Chương 26: Chapter 25

Lin always thought she was a lucky child. The other kids of Orphanage Twenty-Three had to work fourteen-hour shifts at the depot. It was easy stuff most of the time, like sewing patches on piles of clothes, working at the assembly, sorting the herbs, or dragging boxes here ot there. Other times, they had to hold the stones while the grown-ups worked. Lin didn't like holding the stones. It hurt, and it made her feel cold all over, especially inside her chest.

After, she would be sleepy for days, and her limbs would feel heavy like lead. Once, when she was curious, she heard the grown-ups say stuff like "charging spirit stones" and "pure, infantile Qi, optimal for re-use." She didn't do that anymore. The Overseer hit her on the cheek when he caught her, and she had learned her lesson. Grown-ups always knew better, after all. Still, she was lucky!

She had to work only thirteen hours, with one hour left to stay in the office, where it was warm and she only had to copy the symbols on a paper sheet onto other paper sheets. She liked copying. With her one good hand, she was good at it. The Overseer said she didn't need to learn to read, so she didn't know what the symbols said, but she didn't mind: she liked to imagine they told all manner of important things. They had to! Like the grown-ups always said, their work was very important!

Her luck didn't end with work. The other kids ate the mulch all the time, that is, the millet porridge the Cook always boiled in her big vats, or tofu, when it was a big work day. She did too, but she got a bun once a week. Sometimes, it would have a filling too! And sauce! Lin loved to hold the bun in her cupped hands, watching it and wondering what hid beneath the slightly burned crust. A bit of pork? Cabbage? Oh! Maybe chicken! With soy sauce!

Nothing made her as happy as those moments; they made the bite into the biggest delight of her week! And she had friends! With his half-armor and the big halberd he always lugged around, Uncle Zhao looked scary, but Lin knew that in reality, he was a bit of a wimp. When, exhausted and hurting but proud from how shiny it was, she gave him her stone, he always teared up a little. Once, he held her hand in his big, scarred paw for so long she thought he had fallen asleep. Lin was always a bit worried about him.

He was such a big softie! Sometimes, she thought he'd return from the walls with at least a black eye. The Lords were all so tough! Someone told her that Uncle Zhao was a Lord too, but she scoffed. The Lords didn't talk to you. They were pretty and clean and tall and strong and had both arms. You admired them from afar and made sure you didn't glance their way too often. Uncle Zhao was, well, Uncle Zhao.

He was like the Cook, with her big smile and sad eyes, or the Guard, with his limp and the mouth with only three teeth, or the Overseer, who was a bit like a Lord and made sure they didn't get up to trouble. Once, when the Orphanage was still aboveground, one of those ugly demons from Outside had managed to reach the factory. The Overseer was nowhere to be seen, and even the Guard had disappeared somewhere. To this day, Lin didn't know how Uncle Zhao got there as fast as he did.

One moment, they were all running, the demon on their heels. Next she knew, Uncle Zhao was there, swinging his great halberd and looking a bit like a demon himself. After all was done and Uncle Zhao, looking all bloody, had asked her if she was alright, she may have cried a little. Maybe. Children of the Godless Night never cried! Sometimes, all her luck made her feel a bit guilty. When that happened, she shared her dumpling with Chu, or Tao, or another of her friends.

She always made sure she shared with a different one every day. It was what friends did, and they were the best of friends. She said her best moment of the week was the bun, but maybe that wasn't right.

She always loved when they were all in the dormitory, when it was warm and dark and you could talk if you made sure to whisper and only to the children sharing your bunk; or when they had to move boxes to another factory, when you could look up and see the Night stretch over you, when you could feel the breeze on your face; or when the Overseer called them all together to remind them of how very important their work was, and how blessed they were at being part of the great Godless Night. They all knew it was true.

Grown-ups never lied, after all. They were all very important, and that made the children a little bit important as well. Every moment they had, when they weren't resting or inventing new names for the Guard, they liked to imagine what the Lords did. They could see them, flying above, or marching briskly to a very important business. What incredible things were they up to? Off to demolish the ugly demons that always made a ruckus over the Wall and Outside, sure, but what else?

Lin and her friends liked to let their fantasy run wild, imagining great halls where you could eat all the dumplings you wanted, it was always warm and there were no rats. Where you could put on new clothes at least once every quarter-moon! That was greatness, for sure, and it always turned into a race about coming up with the greatest things possible. Lin never thought they got it right. After all, what did they know of what went on behind the doors of the Lords' palaces? In the end, it wasn't their place to know.

But knowing that they contributed to that kind of wealth in their little way filled Lin's chest with pride; it made her forget the cold and the constant hunger and the pain in her swollen joints. Yes, Lin always thought she was lucky. That is, until a few days ago. If there was something she had always taken for granted was the bell that told the end and beginning of shifts, and the distant thrum of the Siege.

There were demons out there, the Overseer always told them, monsters always hungering for their wealth and homes and food. The Lords fought them back, and it was their duty to support them with their little work. It was one of the reasons Lin felt proud of it. Now… they were both gone. There was a heavy crash, the loudest sound in the world, and then, nothing. Silence. The distant ruckus of the siege was gone, and it had taken the bell with it.

It had been two days now that Lin and her friends waited in the dormitory, eating and resting and getting worried.

"What is happening?" asked Little Chu fearfully. They called him that because he was the smallest. He was also the best when it came to sneaking into the chimneys to clean them up. He was good, but the work had done something to him: he coughed and had to sit down often. When it got really bad, the coughing rattled him like a bunch of sticks, and black goo covered the floor.

"I don't like this…" Tao said glumly. He was the biggest, but also a bit of a wimp. It always took some coaxing for him to keep holding the stones. But he knew what was right: he always shared.

"Hush!" Lin hissed.

"I am trying to listen!" Worried murmurs about "you shouldn't do that" went around, but her friends, perched on the bunks and huddling in the corners, mostly quietened up. Lin pushed her ear against the door of their dormitory. She knew it wasn't nice! But… it had been so long! They even brought them food regularly, which was just plain wrong. She wasn't the only one who left it unfinished: it just didn't feel right to eat without working. And it was so much!

How were the Lords supposed to keep their strength up if they ate all their food? Hushed voices came from behind the door. Lin tried her best to decipher what they were saying, but she was just shy of understanding. They sounded agitated, that's for sure.

"Lin?" asked Little Chu in a whisper.

"Did we do something wrong?" Stolen story; please report. Lin thought it too. Grown-ups didn't make mistakes. Maybe the Lords decided they didn't work well enough, and now they didn't want them anymore. The thought made her feel cold all over. But someone had to be brave. Lin licked her lips.

"I am going out."

"You can't do that!"

"Lin! No!"

"The Overseer will be so angry!"

"Just a moment!" She snapped, barely believing she was saying it.

"I only need to listen a bit…" Twelve pairs of eyes fixed themselves on her, each mirroring the fear she felt. You didn't leave the dormitory unless called, and never without the Guard. It just wasn't done. But nobody argued. They too wanted to know. Desperately so.

"Be careful, alright? When the Overseer sees you, we'll say it was everyone's idea." When not if. Lin agreed. Nobody escaped the Overseer's gaze. The door wasn't locked. The Overseer always left it open as a sign that they could be trusted not to run away. It showed they were good kids. Lin's heart broke a little at ruining that. The door clicked shut on Tao's worried face, and then she was alone. The silence washed over her like the nasty wind that came from the Wall when the ruckus was the loudest.

Except that it felt worse than it. Wrong. Everything felt so. Lin edged cautiously down the short corridor. The orphanage wasn't large. Apart from the dormitory, there was a common room for muster and assignments, the kitchen, an antechamber for visiting grown-ups and the Overseer's office, which kept his bed as well. Lin never knew where the Guard and the Cook slept. There were other rooms, but they were already boarded up when they moved them here from the building closer to the Wall.

Lin guessed there were many more children there before. She didn't wonder where they went. She was breaking enough rules as it was. Slowly, heart beating so loudly she was sure someone could hear it, she made her way into the common room. The table they took their meals at was still there, and so the faded carpet, but the assignment wall was empty. The paper strips with the tasks of the day were nowhere to be seen. Panic hit her like a punch in the gut. Without tasks, what were they supposed to do?

Swallowing, Lin looked around. The big doors leading to the antechambers were barred, as they should, but the stool where the Guard was used to sit and doze off was empty. Everything was still, even the colorful windchimes by the tiny window that turned and spun. Lin swallowed. She could hear the grown-ups' voices. They came from the Overseer's office. Unable to hold herself back, she crossed the room in a trot and pressed an ear against the door. Through the inch-thick wood, she could hear shreds of conversation.

"…about time! …when it'll be?" Lin almost jumped. Uncle Zhao?

"…tomorrow at the latest," said another voice. It was soft and glad and unknown in a way that made Lin's skin prick with unease.

"… no more need for worker-children… dismantle soon…" Lin stepped back. Terror kicked like a wild beast inside her chest. She pressed both hands on her mouth, then bit down on a finger when that wasn't enough. They don't need us anymore. They want to send us away. She didn't realize she had been running. The orphanage, once so familiar, had turned into something scary and dark. The world, once making perfect sense, had become a hostile, nonsensical place.

Her friends were around her, asking questions, begging answers. When had she returned to the dormitory? She couldn't remember. Lin swallowed. Her head pulsed. Something burned behind her eyes.

"They want to send us away!" Pushing one of the bunks against the door wasn't easy. It took the effort of everyone to keep the crickety old bed from falling over before it was in position.

"Uncle Zhao is very strong," Lin said, snatching one of the blankets. Her voice didn't feel like hers. It sounded far too calm. Maybe it had changed, too? With her missing arm and eye, she was far too recognizable. With Tao's help, she tied the blanket around herself. It wasn't a good disguise, but it'd hold. It had to.

"He'll break down the door quickly. So we must be fast." She looked at the children, her friends. They were scared, confused, but also determined, just like her. For a moment, she was almost overwhelmed by how much she loved them.

"I'll sneak out of the window and find the Overseer," she said.

"He'll know what to do. How… how to keep them from sending us away."

"I thought Uncle Zhao was a good guy. Why would he do this?" Asked Hua, chewing on her nails.

"Stop that." Lin slapped her hand away. She always ended up bleeding her fingers.

"Uncle Zhao is a good guy. He's just a bit of a wimp. He doesn't decide. The other person is."

"Is our fault, isn't it?" Tao said, hanging his head. Agreement swept through them. It had to be. They wouldn't send them away if it wasn't.

"Don't get sad!" Lin slapped him on the shoulder, half-speaking to herself.

"Once I tell the Overseer that we'll work twice as hard, they'll think back on it." That got a hopeful smile from him. It was a bit like the breeze from the Night and the wind chimes: it passed some of that light into her, making her almost believe her own words. In the end, though, they weren't fast enough. Lin was still fighting to fix the blanket in a way she found acceptable when Uncle Zhao's voice rang from outside.

"Lin? Tao? It's me, Uncle Zhao!" The door rattled, pushing against the bunk.

"Why is the door closed? Open up!" Lin almost jumped out of her skin.

"No! No!" She yelled, throwing herself against the bed to keep it from sliding back. Panic swept through them like a blanket fire. Her friends started crying, yelling, begging, throwing themselves desperately against the bunk to keep Uncle Zhao from getting in.

"No? What's the meaning of this?" The bunk rattled hard.

"Why are you crying? Are you alright? Let me in!" Lin felt bad. She knew Uncle Zhao would be angry. But she was scared and confused and angry herself, and couldn't stop.

"No!" She cried out.

"We don't talk to you! We want the Overseer!"

"The Overseer? That… man? But why? He's not here anymore." Lin saw the floor tilt. The bell, the roar, and now the Overseer. All gone? It was the last confirmation she needed. Next, it would be their turn.

"We want the Overseer!" She cried out, desperate now.

"Bring him here! I heard you, Uncle Zhao! I heard you speak with the stranger behind the door! You want to send us away because the Sect doesn't need us anymore! We won't let you! We want the Overseer!"

"Out of all the foolish… open this instant, or I swear on the Founder's name…" Uncle Zhao sounded strange. Like he was angry and sad at the same time. Something hit the door hard, making them all jump. Little Chu covered his face and started sobbing, asking for the Cook. Tao was ashen-faced, clinging to the bunk rather than holding it still.

"Guard Zhao, please." The voice was soft and pleasant, and yet it cut through the chaos like one of the paper planes Yun made. Lin found herself holding her breath. Even all her friends stilled. Outside, Uncle Zhao said something, angry and worried and frustrated. But the stranger's answer didn't change.

"Lin? Are you there? Can we talk?" Lin didn't answer. She didn't want to talk to the stranger. The stranger was bad and wanted to break her world. But Little Chu was watching her with wide, pleading eyes, and Tao listened with a marvelling expression, and the knot in her chest was choking her.

"Ye… yeah?"

"My name is Liu Jing. I have been sent from the Palace to talk to you and your friends." The Palace? Lin almost swallowed her tongue. Only the greatest Lords came from there.

"T-talk? About wha… what?"

"Many good things. Starting with a new bed for each of you. Can we talk? It's fine if you don't want to open the door. We can speak like this if you prefer." Lin wanted to be angry. But the voice was kind and persuasive, and the emotion slid through her fingers like sewage water. Tears gathered in the deep holes of her sockets.

"Do you… will you send us away?" She asked, voice cracking. All around her, her friends had lost the will to fight. They had stopped holding the bunk, bawling their eyes out instead. A bunch of wimps, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"Please, oh please, don't send us away!" She sobbed, not bothering to wipe her eyes.

"We'll work all day, every day. We'll work twice as hard. We'll hold the stones! We'll be good! Just don't send us away!" Whatever strength she had was gone. All she wanted was her old world back, where things made sense and she had a place to call home. Nobody protested when Uncle Zhao pushed the door open, moving the bunk back like it was a leaf. He could have shattered it at any moment, but he knew better than to try. He didn't wish to risk wounding the children by mistake.

He was beside himself at first, furious that Lin would do something like that. He knew her: the girl was a willful hellion. If someone could have dragged all her friends into his foolishness was her. Still, one look at the crowd of crying, begging children stopped him dead in his tracks. All reprimands died on his tongue, and then he was on his knees, holding Lin in a fierce hug.

The little girl had always looked just shy of falling apart, a bundle of sticks wrapped in skin made leathery by a life of toil, one leg and one eye lost to the madness that had ruled over the Sect during the Siege. Zhao thought she had never felt more fragile than in that moment, with her face hidden against his chest and her tears running freely.

"Nobody is sending you away, little Lin," he said, stumbling over his words. Emotion pooled thickly in his throat, making speaking difficult.

"You did well. You did so well. You were so brave and good. Only good things for you now, I swear. Only good things." Behind him, the honorable Liu Jing, wife of the Liu patriarch, waited in respectful silence. The word appreciation didn't even start to define Zhao's gratitude: the matriarch had led personally the sweeps of the foul work orphanages that had sprouted across the Sect in the frenzy to muster every scrap of manpower for the defense.

Even now, new buildings, cleaner and safer, were being stocked with furniture and food as they waited for their new little inhabitants. As he gathered the children to himself, - the talentless, orphaned children who were good only for the work of their hands and what little Qi they could offer and yet children, children! - offering reassurances and the help he had so long yearned to give, Zhao the soldier thought of long nightmares finally over, of miracles and generosity raining from on high.

As if Heaven had finally turned its merciful way toward those who most deserved it. Not an inch of him believed he could repay such grace. And yet, he would try. He owed it to Lin and her friends.