Chapter 34:

It became clear almost immediately that Sukren was going to have to wait until nighttime to work on Mayah’s journal. He debated for a moment whether or not he should reveal who he really was to Helt. Maybe he would excuse Sukren from his kitchen duties to let him write? No, not likely. If Lady Nari hadn’t seen fit to inform Helt in advance of Sukren’s true status, he doubted he was supposed to.

So Sukren had to make time on his own to write the journal. Fine, he could work at night, he could force himself out of bed and leave the barracks and find a capacitor lamp burning at the end of some hallway somewhere. He only had nine diurnals anyway; he could catch up on sleep later. Later, later, he told himself again, after shuffling back to the barracks at the end of the day. You can catch up on sleep later. You’ve got four hours tonight. Four.

Finally Sukren was in bed. He didn’t bother willing his tight muscles to relax. The more tense he was, the more likely he’d wake up in the middle of the night. It was the only reliable way he knew to make sure he didn’t oversleep.

Sure enough, Sukren soon woke up to a quiet darkness. He felt awful. Stiff, sore, exhausted, and dry-mouthed. Even reaching for the black servie jacket he’d hung on the rungs by his feet was a chore. Come on, come on, get up, get up, you have to. Somehow he managed to fumble his way out of his bed with the blank journal in hand. Trying to keep quiet, he crept around the corner of his bunk – and almost ran smack dab into Aan.

“What are you doing awake?” he whispered.

Aan looked terrified. “Please don’t tell Helt.”

“Tell him what?”

She didn’t want to say more, that was clear enough. Or maybe she was gaping and looking around Sukren’s side because someone was watching them? Sukren took the bet and turned around, keeping the notebook hidden behind him. Sure enough, there was Helt, getting out of his bunk. “What are you doing awake?”

“I needed to use the latrines,” Sukren lied at once. He stood as tall as he could, hoping to shield Aan from view. Whatever her reasons were for sneaking around at night, she’d get in serious trouble if she were caught. But Sukren wouldn’t. He wasn’t a real servie. This wasn’t his real life. He could afford to lose it.

Helt’s mouth fell open. He actually seemed stunned. “Who do you think you are?” he finally spat out. “You can’t go in and out of the barracks for any reason.”

Holy Sarana, this man was ridiculous. “Is that what it says in your tract?” Sukren asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice. “The one we’re not allowed to read?”

Some of the other servies in the nearby bunks were stirring. Helt’s eyes were narrowed, his lips drawn. He kept his voice down. “You don’t know your place,” he hissed. “You’re going to learn it. Now get.”

Sukren glanced over his shoulder. Aan was gone. Good, he’d distracted Helt for long enough. He contemplated momentarily defying Helt and walking out of the barracks anyway, but he didn’t want to make tomorrow any more hellish than he had to. He could start the notebook the next night. Next night was daysleep, anyway, so he wouldn’t even have to find a capacitor lamp, he could just go outside and sit on the serf staircase and write in the sunlight. Yeah, that was a better plan. Sukren was still exhausted, anyway, better to sleep now and write later.

Sukren gave a salute. That seemed to relax Helt, a little bit anyway. He didn’t say anything, just watched as Sukren got back into his bunk. Sukren waited for Helt to leave then rolled onto his side and looked at the empty bunk next to him. He wondered where Aan had gone. She’d seemed pretty desperate. But what could possibly be important enough for Aan to sacrifice sleep for?

The blank notebook was still in Sukren’s hand. He clutched its spine. Just think of it like you’re writing a message to Mayah, a good message, one that she needs to read, one that will help her. Think of it that way. Sure, she might think, falsely, that you’d been writing this for her all along, but that’s not the point right? The point is – the point is –

Sukren didn’t want to think anymore. He closed his eyes. When he opened them next, daylight was streaming through the vents along the other side of the barracks. When Sukren stood, a shaft of light, shaped long and narrow by a vent, hit him in the face. It felt good. It felt like the light that would pool onto the mud-soaked meres of Rice Post #2. Sukren took in a deep breath. Village life had been hard, too. But better. He’d worked alongside the other adults but not in secret, and Mayah, Mayah had been by his side every day, oh Sarana, the way she’d clung to his finger while frowning in furious concentration with each baby step, the way her face had lit up with delight whenever she woke up and saw Sukren was there –

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Let’s get going!” he heard Helt shout, and for once Sukren was glad to hear the squad leader’s rough voice. He didn’t even mind when Helt yanked him to the side and told him he would be on chopping duty. If that were all Helt intended to do to him, well, Sukren would be grateful.

Granted, when Sukren found himself facing mounds of roots and leaves that needed to be diced into even smaller roots and leaves, and then diced again even smaller… he sighed and got to work. It wasn’t so much the labor itself but the boredom that came with it. That was why the village had been better. Sukren had been able to enjoy the social stimulation that came from interacting with the other villagers during those tasks that didn’t require him to use his mind. Here in the kitchens, it was just him and the counter in front of him. There were two servies on either side of him, also chopping, but they were too far away to talk to.

At least his bruises seemed to be fading, and his black eye healing. Aan slipped him a salve on the way back to the barracks; Sukren put it inside his jacket pocket with Mayah’s journal. He waited until he was in bed to pull it out. It was a crushpack salve, the kind you squeezed to catalyze the chemicals inside. He wondered how she had gotten hold of it. Crushpacks were limited to higher caste use, so Aan had to have gotten it from a doctor-priest.

Maybe Sukren would find out tonight.

It was harder to fall asleep and stay asleep during daysleep unless you had blackout curtains, which servie barracks did not. Sukren woke up after a restless few hours. He got up at once, soundlessly, and crept to the barracks door. Someone was shutting it from the outside. Sukren stuck out his hand so that it would catch the door before it closed. The pressure on his fingers tightened, and then eased. The sound of fleeing footsteps reached his ears. At once Sukren shouldered his way out of the barracks into the bare-wood hallway. “It’s me,” he called, softly. “It’s Sukren.”

Aan stopped running and turned around. She didn’t seem happy to see him. Sukren was a little surprised. She’d given him the crushpack salve, she’d been friendly to him, why was she looking stony-eyed at him now?

“Fine,” she said evenly. “Make it quick.”

“Make what quick?”

She continued to give him a cold stare. “You want it, come take it. Just make it quick.”

It occurred to Sukren that Aan was talking about sex. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t make sense of her intimations any other way. “I don’t want a lay,” he replied. He held out Mayah’s journal, the pages still blank. “I need to… I need to write something. That’s why I was up last night.”

“Write something?”

A little too late, Sukren realized that no normal servie would be walking around talking about writing. Only squad leaders and magistrates had any need to write, and they used printing presses. Sarana, he wasn’t doing a very good job of keeping his cover. But he couldn’t help it! Maybe if he didn’t feel so exhausted, he wouldn’t’ve slipped up. Chopping duty had been tougher on his body than Sukren realized it would be.

Too tired to come up with an explanation, Sukren vaguely waved the journal in the air. He was relieved when a small smile touched Aan’s lips. “I can show you someplace private,” she said.

“With light?”

She nodded.

Sukren tucked the journal back into his jacket. He followed Aan down the hallway to the lift. Nobody else was there. He waited in silence, letting Aan press the button, letting her crank the gates shut, letting her lead the way through a long empty gallery with windows along one wall and panels breaking up the other. Chain-linked hanging chairs and gold-trimmed lamps decorated the space. It felt like some sort of lounge to Sukren, especially with the full mirror at the end.

It stopped feeling like a lounge when Aan tugged the mirror open like a door. “In here,” she whispered.

Was Sukren dreaming? He stepped in through the mirror, blinking to adjust his eyes to the darkness. There was a shadowed figure, bent over, gesturing Aan deeper in. The light coming through the windows behind Sukren gave the place an ill-defined shape. Maybe it was a secret pantry hidden between two walls, with goods lying on the floor?

No.

Sukren’s mouth fell open. Those weren’t goods, those were babies. Squirming, and snoring, and sucking their fingers, and a few of the older ones lifting their heads at the light shining through the gap left open by the mirror-door, then putting their heads back down when a voice from the shadowed figure cracked out over them. Sukren was so surprised he almost didn’t notice that Aan was back next to him, a worn smile on her face, and a sleepy-eyed baby boy, just on the edge of toddlerhood, in her arms.

“We have to go out there to visit,” she whispered. She pointed to the gallery behind Sukren without letting go of her hold on the boy. Sukren stumbled backwards. He had some vague sense that as a servie he shouldn’t be sitting in one of the flower-printed hanging chairs, but Aan didn’t hesitate. Before Sukren could blink she was swinging back and forth, baby boy in arms, her hand up to shield his eyes from the sun. Sukren watched as the child nestled his face into the crook of her neck, slowly relaxing with the sway of the hanging chair. Mayah had been like that with him, once. Mayah had – oh Sarana – he missed her so much, already –

The journal was stiff against his side. Sukren didn’t open it. He lay back on one of the hanging chairs and closed his eyes. He had to have slept because the next thing he felt was Aan shaking him awake. “We have to get back,” she whispered.

Sukren forced himself to his feet. He stopped himself mid-yawn. Her baby was gone. The mirror was closed.