The Fireseed plants! The crop. The Greening!
When I stand up my head pounds. The Oblivion Powder, ack, I took way too much last night. Fighting off a wave of dizziness I reach in my cloak for my flask and take a gulp of restorative water. There are only a few dribbles left. I remember the pitcher of water we had at dinner, and make a mental note to replenish my own flask the first chance I get. Who knows how long I’ll be able to stay here, or even if I dare, among these horrid people? At least I’m protected from the elements.
As best I can, I freshen up in the tiny bathroom. It’s cluttered with the towels and discarded clothes of the other girls. Their chatter filters upstairs, so they must be already down for the morning meal. My eyes move back to a shirt made with that sheer, iguana fabric, worn, but still shiny, with curious octagonal patterns, like cells. Gathering a section of a sleeve in my fingers, I rub it to determine more closely what it’s made of. No clue, but it changes color with every glint of light. Uneven footsteps in the hall startle me, so I quickly drop the shirt back on its hook.
It’s Armonk. His cheeks are so swelled and darkened from yesterday’s punches I hardly recognize him, and he’s limping badly. My first thought is that Blane and company landed extra punishment after lights went out. I have no time to ask him because Jan blazes past us.
“Class started,” he warns. “Peg Leg and Cult Girl, you’re late.”
I’m not in a mood to protest the stupid names right now. What class and where? I don’t even bother to ask. It’ll only give Jan another chance to put us down.
It turns out that a real teacher has flown in from somewhere to give us lessons in math and astronomy. She’s older than Nevada, with gray hair but the same leaf tattoos on her cheeks that Nevada has. Her name is Irina. I have no clue as to what calculus is, but I understand astronomy—the sky, the stars, the swirling purples and blood oranges of the heavens. Except that Irina insists there’s no Fireseed God up there. Not even one lousy Fireseed star. Really? We learned that Fireseed exists in our hearts, but also up on its own star, a reddish, five-pointed one like the blossom. Irina’s fairly convincing with all of her charts and calculations, but wrong. Our teachers at home couldn’t have been that off the mark, I’m sure.
After Irina’s class, Nevada teaches us history. She talks about the Border Wars at the middle of the 21st century, and how the northerners built a robotic wall to keep us desert folk from crowding out their great, advanced cities—northern cities like Restavik in Land Dominion and Vostok Station in Ocean Dominion. I’ve heard of these. Land Dominion is where we get our food shipments. But how advanced could they be? The elders taught us that the fiends in these cities would think nothing of killing us. Eating us even. But this class has got me wondering, why would a dominion that ships us food be out to kill us? My head reels with confusion.
Nevada pauses at the mention of Vostok, as if it hurts her heart, and she and Armonk exchange knowing glances. What all did they discuss behind the locked doors of her study? I make a note to ask Armonk as soon as the time is right.
Why didn’t my own teachers ever speak more of science, of the politics behind the Border Wars? I search Nevada’s face for lies, and study how her blond brow raises when she makes a point; the way her voice takes on speed when she’s dropping a gem of obsidian at our feet. She seems too genuinely impassioned to be spinning lies. Or is this whole Greening Institute a place of lies? Myths? The images of Bea’s mythical beast drawings flit into mind. I wish I could simply turn to Thorn to get his reaction. He would sense the truth. But he’s too young for these classes, and has been set up in the parlor with some ancient jigsaw puzzles. I won’t be able to ask him later about this either, because he’s the kind of sensitive who has to feel it in the moment.
At lunch, in the dining room, Nevada serves a spicy-sour juice of some kind, and steamed Fireagar. I’ve already eaten two big meals and it’s not even dinner. Back home, we ate only once a day. My belly feels like an overblown balloon.
Again, I sit with Armonk on one side, Thorn on my other. Blane, Jan and Radius keep to themselves and I hear more than one giggle and mention of Cult Girl and Peg Leg. Bea and Vesper join them, followed by more loud whispers. Armonk sends them occasional scowls and I worry that he’ll incite another brawl. If this happens, his swelled up face will break wide open.