“In the old days,” Edmund began, “humankind had horseless wagons that moved at incredible speeds and carriages that flew through the air. You could cross the whole country in just three hours if you took the flying carriage into the sky.”
I shook my head in disbelief. We’d seen the remnants of the horseless wagons, rusted and useless, in the ruins they called Gotham. But I had never seen anything that made me think there had been flying carriages; I couldn’t even imagine what they might look like. Birds, maybe? That sounded like the nonsense the Wordkeeper made up about the Topside world to keep us under control. Regardless, if Edmund had an imagination this powerful, his version might be more interesting than Mrs. James’s, especially if it became more fairy story than history lesson.
“They had machines to do their work for them: solve problems, cipher numbers, and print writing. People grew lazy. They knew too many blessings, and so they lost the ability to appreciate what they had. They always wanted more, more, more, and that road,” he intoned, “led down into darkness.”
“What happened?” Fade asked, sitting forward, wide-eyed at the idea of machines that could do arithmetic.
Surely he didn’t believe this. For a machine to count, it would need a head, wouldn’t it? And fingers? That would make the thing like a mechanical person. I shook my head with a faint smile. Such fancies might be improbable, but they made for an interesting tale.
“There came endless wars of escalation. The dragon fought the eagle, and the hydra wrestled the great bear. They sent fiery death unto each other, but even that was not sufficient for the demon humankind had become. They created new weapons, time and again, dust and powder and gas—”
I was drawn, despite myself. “What’s gas?”
“Like a mist,” Momma Oaks answered. “Only instead of rising up out of the ground, it came from men, and it was filled with poison that seared the lungs.”
Maybe that was why the Wordkeeper fixed on the idea that rain would scour our flesh from our bones. Stories had been passed down until they took a wrong turn, so poison gas became burning water. My tribe had been down below a long time, by any reckoning, and our reality lost touch with the actual state of the world.
“Some say it did worse than that.” Suitably somber, Edmund went on with his tale. “The world fell to chaos, and the pride plagues came.”
Momma Oaks answered the question before either of us could ask. I’m sure she read curiosity in our rapt expressions. “It was a disease that struck down great and small alike.”
Fade and I shared a significant glance. Both his parents had died from something he thought had to do with the water they drank. It sounded as if a lot of people had. I wasn’t positive pride had anything to do with it, but I didn’t like to interrupt.
Edmund gained enthusiasm for his story. “People fled the ruins in droves, taking only what they could carry. Some of our brightest visionaries pushed north, where it was reputed to be safe and clean.”
Like Fade’s dad told him.
“They left behind the devices and idols that had brought destruction raining down upon them. In time, they were led to this site by the prophet Matthew, who predicted they would find a safe haven that had been built twice before, and in building here that sacred third time, for three is the trinity and the holiest of numbers, we would find sanctuary from the world’s travails, so long as we cleave to the old ways and do not cast our eyes to habits that anger heaven.”
I had no idea what that meant, nor any notion why heaven would care what went on so far below. But I’d managed to stay focused on the story this time, which I counted as a good thing. For once, I’d learned about history without passing out from boredom. That was a credit to Edmund’s ability to spin a good yarn, and I said so.
“Thank you. That was way more interesting than Mrs. James.” But I had a question. “I’ve heard the pride plagues gave rise to the … Muties.” In my head, I still called them Freaks. “Is that true?”
“It’s one belief,” Edmund answered, nodding. “I can’t say whether it’s right.”
“Now, we should go up,” Momma Oaks said, casting a speaking glance at her husband, who rose immediately.
My foster father inclined his head. “We’ll leave you two to talk a bit. Mind you don’t stay up too late.” With that, the older couple retired.
The ceiling creaked overhead, as they readied for bed. It was a homey sound, one that reminded me I wasn’t alone. However unlikely, I had family in Salvation. Down below, only Stone and Thimble would have noticed my absence … and they wouldn’t have mourned me long. Death was too much an accepted part of our world for it to be a shocking event.
“I like them,” Fade said softly. Then he shifted closer, drawing me against his side as he had done to comfort me in the past. This time, it had other meanings, and I curled into him, accepting those new terms. His warmth felt delicious, sinking into my skin and making me indolent.
“They’ve been good to me.” I paused, thinking about the story Edmund told. “Do you think there’s any truth to it?”
“What part?”
“The world being like it is as some kind of punishment?”
He shook his head. “My dad never mentioned it. And he was right about a lot of other things. So it seems like it’s just something that happened.”
“Then why do you think they tell the story that way?”
Leaning his head against mine, he contemplated the question. He rubbed his cheek against my hair, and I was glad I had taken it down, so he could feel its softness, even if it wasn’t bright burnished like some. At last he answered, “People try to make sense of things, and if they don’t know the answers, they make them up, because for some, a wrong answer is better than none.”
That rang true, as it echoed what I had been thinking about the Wordkeeper earlier. “I guess. But I’d rather have the truth, even if it was uncertain.”
“That’s because you’re a brave and honest soul.”
“Aren’t you?” I asked.
“I try to be.”
Which wasn’t the reply I expected, necessarily, but he distracted me by cupping my cheek in his hand and kissing me. His mouth tasted sweet from the cider he’d had at supper, and it was hot on mine, delicate and delicious. One kiss turned into several; he ran his hands over my back, pressing me close. I touched his jaw, feeling his movements as he kissed me. Then I slid my hands into his hair, silky and cool, sliding through my fingers. The heat escalated until I couldn’t sit still, and I fought the urge to climb on top of him. By the time he pulled free, he was shivering as if he had a fever. Worried, I touched his brow, and he gave a shaky laugh.