Page 58 of The Flame

“I know that.”

“Do you?” he challenged.

“You asked me what the plan is.” My heart thudded, nervous excitement coursing through my veins.This, this was why I’d stayed behind, because the people were not the ones in power, but the power should be in their hands, in their voices. “I’ve been given a voice, and I want to use that to give everyone a voice.”

“By standing up in the town square and—”

“No!” I sliced a hand through the air. “Listen to me. I don’t know how to lead a revolution. And what the hell do I know about leading people? I don’t have the knowledge, experience or patience for any of that. But there’s one thing I’ve been good at all my life. I have an insatiable curiosity. I’ve always questioned everything. That is what I know, and what I can pass on to the people of Capra.”

Daniel quietened, finally listening.

“They’ve already started questioning some things,” I said. “I want to make sure they questioneverything, and when they do that, anything is possible.”

I had faith in the people of Capra. Axel had given that to me. I’d once felt like I was alone in a town that walked with their eyes closed, blind to the injustice and cruelty—cruelty I wasn’t blameless in. I wasn’t perfect but I liked to think that I was learning, evolving. I’d wanted Julian Edgar to suffer, but I shouldn’t have gotten what I wanted.

“How do you get them to question everything?” Daniel asked.

“I’m going to write Axel a letter.” I smiled at him. “And I’m pretty confident he’ll do the rest.”

A short while later, after I’d washed and changed into fresh clothes, I sat down at the table with two blank sheets of paper and pen. The first letter was to my parents, more or less a copy of the letter I’d left for Geneva to find.

The second letter took me most of the morning to craft.

Dear Friend,

By now, you’ve probably heard what has happened and why I’ve had to disappear, but I am not gone.

I won’t be standing on that bandstand in the town square on Saturday, but maybe you will hear my words and whisper them to a trusted friend or family member, and maybe they will hear your words and whisper them, and when all our whispers gather, our voices will roar.

So here are my words.

I’ve been beyond the walls of Capra.

I’ve walked The Smoke, where mothers and fathers live and work as equals, raising children born of their flesh and blood. I’ve bought produce from a woman’s stall at the crowded marketplace where traders hawk their wares. The buildings are blackened with pollution from the industrial zones and the streets are paved with concrete, there’s little greenery or beauty, but everywhere you go is packed with life.

Solar fields surround their walls and their nights are lit by candlelight. Their gates stand wide open and their energy is severely rationed, most of it feeding back to us in Capra.

I’ve seen women dressed in tailored pants suits for their day of work. I’ve seen men crowded with women in a soup restaurant to eat their hasty lunch. Young girls harvest their eggs and I’ve heard of women who give their new born babes up for fostering in exchange for credits, all to ensure a steady increase in population and production of ovarian eggs.

I’ve visited a friend who didn’t graduate, who was exiled from Capra and now lives in a dormitory or occasionally with her boyfriend, and who teaches in a local school for adults. I’ve been accosted by rough men from a gang called the Blood Throats and I’ve watched children playing on street corners and I’ve learned that the people in The Smoke are free to leave, to go into the wilds if they choose.

The Outerlands is not a wasteland. By all accounts, it is a wild, cruel place. They call it the wilds.

I’ve seen the barons and their people, those who inhabit the wilds. I didn’t dare to walk amongst them, but I’ve watched through the fence, across the river from a place called Sector Five, one of our trading posts.

These barons set up camp with their magnificent tents striped in bold blacks and reds and golds.

Men in cotton tunics, men dressed in black leather, men with weapons strapped across their chests, men who seemed desperate and savage.

Women dressed in long robes the color of gems, women carrying cauldrons to hang over open fires, women carrying their babes in their arms.

Children running and giggling as they play in the fields.

I’ve learned that much of what we consume here in Capra is not grown in The Smoke, but traded from these barons with their large plantations and cattle ranches.

I haven’t seen all there is to see. I haven’t learned all there is to learn. Isn’t that the most wonderful, beautiful thing?

Because this is what I’ve come to realize.

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