Coldmaker(35)

I remember the group being mostly girls, but there at the end, cowering into himself, was a boy who had arms like sticks and a face that knew joy but had forgotten how to smile. I’d wondered if the Priests had decided to teach him hunger over everything else. Gramble assigned parents, doled out old sleeping blankets, and the girls were gathered into hugs by their new mothers. Hair was stroked and worries were eased, the new Jadans giggling as their mothers preened.

Then it came time for the boy, standing there digging a tiny toe into the dirt. Gramble checked over his list, grumbled a few things as he scratched his stomach, and did the dreadful thing we all knew was coming. Levi was slouching against the back wall when his name was called. His arms tightened across his chest, but other than that he didn’t acknowledge his new child.

I gave a silent groan, knowing how much Levi was dreading the day he would be burdened with a son; but the boy looked up at his new father with a disheartening amount of hope.

His eyes only met empty air.

Gramble left, locking us in, and everyone went about greeting the new Jadans. The boy was ignored by the Patchies, but got hearty handshakes from the Builders, and a few kisses on the cheek from the Domestics – I remember Jardin giving him two. But after the friendly faces came and went he was left alone, blanket under his skinny arm, gaze lowered.

I walked over towards him. ‘Hey,’ I said, waving my hand under his face to draw his attention back up. ‘I’m Micah.’

The boy looked up. His eyes were damp, but they lit up at my voice.

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

‘Matty,’ the boy said, the first tear finding the middle of his cheek. ‘Matthew.’

‘A nickname, huh?’ I said, drawing my smile out. ‘I have a nickname too.’ I prodded myself on the chest. ‘Spout.’

Matty’s head tilted sideways. ‘Spout?’

I laughed and pointed another finger at my forehead. ‘Because I sweat. See, we both leak. We’re going to be great friends.’

Matty leaned in. ‘He doesn’t want me.’ We both looked over to Levi grumbling to Slab Hagan in the corner.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ I said, giving him a clap on the shoulder. I made sure not to hit him too hard, because I didn’t want to shatter any skinny bones. ‘The rest of us do.’

Then I noticed he had his fingers clutched tightly around something.

‘What have you got there?’ I asked.

Matty held out his shaking hand, opening his palm. A small carving of a bird rested in the centre, one wing missing and the beak cracked. I recognized it as a piece from a game the Khat’s Priests made us play in the slave schools called Drought. The purpose was to guide the Jadan tokens to spots under the Khat’s sigil in the centre of the board. Some of the game pieces represented the great things our people had ruined by angering the Crier.

‘You like Drought?’ I asked.

Matty sniffed, his eyes flicking back and forth. ‘I hate Drought. I like birds though. I’m going to see one one day.’

I nodded, picking up the piece, hoping he didn’t really believe that. ‘Will you tell me when you do?’

Matty gave a hesitant nod.

‘So look at this. You like birds, I like to make things.’ I held the dilapidated bird carving between my thumb and forefinger. ‘How about we make a new game together. And this will be the first piece?’

‘Can I help with the rules?’ he asked in earnest, eyes filling with life.

I smiled. ‘You can make them all if you want.’

He thought about it for a second. ‘It’ll prolly take me some time. I want to get it right.’

I laughed, gesturing to the barracks. ‘We have all the time in the World Cried.’

The Droughtweed high started to fade as I choked out the last few lines in the ‘Khat’s Anthem’. Usually the floating sensations lasted until the second bell, but the Roof Warden’s fist had speeded up the process immensely.

The Sun was taking advantage of my weakness, striking from every angle imaginable; my lip of stone on the wall was all but useless today.

Metal footsteps replaced the melody, coming towards me, and I begged my forehead to keep the sweat inside. I made sure to tuck in my chin more tightly, and the Sun used the opportunity to bite my neck, its fangs piercing deeper than normal.

Thoth’s shoes came into view, and his voice was a growl. ‘Micah.’

‘Sir!’ I said, too loudly.

Thoth took out his rod from the sleeve on his ankle and my heart started to beat. Heavily. The thumping grew loud in my ears, and for a moment I thought it might be a drumbeat. He tilted my head back, the light stinging my eyes.

‘Why was your hand twitching when you were singing?’ he asked.

I gulped, trying to come up with something believable. Truthfully I hadn’t even realized I’d been moving. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I felt a scorpion on me. I was trying to brush it off, as a sting would keep me from perfection at my errands today.’

Thoth licked his lips, the scar tugging across his face. ‘Considerate, but not allowed. During the “Khat’s Anthem” you show respect. If the scorpion bites you, then it bites you.’

‘I’m sorry, sir.’ I swallowed hard, my head going fuzzy with fear. ‘He wasn’t my fault.’