He gives me a significant look, and my stomach falls. “What do you mean, ‘side effect’?” My voice is hollow, like it’s coming from far away.
“Before we left for Alaska, we—I and your parents—noticed during our experiments that Amrit widens the brain’s sensory receptors. I had already been developing my theory of the existence of the Yara and its relationship with Gaia. After taking the Amrit, we found that we were able to actually tap into the Yara and Read, and in the case of your mother and I, Conjure. We discovered that only because it’s something we already believed in and practiced—in a way—in our everyday life. It just seemed to make sense. There might be other uses of the widened sensory receptors, or even other side effects, that we don’t even know about.”
I just stare at Whit, jaw dropped. “Our gifts are a side effect of the elixir,” I say. He nods.
More lies. I can’t believe it. But then again, what hasn’t been a lie up to this point?
Whit tries to pacify me. “I’m not saying the Yara doesn’t exist, Juneau. You know how everyone in the clan believes their own version of the Gaia story. Some have practically turned it into a religion, others, like myself and your father—”
“Don’t you ever compare yourself to him.”
Whit holds up a hand and nods. “Okay. But just hear me out. The Gaia and the Yara are constructs: devices that help explain something difficult to understand. The ideas of Gaia and the Yara embody concepts that most people don’t know about—or perhaps call by another name.
“It’s like describing the Yara to the children using circles. That’s putting a complicated idea into symbols they can understand. And even for adults, attaching the name Gaia to the complicated concept of the superorganism makes the whole thing more digestible. As does using the concept of being one with the Yara to explain the clan’s extrasensory perceptions.
“If what you’re asking is ‘Does one’s closeness to the Yara and to Gaia really affect how well we Read?’ my answer is no. However, the power of persuasion is great, and the more one believes in their skills, the more control they have over them. Thus, the value in teaching the clan that a closeness to the Yara and to Gaia strengthens their ability to Read.”
“Why couldn’t you just tell everyone the truth, and leave it up to them to draw their own conclusions?”
“It’s not like I wasn’t telling them the truth. It’s more like I was telling the truth through metaphors. Through story,” Whit says.
“My dad knew this the whole time?” Heat flares across the surface of my skin as the weight of the betrayal sinks in. I push the bowl of pasta away. I can’t eat any more.
Whit eyes me sadly. “Yes, as did some of the elders. But after a while, it worked so well that they decided to embrace it. As Marx said, religion is the opiate of the people. Life is easier if they believe in an almost physical goddess and spiritual system.”
“Well, if our powers can just be put down to a chemical reaction, then why is it that you and Mom and I can Conjure? We all took the same elixir, didn’t we?”
“Your mother and I were the first to take the elixir, at your mother’s insistence. Your father gave it to us from the same batch. He watched over our bodies while we death-slept. And once we survived and tested immune to disease, your mother let your father take the elixir. In between time she adjusted the formula’s measurements to see if the painful side effects could be avoided. Less blood was used. And your father had an easier time with his death-sleep than we did. So that’s the formula we stuck with. You, of course, received the side effects of your mother’s consumption of Amrit, which I guess we could call the ‘powerful batch.’”
I shake my head. “I had always thought it was something innate in us—a sign that we were made to be leaders.”
Whit bites his lip. “I’m sorry to tell you, Juneau, that it all comes down to science. There is nothing else.”
I squeeze my temples with one hand and try to calm the raging storm inside me. “That’s enough,” I say.
“What’s enough?” Whit asks.
And something moves inside me . . . wells up from the deepest part of me and comes crashing to the surface. “That’s enough!” I yell. “That’s enough! Get away from me, you lying bastard. I don’t believe anything you say anymore. You’ve fed me lies since I was a baby. My whole life has been a farce. Just get away from me and stay away from me!” I’m screaming now, and Whit’s guard approaches, his weapon raised. O’Donnell rushes in from the front hallway.
“What’s going on?” he yells, and points his gun at me.
Whit backs up with his hands in the air. “Everything is okay,” he says to the guards.
“No, it’s not,” I say, looking from Whit to the guards and back. “It’ll never be okay—we will never be okay—again.”
42
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