6 - Syianne
It's April and today is my birthday. Nita helped mom bake my favourite cheesecake and our next door neighbour Dora made those raisin biscuits that I like so I'd have something to eat on the way. There is quite a crowd at my house; many people I never expected to come showed up. Only Dad who very suddenly veered into his depression is up in his bedroom upstairs.

Although the living room is decorated with pink balloons and red ribbons, and the food is delicious and everyone is wearing their best party clothes, this party doesn't feel like my birthday party.

It feels like my funeral.

And the people who came, all the neighbours and some kids from school, aren't here for me, they're here to mourn, along with my parents and brother, the loss of their daughter, sister, Syianne Locke –

May she rest in peace and may the Zephyr bless her soul.

But for this day, for this festival of loss, I had been preparing my entire short life. I watch the faces in the room; I see oceans of tears falling from my mother's eyes, and none of this touches me, I never waver, I stand strong as a stone, deep as a lake.

Dead as a ghost.

*

Before I have to leave, I mount the stairs and walk down the corridor into my parents' bedroom. It's dark, but I can still see my dad's silhouette against the window as he sits barefoot in what we called the 'depression chair' and stares outside.

I can't really describe how much it hurts to see someone you love in so much pain, but it's a familiar hurt. It just goes to show that you can get used to anything. I'm not afraid to approach my dad when he's like this – I'm used to it. I pad across the room, sit on the armrest of the chair and hug his head, planting a kiss on his bald-spot.

I don't tell him that I'm going to miss him; I don't tell him that I love him, "I'll call when I get there," I say. My emotions, even if they're there, are not spoken aloud.

"If I can," I add, because I don't even know if they have phones in there, I'm leaving my own cellphone behind, my parents paid for it and it's not right to depend on them. I stroke his thinning hair, as if he's a pet dog; we sit like this in silence for a while. Finally, I start getting up – I have a train to catch.

He grasps my arm, stopping me. "Syianne," he manages through the fogs of despair, his voice is quiet, void of any energy. "Lemonade," he whispers and lets go of my arm.

I gasp, but he doesn't notice. I pad silently out of the room, closing the door behind me.

*

A whole lot of people escort Art and me to the train station; so many that three rail-cars arrive to take our party. My town, Sobortis, like all the towns in Rockdem County, has recently been installed with the rail-car system instead of taxis, private cars and buses. In every house there's a rail-car caller, using a simple touch screen on which you state the number of your party, whether or not you have luggage and the address to which you wish to drive. In less than three minutes the rail cars arrive, we mount them, the doors lock, and we silently zoom away to the train station.

Art and I booked bunks in the 1:00 AM train. It takes five hours to reach Rockdem City, and neither one of us spends that time sleeping. I pour out my soul into every kiss, every embrace, every caress.

By the time we reach Rockdem we're both starving for more of each other.

Now we must separate.

We eat breakfast in one of the of cafés in the huge Rockdem train terminal. It's the most beautiful building I've ever seen, with a high doming glass ceiling that's been angled to look like crystals, through which you can see the bright dawn sky. The floor is made out of long slabs of shining light-blue marble that brightly reflects the light. The place had been designed to give you the feeling that from here you can go anywhere.

Hand in hand we walk toward the nearest exit to stand in line for one of the rail-car callers. I don't mind having everyone see us together here; I've already spotted five other Jewels of various different colours and ages going about their business. They wear the long white and black uniforms of the Zephyr, the girls with the long sweeping black raincoats and white skirts and the boys with similar coats but long white trousers instead of skirts.

"Those are like the coats in your dream," I whisper to Art. He nods. The line for the rail-cars moves swiftly, we arrive at the caller machine. First Art punches in the address of the training camp and that he's a lone passenger – a ticket appears with the number of the rail-car that will be his and the address of his destination. I take his place in front of the screen, I write Zephyr, I lift my finger, about to press the icon of a lone passenger.

"Excuse me!" A shrill voice interrupts me. I look up at an auburn-haired boy with a green Jewel on his forehead. Behind him stands another much taller boy with fair-skin and dark-hair, the clear diamond on his forehead speaks volumes to me. "We –we..." stammers the boy, he seems rather young but friendly. I feel sorry for him to have had to leave his family so quickly. "We need to get to the Zephyr, I was wondering if you could help us?"

I blink at them, with the rail-cars so easy to use, so accessible and most importantly, so free, how could anyone find it hard to find their way around Rockdem?

Unless, they're from somewhere without rail-cars. I touch the icon with the number three on it, a slip of paper appears. "Sure," I tell them, looking from the small boy to the tall boy, envious that they know each other and will have one another inside the Zephyr. "You can come with me."

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" breathes the boy wearing a huge bright smile and utterly relieved. I feel a fist clench my heart, no stranger has ever smiled at me this way.

But I guess we're not complete strangers. We're united by fate.

"Thanks." The other boy offers me a kind smile. He doesn't seem too shaken about being momentarily lost; I guess he's probably like me – not in a rush to start his new life.

Art and I walk out onto the street and the two boys follow. All too soon, Art's single-passenger car arrives. My heart is suddenly beating unbearably fast, I clutch his hand in mine unwilling to let go. He turns to me, and hugs me, and then he starts kissing me as if he's never going to stop, but his car starts beeping in the annoying way that indicates that if he doesn't get on soon, it'll go away. He gets on the car and is gone within a second.

I feel the air rush all around me, I feel so alone that my knees start shaking. I have this ridiculous urge to run after his car shouting his name, but then our car arrives, and after dumping my backpack in the open trunk, I climb in. The smaller boy looks uncertain at first, but I nod and he gets into the seat next to me, the tall boy climbs into the single seat on the narrow front part of the three-person car across from us, they're both still laughing about something they were talking about.

"I'm Fellin Quaine," says the boy sitting next to me. Again I'm struck by how friendly he is, there's nothing he wants of me but to make a human connection. I hesitate before I answer having to tell myself that he's not some person I have to shut out. He's a Jewel, like me, and if we end up being friends, he can be part of my life forever.

It's a strange concept, I'm not even sure I'm capable of making friends. "Syianne Locke," I introduce myself.

The tall boy who seemed absorbed in his own thoughts perks up suddenly. "Your name is Syianne?" he asks with exaggerated interest. The way he pronounces my name is different though, it seems to roll off his tongue effortlessly, almost musically. Most people have trouble with it, but when he says my name it sounds beautiful.

"Yes," I answer hesitantly.

"Does anyone in your family speak Tagrin?"

"No, not as far as I know." I look at him with my still gaze, refusing to be unhinged by this peculiar interest he has in my name. "Why, is my name Tagrin?" How does this boy speak Tagrin at all? Only people from Tagrya speak Tagrin. Then again, he does look rather different. When I first saw him I thought his eyes were as black as his hair, but now I realise that they're a blue as dark ink. His features are different too, sharp, almost feminine, but his shoulders are nearly as broad as Art's.

"It's not a name in Tagrin, it's a word. It'd be funny as a name." He shrugs. "Maybe it's just a coincidence."

"What does it mean in Tagrin?" my curiosity piqued.

He smirks in a way that instantly reminds me of Art, "Lemonade."

My system goes into emergency mode. I shut down. My deep unfaltering silence overtakes the entire car and no word is uttered until we reach the Zephyr.