Adelais

CHAPTER ONE

Pila tapped her pencil on the paper in front of her absent-mindedly and stared up at the cold grey ceiling. She sat in an uncomfortable wooden chair with a simple wooden desk in front her, in one of two schools in the city of Sutra. Surrounding her were a little over one hundred children who, being the same age, were also on the verge of graduation. It was history class, the last history class they would ever sit through and Mrs. Cromden was retelling the story of their city for the final time. It was important, and Pila had heard it often.

The chemical war in 2018 ensured nobody would survive on the Surface, she said. So a few brave men began to excavate deep into the ground near an existing water supply to carve our now-great city out from the rock below. Remember children; the history of our city is the key to the progress of its future. Our own selfish, human nature nearly destroyed us once before and we can never let that happen again. Being Sutran means sacrificing your vanity, your own desire for a greater purpose and instead, focusing on supporting each other, in whichever way we can. That is how we survive. Tomorrow, when you choose your Contribution, you will be choosing not only a way of life, but also a means through which to provide the city with everything it needs. Of the seven Contributions; Healing, Weaving, Farming, Education, Building, Cleaning and, of course, the Warriors, whose bravery protects us from the constant threat of invasion from Boran savages on the Surface, only five will be chosen to ascend to the first level and join the Government Contribution.

Pila cast a sideways glance at her best friend, Aran, who was listening intently. She knew he would choose Warrior as his Contribution on graduation day tomorrow because Aran was built to be a warrior; he had a sharp mind, a strong body and an irritating desire to discover the world above the city. His eyes were a soulful, soft brown color and his face was strong and certain. He was the spitting image of his father, Miguel, who was the oldest and most famous Warrior in Sutra. Years ago, after the successful take down of a large Boran camp near Sutra, Miguel was knighted. He was the only Warrior is Sutra who, not being a member of the Government Contribution, was invited to sit on the council. But regardless of his fame and elevated rank, Miguel often cracked under the pressure and took to the bottle. Sometimes he would disappear for days after a heavy night. Now, he was not only Sutra’s most famous Warrior, but also the city’s most infamous drunk. Despite this, Aran only ever saw his father for who he was, never as the broken man he had become. He still wanted nothing more than to be a great Warrior, just like Miguel.

Pila folded her arms on the desk and turned her head to the other side, gazing through the window to the chaos of the city behind it. She caught her reflection in the window and frowned. Her eighteen years didn’t seem to show on her as they did on her friends; she was skinny and undeveloped with milky chocolate skin and deep, brown eyes. She started picking the tangled knots from her long dark hair and made a mental note to try and find her hairbrush when she got home.

Most Sutrans had her features, only a small handful of the Originals remained; people who had color in either their eyes or their hair. They were Sutra’s walking, talking memories of the old world. These people were so rare though, that they were often kept hidden away. She had never seen an Original. Aran had seen one once, but the young, golden haired Original boy had run away, terrified. Her father, Ivan, had said it was because they were abused, they were afraid of the city and so they hid in the lower levels.

In front of her sat Aran’s twin sister, Amarie. Like her brother she had always known her path; Amarie would train as a Healer under her mother, and was betrothed to Teral. He was arrogant and cocky and would boast that there would be no greater Warrior than him. His audacity irritated Pila and Aran. Amarie however, never seemed to notice. Or, if she did, she always looked the other way. Teral’s mother, Evangeline, was the healer representative in the Government Contribution and so, marrying Teral would place Amarie in a very favorable position.

The bell to end their class rang, loud and true. This bell was different though, this bell marked not only the last class of the day, or the week or the year, this bell sounded especially sweet and enchanting; it was the bell that marked the end of their schooling. Tomorrow they would choose their Contributions and enter into a new world. Tomorrow they would be adults. They would be Contributors. Pila stared hopefully at Mrs. Cromden, waiting for her to give them leave.

Now remember young ones, your chosen Contribution will become your identity in Sutra. It will be the thing that makes or breaks you, so choose carefully.

Pila could hear the excited shuffling of feet all around her.

Take your leave.

The deafening thunder of excited screaming all around the classroom made her heart pound and, almost without thinking, she joined in with their shouts of joy. She rushed toward the door and Aran came up close behind her as they ran, We are done Pila, can you believe it?

She laughed. He took her up in his arms and spun her round in circles until they both felt ill with dizziness and the room whirled around her like a spinning top. The two hundred graduates piled out of their respective classrooms, through the school’s echoing halls and out into the street beyond. They were singing in a loud clear voice, the chant of Sutra.

We the people, we are strong. We the wise forever long. We’ll stand together through it all. We’ll fight for life forever more. The Contributions hold us close...

People started filtering out onto the streets to cheer on the parade of graduates, throwing flowers, whistling and banging drums in jubilation. Pila was ecstatic; this was a moment she had been waiting for since her schooling had begun. She soaked up every moment and danced and sang along, for if anyone ever believed the words of Sutra’s chant it was Pila. Amarie too sang loud and clear, her beautiful voice lifting above the crowds and Teral, choosing not to sing, walked regally by her side and waved at the crowds as though they were there just for him. As they walked the number of onlookers increased steadily; the whole city seemed to have dropped everything to watch Sutra’s next set of Contributions take part in their rite of passage.

As they burst into the next song Aran suddenly re-appeared at her side His somber expression looked out of place in that joyous moment.

Pila, will you come with me? There is something I must tell you, he said.

His pleading eyes melted her heart and the parade suddenly lost its importance. Aran had been her best friend for as long as she could remember and if he needed her, she must be there for him. As she walked away from her happy classmates she glanced over her shoulder and watched the parade turn the corner onto Tambo Street.

She followed Aran down a muddy alleyway and behind the wall of the Education Contribution building.

Come on Aran, nobody can see us here, let alone hear us. What’s so important?

He wasn’t listening.

Aran! she shouted. Where are we going? We are missing the parade!

He pulled her off the alleyway and completely out of sight. Aran had not yet realized his own strength and Pila winced as he grabbed her arm.

Sorry, he said, almost absent-mindedly. He let go of her arm and lowered his voice so it was nearly inaudible. Pila strained to hear what he was saying above the noise of the parade.

I found an exit, he said. An exit to the Surface. It was one of the original exits when the founders excavated Sutra during the World War Three. They must have forgotten to seal it or something.

He reeked of nervous excitement; Pila could almost smell it in the air around them.

Well that’s ridiculous! How can there be an exit to the Surface that nobody knows about? Except you, of course, she mocked. There is only one exit, Aran, always has been. A big, white tube thing with an elevator, remember? And why do you care? Once you have completed your warrior training you’ll be going up to the Surface anyway, and then you can bask in the unimpeded sunlight until your heart’s content.

She looked away. The thought of losing her best friend to his love of a world she knew nothing about and cared nothing for was suddenly too much to bear. And now she was irritated with him for pulling her away from the parade, especially for something so ridiculous.

I thought there was something wrong. Is this really the reason you have pulled me away? she demanded.

Aran ignored her and chatted on, now pacing further away from the crowds and towards the city’s great underground river, the Duran – their life force. Pila dragged her feet behind him, trying to think of ways to escape and make her way back to the parade.

Father tells me about herons, he said. They are like the horses in the pictures we see from the old world but he says they tower three feet above him and a steely shield covers their faces. He said he once saw a Boran sitting atop one of them. Can you imagine how it would feel to ride such a beast, Pila? I can’t wait another two years, think of everything I’m already missing now!

Well your father has obviously seen his fair share of root wine. The Boran are stupid, ugly savages, not even human. They could never tame an animal like that.

But what if they have, Pila? What if it’s true? And whilst I am wasting time down here, learning how to hit a wooden mark with an arrow, the Boran could be forming a terrifying army over our heads, an army that could come and raid Sutra at any time!

Aran took her by the hand and dragged her hastily through the cobbled streets of Sutra’s eastern side. It was the city’s oldest residential area and the ancient paths wound merrily through old brown mud buildings, held together by the giant, drunken-shaped tree roots that were dug up during Sutra’s original excavation. The grass and colorful flowers that carpeted the top of each house reached out to the broken light that fell through the city’s giant glass ceiling to this second level residential. The ordinarily bustling streets sat in a strange, lonely silence now, as the buildings’ residents cheered on the next generation of Contributions far away.

Movement caught Pila’s eye and she turned to find three sweet, smiling cherub faces peeking out from a second floor window and giggling quietly to each other.

You had better be careful what you say around here Prince Aran, your adoring fans have ears everywhere, she mocked.

Aran looked over in their direction and the girls giggled loudly. The bravest of the three even gave him a wave and the other two turned pink in the cheeks.

Ah yes, Aran the popular, handsome son of Sutra’s greatest warrior, Pila said, subconsciously rolling her eyes. If only they could hear how insane you sound right now. Then they may not be so smitten.

I’m not crazy Pila, you will see.

Where are we going? she demanded. And can I walk on my own? You are dragging me like a ragdoll, Pila protested.

Both her body and her patience were tiring quickly. He let go of her hand and slowed his pace, falling in step with her.

Sorry, it’s just so exciting, don’t you think? If this exit exists we could go to the Surface. Pila, you could see the Surface! Do you really want to be stuck in this hole for the rest of your life, not knowing what goes on right over your head?

She stopped abruptly in her tracks and turned her face away from Aran’s.

His tone changed entirely, knowing he had upset her. Pila, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just that- She cut him off quickly.

No, I get it. I’m the boring old woman, content to make fabric for the rest of my life and live in hole. You have told me many times!

I’m sorry I just mean-

But Pila wasn’t listening. She stalked around the last bend and Aran loped, sheepishly after her.

Look! she said.

She leaned against the railing, pointing over the side to the massive one hundred and fifty story circular expanse of Sutra. The city lay centered around the powerful, raging waters of the Duran waterfall. It spread across a vast eight-kilometer expanse of smooth, slippery rock and crashed into its dark bed below. The opening around the waterfall had been formed naturally over hundreds of years, long before the excavation of Sutra. From here, the city’s founders had dug through the rock to form Sutra; each odd numbered level was a Contribution level that filled with workers during the day and sat in quiet darkness at night. Each even numbered level was a Residential level, empty of its inhabitants during the day. Today though, there were people moving on every level, as far as the eye could see until darkness swallowed the city at the bottom levels, where the Builder Contribution worked tirelessly each day to expand the city as its population grew.

One point two million people, Aran.

Pila, I’m sorry I didn’t mean-

One point two million people who sleep warm in their beds at night, clothe their children and cover their windows with fabric that is woven by the Weaver Contribution. No Contribution is better than the other, Aran. We all need each other. I need a Warrior to protect me. You need a Weaver to clothe you and a Farmer to feed you and Builders and Teachers to ensure a future for your children. The system works! Because the system is about helping one another and you cannot be selfish. You are selfish, Aran!

She pointed an accusing finger at him and he opened his mouth to protest, but he knew better and shut it again quickly. Pila could hear herself, the way she sounded, and the words she was saying. She sounded just like her father, but she couldn’t stop it.

Why do you care if there is a secret entrance? she continued. That benefits nobody, only you. And if, Duran forbid, you find one? Then what? Will you spend your days out there and come home to your warm bed at night? Sutra’s prince missing his training, risking his life for his own selfish reasons when you could be out there defending the city. You could be contributing, like we all do, like we have all done for hundreds of years. Our Contributions hold the city together!

She was flushed red with fury and could feel the heat in her face. She stopped and bit her tongue, knowing her passion had overcome her. She turned away from him and stared out across the crashing waters of the Duran to the opposite side of the second level. In the distance she could just make out a woman, dressed in pale Sutran colors, leaning against the fence with a child between her arms. They seemed to be laughing, as the mist of the waterfall hit them and soaked through their shirts. It lightened her heart a little and a part of her wished she was that child, enjoying the life and energy of the Duran, instead of standing here arguing with a crazy man.

Pila, I’m sorry. He took her hands in his and turned her to face him.

I didn’t mean it. I just got over excited and my words ran away with me.

He looked at her with his gentle brown eyes and, despite herself, she softened and held his hands back.. Then she leaned forward and rested her forehead against his.

I don’t want you to go to the Surface, Aran. What will I do if I lose you? she whispered softly.

His soft short hair tickled her forehead and his breath felt warm and welcoming between them. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the hair behind her ear, I will never leave you Pila, I promise you that.

They stood still, clinging gently to each other for some time, until a shout from near by broke their melancholic moment and Pila quickly stepped back, feeling suddenly awkward in his embrace. She turned away and put her hands on the rail overlooking the waterfall.

Okay, crazy, she said. So go up your secret exit to the Surface. Why am I getting dragged into this?

His eyes lit up again and he leaned next to her on the rail. He was so close his arm brushed hers, sending chills down her body, and she moved away.

There are three, actually, he said, pointing out at the waterfall. They are hidden behind the Duran on the first level, carved out from the rock. I overheard my father talking to your father about closing them this morning. They thought I had left for school but I had to go back and collect my history book. They didn’t know I was there.

A dreamy expression crossed his face. One of them leads to the Surface through a network of tunnels. The founders used it to move back and forth from the Surface for the original excavation of Sutra during the war. Rather than blocking it off entirely, the Founders decided to leave it open and keep it a secret incase they ever needed to use it again. They built two more tunnels after that, to confuse anyone who stumbled upon it. Only a single map was made, which has stayed in the hands of Sutra’s Council President through the years. It is the map to the Surface, Pila. There is more than one way out of the city!

Hey! She shoved him gently and he turned to face her.

There was a golden flicker in his eyes and a wild smile forming on his lips.

Let me get this straight, she said, laughing. There is a secret exit, with a secret map to a place that nobody except Cleaners and Warriors and high ranking members of the council have had access to for nearly four hundred years. And now, it just so happens that you overheard a conversation about it from your bedroom at home?

Yes.

You want to find the map and go to the Surface, where you will most likely be killed by bears or wolves or some other vicious creature. And if you somehow survive those you will most definitely be killed by the Boran, because you have no combat training.

Yes... but no to the death bit.

He was grinning from ear to ear like a proud child and his excitement was infectious.

"Okay, but you can’t breathe on the surface – the air is still full of toxins, lingering from the war