13 - Syianne

No one follows us. Cello takes my backpack from me and swings it over his shoulder, we cross the corridor and down the spiralling stairs, out into the silent white streets of the Zephyr, through the gate and stand on the street corner watching the rail-cars zoom by.

"Where do we go from here?" he asks me. I look at him and he seems fine. Fine about everything that just happened. He doesn't look anxious or worried and he doesn't look surprised to discover that I too was born in the Darabin like him, that neither of us are truly considered Medanese. I have no memory of my birth parents, I never thought it would be such a significant detail to anyone but myself. Does Cello think that it doesn't matter anymore because it's all in the past?

But it mattered to them so much they had to ask about it repeatedly. They wanted to know everything, without leaving even the smallest detail unattended. And that leads me to wonder – what are they so afraid of?

"I don't know," I answer.

He sits on the bench by a rail-car call-board and opens his battered old bag pulling out a battered old leather-bound journal. He opens it and leafs through the crisply yellowing pages. "There's a cheap room we can get for twenty Modes a week. It has a kitchen and everything."

I stare at him, how could he be so calm about this? And how long does he think it'll last? "They're not going to come after us," I suddenly realise. "They're just going to wait until we run out of options and have no choice but to go back."

He looks up from his journal. "Then let's not run out of options," he says to me, as if it were that simple.

"And when we do come back, they're going to punish us," I say.

He sighs and closes the book, putting it back in his bag. "What can they do to us? Put us in jail? Sentence us to a life-long term of servitude?" He shakes his head. "We're already slaves, Syianne, and this," he waves his hand toward the forebodingly high Zephyr wall behind us, "this is a prison."

His words make my skin crawl. I've been a prisoner to the Zephyr even before I came here. I couldn't live among others freely, I have no aspirations, I have no dreams. My only objective in life has been to survive the separation from my family. "Solitude," I say without thinking. "They can find us something to do that will ensure we will always be alone. It's alright for you, you can never be alone, you have her."

I look at the Alprine he stupidly named Risa, and know how I painfully long for her. It's a strange unexplainable pull, as if there's a hole in my heart that only she can fill. I didn't acknowledge this feeling when I saw her the first time, I didn't understand that this yearning had existed in me my entire life. It's powerful enough to send me plummeting into depression, and wild enough to fill me with desperate energy.

I'm consumed by jealousy. I don't have an Alprine and thus I am missing a part of myself, and this boy, Cello Riles, defiles my imperfection by being so utterly perfect, so utterly whole, because he has her.

He rises off the bench and looks down at me. My comment doesn't bother him, by the look in his eyes he knows: by having an Alprine he's more than just a Jewel. "If you want to go back now, I'll come with you," he says. My eyes narrow in suspicion, why is he so generous to me? He doesn't look like he actually wants to go back there. He doesn't look like a boy that wants or needs to be part of anything. "Maybe our point's already been made."

I hesitate. What do I want to prove to them? Is this the way to do it? If we go back now, if I choose that, how weak will it make me? Did I spend all this time trying to become strong only to find myself too scared to go forward?

"You should go back," I say. "It's my fault that happened, you shouldn't have to suffer because of me. Anyway, they won't do anything to you; you're the one they're interested in."

"You're wrong. We're in on this together, and they're interested in both of us. We're both peculiar, we're both from the Darabin. Don't you see, Syianne? They're afraid of us. We were born on the same day for a reason. Listen, there are some things you should know – "

He stops speaking abruptly and his expression changes, he looks intently at my face. "Anyway," he says, his voice softer, "let's get going, you probably didn't even get a chance to call your parents."

No, I didn't. I feel a wave of guilt wash over me, I didn't call my parents or Artus, and they must be worried about me. While I've been far too busy to call them, I feel guilty because the thought hadn't even crossed my mind. Cello walks up to the call-board and looks at it expectantly. "Show me how to use this contraption," he says.

I shake my head, to me, anyone who looks at a call board and calls it a contraption is from a different century. "It's pretty simple." I show him how to select a car for two people with a luggage compartment. Then he fills out the address and presses the call button. We get a ticket with the number of the car, and in less than a minute it arrives. Cello loads our things into the trunk and we crawl in.

We sit in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder as the city buildings zoom by. Cello turns his head left and right as he admires the scenery. "Tell me, is it possible to follow one of these cars with another?" he asks casually.

"Officially no," I answer without thinking.

"And unofficially?"

"There was a boy in my class who figured out how to hack into the public call boards with his mobile phone. He used to do it as a practical joke." I look at his profile; his mouth is set in a grim line. I suddenly feel uneasy. "Why?" I ask.

He shrugs his shoulders. "You don't know me very well, I'm actually really paranoid. I don't like it that some computer knows where I'm going and who I'm with."

I say nothing. He begins fiddling with his pockets. He pulls out one of the food coupons we were given yesterday and a pen and scribbles something onto it, then passes it to me as if we're classmates passing notes during class.

I unfold the paper and read the message.

We're being followed

I fold it back and hand it to him He unfolds it again and colours over the words with his pen until they're unreadable, he then shreds the coupon into pieces and stuffs it in his pocket.

After several minutes, I sneak a glance behind us. There's a green one passenger rail-car following us. When we turn left, it turns left too. I straighten in my seat and exchange a glance with Cello. "Maybe your boyfriend can come and visit," he says casually. "Does he go to school here?"

"He's in a football training camp."

"So he can't come to see you?"

I shake my head. "Maybe there's nothing to worry about," I whisper.

"Maybe there is," he replies. I stare at him, are we actually on the run? It's a strange thing to be running from something or someone you know nothing about, but then, whatever he is feeling that's making him apprehensive, I'm feeling it too. Whoever is in that car behind us can only mean something bad.

The car stops and we get off. We quickly take our bags and start walking along a crowded street lined with shops. We keep close to each other, and while I have the urge to run, we walk. "He's behind us," Cello says, snaking his arm round my elbow. "I've seen him before. I think this morning Risa Medrick saved me from him."

I shake my head, maybe Cello Riles isn't as sane as I gave him credit for being, maybe the intense heat of the Overflow has messed up his mind. I tell myself that while it feels otherwise, I barely even know him.

"Why are we even running, Cello?" I ask.

"Because whoever that is, he'll try to challenge us."

"How do you know this?"

I look at his profile, he's frowning. "I just know. He wants to take Risa."

"What do you think he'll do to us if he catches us?"

"I don't know, Syianne, I just have a very strong feeling that I don't want to find out. He's dangerous. You didn't see what Risa Medrick did this morning. The stories about the Zephyr and the magic are all true. She glued Fellin's mouth shut and flew us up a window."

I would have told him that he lost it, that he's delusional if it weren't for last night and the smoky bugs that were trying to eat him. "Do you trust her?" I ask.

"No. Not at all."

We sharply turn into a large electronics store, easily the most crowded store on the street. As we turn, I notice our follower is still behind us. We zigzag through the aisles and Cello leads us straight to the back of the store, past a door marked with a "STAFF ONLY" sign and down a narrow staircase. No one so much as glances our way and Cello walks about as if he has every right to be there. We pass through a storage room. The door at the far end leads us to a long corridor, then another door and we're in what was once an underground parking lot.

But now with the rail-cars it's dark, damp and deserted. "Hold on," he says, letting go of my arm. I hear him unzip his bag and suddenly a small flashlight illuminates the dark. "Come on."

Our footfalls and breathes echo as we run through the empty lot, we reach another door with a faded sign that says Exit. A winding staircase that smells like urine leads us back up to the street. It's a large intersection; hundreds of rail-cars whizzing to and fro. Cello stumbles forward to a call-board that's covered in graffiti. He doesn't need my help, he punches in the address and within moments the car arrives. He puts my backpack in the trunk, I slip into the seat. He holds the door and looks at me.

"The car will take you to Doorstep's Lodge. You can rent a room for 20 modes a week. The neighborhood is edgy so when you get there, call your boyfriend and ask him to come."

I glare up at him, a sick feeling rising up from the pit of my stomach. "What about you?"

"It's better that we split up, he's not after you, he's after Risa. Tell them at the lodge that your name is Lane Fairway so if I can make it tonight I'll be able to find you."

"What? No."

But he slams the door shut and the car drives away. I bang my hands on the window and call his name, but there's no use, he's already out of sight.

*

I dial the number and listen as the phone rings. I count the tones, one, two, three –

"Hello?" His voice sends a jolt through my body, I exhale and my breathe shudders when I inhale again. My heart is squeezing in a fist of loneliness, and my throat is so dry from nervousness that I can't speak.

"Hello?" his voice says again, "Hello? Syianne, is that you?"

"Artus." I whisper so softly it's a little more than just air escaping my throat. "Artus." I say a little louder.

"Syianne!" He sounds so excited. "How are you? How are things over there? Is everything alright?"

I don't know how to answer any of these questions. "I miss you so much," I say instead. "How's the training camp? Do you like it?"

But he knows me too well. "Something's wrong? Where are you, Sy? Where are you calling from?"

I don't know what to say. "Can you get some time off?" I ask, straining my voice as I speak. "If you can, come visit me, I'm staying at Doorstep's Lodge, it's in Heign Valley 44, it's not the most sympathetic neighbourhood but we can stay in – "

"I'm coming right now," he says, and I bite my lip realising that I'm a fool. He's going to leave without permission, he's going to jeopardise his career and dream for me.

"Wait, Art," I say. "You have to promise me something." I close my eyes and draw a deep breath. "I won't see you unless you promise me you'll only come if you receive permission. "

"Syianne." He sounds annoyed. He knows that I don't threaten needlessly, I mean every word. If he doesn't keep his promise, I'll know and won't see him, even if he'll be sitting outside my door. Let's say, this would be the case ordinarily; I'm not quite sure how I'd react when this desperate.

"Promise me," I say, so anxious that my palms begin to itch.

There's a pause on the line as he considers, I can feel his displeasure through the sound of his breathing. After he says nothing for a while, I sigh. "Art?"

"Okay, okay, I promise." He finally succumbs to my demand. "Can I reach you through this number?"

"Just make sure you ask for Lane Fairway," I say and hang up.