Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Dahlia
I don’t know how much time passes as I beat on the door, screaming Lagos’ name but it suddenly opens, and Tomar strides in with Spero in his arms.
Relief floods me. “Spero.”
I reach for my tiny burden, and Tomar allows me to take the infant. I hold him close. Protective.
I scrutinise his chubby body, checking him over, moving the shirt he’s swaddled in. He looks fine and settled, but that doesn’t stop the anxious words that gather along my tongue. Then I remember I lied to them and need answers, so I don’t spit the nasty thoughts out.
“It’s him,” Tomar says as Lagos follows him inside, forcing me back a few steps.
He shuts the door, closing the four of us in. I thought that maybe Lagos was alone in locking me in this room and that Tomar would swing open the door and let me leave.
But no.
“I know it is,” Lagos states.
“I had to check.” Tomar stands in front of me. “Where is Maple?” He folds his arms and frowns. “Go on. Talk.”
I don’t know what to say or how to explain… Spero pouts, so I draw little swirls on his back with one finger as a knot forms in my stomach, filling with unspoken words, expanding with every passing moment. I’m not Maple?—
“You lied.” Tomar sighs hard.
“Technically, I didn’t say I was Maple,” I argue, pulling Spero closer. “You assumed it, and I just went along with it.”
Tomar nods toward the bundle in my arms. “But that is Maple’s baby.”
Dammit, Maple, what have you gotten yourself and me into?
I swallow, meeting his blue eyes. “Yes.”
“Then…” His pause is loud. “Where is she?”
“Dead.” Lagos drops the word carelessly, and my heart squeezes while my mind flashes with images of her final moments, of her screams as Spero tore through her, of her smile when she saw his face and chubby arms.
Tomar pins me with his gaze, filled with concern and distrust. “Is that true? Is she dead?"
What should I say? I chew my bottom lip. The truth? What will that mean for me? What kind of deal did Maple make? Can I make the same deal?
I choose the most pressing question. “You answer me first,” I demand with false strength. “What is a Shadow baby?”
“You’re in no position to bargain.” Tomar blocks the door, not that I could leave or have anywhere to go. It’s not like I have any options at all. “But fine, Lace Girl. A question for a question. Is Maple dead?”
I nod and whisper, “ Yes .”
“Who are you?”
“A member of her Collective.”
“What—”
“That’s two questions,” I interrupt. “It’s my turn. What is a Shadow baby? He ” —I glare at Lagos, my contempt for him unhidden— “called Spero a Shadow baby.”
Tomar and Lagos look at each other, sharing a heavy message before Tomar walks toward the bed and sits down.
His eyes soften on me. “It’s best if you don’t know.”
“I have to know.”
Tomar leans forward. “You’re not Maple. You can leave. You still have time to return to the Half-tower and be rescued by The Trade. The civil unrest will end at some point, and you can return to your Purpose. You will be in danger if you know what he is, and then run with him. It will never stop. They will always come for him, and you will always be in hiding.”
“She doesn’t need to know.” Lagos’ jaw clenches and unclenches. “She was born to serve, not to protect or die for others. Kill the baby. It will be a kindness.”
“You are not killing my baby!” I hiss, stepping in front of Lagos, pretending he doesn’t exist to me—but he does. My body hums with instinctual wariness in his presence. “I can protect him— will .” I focus on Tomar. “I chose him over myself the moment I lied to the Marshals who could have rescued me, and protected me, and offered me a new home, and Ward, and—” The truth rushes to a pause of significance. Tears burn behind my eyes. “I have already chosen him. She was my closest friend. My favourite” —my voice breaks— “person in this world.” My lower lip wobbles, my resolve washing away in the twin rivers rushing down my cheeks.
The door opens and closes behind me, and I don’t need to look over my shoulder to know that Lagos has left the room. His repressive aura dissolves.
I breathe deeply again.
“Okay.” Tomar nods slowly, eyes panning over my distraught expression. “Okay. First, what is your name, Lace Girl?”
I sniffle. “Dahlia.”
“Well, Dahlia.” He reaches out and wipes the wet trail from below my eye. “You’re very brave. The baby, Spero, is a Shadow.”
My chest starts to rise and fall, and as Tomar talks, the walls slowly press in on us. Everything goes deathly quiet, as if the air itself is afraid to move.
“A Shadow is an assassin. They operate above the king, directly for The Trade Master. If they find Spero, he will be sent to a specialised training compound where he will undergo unimaginable torment and stress drills.”
“A baby,” I gasp.
“Yes.” Tomar looks pained. “Meaningful Purpose starts in the womb. That is what they say, isn’t it? The Trade will condition him thoroughly, brainwash him beyond repair, and train him to kill or die for his Meaningful Purpose.”
I cuddle Spero to my chest as a bead of sweat slides down my back.
“At twenty-one,” Tomar clears his throat. “The Shadow will be released into The Cradle to join a menial Trade: Fish Trade, Windmill, Mining, or the like. Anonymous until summoned. Spero will be one of the deadliest creatures in The Cradle.”
“Why him? How do you know all of this?”
“Maple must have the Xin De genus somewhere in her lineage. The Shadow genus is recessive and extremely volatile. Shadows are bred in the laboratories, not often the result of a missed contraceptive.”
She didn’t miss it.
She didn’t brew her tea correctly.
I can’t say this, barely allowing the dangerous thoughts to surface.
“How do they know he’s one of these Shadows?” I ask again. “How do you know this? He is just a little baby, just born.”
“We found you and—” He pauses, the moment of hesitation worrying me. Is he withholding something? “Let’s just say we have connections. We went to the Medical Hub and overheard a man talking about Maple. A Xin De man in a purple tunic spoke Latin to the doctor. I have never seen him in the flesh, but I knew, without a doubt, who he was. Cairo, The Trade Master himself, was in the Half-tower either managing the Marshal takeover or perhaps, just perhaps, he was here for this baby.”
I blink at him, trying to absorb his words. “Maple speaks Latin. Her Ward taught her; she would have heard and understood.”
Her pleas to keep the baby from The Trade finally make sense, but… “Who are you?”
Tomar sighs roughly, eyeing me, diving in, trying to read my intent. “I help people escape.”
“Why?” I ask. Help is not free in The Cradle. Nothing is free in The Cradle.
He lifts his chin. “It’s my Purpose.”
I huff dubiously. “The Trade gave you Meaningful Purpose to help people escape the?—”
“I chose this,” he states, throwing me. “I gave myself this Meaningful Purpose.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. It’s not something I have ever heard before.
“Okay.” I nod. “But how do you know he is? I mean, really know. How could anyone know he’s this Shadow… thing, when he is just a baby.”
“They know.” Tomar nods regretfully. “Spero has excessively high iron levels in his blood, Dahlia. I just checked to confirm this.” He pushes back the fabric to show a small red dot on the back of Spero’s hand. His blue eyes meet mine again, an apology shiny from their depths. “I was gentle, I assure you. Levels that high would kill you and me, levels that high interact with the magnetic fields in The Cradle. They pull him and push him and control him like The Cradle itself has tethers to his very veins. He has the Shadow genus for sure, and The Trade will never stop searching for him.”
Never… The pressure of that hits my chest like a punch. I glance down at Spero. Such a sweet, tiny thing. “Does it hurt?”
“What?”
“The iron levels?” I pause, not entirely understanding. I’ve been told that The Crust has its own magnetic fields, the planet spins in the sky or something, and that in the old-world, birds used them to navigate and migrate. Is this similar to what happens to Spero? “The… um, magnetic push and pull. Is he in pain?”
“Not right now.”
“But one day?”
Sadness fills Tomar’s gaze. “It can be painful. That’s how The Trade controls them. This isn’t something people know, Dahlia. Shadows are the biggest secret in The Cradle.”
I can’t let that happen to Maple’s baby. “How can I help him?”
“For now, you stay here.” Tomar stands, his height reminding me how short I am. “At The Bite. Wait out Redwind Whip. It happens every few months and can last some forty days. But”—he shrugs, trying to be light-hearted— “At least you’re away from the conflict at the Half-tower. You’re safe. The Trade doesn’t come here. When the wind settles, we will take you and Spero to the Common Community up north.”
I track him as he crosses the room, stopping at the door.
“We?” I ask.
He opens the door, revealing a carpeted, narrow hallway, reminding me of the corridor to the flat back home. “This is your room. Get settled. There are cans of food in the cupboards. Nothing fancy. I’ll try to find formula or milk. We’ll leave supplies for you outside your door. The toilet is down the hall, but the shower isn’t working. Some people bathe in the underground lake, but you can use the water from the sink if you prefer.”
Suspicion knots my stomach. It’s too much; Spero’s identity, the pressure, and Tomar’s kindness.
“I still can’t comprehend all this altruism from you. Why help me?”
“I’m helping Spero.” Tomar smiles smoothly. “It’s my Purpose, Lace Girl Dahlia, and now, it’s yours, too.”
And he closes the door.
I reach for it immediately and turn, sighing with heavy relief when the door creaks open a slither. It’s not locked.
I shut it again.
The door isn’t lockable from the inside, so after laying a mewling Spero on the bed, I slide a single wooden chair over to the door and wedge it under the handle.
Gazing around the space, I scrutinise it properly. No other doors and no windows, but the overhead light glows red, offering me some concept of time. It’s last-light. Having no other entrances actually makes me feel safe.
The room is a plain rectangular shape with a single spring bed, single chair now used as security, a basic two-person table, and a dull metal sink fastened to the wall. It is neat but not fancy, and it will do.
For a month.
I am going to be here, at The Bite, for a month or more… Oh. My.
Reality buckles my legs, dropping my backside to the mattress. This is my new life. The weight of my decision to leave the Half-tower suddenly grapples me.
I sit and panic. Every day of my life up until now has been known—one Purpose. Meticulous, routine, and easy… Each day, I wake up and accompany, relieve, and soothe my Ward.
And before that, I learned to sew, massage, clean, grow La Mu, make Lace Girl tea, and speak properly until the time came that I was gifted to a Ward.
Tomar’s statement chimes between my ears: ‘It’s my Meaningful Purpose, Lace Girl Dahlia, and apparently, it’s yours too, now.’
My eyes drift to the wriggling newborn incapable of anything. It is utterly useless and vulnerable. I’m not sure I’ve met anyone more vulnerable than a Common girl like me. Until now… My new Purpose.
Crawling up the bed, I settle beside him. How can you be an assassin? How could any decent human being hurt ? —
That’s just it; they aren’t human beings. I often forget. Xin De aren’t human anymore. Over time, humans became so useless, with no claws and no flight, fragile and weak. Xin De are their own species, an evolved one, with animal traits engineered into human genes to aid in survival.
Spero is Xin De.
As I feed my finger into his palm, he grabs, holding me. My heart fills, and I smile.
Big, scary Xin De.
We have each other.
“I need to get you more, little baby. Nappies, clothes, and maybe even a toy, because you’re special.” I play with his hand. “And I don’t care if you’re supposed to grow up to be a big, mean Xin De assassin, I’ll always look at you like this. I’ll tell you about your mummy. How clever and pretty she was, how she let me follow her like a lamb, and made me feel…” I sigh. “Not easily forgotten.”
Spero squeaks as I talk.
“You don’t know this yet,” I say through a giggle. “I’m pretty but plain, apparently. Not very special or unique. Not like you, but I’ll do my best to raise you.”
Looking at this tiny being, so wriggly and new, I am overwhelmed with the urge to care for him. Oh, how I wish I had bargained for more stuff from the Endigo, and selfishly—horribly—wonder whether his Exchange Hub can still be entered.
Or is it boarded up?
Will another take over?
It could be lucrative…
I could look after Spero myself. Do I really need Tomar and, ugh, Lagos? I could take supplies from the exchange, find my own way across the desert, take my chances…
In my mind, I foresee stepping over the old Endigo man’s mutilated corpse and taking items like a scurrying rodent. I couldn’t bring myself to steal from anyone and stealing from a dead man seems worse than stealing from a living one.
I’m not like that… I couldn’t?—
Oh, no. The truth finds me in my lonely musings—To make the journey alone, I would have to kill or be killed. Be ruthless and cruel—be like Lagos.
The Cradle is said to be barren wastelands, with forests of windmills and the belting Redwind that only military vehicles can withstand. Outside the Trade towers, the land is home to savages. Endigos and Common raiders hide in the desert declines and hills. If I dare try to make my way alone, the people I encounter on the road will ravage me indiscriminately, maybe even feast on my flesh.
And Spero’s.
I couldn’t kill.
Could I?
Closing my eyes, I exhale a steady breath. I have to accept facts. That even if I knew how to get to the Common Community up north, without Tomar—and by extension, Lagos—I would probably die in the desert.
I need them.
With my eyes closed and my finger in Spero’s tiny hand, my chest fills with air before a heavy exhale drags through my lips. Sleep seems to be ready to take me. A few hours on the boat and mere minutes in the Deep Sleep are not enough to appease my exhaustion.
I relax deeper into the mattress, somewhere between sleep and awake, and focus on Spero’s light squeezes, little hiccups, and sweet, odd baby scent until…