She claps her hands in delight when she sees the emotion vials.
“Tvak’ra! And guree! Oh, I’m going to eat well tonight.”
“You look good,” I say. “Sorry. I should’ve said that first.”
“The crowd doesn’t seem to think so,” She sighs, picking up a vial. They’re murmuring, staring at her intently. I glare at a few, and they cower and scuttle away.
“They’ll get used to it,” I assure her. She turns to me and smiles, her voice shaking.
“The humans will definitely get used to it. You’re charming like that. But the Gutters? You have to understand, Vic, Gutter culture doesn’t understand deformities. Our medical technology can erase them all, and always has. They’ll never understand why someone would choose to remain like this.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I echo her words back at her. “But there’s something very wrong with them.”
She looks up, blue eyes watering. She looks back down at the vial in her shaking hands, and it happens in a blur. She hugs me, tight and around the neck.
“Thank you,” She murmurs. Over her shoulder I see Shadus coming out of the bathroom, now in a blood-red robe that matches his eyes, the sleeves long like Raine’s and the Rahm embroidery black instead of Taj’s white. He catches my eye, looks at Raine hugging me, and nods. It’s grim, and dour, but it carries weight.
‘The first human and Gutter to be friends openly won’t be well-received,’ his voice echoes in my head.
‘Just b-because there’ll be trouble doesn’t mean it isn’t worth it,’ Dakota’s voice echoes too.
I hug Raine back.
The crowd slowly goes back to their own conversations. The glances and wary looks still come Raine’s way, but it isn’t so isolated and obvious. The lights of the lobby dim suddenly, and a Gutter teacher acting as the usher announces the Owakess is about to begin. People start moving to the theater. Raine smiles, wiping at her eyes.
“Let’s go. The last thing you want is a bad seat.”
We meet up with Ulsi and Dakota, and I introduce them to Raine. We pick seats in the middle-left, squirming excitedly as the theater fills up. Taj slides in to sit by Ulsi. Shadus spots us and sits to the right of Raine. And for a second, we’re all together, united and just okay with each other.
And then the lights go down, and a hush blankets the crowd. The purple velvet curtain lifts, and Raine gasps.
“A square stage? Not round?”
“It’s traditional in human theater,” Shadus clarifies.
“Shhh!” Dakota hisses, and they instantly shut up. When the actors slowly file out from the sides, my mouth nearly drops open. Every single one of them is dressed in a beautiful, skintight suit, colored with mottled greens, purples, and blues. The hues are iridescent and luminous, like a butterfly’s wing, and shimmer under the theater lights. Some are darker, some lighter, some purples look almost black and others are so pale they seem white. Their faces are made up with make up to blend into the suit, their hair covered and replaced by rigid fabric spikes that line down their spine. The suits must be implanted with lights, because they glow from the inside in faint pulses.
Taj seems particularly shook up at the sight, his eyes a little moist.
“It’s a pale mockery,” Raine whispers to me, “And it lacks so many things, but those are our skins. Our old bodies. Some actors have color contacts in to represent key players of the Grand War who were sotho.”
I spot red eyes, gold, blue, and other colors I haven’t seen on sotho before – bright orange, white, pale pink, and a deep forest green. Other factions, probably. But their skin is so beautiful, I only pay seconds of attention to the eye colors. The actors line up, bowing to the crowd. The Gutter crowd stands and bows, and us humans scrabble to bow quickly with them.
“Um’saa tir rosak!” The actors shout in unison.
“Um’saa ellu morata!” The crowd shouts back, and sits. And the dance begins.
Child Gutters play the roles of child Asara and Umala, one of them dressed in pure white, the other in pure black. They leap and bound across the stage with such grace it’s hard to believe they’re kids. It looks like they’ve been dancing all their lives. Unlike human dance, Gutter dance is a constant movement, and it looks more like a martial art than anything. Asara and Umala kick and jab around each other, never touching. It’s almost patra, but much slower so as not to give humans any clue they have superior reflexes, and more ceremonial – after every few ‘mock’ fights, the actors bow to one another, and go back to leaping across the stage. Sometimes they stop and shout in Rahm at each other, an entire conversation taking place that we can’t understand. Raine tries to translate, but they speak too fast, and I hush her so she can pay attention to the dance. She’s obviously enraptured – her face glowing. She’s not the only one; even Shadus looks happy, his mouth curved in a smile. Every Gutter is paying close attention. Sometimes, the actors will turn to the crowd and shout a question in Rahm, and the crowd will shout many answers back, like they’re telling the actors what to do. There’s no music, but several musicians stand in the center, chanting in so many tones it almost sounds like singing. Sometimes they’re loud, other times they’re so quiet you can barely hear them. Their voices emulate the wind – hissing and wailing – or they screech in symphony to emulate the dying cry of a lemak.
The dance tells the story of Asara and Umala’s childhood – as twin sisters living in a remote village in the desert. Asara and Umala have fun together, and are very close. They discover their zol power one day when they’re out hunting with their fathers. An actor dressed up as a lemak - a massive hairy beast, like a Chinese dancing lion but with a flat face, more horns, and rust-colored fur - glows green and keels over dead.
I didn’t notice it before because of the beautiful, distracting skin, but the background of the play is a black canvas. Actors in likewise black suits, who almost blend in, use what look like bo staves with long hairs on each end to paint a picture on the canvas. Their movements look like martial arts, too, but they only move, and therefore paint, when the actors say a line in Rahm, or dance out an important scene. Then the bo staves are like pinwheels, fast and nigh-invisible, save for the broad streaks of color they leave behind – red, green, pink, yellow.
The child actors for Umala and Asara are replaced with adult versions, and they dance the meeting of Umala, Asara, and a Gutter called Ferek, whom Umala and Asara both instantly fall in love with. Ferek courts them both. When Asara giggles or Umala sighs in a lovestruck way, the black canvas in the back blossoms with rosy pinks and bright, happy oranges that meld like a sunset. But then Umala and Asara start to fight over Ferek’s affection, and the canvas is switched out, replaced with a fresh one that is quickly doused in bloody reds and deep, ominous blues. The musician’s chants turn harsh and biting, like the barks of a dog across broken glass. Ferek chooses Asara, and Umala is heartbroken, the canvas all dark, royal purples and tortured, confused neon yellows.
When Asara and Umala part - Umala leaving for the mountains and Asara staying - the canvas is spotted in gentle arcs of sorrowful lavender and light, tearful grays. The musicians wail, their voices soft, as if they’re begging someone to come back. But Umala’s fury and resentment can’t be stopped. She leaves and comes back, striking down Gutters with nothing more than a wave of her hand.
“Hey,” Dakota pulls at my sleeve. “W-Where did Raine and Taj go?”
I look around – Shadus is gone from his seat, too. Ulsi leans over to us and murmurs.
“They are taking their places for the final battle.”
“They’re p-part of this?” Dakota asks.
“Watch,” Ulsi says simply.
The dancers playing Asara and Umala dart offstage, the other dancers covering their exit by doing an elaborate battle-dance. Red and brown paint splashes on the canvas, with broad, angry strokes. The chanters sing aggressive, rapid tones. And then all at once, it goes quiet, the paint stops and the Gutters fall to
the ground. Standing on the right side of the stage is Taj, on the left side is Shadus, and in the center is Raine.
“E’n mirias tokk Umala berei, oual!” Taj shouts. The crowd shouts back, but this time they all respond the same way, in one thunderous roar;
“Av Umala il’fai!”
It’s a simple sentence. Even I can understand it. Umala must die.
Raine walks over to Shadus, and they bow to each other. Suddenly, Shadus lashes out, Raine ducking his blows as the two of them move backwards across the stage. Shadus leaps, lunges, and Raine bobs and weaves, leading him ever closer to Taj. When they’re close enough to touch, Raine leaps away, and Taj strikes out at Shadus, holding his open hand like a blade just above Shadus’ neck. One long, bold white streak is slathered on the canvas, and the musicians, who had been hissing ever louder, go quiet.
The crowd is silent, and then it goes wild, cheering and jubilant shouting rising into the ceiling. Taj, Raine, and Shadus bow to the crowd, the dancers and musicians and painters coming out and bowing with them. The humans clap, not really knowing what else to do. The cheering is so loud the applause is lost. The quiet, well-mannered Gutters are erupting, and it’s both unsettling and nice to see. They’re finally smiling. They’re finally getting to show their true emotions, instead of being forced to wear the polite mask all the time. This is their culture, I think as I watch Shadus and the others bow. This is who they are, and how they exist.
This is their world, too.
After Owakess is over, people filter back to their dorms. The December air is crisp, and bites at exposed hands and faces. Raine stops to talk to Yulan, and waves me off, saying she’ll see me back at the dorm. Dakota skips ahead of me, Ulsi calling after her to slow down. Taj took off right after dance was over. Only Shadus walks with us. Me. He hangs back, behind Ulsi and Dakota, and keeps pace with me. I shiver a little, and before I can stop him he sheds the red silk robe and offers it to me.
“You’re cold. Use this.”
“I’m fine, Creeps.”
“Is it customary for humans to call their friends by very inaccurate nicknames?”
“Inaccurate?” I sputter.
“If you call me Creeps, perhaps I should call you Homely?”
I glare. “That means ugly.”
“Exactly. It’s very inaccurate.”
Suddenly the night air doesn’t feel so cold. My face gives off waves of heat around my scarf.
“L-Lots of people would disagree with you on that one,” I stutter like Dakota. Shadus quirks a brow.
“Then those people would be wrong. Or blind. I’d forgive them for their transgressions if they were blind.”
I let out a half-frustrated, half-overwhelmedly embarrassed breath. “I don’t understand! You and Taj and Raine all seem to think…I’m somehow prettier than I really am. No one’s ever called me pretty in my life. It’s like you’re trying to butter me up!”
“You mistake me. I’m not trying to flatter you. I’m stating the truth.”
“Riiiight.”
“Many of the Gutters agree as well,” He presses. “You have a face that pleases us.”
“Why? Because it looks like a snake-lizard-thing’s?” I scoff.
“Because it is strong. You have strong, clear, noble features. We admire strength.” He reaches over and puts the red robe around my shoulders. It smells like him, faintly.
“So I look strong, like a big burly wrestler?”
His face crinkles as he chuckles. “No. You are far too delicate and slender to be a wrestler.”
I hate and love being called delicate all at once – the effect spreading like a sweet, cold fire in my chest.
“I’m sorry. I’ll cease,” Shadus says. “This is obviously making you uncomfortable.”
“It’s just…weird. This is the first time anyone’s complimented me like this.”
“Then we’ll have to make sure it won’t be the last.”
We pause on the steps of the girl’s dorm. I give him back the robe, and the tension in the air suddenly thickens unbearably. The night’s so cold I can feel the faint heat his body gives off even from here. He shuffles, a gesture that’s almost nervous and definitely wasn’t in his broody alien prince repertoire at the beginning of the year. In the dim light shining from the girl’s dorm, his face cast in half-shadow, I realize just how handsome he is.
And then somehow, I’m leaning in. Suddenly I’m so much closer than I was to him, my body moving without my direction. Our shoulders touch, my chest glancing his. My EVE organ feels weightless, light and bouncy beneath my ribs. Shadus’ eyes widen as my face nears, and then, just when I think he’s going to back off or call me a disgusting human, he reaches his hand up to barely graze my cheek.
And it is the end of me.
The explosion sounds like thunder, slicing between us and the serene winter night. Gravel goes flying, metal parts whizzing past us. Something hot slices against my knee and I collapse, Shadus collapsing with me and covering me with his arms. It’s over in a second, a cloud of smoke engulfing us as we look up at the burnt shell of the parked car that was there moments ago. It’s blackened, hollowed out with only the seats and steering wheel remaining. Molten metal and bits of dashboard fall to the ground like heavy rain. Girls on the dorm steps scream, faculty and security and police and CIA all come running, but Shadus and I are locked with our gazes on each others’.
“It was you, Victoria,” Shadus says solemnly. Panic rises in my throat like bile.
“What?”
Ruby eyes burn into mine.
“I smelled it, much more clearly this time. Without a doubt, the zol came from you.”
***
The second explosion ruins what high spirits Owakess managed to cultivate. The protestors are practically rabid now, the media won’t stop talking about terrorists supposedly bombing us, and security has tripled. The CIA forces double, men and women in dark jumpsuits and jackets patrolling the halls and pulling faculty aside for extensive discussions, even in the middle of class. The police start parking their cars on the lawn, pushing their way into bathrooms, and bossing the hell out of anyone who looks at them funny. Bomb dogs are brought in by the dozens. Parents – both Gutter and human – pull their kids out of Green Hills left and right. Classes empty out to half their full capacity. Even the lunch ladies resign, and are quickly replaced. Principal Freeson answers calls and fields questions from police, CIA, and teachers so often he doesn’t even have time to leave his office or go home during the night – working full and multiple days in a row.
It’s very carefully held-together chaos, but it’s still pretty much chaos.
People start whispering the school will close, and in a lot of ways, it definitely feels like it will. It feels like the brittle threads holding the chaos together will shatter at the slightest touch, and we’re all standing on needles, waiting for that touch.
The security ushered Shadus and I away to separate rooms for questioning after the explosion, and after we were checked for wounds. I don’t know what Shadus told them, but I told them the truth – that a car had exploded nearby. No, I didn’t see anyone or anything suspicious. They didn’t even ask me about zol, which I was grateful for. They’re humans. Of course they wouldn’t ask me about it.
Just the word makes my stomach dance. Zol. Shadus said he smelled it coming from me. But that would mean I blew up the car. And I blew up the oven in the cafeteria.
But that’s utter bullshit. There’s no way in hell I did that. I can’t. I’m not a Gutter. And I’m sure as hell not Umala or Asara. It had to be another Gutter somewhere nearby.
Raine has been mysteriously absent from the dorm room. I caught her one night, smuggling her toothbrush and a pillow out. Taj says he’s seen her going in and out of Yulan’s office, so she’s probably sleeping there. I don’t know what she’s up to, but it’s bizarre she hasn’t approached me yet.
Taj, on the other hand, sticks to me like a fly on a carcass. It makes lunche
s with Ulsi and Dakota a little awkward. But I don’t have the heart to turn him away – he’s got dark circles under his eyes, and he always starts nodding off during breaks, catching a few moments of sleep wherever he can. Like any student, he isn’t allowed after curfew, but I’m a hundred percent positive he’s sneaking out and patrolling in his own way.
I poke at his arm during breakfast. He sleepily lifts his head from the table, curly hair mussed and gold eyes hooded.
“What?”
“It’s against the rules,” I whisper. “To be out after curfew.”
His eyes darken. “I’m not out after curfew.”
I give him the ‘let’s-not-kid-ourselves-here’ look. He sighs.
“It’s against the rules, but the greater justice demands I participate. I went to the CIA and police heads and asked to join the night patrols, but they refused me! They said I wasn’t capable of it.”
“So you’re going to drive yourself into an early grave to prove them wrong?”
‘To help,” He murmurs, eyes drooping. “To help keep justice. That is…that is…” He yawns hugely and his head falls back on his arms. “…the Adjudicator duty.”
I feel a smile tug at my lips. With all the added security, it must be five times as hard to sneak out and back in now, even for a Gutter. But he does it anyway. I don’t know if his dedication is insane, genetic, or admirable. Probably a little bit of all of that.
Taj’s presence helps keep away the memory of that night – Shadus’ silky fingertips glancing over my jaw, down to my neck. I’d been paralyzed by that touch in the strangest way; my every nerve on fire and frozen all at once. But I wasn’t scared. I’d been…excited.
I flush and shake Taj awake. He follows me as I drop my oatmeal bowl off and start towards class. Being excited about a guy is nonsense. Being excited about an alien is anathema to everything Mom believed in.
I can’t betray her memory any more than I already have, because her memory is all I have left.