ChapterOne
Mirren
The world is dark beyond our Boundary. One step outside the towering fence and electricity flounders. Light is swallowed by inky black night, extinguished forever. Normally, the lights of Similis calm me. But today, I wish bitterly for some of that ancient obscurity, if only to douse the eerie blue glow of the machines attached to my brother.
The Healing Center is cold. The antiseptic indifference of the place permeates my overcoat. Wrapping my arms tightly around my middle, I stare at the Healer who speaks to us, not seeing a person at all, but rather, a physical manifestation of facts.
My brother is dying. I am going to be alone.
The Healer has moved beyond the facts that matter and onto the ones that don’t, like the cause of Easton’s disease and the treatments that have failed, but I hang on to the last word of his first sentence.
Dying, died, dead.
I try to grasp them. To roll them around on my tongue and make sense of them, but ultimately, I fall short. ‘Dying’ has always been an abstract word. It’s what happens when you grow old. Your belongings are given back to the Community, goodbyes are said, and then you die. Surely, the word cannot be applied to a boy who has barely had time to say his hellos, let alone his goodbyes?
“Dying,” I say out loud, hoping the word will make more sense in my own voice.
The Healer abruptly stops talking, eyeing me warily. Easton turns to me in concern. I attempt a reassuring smile, but must not succeed, because the line between his brow doesn’t smooth. He’s my little brother and he is dying, and he should not need to be the one offering comfort. He accepts what the Healer has told us the way he accepts most things in life—with a pleasant face and a self-deprecating smile. There is no denial or obstinate arguing, like I would be doing if I was able to wrap my mind around the meaning of any of it. He doesn’t throw himself on the ground and cry at the unfairness of it all, something that has also crossed my mind.
Instead, he is smiling politely at the useless Healer and comforting his mess of a sister. I glare at the Healer, though being willfully rude is against the Keys. Hitting him until he takes back his proclamation is also against the Keys, so I’m settling for the lesser of the two offenses.
“The only way to combat the illness is a transplant,” he says, as he unhooks a variety of wires from Easton, “but unfortunately, your sister isn’t a match.”
The Healer’s long face becomes longer. It’s an expression I recognize well, one I’ve become intimately familiar with. Pity. “It is an anomaly, I’m afraid. With the balance of our society and the precise way we match life partners, we have a 97% success rate at avoiding these genetic malformations. The other 3%, we have always been able to combat with the help of parental unit donation. In your case, unfortunately…” his voice fades into an uncomfortable silence. He won’t finish his sentence because it would be intrusive. Unharmonious.
I almost laugh at the absurdity. As if there is anything harmonious about this moment. “Our parental units were Outcast,” I finish for him, my voice razor-edged.
Easton’s disappointment is palpable, though the only outward sign is the slight purse of his lips. I should not be making the Healer feel uncomfortable with these things. It’s unkind.
The man has the decency to drop his eyes and I feel, at once, victorious and completely ashamed for the way my words have affected him.
“We can make you comfortable while the disease runs its course, but unfortunately, that is all we can do,” he says to the sterile white floor. I stare at the top of his head, hoping to burn a hole through his shiny blonde hair.
“Thank you for your time, Healer,” Easton replies, his voice light. “We won’t take up any more of it. I know your daughter is being Bound today and we wouldn’t want to make you late.”
The Healer nods and exits the room, all the while avoiding my gaze. He shows kindness by not reporting my flagrant disregard of the Keys, but I feel no gratitude.
I round on Easton. “We wouldn’t want to make you late to the Binding?!” I say, incredulous. Easton always allows me leniency in my tone of voice when we are alone, and he does so now. “Who cares about the Binding?”
“Youshould,” he says pointedly. He glances at the clock above the door. “You’re going to be late, too, if we don’t leave right now.” Hopping off the exam table, he begins to gather his things.
“I’m not going!” The word ‘dying’ has rendered everything else, including the Binding ceremony, meaningless. “It doesn’t matter who I’m Bound to if I don’t have you.”
Easton shrugs into his overcoat and turns to me, his face serious. “You know, Mirren, anyone would be lucky to be Bound to you.”
A lump forms in my throat, constricting my breathing. His life has been completely overturned in a matter of minutes and still, he puts my feelings above his own. He speaks to the fears of my heart, knowing them without judgement and attempting to assuage them. I cannot lose the only person in the world who knows me—really knows me—and doesn’t hate me for it. “Easton,” I begin, but he shakes his head softly.
“We can talk about what we learned tomorrow. Today is about you.”
He leads me gently from the exam room, his steps soft and sure. I don’t want to talk about what we learned today. Shoving it down and hiding it deep in the recesses of myself will surely keep it from being real. At the same time, the need to talk about it threads through me. To spill my words and fears and wrap them around the truth until it changes into something more malleable.
I look up at my brother as we walk the long hallways of the Healing Center and wonder again at how different we are. Despite being two years his senior, his willowy frame towers a good foot over my stockier one. He has my mother’s light hair and hazel eyes, while I inherited my father’s deep chestnut and sea-green. Easton has always floated through the Community easier than I have. Perhaps because his face doesn’t remind everyone of our Outcast father like mine does. Or maybe, it’s simply because he is better than I am. Our Community Keys have always come naturally to him.Kindness before trust. Fairness before prosperity. Community before self.
Easton never needs to be reminded to be kind because he always is. He doesn’t have trouble guarding his tongue, because he is always concerned about how his words affect others. When people look at him, they don’t see an Outcast’s son; they see a genuinely good person who uplifts those around him.
I don’t know what people see when they look at me, other than someone who doesn’t deserve Easton.
I push open the glass doors and we step outside, the spring air heady with moisture and the scent of new blooms wafting in from the agricultural fields. As if the earth itself is mocking me with its promise of new life when mine has just unraveled. Worry gnaws at my stomach as Easton keeps pace with me. Has the illness already taken hold? The Healer said he would have months, but he also said it was unprecedented. What if he was wrong?
