Yaaf
Number Seven parked the Humvee at their usual spot by the wall of the enclosure where there was shade this time of day.
Number Three set a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about. It is what it is, and it cannot be changed."
Number Three didn't move his hand right away. "What if she's a Sacred Mother like Number Eight's mother?"
The question echoed in the collective.
"Then she won't be at the playground. Sullha would have ruled her out," Number One said.
Number Three projected relief. He feared facing his mother and discovering that she'd turned into someone else like Number Eight's mother.
On the other hand, she might be nicer to his little sister if she'd joined the order.
The Sacred Mothers saw childbearing as their God-given mission, so she should be delighted.
The collective pointed out that the Sacred Mothers might not rejoice in having daughters. They believed that their mission was to deliver warriors for Mortdh's army.
Number Three feared what he would find, and so did the collective. If he was disappointed, they would all feel the pain.
None of them remembered being loved by their mothers, and yet they still hoped that perhaps that had been a defense mechanism, and that once freed they could learn to love their sons.
"We have to wait for Sullha to tell us if Rohilah is trustworthy before we let her see you," Number One said. "We can't remove the thrall from your mother until we know it's safe, and we can't remove it from your sister at all. She's too young to keep a secret."
Number Three nodded. "I know. I just want to see her. I don't need her to see me."
What he didn't know was whether he wanted Number One to remove the thrall at all. What if his mother was afraid of him? What if she screamed and told him to go away?
He didn't want to face that possibility.
The collective wrapped itself around him, letting him know that he wasn't alone, and that if any of what he feared did happen, they would smooth out the pain.
"My mother hasn't taken Bianca to the playground," Number Three said. "That's why I think she might be a Sacred Mother. She was different when I was growing up. I spent most of my childhood on that playground, and so did everyone I knew. Why is she different with my sister?"
The collective had to agree that it was strange.
They had all spent the majority of their childhood at the playground because it was the only place they could be free and socialize.
"Sullha will figure it out," Number One said.
If Rohilah was a Sacred Mother, then Number Three would lose his mother twice.
Bianca would also be lost.
Yaaf squeezed his shoulder once and let his hand drop.
"Come on," he said.
They started walking toward the wall, and the Eight settled into their usual mode of operation for these visits, only this time Number Three accompanied Yaaf while the other six powered the thrall needed to hide them from the enclosure's inhabitants.
After thralling the guards at the main gate to open up for them, Number One and Number Three walked down the enclosure's main thoroughfare to the other side of the compound where the playground was located.
They passed by numerous women and some older children, but none paid them any mind. They couldn't see them.
When they reached the playground, they found the pedestrian gate in the fence open, which was a security hazard, especially since there seemed to be no guard on duty to make sure that no kids left the playground without their mothers' approval.
Number One closed the gate behind them, and that was when he felt the guard, who was standing next to the bathroom where there was shade. The male had a particular cognitive signature because his attention was active rather than passive.
His job was to guard, and he was doing his duty.
He wasn't a passive observer just existing in the moment.
The thrall needed to be thicker to affect the man, and the collective pushed more power to Number One through the connection.
Number Three did so as well, letting Number One be the spigot through which the collective power flowed.
With the guard's mind taking the suggestion to ignore the two soldiers who shouldn't be there, his eyes passed over them without registering anything when they walked by him.
Sullha sat at her regular bench, her back to the playground's gate and her face turned toward another woman who was sitting beside her, with hair that was a shade darker than Sullha's and woven into a single thick braid that lay against her spine.
Yaaf felt Number Three tense.
His expression didn't change, and his pace did not slow, but internally there was the equivalent of a held breath.
The braid. The shape of the shoulders. The angle at which she held her head.
They were all familiar, but Number Three wasn't sure he was remembering his mother or shaping his memories to fit the woman sitting on the bench with Sullha.
Number One didn't comment, and he didn't offer suggestions. He gave Number Three room to breathe.
Instead, he looked at the sandbox, where he knew he would find Tomek because he didn't see him on the climbing structure.
The boy was on his knees, his hands buried up to the wrists in damp sand, and he was showing a very young girl how to extract sand and then mold it into the desired shape.
The girl had a round face, and her hair was gathered on top of her head with curly wisps sticking out from it and framing her little face.
She had on a dress that was once yellow, but the color had faded and it was covered in sand.
Children in the enclosure rarely got new clothes to wear. When kids outgrew their clothing, they were returned to the large bin where everyone could pick whatever they needed, and they found something that fit them.
There was no need for frugality. The Brotherhood had plenty of money, and buying new clothes for the children and their mothers wouldn't have made a dent in the budget.
But it was a deliberate tactic to keep the occupants of the enclosure oppressed.
The more hopeless and dejected they felt, the less resistance they offered.
That must be my sister, Number Three thought, and the collective absorbed it. Bianca.
A warmth radiated through the shared space and pressed against the other seven minds with a force that none of them had been prepared for.
Yaaf felt its full impact due to their physical proximity.
Number Three had only learned about Bianca's existence two days ago when Sullha told Number One that he had a sister.
He hadn't expected to be overcome with emotion upon seeing the child, and therefore the collective hadn't been ready for it either.
Yaaf put his hand on Number Three's arm to slow him down. We need to extend the thrall to the children.
Number Three nodded.
They stopped about two meters from the bench.
The other woman beside Sullha was talking. Her voice was soft, and it carried a little lift at the end of each sentence.
Number Three's hand twitched at his side.
Number One glanced at him. Are you sure this is your mother?
Number Three nodded. He was convinced now that he wasn't shaping his memories to fit the woman, and that she was his mother. I recognize her voice.
Number One accepted the assertion and turned his attention back to the bench.
As long as Rohilah was sitting so close to Sullha, he couldn't approach her.
He could remove the thrall from Sullha selectively, the way he had done before, but the other woman couldn't help but notice that Sullha was no longer paying attention to her and talking to no one.
He could possibly thrall the other woman more deeply to ignore Sullha's conversation, but that required going too deep and might have unwanted side effects.
The simplest solution was to get the other woman away from the bench so he could talk to Sullha.
He turned to Number Three. I'm going to send your mother to the bathroom so I can ask Sullha whether she is trustworthy.
Number Three nodded, but he looked extremely uncomfortable, which Number One understood.
That kind of intrusion felt wrong coming from a son, and Number Three would be there along with the other six when Number One implanted the suggestions in his mother's mind.
You should retreat, Number One thought. Pull back from the active layer. You know how to do that. The rest of us will shield you from the thrall so you don't see what's inside your mother's mind.
It was a difficult thing to pull off, but they had all practiced it before.
It was a decision to step back and imagine occupying a small place, an inner mental room.
They didn't know yet how to close the door to their private rooms completely, but when it rained, even a partially closed door was better than being outside.
Number Three nodded, and then his presence in the collective dimmed. The other seven felt the change. The fabric of the shared awareness reorganized to accommodate the missing power source, and they registered the asymmetry of operating with seven active threads instead of eight.
It always felt odd, but they had practiced this before, so the sensation didn't throw them off.
Number One turned his attention to the woman on the bench beside Sullha and pushed a gentle thrall. It was an easy one, just a suggestion of a full bladder.
A few seconds later, she shifted on the bench and lifted her hand to stop Sullha, who was in the middle of an explanation. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but you'll need to hold that thought. I have to use the bathroom."
Sullha cast a glance behind her, and there was a knowing smirk on her face. "Of course. I'll be here when you return."
Rohilah rose from the bench, brushed at her skirt, and then walked across the playground toward the bathroom with her braid swinging gently against her back.
Number Three's presence brightened when he felt his mother passing by him.
Sullha was still sitting on the bench with her back to them, but as soon as Rohilah disappeared through the bathroom door, she turned her head around.
"Is it you, Yaaf?"