance between them. As if reading her mind, Gideon edged away so that he stood directly across the glass field from her. Then he spoke again, his voice casual.

“What I want,” he said, “is to stay. Only this time, it ain't just gonna be about running things. It be you and me.”

Esther blinked; she wasn't sure she understood what he was saying. “You want to be partners?”

“You don't believe me?” With his free hand, he dug into his pocket and pulled out a palmful of sparkling glass. There were so many pieces that several spilled onto the ground. He displayed them, sending glints of green against his face.

“Look,” he said. “This show you I'm serious. You can have this and more . . . all you want. I give you everything I got.”

Esther glanced up, and for the first time, she stared deep into his eyes, gray and fathomless. With a sense of shock, she realized that Gideon meant what he said.

He
did
want to be her partner, and not just because it would help his glass scheme. He loved her and had all along; she was the one thing he craved most in the world. And yet he did not know how to love. All he knew of love consisted of what he held in his hand.

For a moment, Esther felt pity for him. But not enough to make her negotiate—not for a minute.

“I don't want it,” she said.

Then they both heard something at the same time.

Distracted, neither had noticed the person who now stood
at the door. It was a girl Esther only vaguely recognized. She was scrawny and pale, her hair cropped short. Yet her dark eyes burned with fury.

“I heard what you promise,” Nur said.

Before Gideon could reply, the girl rushed forward. Seizing him by the shoulders, she struggled with him as Esther darted to the boy's side and snatched Sarah out of his arms. Then Nur shoved him, hard. Gideon lost his balance and with a cry, he stumbled backward onto the skylight. One foot and then the next punched through as he plunged downward in an explosion of glass, the pieces in his hand scattering everywhere.

Yet Gideon did not fall.

With bleeding fingers, he managed to cling to the rusted metal railing that edged the skylight as his body swung below, his legs kicking in vain to gain a toehold. Colorful shards continued to rain down on the District, dropping to the marble floor ten flights down.

As Nur backed away, her face triumphant, Esther froze, staring at the scene.

Gideon's eyes found her. “Help me,” he gasped.

Esther did not want to save him. But she couldn't let him die, either. Placing Sarah down, she sat on the gritty tar paper in front of him and braced both feet against the iron railing. Then she reached out.

“Hold tight,” she said.

Gideon's eyes met hers: The pupils were dilated in terror. She saw that the cords of his hands were sticking out like ropes,
his knuckles white. He swallowed hard and his eyes flickered to her right hand. With a sudden movement, he snatched it with his left and Esther felt herself nearly yanked over the edge, as well. Pushing as hard as she could with her legs, she tightened her grasp and began to pull.

It was working. Gideon used his other hand to pull himself up. His chest was drawing even with the roof, when Esther sensed a sudden change in the air.

It was an eerie vibration that she felt rather than heard, a strange thrumming in her bones. It came from low to the ground. Whatever it was drew closer and as it did, she suddenly understood.

It was Pilot.

The dog crouched low to the ground no more than a foot away from her, his ears flattened close to his skull, his yellowed teeth bared. Esther was astonished; the animal had never shown any aggression toward her. He was growling so loudly she could feel his hot breath on her neck.

“Easy, boy,” Esther said.

The dog hesitated. Then suddenly, he sprang forward and sank his teeth into Esther's arm.

“No!”
she screamed.

She lost her grip of Gideon, and, flailing, he dropped backward. His other hand popped off the railing, and, shrieking, he disappeared from sight. An eternity seemed to pass in a vacuum of sound. Then a great explosion was heard that echoed upward from the District's main floor.

Pilot let go of Esther's arm. He hadn't hurt her; in fact, his teeth hadn't even broken the skin. As if abashed, he now butted his head against her, whimpering as he tried to lick her face.

Tears starting, Esther patted him. And then she gathered Sarah into her arms.

T
HE GIRL RAN ACROSS THE BROKEN ASPHALT
.

Small for her size, she darted barefoot from shadow to overhang through the empty streets of Mundreel, her dark limbs flashing in the early morning light. Behind her, a telltale sound revealed that she was being followed. She shot a quick glance behind her and sped up.

Trying to lose her pursuer, she rounded one corner and then another. Spying an opening between two buildings, she raced into its dark recesses and advanced three paces before stopping. Facing her was a dead end, the back wall of a building. The footsteps drew even closer.

She hesitated.

Then, gritting her teeth, she ran forward, leaping upward at the last second as she clung to the sheer expanse. Her fingers and toes scrabbling for a purchase, she began to scale the bricks, awkwardly at first, and then faster than a lizard.

The one in pursuit caught up to her seconds later and stood below, panting. He was openmouthed with amazement.

“Hey,” called Kai. “That's cheating!”

At his voice, Sarah stopped climbing.

She twisted her neck around to gaze down on her brother and laughed, showing tiny, pointed teeth. “You have to tag me,” she called. “And you didn't.” Letting go of the wall and pushing away at the same time, she dropped easily to the ground. “So I win?” She smiled up at him, her lavender eyes crinkling in the morning sun.

“You win.” Rueful, Kai laughed as well as he bent over, catching his breath. He was still winded from stalking his little sister through the city streets; she had more energy than anyone he knew, even their mother. “Who taught you that? Was it Skar?”

Bashful, the four-year-old shook her head and shrugged. “I just did it.”

Esther and Skar played with both children every day, devising long and engaging games through the ravaged streets and buildings of Mundreel. They were the kind of pastimes the two girls used to invent for themselves back in Prin.

Yet from the beginning, it was the little girl who excelled.

It was true that Kai was fast and tireless, as well, yet he had
to practice over and over until he mastered each technique. For Sarah, everything came naturally. And she delighted in it all, as if the world with its obstacles were a giant playground devised for her entertainment.

An hour later, the children entered their home. As their laughter echoed in the vast space, they noticed their mother and her friend watching them from two levels up. Esther waved at them as they disappeared into the corner staircase. The older girls marveled at how Sarah forced her brother to catch up.

“She didn't get it from me,” Esther said. “It must have been from Caleb.”

Skar smiled. “The skill was from him. The stubbornness was from you.” Then she squeezed her old friend's shoulder with affection. Skar went off to begin her day's work, and Esther started up the stairs.

It was too early for the place to be crowded, yet she knew it would be soon.

The days of the District as a marketplace were over. Gone were the luxury items, the soft and expensive articles of clothing, leather goods, and household objects. The stalls with merchants hawking their wares were a distant memory, as were the glass fragments themselves. Yet every day, dozens showed up, strangers as well as familiar faces. They still came to trade, but it was no longer just goods that they dealt in. They brought with them ideas, knowledge, and information.

The empty stores were now classrooms and workshops, where anyone with a skill or area of expertise could share what he or she knew: not only reading, history, and science, but
art, music, and storytelling. Craftspeople revealed what they understood about building and repairing, cooking and irrigation, metalwork and carpentry.

With their help, each year, the library had continued to grow. As word of its existence spread, new visitors brought in hundreds of books, magazines, and other artifacts from miles around. The library was open to anyone who could read, and those who could not were welcome to learn from one of the teachers trained long ago by Joseph, Uri, and Esther.

The place where Saith had once received her visitors was now nothing more than an empty fountain, cracked and forgotten. Yet the need for spiritual comfort was real: More and more, Esther sensed that there was a force greater than she was, and she knew she was not alone in believing this. Although it was nothing like the grand altar Gideon had once planned, she had decided early on to set aside a small room on the ground floor. There, anyone who chose to could quietly pray alone or in groups.

The roof garden had become a model for others; Joseph still used it to show Outsiders how to design and construct them. There were dozens of flourishing greenhouses spread across the city, growing food, purifying rainwater, and supporting anyone who was willing to put in the work.

And, from the start, Esther had encouraged Uri to continue his scientific research.

Working alone, the boy had come up with an idea that he thought, risky as it was, would prevent the killing disease. Uri took careful scrapings from the lesions of a dying boy; then,
without telling anyone, not even Joseph, he administered them to himself through a shallow cut in the arm. After waiting several days, he stood out in the rain, as Esther herself had done. Like her, he turned his face to the poisonous stuff, letting it drip into his open eyes and mouth.

Esther was horrified when she found out. Yet by the time he told her, it had already been a full week since his exposure and he had not yet fallen ill. After a month had passed, he began offering these “inoculations,” as he called them, to their friends.

Not surprisingly, most people were frightened and suspicious at first. And he was too late to save those who were already dying. But the continued health of Skar, Joseph, and the others who had received the treatment started to win over even the most fearful. Within months, dozens of new people were vaccinated. The results were extraordinary; there had been virtually no new cases in months.

In time, Esther sensed the disease would be vanquished for good.

Yet despite the newfound stability of the District, the girl was aware it took constant vigilance to maintain it.

Every few months, it seemed, an interloper would appear who wanted to take it over, using either subterfuge or physical force. Esther had learned from painful and bitter experience that doing nothing in the face of aggression could be disastrous; it wasn't enough merely to do good. Turning a blind eye to Gideon's plotting had led first to his cruel and unjust exploitation of the monetary system and then to Saith's horrific rule.

Esther could never forget that it had also led to Aras's death.

Knowing this, she and the group of elders with whom she now ruled the District—Skar, Joseph, Silas, Trey, and Uri—had figured out how to deal with such troublemakers. Early on, they had conferred in private and had discussed the possibility of punishing and even imprisoning them. But remembering how Saith had been corrupted by absolute power, they ended up voting unanimously simply to Shun these miscreants forever.

Esther was not afraid that the criminals would return, seeking vengeance. After all, she and the others could defend themselves if they had to. And she would have help doing that.

“Hey!”

Esther turned as she saw Trey coming around the corner, his back to her. He had his fists up, pretending to spar with Kai.

“Almost!” he called.

Kai jabbed at him, and Trey dodged the punch before reaching out and mussing the boy's hair. Then he turned and kissed Esther before starting back toward the children's school, which he ran with Michal. Kai jogged to catch up.

Esther knew that the gunman no longer carried his weapon, but kept it hidden in their room, in case of trouble. Yet he had never used it in the four years they had been partnered.

The girl continued up the stairs. At last, she reached the library and stood in the doorway, watching.

Joseph spent nearly all of his time there, cataloguing new books, accompanied by Stumpy. By now, he had a few silver
threads in his dark hair, and the feline also showed signs of stiffness in her joints.

“You wanted to see me?” she asked.

Joseph looked up. He was poring over one of his handmade calendars, concentric circles on a wooden board punctuated by different-colored marbles set in shallow depressions. Stumpy rested in his lap, dozing. Joseph seemed particularly excited about what they denoted, muttering to himself.

“I thought you might want to know,” he said. “I was going over some dates, and it turns out . . . though I can't be sure . . .”

“What is it?” she said, with more affection than impatience.

“I don't know the exact date, but it's soon. Either that, or it's happened already.”

Joseph went on, discussing at length the challenge of pinpointing exact dates in the past, and accounting for something called a “leap year.” But soon it became clear what he was trying to say.

“Happy birthday,” Joseph blurted out.

Esther was twenty years old.