The Tithe Page 7

  “You’ve never washed dishes, have you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “You can dry the dishes when I’m done washing and rinsing.” She handed him a towel and started the water running in the sink.

  A few minutes later, Josh had begun grimacing in pain. Standing in one spot hurt her calves less, but it put more pressure on her feet. It was a long walk back to the couch.

  Fifteen feet away sat a solid wooden chair. Josh stumbled over and dropped into it with a sigh. Blue followed and stood a few feet from her.

  “You can go back now,” she said, voice tight as she used her booted foot to rub her calf and ankle.

  “I’d rather stay here,” Blue said, eyes appearing to stare over her head.

  “Hmmph.” She leaned her head back. “You’re making me nervous, standing there. I feel like I should entertain you or something.”

  “I don’t need entertaining,” he said. He hesitated and then added, “I’m sorry you’re nervous.”

  “Why are you following me around, Blue?”

  “I want to know more about you.” His voice was dispassionate.

  She stared at him, face crinkled. Was he . . .? About her? Surely not. No one could . . . Fact one: She wasn’t beautiful. Short brown hair, plain brown eyes, sturdy figure, wonky legs. Beautiful? Heck, no one had even thrown “pretty” or “not too bad” her way. The truth was, Josh Barstow was as plain as sand. Fact two: She wasn’t sweet, had no idea how to make people feel warm and comfortable. Ima Christina had called her “forthright” and “sometimes a little prickly,” and Christina was the nice one. No, she wasn’t sweet or socially ingratiating like Lynna. Well, and neither did she have flame-colored hair that swirled around her shoulders like the wind.

  Fact three: “You know, we’re all going to die soon.”

  Blue nodded. “Yes.”

  Now, that she appreciated. All the talk of Elovah carting them away or living their lives in some faraway wonderland had rankled. “Tithing” meant paying a price, which meant losing something in order to gain something else. They were the things lost.

  She licked her lips, hesitated, and then blurted, “So it’s not like we can court or anything.”

  Blue did not respond for a moment. Finally, he said in his colorless voice, “I’ve never courted, but I don’t think I want to court you.”

  Oh. Well. Good. It wasn’t as though . . . “What’s wrong with me?” Josh snapped. “I’m perfectly court-worthy.”

  “Do you want me to want to court you?”

  Oh, heaven. She rubbed her face. “This is a ridiculous conversation,” she said with a sigh.

  Blue stood silently beside her.

  A couple of minutes had passed before Josh asked, more gently this time, “Your imrabi didn’t let you do much around the rab’ri, did they?”

  She expected a headshake or some nonverbal response and then remembered he’d never seen these things, wouldn’t know how to communicate using the usual gestures. “No,” he replied. “They kept me in a room below the rab’ri. Occasionally other orphaned Tithes shared the room with me, but I was alone most of the time.”

  Josh’s right foot slapped to the ground as she sat forward. “Did you stay there all the time?”

  “Until yesterday,” he confirmed.

  “But did they let you out for services and . . . socializing and such?”

  “No.”

  She inhaled sharply. “They kept you a prisoner for twenty-seven years?” she breathed.

  “Twenty-six, and they fed me. I would be dead without the imrabi.”

  Twenty-six years in one room, denied basic human interactions most of the time. Of course he wasn’t furious or indignant; he’d never known anything different.

  “Why are you angry?” Blue asked.

  His question startled her enough to prompt her to ask, “How do you know I’m angry?”

  “Your breathing rate increased,” he said.

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about someone listening to her breathing. Still, if he could see, he’d have no problem telling she felt infuriated. She could feel her face flush. “Those imrabi should be thrown out of the rab’ri!” she blasted. “Humans need other humans. How could they expect you to learn anything, fit in with other people, have some kind of life . . .?” She stopped. They hadn’t, of course. Lenwood’s imrabi had probably expected Blue to become a Tithe before it would matter.

  Oh, heaven. Oh, heaven, heaven. The things humans did to one another. What had they learned from the Twelves if they were imprisoning children in order to later sacrifice them?

  “Let’s go back to Lynna,” she said quietly.

  Twice more throughout the day, an individual or a group approached Josh to lead them in prayer. She explained she was no closer to an imrabi than the peanut butter sandwich she had eaten earlier, but they didn’t listen. Both times she gave in and led them in the same prayer as the earlier one.

  Mostly, however, everyone stayed in small groups. Even the young children had affixed themselves to one or more persons, who, like it or not, became surrogate guardians. As much as she enjoyed children, Josh found herself enormously relieved that none of them had gravitated her way.

  Dinner was a quiet affair. RJ refused to relinquish control of the kitchen, so she and a small team of helpers created a modest meal of pasta in a buttery sauce and broccoli with some kind of tart, powdered cheese sprinkled atop.

  After dinner, Blue stood.

  “If you give me your dishes, I’ll take them to the kitchen and help wash them,” he said.

  Josh and Lynna smiled at him. “I’ll help with dishes, too,” Lynna said. “Follow me.”

  Left alone, Josh sighed. Unlike Blue, she had spoken every day with people, mostly imrabi, as she went about her day; however, she spent most of her time in solitude, reading old literature, writing synopses, and categorizing the many books stashed in rooms adjacent to the rab’ri’s library. Barstow had gained quite the reputation for housing rare literature, some of it even from Pre-Twelve times. The literature from then wasn’t forbidden, exactly, but neither did Ima Emm want Josh to include it with the rest of the books. Instead, Josh created a mini library in a side room, filled with fiction and non-from an era some referred to as the Decadent Times.

  Now, stuck here without books, without purpose, without even Lynna’s chatter to distract her, Josh felt . . . bored. Useless. Oddly at a loss.

  She looked around the room for Marcus but could not find him. Probably off exploring and trying doors once again. Josh scanned the room and found, sitting not far from her on the circular couch, Avery, the ponytailed man who spoke like someone straight out of a novel.

  “Avery,” Josh called out. He looked up from the hands he’d clasped in his lap. “I’m Joshua.”

  He slid a bit closer to her. “Yes, I’m aware,” he said.

  “You went exploring yesterday. Did you find any books or written materials?”

  His long, ascetic face creased into a wide smile. “Glad to meet another bibliophile. No, we found no books, although I admit I didn’t plunder any drawers or closets. Likely the people who placed us here wanted the readers among us not to be distracted.”

  She slumped back.

  “You feel lonely without the written word to keep you company?” he asked her, still smiling.

  She hadn’t put it quite like that, but, “Yeah.”

  He nodded. “Of course. I’ll look around for some tomorrow. I find myself feeling lazy and satiated after that meal.”

  “It was quite good,” she agreed and found herself amused at using “quite” as an adjective. Being around Avery brought it out. “Are you a writer of some kind?”

  His smile tripled in wattage. “Brilliant deduction, but no. I’m a teacher. I teach—taught the literary arts in Hesperia.”

  “Really? I always wanted to take classes from a writing teacher. The imrabi taught me to read and then really left me on my own.”

&nb
sp; Avery shook his head. “Shameful, isn’t it, how few people learn the art and joy of reading? You were luckier than most.”

  “I’m starting to see that,” Josh said.

  “Not that it’s accidental, of course,” Avery continued conversationally. “An ignorant and illiterate population is a malleable one, after all. Yes, the people who placed us here like to keep us tractable.”

  Josh wasn’t sure what “tractable” meant, but she definitely got the gist of his words.

  “Who knows? Perhaps the entire purpose of our existence here is to provide them with fodder for psychological and sociological analyses.”

  “Or because the Bit’ tells us to do this,” Josh said carefully.

  Avery laughed, whether at her, him, or the idea of a Bitoranical mandate she wasn’t sure.

  Deciding books was a safe enough topic, she continued chatting with Avery for the next few minutes. Avery specialized in desert poetry and was awed that Josh had pored through Pre-Twelve books.

  “I never got to read them, of course. What sorts of topics did they address in their writings?” he almost-whispered, leaning toward her.

  “Murder, pornography, the drinking of spirits,” she deadpanned. When Avery gasped, she amended, “I’m kidding, mostly. They did seem awfully preoccupied with sex and love, or maybe that’s just in the books I read. The Twelves were around for thousands of years so they must have written countless books. I only had a hundred or so.”

  Avery’s eyes gleamed. “Did you read them all?” Josh nodded.

  “Tell me more about them,” he commanded, less imperiously than excitedly.

  Lynna and Blue had returned from the kitchen. Blue sported a wet spot on the front of his tunic; it made him look younger, more approachable. “Tomorrow, all right?”

  Avery nodded his agreement, and she turned to her . . . what? Cohorts? Friends?

  “Where did you end up sleeping last night?” she asked Lynna as she seated herself on the couch.

  The woman clapped her hands on her thighs. “Not far from where we’re sitting, actually. I decided to sleep near the hallway in case, you know . . . whatever.”

  Friends, then.

  “Where do you plan to sleep tonight?” Josh asked.

  Lynna shrugged. “The rooms in the other hallways are pretty full, but I think I’d rather try to find a room in them than . . .” She glanced at the nearest doorway and shuddered. “What about y—? Wait, I know your answer.” Lynna shook her head.

  “I’m also going to sleep in a room down that hallway,” Blue remarked.

  Did these people know her that well already?

  “I’m just—”

  “Stubborn,” Lynna interrupted with a smile.

  Josh stared at her until the smile twitched itself away.

  “I just don’t want to be chased out of somewhere,” Josh said.

  The vagaries of public spaces meant that sometimes, conversations all simultaneously buzzed, sometimes conversations oscillated, and, once in a while, everyone grew silent at once. The Great Room entered the last of these. Comfortable, natural at first, soon everyone became aware of the silence. The air grew heavy as each person in the room became increasingly self-conscious.

  One older man, his left arm cradled against his body, lurched to his feet from one of the chairs across the room. The left half of his face pulled against the squished expression of anger twisting the other half.

  “I’m tired of waiting!” he shouted with a thick tongue. “Tired of the talking and the eating and the let’s-get-to-know-each other! We’re here to die, not debate whether we want wheat or rye bread! I, for one—”

  “Oh, shut up,” a woman’s voice called wearily.

  “We’re just doing what we have to till whatever happens happens,” another voice said.

  “Why is everybody here so afraid of dying?” the first man demanded. “If you love Elovah, this is everything you’ve been waiting for. All us Tithes have sick minds or bodies, but it says in the Bitoran we’ll all be whole when we’re with Her.”

  “I am whole,” RJ snapped. “I may be sitting all the time, but I’m no less whole.”

  A few others jumped into the fray, more because it offered a distraction, Josh speculated, than because they felt inspired by the conversation. Around the room, heads turned and eyes sparkled. Such was their entertainment without work, family, and books.

  “I wish I was dead already!” Len, one of the fighters from last night, shouted.

  “Then why not beat Elovah to the punch, friend?” someone sneered.

  Marcus intervened, distracting them with a new organizational scheme he’d developed to account for everyone.

  Was this it, then? Seventy people, all waiting for death in whatever form it took, and they couldn’t band together in mutuality and support? Already there were talks of suicide. Heaven, who needed deadly angels when it appeared they may do just as good a job themselves? Maybe that was the plan; leave them alone long enough, and they’d do the towns’ dirty work.

  “You sighed,” Blue said.

  “I did?”

  “You did.”

  “Huh.” Just because they were friends didn’t mean she had to share every thought with him. Not that she knew a lot about friends, but she was pretty sure the institution involved separate thought patterns. “Hey, how did you learn to speak when no one talked to you?”

  He sat still, his face motionless and his eyes trained forward. As usual, he seemed unmoved by her prying questions. “I talked with some people. I had to get my food twice a day. Plus, the imrabi piped services into my room.”

  “All the services?” Lynna asked, her upper lip curled very slightly.

  “All.”

  Lynna shook her head, snuck a glance at Josh, and said quickly, “No offense, Joshua, but I can’t imagine listening to every single service every single day.”

  Josh shrugged. She hadn’t minded, hadn’t even questioned it.

  “Josh.”

  She raised her head and stared into Marcus’ bright blue eyes. She’d never seen so many pairs of light eyes. Maybe Barstow had a preponderance of skin and eyes tones toward the darker end of the brown spectrum. Her own eyes, she knew from staring into the mirror every morning for the past twenty years, gleamed a dull medium brown, too light for chocolate and too dark for amber.

  “We’re establishing a method for checking in,” he said. Yeah, yeah—she’d heard bits and pieces. “One person from each town to account for their town members every morning, check in on them if they’re not present. You seem like a reliable soul.” He smiled at her.

  She raised her eyebrows. “I’m honored, but wouldn’t you like someone a little more, um, spry?”

  Hollyn snorted. “I think he’d rather have somebody with a big mouth.” She raised her hands when Josh looked at her. “Hey, he picked me, too.”

  “I think it’s useful to have someone recognizable to account for town members,” Marcus said.

  Loudmouth. Right.

  “So once a day around noon, you can check in with your town members and report to the rest of us that everyone is okay, if they need anything.”

  Dear heaven, this was starting to sound like a mayorship. Nonetheless, if the others needed some structure . . . “Okay.” She shrugged.

  “Avery, you seem like a good choice for Hesperia,” Marcus said with a smile.

  Avery started and turned wide eyes to Marcus. He opened a mouth from which poetry regularly spilled.

  The lights in the Great Room went out.

  No flickers, no dimming, no sizzling sounds—nothing. Just darkness where light used to be.

  A man cried out and several people gasped.

  “It’s all right, everyone,” Marcus called. Really, he was beginning to annoy Josh, too. He didn’t know that. No one did. “I’m sure this has—”

  A whooshing sound, like air displaced, sliced through the room. For a tiny, tense moment, no one spoke.