Elected (The Elected Series Book 1) Page 7

  I roll my eyes but say, “Because most people don’t live past their fifties in our country, and it’s better for everyone if my father hands the office over to me in a polite and orderly fashion than if he dies and I have to take it in that chaos.”

  Tomlin’s answer is quiet. “Right.”

  A little while later, I’m about to retire upstairs to my room when Tomlin, who’s been sitting by the fire, says, “Aloy, they might be done with him if you want to say thank you.”

  For a moment, I’m not sure who he means. And then I realize who the “him” is.

  “Who might be done with him?” I ask. I’d completely forgotten about Griffin.

  “The guards. They took him to the prisoner’s building to question him. Should be finished now, if you want to go over.”

  Suddenly, I realize it’s exactly what I want to do. The thought of Griffin being pressured by the guards into saying who knows what scares me more than all the flying long arrows did this afternoon.

  Tomlin continues, “They think he might have seen something and that’s why he was so quick to your side. Certainly was faster than anyone else.”

  Now I definitely want to find out what he saw or said.

  I grab a posse of four guards and march out directly for the prisoner’s quarters. When I arrive at the gray front doors, I see Griffin’s already being led out of the lobby. They’re letting him go. For some reason this settles me. I should be hoping they’ll keep him longer so I can sit in on the questioning, but I’m happy they’re freeing him. I don’t know why, but I don’t like the thought of Griffin in this building at all. It gives me the chills.

  “Griffin!” I say as our two parties meet on the front steps.

  He bows his head politely at me. “Come to thank me?”

  “Ha!” I’m smiling broadly, relieved he’s okay. “Can I have a minute in private with him?” I ask the guards.

  One of the men answers me. “Sure thing, Sir. We were just sending him home.”

  Griffin and I walk out together, and my guards stand a discreet distance away from us.

  When everyone else is out of earshot I ask, “So what’d you tell them... about... you know?” I look down toward my chest.

  Griffin laughs out loud. “Seriously? I just saved your life, and you’re still worried I’m going to tell them you secretly wear skirts and play house?”

  “Shhh!” I glance left and right.

  Griffin’s looking up at the sky. It’s dark now, and a million small stars flicker overhead.

  “You know, I heard back in the day, people couldn’t even see the stars because of something called light pollution.”

  I look up to see what he’s staring at. It really is gorgeous. “We take it for granted now, don’t we?” We stand still for a few moments, long enough for me to register how close Griffin’s arm is to mine. We’re not touching, but he stands so near my heart skips faster. And I can’t help remembering what he mouthed to me at the top of my stairs. He thinks I’m beautiful. Me? Was he trying to play me? Could he have really meant the romantic undertones? It’s so impossible, I wonder if I just read his lips wrong. I’m even contemplating what word he might have actually been saying that could have looked like the word beautiful, when his next sentence breaks me out of the trance.

  “If we manufactured light now, we wouldn’t ever use it to block out the stars.”

  In that second I realize he’s waxing poetic about using technology. He sees my sharp eyes, starts walking again, and interjects, “Not that I’m saying we should have electricity now or anything.” Griffin clears his throat and looks away.

  He’s a little too quick with the response, and it reminds me why I’m here. Not to look at stars but to find out what he knows.

  “You don’t usually sit that close to the stage at the town halls.”

  Griffin looks down at me again but doesn’t say anything.

  I continue. “Why today?”

  “Can’t I want to be involved in politics? Listen closely to the Elected’s speech?”

  “Sure, but you’ve never been interested enough to sit in the front row before.”

  Griffin sighs. “Can’t you just let well enough alone? You weren’t hurt.”

  “Yes, but how’d you get there so fast? Were you in on it and wanted a chance to rip my head off yourself instead of letting an arrow take me out?”

  He looks at me hard and, after a moment, sighs. “Well, that’s a very nice outlook, isn’t it?”

  I shake my head. “Fine, obviously that’s not what you were doing.”

  His voice is quieter now. “No, it wasn’t.” Griffin stands tall against the backdrop of the night sky, and I’m taken again by the way his body so easily fits into his environment. I can’t help watching how he moves, even now. I wish I could look so comfortable and yet so commanding at the same time. I realize I’m staring at him and snap out of it.

  “So... I guess I should... thank you.”

  Griffin’s face lights up. “I’ll take that!”

  I face him, the moonlight throwing shadows off his cheeks. “So why’d you save me anyway?” I whisper the next sentence. “You know what I am. You don’t think I’m fit for the Elected position.”

  Griffin looks at me, his lips turned down into a grimace. “Did I say that?”

  I’m confused. “No... but... you know I’m... a—”

  He cuts me off so I won’t have to say it. “So what? That doesn’t make you a bad leader.”

  Now this is unordinary talk. “Of course it does. I’m breaking the law.”

  Griffin pauses to think. “True. But it still doesn’t mean you’ll be a bad Elected. In fact, it shows you know sometimes you have to bend the rules to do the right thing.”

  I look at Griffin more closely. “But why’d you do it? You could have gotten killed.”

  We’re stopped now in front of a large oak tree, one of the only ones we have in between my house and the outer village. The guards are over two hundred feet back, and between the darkness and the distance, I know they can’t fully see us behind this tree. Griffin rests a hand against the trunk, pressing his thumb against the ancient ridged bark. I run the toe of my shoe through the dirt at the tree’s base.

  “Because even though you might not truly see it yourself yet, I know,” he says.

  “Know what?”

  “Know you’ll be the leader we’ve all been waiting for.”

  And in the moment it takes for him to say these words and for me to look up from the dirt I’ve been absentmindedly kicking, Griffin’s thumb leaves the tree and brushes against my cheek in a decidedly romantic way.

  7

  I step back fast, but not before I’ve felt the heat from his fingertip trail across my face. My eyes are huge as I watch him fold his arms back against his own torso. It happened so fast it’s almost like he didn’t touch me at all.

  “You can’t do that,” I say. Although, at the moment, I would give my entire reign as Elected to feel his finger graze my cheek again. I am so confused. I thought I hated to be touched, but just the feel of Griffin’s finger across my face is like electricity shooting through my cells. I want to experience it again in the worst way.

  Griffin looks at me fully, trying to assess my true feelings, but I don’t give him any indication of my desire. I let my words be my final direction.

  He shakes his head and backs up. “Sorry.” The apology is the first humble thing he’s said in my presence. It sits in the air like a bubble aching to burst.

  I want to tell him not to be sorry—that I’d enjoy it if he touched me again. Instead, I stand there quietly. I lick my lips, feeling the awkwardness growing inside my stomach. Before he can say anything else, I change the subject. “Why do you think I’ll make a great leader? You’ve never seen me do anything before.” I run my hand through the short spikes of my hair. “I haven’t done anything before today.”

  Griffin takes my cue to forget what just happened and focuses on something else. �
�But you have.”

  “Yeah? Name one thing.” I dare him, knowing when prodded he won’t be able to give an example of my leadership skills. I haven’t been given an opportunity before today, so he’ll have nothing to report.

  “It was three years ago, when you were fourteen.”

  I try to remember what he’s talking about, but I come up blank.

  “You were out with your parents in the village, visiting our people,” Griffin continues.

  “So? I do that all the time. That’s not showing leadership.”

  “It’s not the fact you were visiting people, it’s what you did that one time.”

  He pauses to let me remember. And then I do. Suddenly, the memory floods my head. But how did he see it? How could he have known?

  “I was there. My father let me ride double on his bike so we’d be sure not to miss seeing you.”

  “I remember that day. It was one of our trips to visit the chemists. To see their latest mixture of nirogene and chlorophyll.”

  “There was a sick girl. Aurora. The daughter of one of the chemists. We all knew her because she was three years old and already showing all the signs of radiation poisoning.”

  My chest aches at the memory of how sick the girl looked. How the circles under her little eyes were blue and how her silky blonde ponytail was losing strands of hair in handfuls as she pulled at it.

  “The chemist tried everything he knew to help cure her. To stop the radiation from taking her so young. But nothing was working,” Griffin continues.

  I’m quiet. I know what Griffin is going to say next, but I wonder how he figured it out.

  “And then you gave her a cupcake with frosting and rainbow sprinkles. It was a treat we hardly ever see in East Country. Aurora couldn’t turn it down. Even sick to her stomach, she devoured the whole thing.

  I smile, remembering. “She licked off that frosting like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.”

  “Probably was,” Griffin says. “But there was something else in the cupcake.”

  I look at Griffin in awe. “How’d you know?”

  “Because she got better that same night. No more signs of radiation poisoning. Her father said it was a miracle. That maybe her young age helped her bounce back.”

  “But you knew that wasn’t true.”

  “Right. Of course not.”

  I remember when I first decided what I’d do. I’d seen Aurora before and knew if she weren’t helped soon, she’d die in the next several weeks. It was always hard watching my people suffer, but achingly so when the afflicted was young. It seemed cruel to do nothing when the method to cure Aurora was within my grasp. So I’d faked a cold and temperature, bathing my face in a hot, wet cloth every morning, for three days in a row. Finally, when Ama could see I wasn’t getting better on my own, she opened the vault and gave me a perfect purple little pill filled with the miraculous serum.

  “You sneaked a pill into the cupcake, didn’t you?” Griffin asks.

  “Yes.”

  “You really care about the people.”

  “I do.”

  “That’s why you’ll make a great leader.” He takes a breath like he has more to say, but stops abruptly, deciding against it.

  I gulp a deep breath of air, watching Griffin in front of me. My eyes grow bigger as the realization hits. He’s right. I will make a great leader because I do care about my people. Their existence. Their survival. I will do anything for them. Pretending to be a boy, essentially giving up my childhood, having to say goodbye to my parents in a week. All of a sudden, it doesn’t seem quite so hard. It seems possible. I’m up to the challenge because I have to be. It’s what I was born for. To lead these people.

  “You’re staring at me,” he says, and I blink my eyes, snapping out of my trance.

  “Sorry.” Embarrassed, I look down at the ground.

  “Don’t be sorry.” He voices the very thing I wanted to say to him moments ago.

  His dark eyes are chasms in this twilight. If I don’t look away now, I think I may be lost in them forever. No one’s ever gazed at me so intently. It leaves me feeling warm but exposed. But being exposed is dangerous. I need to stop this now.

  I sigh. “I’ve got to go.”

  Griffin stares at me hard, his eyes boring into mine so it feels like he could see all the way back into my head. “Friends, right?”

  I hold out my hand to Griffin. He shakes with me, our hands lingering on the sweep. “Friends,” I agree.

  And it feels nice to have a friend. I’ve never been allowed to have one before.

  “I’d better get back to my father before he gets worried,” Griffin says. “I’ll see you around, Friend.”

  “See you.” And I mean it. I’m already looking forward to the next time we’ll bump into each other.

  He’s off, running into the dirt fields in the direction of his village. I’m left by the tree, grasping onto its trunk to stop my head from spinning.

  A friend. I can’t stop the smile from lingering on my face. I stare up into the sky, letting myself take it all in.

  But a shiver goes down my spine, like the stars above have turned into liquid and are sliding, freezing, down my back. I never did get an answer from Griffin as to why he sat in the front row, today of all days. How he got to me so fast this afternoon.

  I’ve opened myself up and immediately forgotten my duty, my agenda. It’s dangerous for me to let my guard down, to waste time having friends. My smile falters.

  Is Griffin really a friend? Or an enemy? My father always says, “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.” Well, whatever Griffin is, I vow to keep him close. And it’s with this thought I make my way back by the house, head up.

  8

  For the next few days I’m completely beholden to my schedule, following my father to see as many townspeople as possible before he leaves. I have little time to think about Griffin, his so-called friendship, or the light touch of his fingertip.

  Many of the townspeople bestow presents upon Apa. There will be an official goodbye ceremony, but people take the opportunity now to say something personal, wish him well, one-on-one. He receives a sheepskin water satchel from Neiall, the herder. A pair of bamboo shoes from Henricka, the shoe maker. A salted soft pretzel from Marjorie, the baker.

  Apa shares the pretzel with me on the way home, each of us wishing we had a flagon of Ama’s sweet lemonade to counteract the salt. We’re passing by the chemists’ corner of town, when Imogene, the head chemist, comes running out of her shop.

  She flags us down, her white apron flicking behind her in the wind.

  “Imogene,” my father says, “what is it?”

  “Elected, I was hoping to catch you. We’re low on nirogene. Will you permit us to go into the hills to collect more element?”

  “Of course, but why are your supplies low? You should have plenty.”

  “We don’t know exactly.” Imogene’s brow furrows . “More than the usual number of people have come to see us for a bottle in the last month or so. It seems they are running out.”

  My father turns to me. “Aloy, at the next town meeting make sure to ask people to regulate their usage. There’s only so much element we can harvest from the hills. People must conserve.”

  I jot this point down with a charcoal pencil and a small notebook I’ve been keeping with me for exactly such reminders.

  We bid farewell to Imogene and keep up our meetings on horseback. We near the animal-rescue area. I’m looking forward to seeing the animal sanctuary Griffin’s father mans, not only to see the exotic animals but for the off-chance we’ll run into Griffin too.

  As we turn into the sanctuary, Maran, Griffin’s father, greets us at the gates.

  “Nice to have you stop by, Elected,” he says. “Would you like to come inside, see the animals one last time before your departure?”

  “I wouldn’t mind it at all!” my father agrees, his wind-burned cheeks rising into a smile. We dismount from the horse
s and follow Maran in through the wire fences.

  “Shame they have to be cooped up,” I say, referring to the animals in the compound.

  Maran, who’s walking in front of us as our guide, turns his head to look back at me. “May be a shame, but it’s a necessity. These are some of the last animals of their kind. We need to focus on breeding them.”

  I nod absently, not really looking at Maran. I’m focused instead on the cage to our right. A furry rat with a bushy tail looks in our direction and gives us a “nit, nit, nit” before scampering up his fake tree.

  “That,” says Maran, “is a squirrel. There used to be a plethora of them before the climate change, but they’ve all mostly died out. This is one of just three.”

  I breathe out a gust of air, thinking it’s a good thing we’ve managed to save this specimen. It’s so small, it’s a wonder the squirrel survived at all.

  “Ahh,” gestures Apa at a cage to our left. In it is a white bird with a long red flab of skin hanging from its neck, “I remember this one. Roster?” he asks.

  “Close,” says Maran. “Rooster. This is a rare animal in our collection. Named for the word roost. Birds called ‘chickens’ used to congregate together to rest. And the male bird, the rooster, would take advantage of their gathering to impregnate the chickens. One rooster would father multiple babies from many chickens at once.”

  “Ah, increasing the population. Something we understand, isn’t it, Maran,” my father jokes.

  “Don’t we all wish it was so easy,” Maran says. There’s hardness in his voice.

  Griffin’s mother, Maran’s first wife, hoped to have more children than just the one. However, she proved fruitless as miscarriage after miscarriage deformed her uterus and eventually killed her.

  I remember my mother asking our cook, Dorine, to wrap up a basket of food for Maran. I’d clung to Ama’s skirts in the kitchen that day, watching her help wrap basket upon basket for our villagers.

  “Are these all for Maran?” I’d asked, hunger overtaking my stomach as I looked at a crisp, red apple being placed into the folds of a cloth.