Page 5 of Arch Conspirator
People called her the angel of Thebes. She was fine boned and delicate. Her skin was so pale that in sunlight, you could see right through it to the blue veins and straight tendons beneath.
“Hello.” I picked up my sandals and stood. There was dust on my knees, dust on my heels.
“I apologize for interrupting,” she said. “I came here to see my own mother, and thought I would say hello to yours on my way out.”
“Your mother is still here?” I asked. Though children weren’t permitted to resurrect their parents—it was considered incestuous, as well as selfish, not to contribute to genetic diversity—a prominent family like hers was a desirable one, in the Archive. I had assumed that someone would have brought Eurydice’s mother forth by now.
“My mother was a Follower of Lazarus,” Eurydice said. “She’ll be here until the end of everything. Or so she believed.”
Followers of Lazarus—we called them “Fools,” an easy nickname, hand delivered. They believed a creator would raise them from the dead via their ichor when the world ended, and as such,they requested that their material be used only if there was no alternative. It was noted on their placards in red. My mother had criticized them regularly, claiming that looking forward to the end meant no longer striving for survival, no longer valuing humanity. Despite that, I felt more kinship with them now than I ever had. Sometimes the end was all there was left to long for.
“But you don’t agree with her,” I said.
Eurydice smiled. “No. I believe in the enduring nature of the soul, as she did, but I don’t believe in the end.”
“I don’t think I believe in either,” I said, and in this place that so many thought of as holy, it felt like a confession. I touched my mother’s name with just my fingertips. “I don’t think if I used her ichor I would get her back. I think she’s gone.”
“Those two things do not have to coincide,” Eurydice said. “If a soul endures, then perhaps—it simply endures, no matter what we do. If not in ichor, then elsewhere.”
“How do you know a soul even exists?” I said.
“I suppose I don’t,” Eurydice said. “I simply don’t prioritize certainty.”
Her eyes were gentle. It was tempting to think of her as a flimsy thing. But no flimsy thing could have been with Kreon for so long and remained herself.
“Shall we go?” I said. “Or do you want a moment alone with her?”
I nodded toward my mother’s slot. Eurydice just shook her head, and we walked together down the aisle. I thought of the couple from earlier, finishing their perusal, talking about the kind of child they wanted. Once they made their selections, down the road, the Archivist would combine the cells they selected, thesoulsthey selected, and implant them in one of their wombs. After that, I wasn’t sure. Maybe she would die in childbirth. Statistically, it was as likely as survival. But even if she did survive—women were protected by the home, and only men could movefreely outside of it. Would those women raise a child with two men who favored each other? Would they try to scrape together a life on their own? The memory of them scolded me. What a small creature I was to fear and hate the thing they were risking everything for. But a small creature I was, and I could not be otherwise.
The air was hot outside the Archive, and it was always strange to go places with Eurydice, who was the closest thing to royalty that existed in our city. People gathered around her like supplicants, eyes sparkling, mouths smiling, hands reaching. She was overwhelmed by them, searching for exits, but I couldn’t help her. Their eyes skipped over me as if I wasn’t there. It was kinder than acknowledging what I was.
Her eyes fixed on something in the distance, and the smile she gave was relieved. Kreon’s face surfaced from the crowd and I fought all my instincts to recoil. He was surrounded by space, as if he emitted a repulsive force. He walked up to Eurydice, taller than she was and broader, and kissed her cheek. Everyone around us watched.
Lingering a few feet behind him was my eldest brother, Eteocles. Our eyes met.
“Brother,” I said. “I trust you’re here to visit our parents.”
“Hello, Antigone,” he said with obvious unease.
Eteocles was Kreon’s shadow, these days. He hardly took a step without clearing it first.
“Antigone,” Kreon said in what might have sounded like warmth if his eyes were not so full of scrutiny. He didn’t bend toward me to kiss my cheek. He never touched any of us if he could help it, as if our profound emptiness could leech the life from his body if he did.
“Uncle,” I replied.
“You’re alone?” It was clear he didn’t approve. “Did you come to pay your respects to the dead?”
“I came to ask a question,” I said.
“Did you receive an answer?”
So many were listening to us. I smiled.
“I’m at peace,” I said. “That’s answer enough.”
Kreon’s eyes glittered as they met mine. Over his shoulder, Eteocles’ eyes darted from mine to Kreon and back again.
“I am glad to hear it,” Kreon said.
