“As an act,” I said grandly, “of defiance. And hope.”
“Defiance and hope. Check.” Elián let loose one corner of his Spartacus smile. “Y’all will have to tell me if I’m doing it right.”
I have never been more proud to be a Child of Peace. By the time we made it to the toppled pumpkin trellises, all the Children were outside, and working in the gardens.
The soldiers bunched up here and there, watching and bewildered. How useless are guns against those who are fearless. How foolish, to set force against innocence. Their own strength made them small.
And to their smallness, we sang.
The Children of Peace do not as a rule sing. But the Cumberlanders couldn’t, wouldn’t know that. And it baffled them. So we did it.
Thandi—of all people—started it. I did not know if the words were nonsense or Xhosa, but her voice surprised me with its grace. The rhythms were easy and rolling, and the music spilled down over the terraces. Soon everyone was singing. That morning there were songs from every corner of the world. Da-Xia and Elián and I were soon joined by the rest of the cohort in picking through the debris of the pumpkin trellis.
We sorted through the pumpkins, and all the while we sang. Even Elián sang for us: “Jack of diamonds, jack of diamonds, I know you of old. . . .” (It was a song about poor impulse control. Naturally.) Then some small one tried to interest the terraces in “Rockabye Baby,” and my friends slipped toward silence.
Rockabye baby, your cradle is green
Father’s a king, and mother’s a queen
When apples are ripe and ready to fall
Down will come baby, apples and all
I was mesmerized by the old song, so much so that I jumped when Elián spoke suddenly, and too loud. “Will Talis really— What will the UN do?”
He looked at me. In his hearing I had wished for the destruction of the entire nation of Cumberland. No, more than wished. I had invoked it, called it down like a sibyl calling down the wave that swamped Atlantis. From the map, I had said. In that moment I had wanted it, passionately. The death of millions.
“Talis will most likely negotiate,” said Grego cautiously.
“No,” said Da-Xia. “Forgive me, Gregori, Elián, but—no. We remember him, in the Himalayas, as you do not remember him here. Talis might do many things. But he will certainly not negotiate.”
“Oh,” said Elián.
It was different, considering the destruction of Cumberland, when you had to look a Cumberlander—even one—in the eye.
And so we all waited for the various things we feared.
The downside of sorting pumpkins in a manner suggesting defiance and hope was that it gave us a view of the toolshed. It was cruel to watch. There were a half dozen soldiers around it, stringing cabling, setting up cameras on tripods, a scan-and-scramble antenna (thank you, Grego). White umbrellas that bloomed on the lawn like man-high morning glories. From within the shed came banging, cursing—the ancient apple press in silent resistance.
And all the time Tolliver Burr moved here and there. Checked this and that.
I tried not to watch him, but I watched.
The prickling swarm of the pumpkin vines scratched my hands and wrists.
Finally Xie stepped between me and the scene, and caught both my hands. She raised them until we were forearm to forearm, like warriors. “There is no need for us to be here.”
“I want to—”
“To garden, to harvest, to carry on. But we wouldn’t need to do this particular thing. There is no need for you to torture yourself.”
I laughed, then choked on the laugh. “It does seem redundant.”
Xie lifted our joined hands, and pressed them on each side of my cheeks, smiling. I leaned my forehead down against hers. Oh, Xie . . . In a dream I had seen her crowned. But she could not be more glorious crowned than she was now.
“You wouldn’t have to show defiance and hope just exactly here,” said Elián. “Trust me, I’m a farmer. There’s quackweed everywhere.”
“May all the gods bless quackweed,” said Xie. She released my hands, and tucked an arm around my waist. “Come, Your Royal Highness. Let’s go weed the garlic.”
I looked toward the toolshed, where the soon-to-be-torturers were taking down the apple press. It was also where we kept the hoes.
“What are they doing in there?” said Han.
“I’ll go,” said Thandi. Her hair, loose, stood out like a halo, full of light. She went with a walk that made the soldiers step back from her, vanished into the shed for a tight moment, then came back with three hoes over her shoulder. “All that’s left,” she said. After all, the entire school was out gardening.