The teacher’s head whipped around to face the golden male, her eyes blinking rapidly. “There is no reference to which was the first. Just that one was created and Staviti realised that he could bring a family of gods to life, and so he did.”
Aros didn’t say anything; he just gave her a look which suggested that she was probably too stupid to be a teacher. Her cheeks tinged a dark pink and she was swallowing hard as she spoke again. “The names on the page before you are the gods that he deigned to create. The Original Gods. The ten companions. It took considerable power to create beings, and when Staviti felt his own power wane, he knew he could make no more. So, from then on, gods only came to Topia through the death of a strong, gifted sol. Only those who were worthy upon death would be chosen. What else can you tell me about the gods?”
It sounded like a subtle dig at the boys, but none of them even bothered raising their hands. Instead, the other sols started offering suggestions.
“There are thought to be about three hundred gods!” one shouted out.
“Wrong,” Yael interrupted. “There are ten Originals, nine Betas to the Originals, and about a hundred and eighty others who form minor deities. The chosen sols.”
The silence seemed loud all of a sudden. Sing-Song stepped up again, trying to regain control of her classroom. “The numbers do vary, but the one thing to remember is that the numbers are small. Which means that the chances of becoming a god are slim. This is why we push you so hard and expect so much from you.”
The male sol sitting beside Letti thrust his hand in the air, but before being called upon to speak, was already saying, “Is it true that Staviti is the only one with the gift of creation? And do the colours they wear mean anything?”
The teacher was just opening her mouth to answer when a dweller stepped away from the wall and spoke. “Has a dweller ever become a god? Is there any hope for us?”
Everything in the world slowed to a stop; it took forever for the sols to pick their jaws up from the floor.
Holy sweet baby gods. The question in itself was innocent, but it was the meaning behind her actions. That she could step out and ask that. For once it was clear that not all dwellers were content with their life, that they didn’t think it was fair to let the sols have all the glory … and all the hope.
More than a few glares hit me—the other sols knew exactly where to lay the blame for this anarchy.
Five
I was significantly more uncomfortable sitting there in my underwear while being glared at, but not enough to be outwardly embarrassed. Instead, I met the stares of the sols with my chin tilted up. It wasn’t my fault, no matter what they thought. It was their fault. Their fault for assuming that dwellers didn’t have minds of their own—that they didn’t want things for themselves.
If a dweller uprising happened at Blesswood, it was the fault of Blesswood, for sticking hundreds of us underground and telling us that we had no rights.
With these bolstering thoughts, I folded my arms across my chest stubbornly, tilting my chin up an inch higher. It hurt my neck a bit, but that was a small price to pay in order to look badass enough that I might stop getting glared at.
“You are dismissed from this classroom, dweller,” Sing-Song finally replied. Her tone was shaky.
The dweller-girl who had spoken looked familiar enough to me that she was probably a recruit. She had a huge mane of bushy hair, the colour a dirty-blond. Her eyes were a nice azure colour, widened now in terror. She seemed to be regretting having spoken up. She stuck her chin to her chest and shuffled quickly toward the door, and something painful sparked inside my chest.
Now this.
This might have been my fault.
I made it look like all dwellers had the freedom to do whatever they wanted without repercussion, when the reality was that only dwellers under the protection of the Abcurses had free-reign of Blesswood. Bushy-haired dweller didn’t have the protection of anyone.
I shot up in my seat, grabbing the sheath of parchment in my hand and vaulting over the seat in front of me. My foot ended up in the lap of a male sol—judging by the grunt of pain—and my hand was on the shoulder of the female sol sitting next to him. They both leaned away, probably not wanting to get naked-dweller-germs, though it only made it easier for me to squeeze my way past them. By the time I made it to the aisle, however, it became clear that my agile escape attempt had been in vain. A chest already blocked my path.
I swallowed, flicking my eyes up to a stern face.
Coen.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” I lied, shuffling from one foot to another.
He rolled his eyes, his hand on my shoulder pulling me into the aisle. “Come on, dweller-baby, you wanted to stalk out after your friend? Let’s go.”
I stumbled when he set me in the space between the rows of seats, my legs shaky because a glance over my shoulder showed me that the other Abcurses were standing, ready to follow me out of the room. Teacher Sing-Song looked equal-parts confused and wary, while the other sols were trying to avoid eye-contact with Coen—who seemed to be ready to unleash his Pain on the first person who spoke up against us.
I made my way down to the teacher’s platform, my fists clenched against my sides in both anger and nervousness. I wanted to say something to her. To reprimand her the same way she had reprimanded the dweller-recruit, but the words wouldn’t rise, because I had no idea what to say.
Instead, I turned my eyes to the other dwellers lining up against the wall. Five of them. Three refused to meet my eyes the same way the sols were refusing to look at Coen, but the other two stared back at me. Waiting.
“Let’s go,” I said, gesturing toward the door of the classroom.
They shocked me by nodding, and then leaving in a rush ahead of me.
“You can’t dismiss—” Sing-Song started, her voice trembling with musical rage. Yael cut her off before she could finish her sentence.
“Sit down,” he muttered. “Take a few deep breaths, sing a song—and then, when we’re gone, take it all out on these idiots.”
I glanced over my shoulder as Sing-Song sank down into the chair behind her desk, a chuckle bubbling up in the back of my throat at her confused expression. Coen obviously didn’t want to linger, because he planted his hand between my shoulder blades and urged me the rest of the way through the doorway. By the time the door slammed behind us, the bushy-haired girl was nowhere to be seen, but the other two dwellers stood there, waiting.