Crossed

CHAPTER 38 CASSIA

It’s hard to concentrate on the words before me when I wonder what is being said outside the cave in the night. I find myself reading poetry again, the next part of the I did not reach Thee poem:

The poem ends there, though I can tell other stanzas come after. The next page is missing from the book. But even in these few brief lines I hear the poet speaking to me. Though gone, but she or he still has a voice.

Why don’t I?

Suddenly, I realize that this is why I’m so drawn to this author’s poetry. Not only the words themselves, but a sense of how she could put them down and make them her own.

There’s no time for this now, I remind myself. The next box is full of books that look similar to one another; they all have the word LEDGER carved into the leather of their covers. I pick up one and read some of the lines inside:

Thirteen pages of history, for five blue tablets. Trader fee: one blue tablet.

One poem, Rita Dove, original printing, for information regarding the movements of the Society. Trader fee: access to information exchanged.

One novel, Ray Bradbury, third printing, for one datapod and four panes of glass from a Restoration site. Trader fee: two panes of glass.

One page of the Book, for three vials medicine. Trader fee: nothing. Trader was executing a personal trade on his own behalf.

So this is how the trades were done and why so many of the books here are torn, the pages loose. The farmers put books back together, but they also had to take them apart, determine their worth, trade them away in bits and pieces. The thought makes me sad, though of course it was what they had to do.

It’s like what the Archivists do, and what I did when I kept the tablets and traded the compass.

The tablets. Xander’s notes. Did he hide something secret inside? I tear into the packet and put the contents out on the table in two rows: one of blue tablets, one of scraps.

None of the papers say anything about a secret.

Predicted occupations: Official.

Predicted chance of success: 99.9 %.

Predicted life span: 80 years.

Line after line of information I already know or could have guessed.

I feel eyes on me. Someone stands in the door of the cave. I look up, shine my light across the sandy floor, begin to push the tablets and scraps into my bag. “Ky,” I begin. “I was just—”

The figure is too tall to be Ky. Frightened, I move the light up to his face and he shields his eyes with his hands. Dried blood runs down his blue-marked arms.

“Hunter,” I say. “You came back.”

“I wanted to escape,” Hunter says.

At first I think he means from the Cavern, and then I realize he’s answering the question Indie asked before we climbed—Which did you want?

“But you couldn’t go,” I say, realizing. The papers left on the table in front of me flutter as he comes closer. “Because of Sarah.”

“She was dying,” Hunter said. “She couldn’t be moved.”

“The others wouldn’t wait for you?” I ask, shocked.

“There wasn’t time,” Hunter says. “It could have compromised the whole escape. Others who weren’t fast enough to cross decided to fight, but she was a child, and she was far too ill.” A muscle in his cheek twitches and when he blinks tears run down his face. He ignores them. “I made an agreement with the others who stayed. I helped them rig their explosives up on the Carving, and they let me leave to be with Sarah instead of waiting for the fight.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why it didn’t work. The ships should have come down.”

I don’t know what to say. He’s lost his daughter and everyone he knew. “You can still go find the others on the plain,” I say. “It’s not too late.”

“I came back because there’s something I promised to do,” he says. “I forgot myself in the Cavern.” He walks over to one of the long flat boxes on the table and lifts off the lid. “While I’m here, I can show you how to find the rebellion.”

My fingers tingle in anticipation and I leave the poem behind on the table. At last. Someone who knows something real about the Rising. “Thank you,” I say. “Will you come with us?” I can’t bear to think of him alone.

Hunter looks up from the box. “There used to be a map here,” he says. “Someone’s taken it.”

“Indie,” I say. It must be. “She left a little while ago. I don’t know where she went.”

“There’s a light in one of the houses,” Hunter says.

“I’ll come with you,” I say, darting a glance over at where Eli sleeps in the corner of the cave.

“He’ll be safe,” Hunter says. “The Society isn’t here yet.”

I follow him out of the cave and down the rain-slicked path, eager to find Indie and take back what she’s hidden from us.

But when we open the door to the little lit house, it’s Ky we see, firelight flickering on his face as he burns the map of where I wanted to go.