Earth Thirst (The Arcadian Conflict) - By Mark Teppo Page 0,84

arm? You hide in the ground, Silas, don't you? You hide so that you can make new marrow from the humus. You can eat flesh to replace your own. You drink blood to flush toxins out of your own bloodstream. If you can do all this without her, then why do you need her at all?”

“I—” I suspect “that's just the way it is done” isn't the answer he's looking for.

“Mother says you need her, and you believe her. Like any good child does when its mother tells it the way the world works. But it's more insidious than that, Silas, because Mother has built you in a such a way that you crave her soil above all others, and the longer you are gone from her embrace, the more that craving builds. Don't you feel it?”

“No,” I resist. “It's the air. It's this world. It's this… this poison that is in my blood. She would heal me. She would protect me.”

“She would lie to you,” Escobar says sadly. “It's what she's been doing for more than thirty-three centuries.”

“No,” I protest. “You're the one who is doing the lying.” I look at Mere for help, but she's just standing there, listening. Taking it all in. Trying to grasp what she's hearing.

“He's trying to confuse me. Confuse us,” I tell her. “We know that Hyacinth owns land on Rapa Nui. We know they built the lab. We know what they're doing. This has nothing to do with how Arcadia works. He knows that I'm rootless. He knows I can't call Arcadia.”

“Why not?” she says softly.

“No, Mere. He's lying to us. You saw what he did to Nigel. He did that to one of his own.”

“And you haven't?” Escobar snaps.

He wants me to deny it; he wants me to say the words that will seal my fate. He wants me to admit my ignorance of my own history. Because that will prove his point. He knows what I have done, what actions I have taken because Mother told me to.

Amnesiacs know.

“You don't know anything,” he says coldly as if he can read my thoughts. “You know nothing about who we are. What we have done to become who we are. What we gave up.” His voice rises in volume. “You don't remember anything.”

I look at Mere again, and the expression on her face is too much to bear. It reminds me of…

I can't look at her all of a sudden, and I turn my gaze to the view, looking out at the darkening skyline of Santiago. A tiny sliver of light gets caught on the roofline of the building near us, a tiny flash of reflected sunlight that hasn't quite gone out yet.

I remember the sun setting in the west, letting the night loose across the sky; I remember how the torches colored all their faces, turning them red with blood. I remember the feathers, the white feathers stuck to my arms and shoulders and chest. The heavy headdress, covered with more feathers. I remember the one who was there before me. The steward.

I remember her face.

“This is a waste of time,” Talus says, walking up behind me. “It's all buried too deep. He'll never remember. He prefers it this way. It makes him more efficient. Memory only clouds the mind. Silas doesn't want to know. He just wants to serve.” He's standing right behind me. “He just wants to do what he's told.”

Mere's eyes are bright, imploring me to say something.

Pieces, coming together. Grafting lemon trees. Tending gardens. Growing a sapling in pure soil.

“Mother sent me to the island to stop you,” I say. “You were growing your own tree. You were trying to create a new Arcadia. Mother didn't want that, and so she sent me.”

Behind Mere, Alberto is silent, but his mouth is twisted into a leer. I can see the old man in him now. I can see where he came from.

I look at Talus next, searching his face for any sense that he wasn't the bastard I thought he was. I see nothing that convinces me otherwise and so I turn away from him, letting my gaze swing across the view once more.

The sliver of sunlight has gone.

I gauge the distance between the two buildings, and wonder how much wind there is at this height.

Putting my hand on Mere's arm, I turn toward Escobar. “Jacinta Huaca Copihue.” I say the name attached to the face I now remember. “Mother sent me to kill your wife. Mother sent