The Blue Tower (The Five Towers Book 1), page 8
“The wind moves through the tower. It keeps the air fresh.”
She breathes in through her nose. “Salty.”
“It’s the ocean. Come on, you’re going to love where we eat.” I lead the way down, surprised at how the Blue Tower makes me feel proud. It’s my tower. Maybe showing it to someone new makes it more like home. There’s so much she’ll need to learn, and so much she can teach me.
We’re a couple floors away from the underwater dining hall when someone calls my name again. The voice makes me freeze.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asks.
“It’s Abram. Our leader.”
“Who is...?” Her voice fades as she turns and sees him. His beard funnels down his chest and to his knees. His eyebrows arc like winter willows over the clear blue pools of his eyes.
“Welcome, Emma,” he says, with a slight bow. “I imagine you have questions?”
She nods, and he motions to me. “Cipher will have answers. You will serve him until you convert to Blue.”
I can’t help but wonder: what am I supposed to do with a servant?
“The Healer chose me as Yellow,” Emma says. “I will not convert.”
“The Healer and the Genius are facets of the same jewel. But very well, you may serve as long as it takes.” Abram turns to me. “I will show you your new quarters, fitting for third class.”
“Thanks!” Third class! That means a better room, a new robe, and fewer chores. Maybe more perks. Maybe Abram will answer more of my questions. “Who is the Genius?” I ask.
“I wondered how long it would take you to ask. He’s our true leader, the one I serve. He built our tower, made our rules. He watches us and will come back when all is ready.”
“We say the same of the Healer,” Emma says.
“Facets of the same jewel.” Abram holds out his staff, the blue orb gleaming between us. “In Blue, we do not presume to understand the Genius’s purpose, as you do with the Healer. The Genius makes the clouds his chariot and rides on the wings of the wind. He makes winds his messengers. Those of us who hold the most of the Genius spirit, like Cipher here, can use the wind as the creator does.”
This explanation, strange as it is, somehow fits. When I’ve harnessed the wind, it never felt like my own to control completely. Maybe that’s why I can use it only at certain times, in certain ways.
Abram slowly swings his staff until it points to me, the blue orb at my chest. “Now that you are third class, you may combine your power with this one’s power—” he nods to Emma—“and perhaps you’ll survive another Scouring.”
“Another one?”
“Soon enough. If you prove yourself ready. Come along now.”
He begins walking up the pathway. Emma looks to me, questions in her eyes. It’s not like I have answers, no matter what Abram says. But I also know exactly what Emma feels: deep wonder, laced with fear and stubbornness. I feel about the same way.
24
ABRAM LEADS EMMA AND me to new quarters, higher in the tower. We enter an expansive room with sheer glass walls, like the classroom, except facing the sea. There is a large, wooden desk in the center. An ornate rug with intricate blue patterns covers the floor, and a fire burns in the fireplace. It makes my old room look like a prison. Abram points to a door on the left wall and tells Emma to go there and wait. She obeys without question. Then he leads me through a door on the right wall. It opens to another room with a window from floor to ceiling and a large bed. I run my hand along the sheets. Very soft.
“Like the view?” he asks.
“I do.”
“Third class has its benefits, but also its responsibilities.”
“Emma?”
“That’s one. You must learn to use the link well. You have sensed her feelings already, yes?”
I nod. “It’s very strange...”
“Those who come to Blue often do not understand others well. Genius works alone, making us vulnerable to our own corruptions. We need others to keep us grounded, or at least sane. That is why the link is so important, as much for you as for her. Use it wisely.”
“I will try.”
He motions to the far wall, where a robe hangs. “Your new robe. Try it on, then get some rest. Greater challenges lie ahead. You’ll report to a new classroom first thing tomorrow. It’s just past the room for second class. Sarai will be there.” He turns without another word and is gone.
The robe is like the others I’ve seen for third class—royal blue with three white stripes at the sleeves. It fits well.
I find Emma in the third room. It’s a small alcove with a straw bed and a single wooden chair. No rug. No desk. A tiny, barred window lets in the ocean breeze. It feels like the servant’s quarters, which I guess it is.
Emma is standing on the chair, looking out the window. She still wears the white robe that we woke up in. I watch her for a while without speaking. Feelings swirl inside her. They are incredibly strong and gentle at the same time. She feels the same wonder, fear, and stubbornness as before, but now there is a sign of contentment or ease, as if she is accepting this place, and me.
She eventually turns and sees that I’ve been there, quiet.
“How’s the view?” I ask.
“It’s nice. It would look better without the bars. I’m not going to jump.”
“Sorry, I...” I look down at the cold stone floor, thinking about what Abram said. “I don’t really want a servant. I mean, I’m happy to have you, I just...” I meet her eyes and put on my nicest smile. “I don’t want to make you do things you don’t want to do.”
“It’s fine. You tell me to do things, and then I do them. That’s how it works.”
“Are there servants in the Yellow Tower?”
“We are all servants there.”
“Under the Healer?”
“Yes.”
“Is that a person you’ve actually met?”
“No. It’s like Abram said. The Healer is our Maker.”
“So some kind of god, or a spirit?”
“You can’t understand unless you’ve been in our tower. But we all serve the Healer. So I know how to serve.” She pauses, studying me. “You aren’t acting like a master.”
“What should a master do?”
“Order me to do something.”
“Ah...” I try to think of something, anything. But I’m staring at her face and all I can think about is that she’s nice and that we’re in these new quarters alone. It reminds me of what I saw in the Sieve, when the nurse said hello to me in the elevator and I, Dr. Fitzroy, made her feel so small, because I thought I was so important. That can’t be me anymore. I can do better. I can make Emma feel welcome.
“How about you act like the master,” I say, holding my hands out innocently, “so I know how it’s done.”
She laughs. “You sure?”
I nod, laughing too.
“Okay, so...you’re ordering your servant to be your master?”
“Yes.” But I realize this won’t fully work. “Unless we’re outside these quarters,” I say. “Then I’ll have to be the master, and you the servant. To keep up appearances.”
“Works for me.”
“So?” I ask. “What do you want me to do for you?”
“I’m tired. I’d like to rest on your bed. You stay here.”
It’s not what I expect. Maybe that’s a lesson. I can’t predict how others are going to act. We do as Emma says, so I end up sleeping on a straw bed like a prisoner again. A third class prisoner.
25
MY BODY IS SORE THE next morning. It’s like an aching aftermath of the Scouring, or the straw bed, or both. Emma’s door is closed so I pick up a small loaf of warm bread, which someone has left by the door, and sit by the window in the main room with the desk and the ornate rug.
As I eat, it hits me that Kiyo won’t be coming today.
The ocean air reminds me to breathe deeper.
I was a doctor, a neurosurgeon. The memories still have walls. I saw the vision in the hospital, of the nurse in the elevator, of giving orders and operating on a young boy’s brain. The vision from the Scouring was only another fleeting glance of the hospital’s hallway, and another operating room with familiar faces. I push my thoughts to the edges of the memories, to what came before and after, to what was outside the hospital—but there is nothing. Memory does not work like a file cabinet, but as an association of images and words. It’s like a spotlight has beamed onto the wall of a cave, providing no hint of how big the cave is or of how deep it goes. The echoes of it make me think the cave is immense. As big as a life. My life.
I died before coming to this place. Unless I’m somehow dreaming up this fantastical Blue Tower filled with kids who battle four other towers in the Scouring. Or it could be a virtual reality. I remember from my vision the computers in the hospital, showing charts of heart rates and vital signs, and with that memory comes a flash of what a computer could do. Could it create this reality in my mind?
I take another bite of bread. It doesn’t taste like an illusion.
I’m still sitting, with no answers, when Emma opens the door to her room. My room.
“Good morning,” she says, stretching her arms over her head and yawning. “That bed is amazing.”
She didn’t need to tell me that. I feel it through the link. She feels rested, more rested than I am.
“Where’d you get the food?” she asks. “I’m starving.”
“Someone brought bread. Probably cold by now.” I retrieve the tray from beside the door and hold it out to her.
She takes a piece and digs into it. She looks like a young lioness gnawing on a bone.
“We should see if class has started,” I say. “Can you eat while we walk?”
“I guess I’ll have to,” she says, still chewing. “You’re the master once we leave.”
I lead her out and up the spiraling path of the tower. It’s not far to reach the classroom from the new quarters. Inside, Sarai is lecturing in the front. Emma and I take two empty seats beside each other. I quickly scan the other students in the room. Some are familiar—including Helena—but most are new.
“Welcome,” Sarai says to me. “Interesting idea, bringing your servant here, to third class. You’re the only one who did.”
“No one told me not to,” I say, trying to figure out why this would be a problem. Emma gazes down at her hands, folded on the desk. She’s silent.
I catch Helena’s eyes across the room, and her amused smirk is not encouraging. Why didn’t she and the others bring their servants? At least no one objects.
“We are discussing the towers.” Sarai motions to the window behind her, where we can see the other four towers reaching up to the gray sky. “Which do you think is the strongest?”
“Blue,” an older-looking boy says. “We are the smartest, so we are the strongest.”
“Lately our numbers do not support that view.” Sarai looks to Emma. “What do you think?”
“Black must be strong,” another girl says. “They managed to take Kiyo, and she’d been here a long, long time.”
“I think it’s Red,” Helena says. “Red has passion. They have fire. Their girls can control flames.”
“Red is strong,” Sarai agrees, her eyes still on Emma. “They have fire in their souls. They have surprised us many times. We are the water that cools, but even fire can dance on water for a time. But I’m asking our newcomer, Emma. What do you think?”
No answer.
“We’ll wait as long as it takes.” Sarai leans back against a column and crosses her arms. “Cipher, you might want to instruct your servant to speak up.”
“Why?” I ask. Sarai is picking on her. It’s not fair. “She can answer if she wants to.”
Emma looks to me and smiles. I sense gratitude through the link.
“No, she can’t,” a boy says, turning to us. I’ve never seen him before. He is big, the biggest person I’ve seen in the tower, other than the two leaders. He has short black hair and biceps showing even under his loose robe. “No servants may speak before class unless instructed. It stays that way until they convert. Is your servant ready to convert?”
Emma shakes her head.
“So tell her to answer,” the boy says, standing.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“I’m Luther, the leader for this class. I make sure we’re loyal to each other above all.”
Leader, bully, whatever he wants to call himself, I don’t like this guy. But it doesn’t seem right to blast him with wind and start another fight. And I am curious what Emma would say.
I tell her, “Go ahead and answer, if you like.”
Slowly, carefully, Emma stands and looks around the room. “No one is the strongest.”
Luther cups his hand to his ear. “What was that?”
“No one,” Emma says, louder now. “No tower is stronger. All five are weak. They’re all flawed. Black is rigid. Red is unpredictable. Green is wild. Blue is cold...and arrogant. Yellow is—” she pauses, as if first noticing how much she’d said. It’s very quiet, and all the students are staring at her.
“Go on,” Luther says. “Yellow is?”
“We serve. We choose to be weak, we make ourselves nothing.”
“Who is the strongest!” Luther demands.
“None of them.” Emma’s lips press into a tight line.
Luther approaches her, to within arms’ reach. “Tell us, girl,” he says, softly this time. “Tell us which tower you think has the most power.”
Emma shakes her head, defiant. She feels defiant.
Luther turns to me, and the look in his eyes tells me to run. He’s at least a foot taller. But before I can react, he grabs my robe at the chest, twisting it in his fist. “This is third class. We do not tolerate disobedience from our servants. Tell her to answer me.”
“She...already did.”
“Last chance.” Luther twists my robe harder, and pulls back his other fist. “Which tower?”
I reach for the wind but it’s knocked away, like someone slapping a ball out of my hand the moment I pick it up.
Luther laughs. “You’re not the strongest anymore, guppy.”
He’s wrong. I am the strongest. And I’m furious, gritting my teeth and grabbing all the air I can hold. It whips around me and blasts into his face, making his jowls shake.
But still he holds his ground. He pulls back his fist again.
“Enough!” Sarai shouts, storming toward us.
A blast of wind knocks Luther’s grip loose. It makes me stagger back and lose control of the air.
Luther moves forward again as Sarai steps between us.
I don’t wait. I grab Emma’s arm and run. We flee down the stone hallway. When I look back, no one is following us. But we move fast all the same, winding down through the tower with long, fast strides.
When we reach my quarters, tears are in my eyes. I don’t know why. I sit by the window and gaze out at the ocean.
Emma sits beside me, puts her hand on my back. She doesn’t need to speak. The link tells me she feels gratitude. She admires courage.
26
THE FOLLOWING DAYS dragged like a stubborn mule. Abram visited us soon after the incident with Luther. He told us that we would not go to class again, and that we would work in the kitchen, as penance for unruly behavior. He told me I should be grateful that I was not being reset and sent back to the bottom. That’s what he did to Luther. This was not his first outburst. But I would get another chance. So Emma and I worked, day after day, in the kitchen.
“Pruned yet?” My hands are invisible below the hot, bubbly water. The smell of soap barely masks the underlying stench of fish that’s been left out too long. If there’s a worse smell in the universe than rotten fish, I don’t remember it.
“Of course.” Emma holds her palms to me. The lines of a thousand wrinkles crease the skin, making her lean hands look fifty years old. She bends her arms. “But my elbows have another dozen dishes before they prune.”
“Not bad. My elbows became raisins half an hour ago.”
She puts on a good smile for how tired she feels. I ask her, “Want to trade for a while?”
“Sure.”
I step back from the sink and take the damp towel from Emma. She’d been drying and stacking the dishes. Now her hands dip into the suds, scrubbing away at the bowls. Dinner was squid ink pasta with clams, so bits of hardened black noodles cling to the dishes. I use the wind on and off to help with the work, but it takes too much energy to keep it blowing the whole time. Sometimes it takes two or three passes to get the dishes clean. At least the work distracts us from the smell.
I count the bowls as I dry them. Twenty per stack. Four stacks total and we’re done. The Blue Tower’s numbers are rising.
We leave the kitchen and hardly speak as we make our way to my quarters. Another day full of kitchen work is finished. Abram promised something new tomorrow. That glimmer of hope and the bored exhaustion of three straight days in the kitchen put me to sleep in seconds, even in the small bed. Emma still has the big one.
Hank comes in the morning. He’s with his new servant, a short red-headed boy named Seth. I ask how he captured him. Hank explains that he went to the Scouring two days after the first one with us. A troop from the Black Tower attacked, and Hank managed to land a punch to Seth’s gut, sling him over his shoulder, and run for it.
“Nothing fancy like you and your wind,” Hank says, but it’s clear he’s proud to have made third class. “Blue is up to eighty-one now, highest in a while, people are saying. Looks like you started a little winning streak. Other than that, nothing much has happened while you were exiled to the kitchen.”
“So what’s next?” I ask.
“Abram’s giving everyone in third class another training. He’s meeting us at the dock. You ready?”
I’m more than ready.
Outside, the sky is the usual slate gray, the sea dark blue. Fifteen boats line the wooden pier extending from the tower’s base. Other kids from the tower mill about. They seem to be grouped by twos. Masters and servants.
