I was screwed. So very screwed.
Well, no time to dwell on my fate. This dweller had work to do. My next shift was classroom duty and I actually arrived there early. For once. The teacher in room 346 was a woman. She was a sol, her gift was song, and she would randomly burst into a musical serenade whenever she felt like it. I’d already heard three different tunes and considering the class hadn’t even started yet, I knew it was going to be a long lesson.
I stood against the side of the wall with six other dwellers. Three were recruits like me. I recognised the wide-eyed look of fatigue and despair. The other two were residents, wearing stoic, and mostly expressionless masks. They never even cracked a smile when the teacher’s high notes rattled the windows, which told me that they were probably dead inside. They had to be; she was possibly the funniest, most annoying sol I’d met to date, and that was saying something.
“Hurry along, my lovelies,” she sang, as a few more sols passed into the room.
Most of them looked to be my age, or even a little younger. All shiny and full of confidence. Must have been nice to be born all blessed and sacred and destined for great things. To know that you had all the rights. That no one would treat you like dirt, or make you scrub windows with your nipples showing. That you might someday become a god. Even if it didn’t happen, the thought alone was worth something. Was worth more. A dweller’s greatest hope was to make it to Blesswood, or one of the secondary academies.
And I mean … what a life goal, right? What with all the cleaning and not-being-seen-or-smelt thing. And I mentioned the nipples, didn’t I? Life goals.
The final bell rang and Teacher Sing-Song walked across to close the door of the room. She paused with her hand on it, before a beaming smile crossed her face. “I was worried you three wouldn’t be joining us this sun-cycle. Come on in, boys.”
Somehow I knew it would be them before they even stepped through the threshold. Something about the energy of the Abcurse brothers was distinct. Annoying. Frustrating. Arrogant. Superior. Soul-sucking.
Yael, Aros, and Siret dropped into seats at the back of the room, long legs sprawled out in front of them, not a book or writing device between them. Teacher Sing-Song made no comment on the fact that they looked like they were only there to darken the classroom a little, instead taking her place at the head of the room.
“Good morning, sols, and welcome to a brand-new life-cycle at Blesswood. I am Teacher Crest, and I will be in charge of this class: Original Gods, and The Beginning. I have been teaching at Blesswood for twenty life-cycles, and I have met two Original Gods in person, so I have as much hands-on experience to share with you as the best teachers in this academy. My gift is song; I’m aiming to become part of the entertainment branch of Topia, if I’m chosen by our wonderful deities.”
A few sols looked impressed, some even clapped their hands. Siret yawned and … what the hell was I doing? I needed to stop looking at those three, and focus on my duties. But I couldn’t, because it was kind of like a solid kick to the gut, seeing the three younger brothers together. I’d clearly been wrong earlier about Siret and Yael being twins. Nope, not twins … triplets. It made the most sense since they all looked to be the same age, were in the same class, and shared the same features. Coen and Rome were the twins. Which would mean that their poor, poor mother had given birth to one set of monster twins, and then—as if that wasn’t bad enough—a set of monster triplets.
Just to make a complete little monster set.
They all had varying shades of the same colouring, so when they were sitting close together, it was actually very easy to tell them apart. Yael had eyes that were mostly green, with only a little gold in them. His hair was also darker, with more black than gold. His colours made him seem almost earthy: I could see the forest in his eyes, and was sure that I would be able to feel the soot in his hair—not that he’d ever let me touch him. There was something oddly, uncomfortably real about him. Siret had a little more of the gold: the dark of his hair was tainted by it, lighting almost to pure gold as it reached the tips of the strands falling around his eyes. The green of his eyes was lighter, half of the pupil melded with yellow-gold. He had eyes like a cat. An evil cat.
And Aros …
Golden Aros. I couldn’t even make out the green in his iris from where I stood, or the black in his hair. He was a sun-blessed sol with shining, topaz eyes.
“Actually,” he drawled, his eyes flicking to the side of the room and locking onto me, “that’s wrong.”
I thought that he was answering my thoughts, but when the rest of the classroom swivelled around in their seats to stare at him, he turned his head toward Teacher Sing-Song.