is so full of triumph and
hatred I almost shriek with the urge to punch him in the face.
“I
should’ve taught the prick a lesson when he came after me the other day. I
should’ve kicked him in his privates, him and that doofus brother of his.”
“Stand up,
Athel,” Tahari orders, stepping down the stage. He stands in front of my
brother and looks down on him. “You are hereby found guilty of treason and
deemed unworthy of the Mayake’s people trust.”
My heart
sinks. “N—”
“Shh!” Lukas
stops me before I can utter my disbelief.
“Your punishment
shall be seven days of Wela.”
Tahari
walks behind Athel and out of our screen. Athel jerks his head and the video
shakes imperceptibly. I hear Tahari’s voice from the air vent and yet what I
see on the screen makes me imagine him behind my back, his threatening voice
booming behind my ears.
Wela! Athel will be put out for seven days !
“You’ll
also be banned from any future participation to the Kiva. You will always be
reminded of your betrayal to the Mayake people.”
At the
back, Mom yelps, yet she says nothing.
Uli stands
up from his chair. “Tahari, I think this is too much. He’s just a kid. You
didn’t give him a chance to explain his actions.”
“He was
given the chance to explain himself and he lied!” Tahari replies.
Athel
looks down at the tip of his boots.
What are you thinking, Athel? Why are you not
saying anything? This is unfair !
Tahari’s
voice comes muffled, then the video goes out.
I blink at
the blue screen flickering before my eyes and slap Lukas’s shoulder. “It broke.
I can’t believe it. Can’t you fix the screen? We’re missing the most import—”
“The
screen is fine,” he says. “They just put Athel out. They deactivated him and
started the Wela.” And then he looks at me, his face paler than ever. “We need
to find Wes. They’re going to come after us next.”
* * *
Niwang is the most horrific
punishment. People sentenced to Niwang are deactivated and disconnected from
their batteries until all life is drained from their body. But the same threat
comes with every Wela. Once deactivated, they take you away to a place where
you could be forgotten and never reactivated again. Family and friends are
expected to show up at the end of the Wela and claim you back, but that doesn’t
always happen. Sometimes people are too ashamed to do that. Years of obedience
and acceptance have made the Mayakes more resilient to loss than shame.
I charge
down the stairs, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.
This isn’t happening. Can’t be happening .
I slam
through the fire door at the end of the stairs and run down the hallway toward
the auditorium. The Kiva doors swing open and Mom comes out sobbing, followed
by the muffled voices of the men and women still inside.
I sneak
behind Mom, squeeze her arm, and drag her around the corner into a side
corridor.
Mom
flinches, her face corrugated in a million fears.
“You’ve
got to do something, Mom,” I hiss. I shake her shoulders and stare into her
face until I see it: the shame, the fear, welling up in my mom’s eyes.
“What have
you done?” she whispers.
When you see fear, you’ll recognize it. But
you won’t understand it.
My
dad’s voice, from a long time ago.
Learn to fear, Akaela, even if you can’t feel
it . You’ll be in danger if you don’t.
Why, Dad? How can I be harmed by not being
fearful ?
Dad’s
handsome face looking into the dying sun.
Because those who don’t fear can’t
be controlled .
I step
backwards, away from my own mother. I see it now, the fear that controls her. She
looks over her shoulder and nibbles the hook of her prosthesis. Would she be
capable of giving me up? Just like she is incapable of defending Athel, her own
son? Does she even wonder whether he’s been unjustly condemned?
I shake my
head. “Please don’t do this to yourself.”
She tilts
her head and mouths, “What have you
hatred I almost shriek with the urge to punch him in the face.
“I
should’ve taught the prick a lesson when he came after me the other day. I
should’ve kicked him in his privates, him and that doofus brother of his.”
“Stand up,
Athel,” Tahari orders, stepping down the stage. He stands in front of my
brother and looks down on him. “You are hereby found guilty of treason and
deemed unworthy of the Mayake’s people trust.”
My heart
sinks. “N—”
“Shh!” Lukas
stops me before I can utter my disbelief.
“Your punishment
shall be seven days of Wela.”
Tahari
walks behind Athel and out of our screen. Athel jerks his head and the video
shakes imperceptibly. I hear Tahari’s voice from the air vent and yet what I
see on the screen makes me imagine him behind my back, his threatening voice
booming behind my ears.
Wela! Athel will be put out for seven days !
“You’ll
also be banned from any future participation to the Kiva. You will always be
reminded of your betrayal to the Mayake people.”
At the
back, Mom yelps, yet she says nothing.
Uli stands
up from his chair. “Tahari, I think this is too much. He’s just a kid. You
didn’t give him a chance to explain his actions.”
“He was
given the chance to explain himself and he lied!” Tahari replies.
Athel
looks down at the tip of his boots.
What are you thinking, Athel? Why are you not
saying anything? This is unfair !
Tahari’s
voice comes muffled, then the video goes out.
I blink at
the blue screen flickering before my eyes and slap Lukas’s shoulder. “It broke.
I can’t believe it. Can’t you fix the screen? We’re missing the most import—”
“The
screen is fine,” he says. “They just put Athel out. They deactivated him and
started the Wela.” And then he looks at me, his face paler than ever. “We need
to find Wes. They’re going to come after us next.”
* * *
Niwang is the most horrific
punishment. People sentenced to Niwang are deactivated and disconnected from
their batteries until all life is drained from their body. But the same threat
comes with every Wela. Once deactivated, they take you away to a place where
you could be forgotten and never reactivated again. Family and friends are
expected to show up at the end of the Wela and claim you back, but that doesn’t
always happen. Sometimes people are too ashamed to do that. Years of obedience
and acceptance have made the Mayakes more resilient to loss than shame.
I charge
down the stairs, hot tears rolling down my cheeks.
This isn’t happening. Can’t be happening .
I slam
through the fire door at the end of the stairs and run down the hallway toward
the auditorium. The Kiva doors swing open and Mom comes out sobbing, followed
by the muffled voices of the men and women still inside.
I sneak
behind Mom, squeeze her arm, and drag her around the corner into a side
corridor.
Mom
flinches, her face corrugated in a million fears.
“You’ve
got to do something, Mom,” I hiss. I shake her shoulders and stare into her
face until I see it: the shame, the fear, welling up in my mom’s eyes.
“What have
you done?” she whispers.
When you see fear, you’ll recognize it. But
you won’t understand it.
My
dad’s voice, from a long time ago.
Learn to fear, Akaela, even if you can’t feel
it . You’ll be in danger if you don’t.
Why, Dad? How can I be harmed by not being
fearful ?
Dad’s
handsome face looking into the dying sun.
Because those who don’t fear can’t
be controlled .
I step
backwards, away from my own mother. I see it now, the fear that controls her. She
looks over her shoulder and nibbles the hook of her prosthesis. Would she be
capable of giving me up? Just like she is incapable of defending Athel, her own
son? Does she even wonder whether he’s been unjustly condemned?
I shake my
head. “Please don’t do this to yourself.”
She tilts
her head and mouths, “What have you
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