37. Yaaf
YAAF
They packed everything they owned into eight backpacks, and there was still room to spare, but it was still more than they had arrived with.
It was ironic that the most powerful people in the Brotherhood had nothing. The credits they had been paid with were worthless anywhere outside the island, and they hadn't had enough time to accumulate expensive jewelry like some of the more seasoned warriors were doing.
Hell, a month ago they hadn't even owned the names their mothers had given them at birth.
Now each of them had a backpack the clan had provided them, filled with clothes and shoes the clan had also supplied, and Yaaf couldn't decide whether it was pathetic or hopeful.
We are accumulating, Ravsoh observed. Maybe by the next move we will fill the backpack to the top. The sarcasm was almost funny, which, for Ravsoh, was an achievement.
The bus that picked them up in the keep was far too big for ten people. The eight of them, Bowen and Alfie, in a vehicle built for forty, felt for some reason unsettling.
When the windows turned opaque, Yaaf knew they were nearing the village. Sullha had told him what to expect, so he wasn't surprised by that or by the drop in temperature as the bus entered the tunnel and then was lifted by an elevator that was big enough to carry it.
The windows cleared sometime during the ascent, so he could see the walls of the concrete shaft and the cables that were part of the mechanism.
Then the lift came to a stop, and the bus rolled off into an underground garage that was much bigger than what the clan had in the keep.
It was packed with cars, most of them nearly identical, but some were fancy, and in one corner he spotted several motorcycles parked in a row, and he suddenly craved riding one of those machines.
There were no motorcycles on the island, Dumuz shared with the collective.
"Most people living in the village own a car," Bowen said as the bus doors opened.
"All vehicles are equipped with the same autonomous driving system and windows that turn opaque, and they have to stay here because there are no roads up top.
Everyone walks, except for those who can't or have a lot of luggage, and they can use golf carts. The village isn't big."
"What about the motorcycles?" Dumuz asked. "They don't have windows that turn opaque, so there is no way to hide the entrance to the village from those who ride them."
"Good observation." Bowen clapped him on the back. "They have to be taken out by another vehicle."
"Makes no sense," Dumuz said. "Why even have them?"
Bowen shrugged. "People enjoy riding them and are willing to take the extra step."
The driver was the first to disembark, and the rest followed. It was the same guy who had helped with the excavation on the island, but now he wore a three-piece suit and looked like the butler he was. He wasn't human, despite looking like one. He was a biomechanical creation, whatever that meant.
"Thank you, Okidu," Bowen said.
The driver dipped his head. "It was my pleasure, Master Bowen."
The Guardian led them to an elevator, and they went up.
The doors opened onto a magnificent glass pavilion.
Sunlight poured through the panes, pooling on the floor, and along the glass walls stood display cases filled with old and broken things that were illuminated like treasures. But the real treasure was the group of familiar people waiting for them, holding balloons.
The mothers and sisters were there, Sullha and Tomek, along with the two scientists and their partners. Behind them, a banner had been attached to the glass wall, with words painted across it in the island language.
WELCOME TO THE VILLAGE.
The collective absorbed the sight, and eight hearts swelled with the kind of emotion they were rediscovering.
It had been beaten out of them at thirteen, and what little remained had been eliminated by drugs and the mind merge.
They had thought they'd lost it, had sought to feel it through Dimitri by inviting him to share their collective.
Then Yaaf's heart had been restarted by Sullha, and the rest of them had gradually learned that they were not as dead on the inside as they'd believed.
Sullha's smile was like a beacon, urging Yaaf to come closer. He crossed the room, took her hand in one of his while Tomek seized the other one, and the three of them stood joined in the middle of the gathering as the mothers and sons found each other around them.
They were absorbed into arms, their names spoken over and over, and Yaaf stood at the center of it holding Sullha's and Tomek's hands and drank it all in.
"Yaaf." Tomek tugged on his hand. "Do you want to see your house? It's really nice. Not nicer than mine and Mama's, but really nice."
"I'd love to," Yaaf said. "Are you going to lead us there?"
Tomek nodded, then looked at Sullha, probably unsure how to get from the pavilion to the houses.
"We will lead together." Sullha smiled at him.
They walked in a loose procession, with Sullha, Yaaf, and Tomek guiding the way.
Bowen fell in step with them. "You're lucky we had so many empty houses in one cluster, so we could put all of you near each other.
When stage three of the village was built, the council members and many of the Guardians moved there, vacating their old houses.
You have a whole street to yourselves." He gestured ahead, to where a path ran between rows of single-story homes, each low and clean-lined, almost the same as the next, yet each a little different, making it easy not to get confused.
"Not that it can be called a street, since there is no road. Perhaps calling it a lane is more appropriate."
Tomek let go of Yaaf's hand and ran ahead, then turned around and ran back.
"That one's yours." He pointed. "And that one's the others'.
And my house is that way, and I counted.
It's a hundred steps and then eighty-two more.
" He frowned up at Yaaf's legs, then at his own.
"But you have to divide it. Your legs are three times as big as mine.
" His frown deepened. "I don't know how to divide yet, so you will have to do it to find out how many steps your legs need. "
"About sixty, but I think you're overestimating the length of my strides."
Tomek glanced at his legs again, and given his expression, he didn't think his estimate had been wrong.
"Come." He took Yaaf's hand again. "I'll show you everything."
He marched them through the first house, which he'd declared was Yaaf's.
"This is the refrigerator." He opened the door to show Yaaf what was inside. "It's full of food that all the mothers cooked for you. When you are hungry, you just take one of those boxes and put it in that box." He pointed. "It's called a microwave, and it makes food warm."
"Good to know," Yaaf said. "Do you know how to use it?"
Tomek gave him a look that communicated how stupid he thought the question was.
"I can't reach it, and Nana says that I'm not allowed to climb on a chair. She says that the microwave is dangerous and that I'm not old enough to use it."
Then he showed them the first bedroom. "The big beds that were here were taken away, and the small beds were brought in." Tomek continued to the bathroom. "I hung the towels myself."
"You did a very good job," Yaaf said. "They are very straight."
Tomek grinned. "I had to go back and fix them. I wanted them to look nice."
In the background, Yaaf could hear the thoughts of the collective as they moved through the two houses.
The door to the house has a lock from the inside, Voset said.
The beds are narrow like in the cells, but there are windows everywhere, Tersan added.
Sullha looked up at him. "I hope you'll be okay with the sleeping arrangements. I mean splitting the eight of you between two houses."
The collective had been prepared for this, but now that it was a reality, it seemed more difficult than they had expected.
They didn't like any distance between them, but they would have to adapt.
We tried distance before, and it degraded our connection, Ravsoh said. But that was much farther apart. This is only thirty feet apart.
Thirty feet with a wall in it, Voset said.
Ingrid had suggested that they start with two houses and see how they handled that. If they could adjust to being separated with only two of them in each room, they could then try four houses so each of them would have a room.
If we can stand it, Camdor sent.
"We'll all stay in one house until it's time to go to sleep," Yaaf said out loud. "We stay together while we are awake. It's going to be fine."
He wasn't sure whether he was saying that to reassure them or himself.
Bardov stood by the living-room window, gazing at the lush greenery along the path, and Yaaf didn't need the link to read his thoughts.
A prettier cage is still a cage, Bardov sent into the collective.
We still can't walk out of here because the drugs that keep us sane are here, and no one else has them.
Our walls are built from chemicals, not blocks.
My mother is on the island we've left behind, helping a woman who wants to feed a child to a dead god.
I get a refrigerator filled with home-cooked meals prepared by other mothers.
Asira crossed the room and stood next to Bardov, looking out the window. "You don't look happy. Don't you like the house?"
"The house is fine," he said.
"So what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm hungry."
"That's an easy problem to fix." She took his hand and pulled him toward the kitchen. "Let's see what's in that fridge."
Camdor watched his sister lead Bardov away, and Yaaf felt his conflict.
He was glad his sister and Bardov were getting closer, but worried about his sister because Bardov was the most volatile of them.
There was also the issue of the rest of them bearing witness to everything, and if things heated up between the two, Camdor didn't want to be part of it.
We are going to have to get very good at blocking, Yaaf sent into the hive.
"So, what do we do now?" Armos asked.
He had wandered to the front window and was looking out at the quiet street.
"We have houses with beds, televisions, and refrigerators filled with food.
" He turned. "We're going to be given one lousy job of guarding Navuh that doesn't require more than one of us at a time.
What are we going to do with ourselves the rest of the time?
What do we even know to do other than killing? "
No one had an answer for him.
"Yaaf!" Tomek gripped his hand. "Come see my house. I want to show you my room and my toys." The boy hauled him toward the door, and Yaaf was grateful to the five-year-old dragging him out of a conversation about the purpose of his existence.
It took about five minutes to cover instead of two because Yaaf had to accommodate Tomek's shorter strides.
Compared to the empty houses, Sullha's home seemed much warmer and lived-in, with Tomek's drawings decorating the refrigerator door.
The boy's room was a wonderland.
"Play with me." Tomek plopped on the floor and pulled out a box filled with colorful plastic pieces.
"Maybe some other time. My friends are waiting for me at our house."
Tomek wasn't happy about that, but he stood up. "Then come see Mama and Nana's rooms."
"That's Mama's room." He opened one of the double doors and Yaaf's mouth went dry.
The bed in the room was big, bigger than the beds in the island's hotel. It took up half the room, and Yaaf forced his eyes away from it and looked at the couch and the armchair and the coffee table.
Sullha stood in the doorway, watching him take it all in, and neither of them said a word.
"You can watch television in here," Tomek said, oblivious, patting the couch in front of the bed.
"Mama has a television and a couch. I watch mine in Nana's room, but Mama lets me watch in here sometimes.
" He said the word television as if he were talking about magic, because to him it still was.
"You can come watch a movie with Mama. It's more fun to watch together than by yourself. "
Sullha's cheeks turned a deep red.
Yaaf looked at her over the top of her son's head, and Sullha looked back. The seven behind his eyes turned all at once and very deliberately faced the other way.
"I'd like that," Yaaf said. "I'd like that very much."