Firedown Sun

"Hey, Kitten, check this out."

I moved over to Pharis' side at the cutting blade. It swung down, inches away from the boy's fingers, but he hardly seemed to notice.

"What's up?" I asked, watching him work. His creation spun on the little metal plate below the blade, which swung down every few seconds to shear off the rough edges of the white wood.

"Look," he said, excited. "Isn't it amazing? It's working!"

"Mm." I squinted to inspect his craft. "What are you making, Pharis? Some sort of... wooden block?"

He laughed. "Well, I'm just practicing with the blade. What are you doing?"

As we moved over to my cutter, and as he saw my contribution to the fail society of Toymakers, I wondered if Skill Training was actually just some way for the leaders to poke fun at us. After all, Proxy kept going around, trying to be a good Teacher and explain how these cutting contraptions worked to the kids who were struggling, which was more than half of the class, and she couldn't stop laughing at some of the "toys" that we were coming up with.

"It's a..." Pharis bit his lip, trying to figure out what my chunk of wood was becoming.

"It's a failure, that's what it is," I groaned. "Why did we start with Toymaking first, anyway?"

"I don't know. Proxy just said we needed to start practicing the skills and try to do our best. They aren't easy, you know."

"Well, I doubt they have a practice for Fire Pit Manager, what with matches being forbidden and all," I breathed, pulling the lever for the blade to swing down. It chopped my experiment in half, and I was left with an unhappy looking blob on the metal plate, staring up at me like I was its murderer. Practically I was. I'd killed the poor thing, and I was supposed to be turning it into something beautiful.

"Here." Pharis pushed my hand away from the lever so I wouldn't chop his hand off, and he reached into the cutter and swiped up the remains of my creation and tossed them away. "Start over." He pressed a new block of wood into my hands. "Make something you're proud of. I'm sure you can figure it out if you try really hard."

"No, I can't." I couldn't help but argue. Even if I tried, I'd never be a good Toymaker. I wasn't creative or artistic in the slightest! I couldn't even lie creatively!

Pharis smiled warmly at me and pushed me gently toward the cutting machine. "TRY," he urged.

And so I did. And in the end, I came up with a half-deformed "tree". When Proxy came to inspect my work, she just raised her eyebrows and moved on to Pharis, who had designed a perfect-looking sphere with little spikes poking out in different directions. I had no idea how he managed it, but Proxy loved it.

"This is excellent! Whatever will you call it?"

He gave me the slightest crooked grin. "I think I'll call it the sun."

Proxy didn't understand when I giggled. She ignored me completely and patted Pharis on the shoulder, then moved on to the others. When she turned around, I whispered to Pharis, "Are you trying to get in trouble, or did you honestly mean that it was the sun?"

In answer, Pharis placed it back on the metal plate and the blade sliced it in half two, three times.

He smiled again. "Take a guess."

I picked up my "tree" and put it in my school bag to show my parents later, mostly so they could laugh and tell me I tried my best, even if I failed miserably. "I hope tomorrow we practice something useful. Like Gardening. We could plant flowers or vegetables."

Pharis brushed a finger across my experiment. "Or better trees?"

The announcement to leave the class sounded, drowning out our laughter.

*

I got home, and my parents were sitting at the table, waiting for me. My mother drummed her fingers monotonously out in front of her, her pink painted nails clicking across the table's wooden surface.

I took my time pulling off my winter coat and boots, setting my bag at the base of the staircase, then twirling around slowly to face my parents and attempting to avoid the stares. They hardly blinked, just watching me like I was a wild animal let loose with a grumbling stomach and a taste for blood. I moved toward them slowly, standing in front of my chair with my arms folded.

"What's up?" I wondered.

"What's up," my father replied solemnly, "is the city's been... how shall I put it... discussing the article on the front page of today's paper. ALL morning. Rumor would have it that some kids were found out late at night. A few examples would be Hexa Penrose and Resh Storrmier, and both were found in this house this morning. Which tells us that you were with them. And this picture..." He pulled out the paper and lay it face up on the table. "Isn't this you?"

I glanced at the fuzzy photo, at where his finger pointed out my face, hardly visible among the crowd. I nodded, swallowing at the same time. "Yes that's me. But rumor would also have it..." I sat down slowly, "that I'm the leader and that I'm starting a rebellion with these kids. Both wrong."

"But you-"

"Oh, give her a break, Garran, and let her explain."

Dad cleared his throat and his eyes slithered away from mine. "She tried that already, and it didn't work."

"I told you this morning that I went with some friends for a little talk in the woods. That it was NOTHING. And it WAS nothing. That I can promise you."

My father stood, pushing the newspaper away. It slid right into my hands, which I had placed on the table. I flinched away from it. "No," he murmured, shaking his head slightly. "You can promise me nothing. You can promise the city nothing. Not anymore."

And then he headed to his private room, the sound of the slamming door piercing my ears and echoing in the silent house.

"It's just stress," my mother reassured me. "With the malfunction, you know?"

I nodded sullenly. "It's all a malfunction."

*

Sunlight was pouring through my window, and the soft melodies of Tenth Avenue North played above my head, my body covered in an unfamiliar warmth. Eyes still closed, I tucked my hand into a fold of my heating blanket. It was working.

I smiled, whispering for the Waking Song to end.

It was all working now. And not in a we-hate-Kitten-let's-kill-her type of way. I climbed out of my fiery haven of covers and got dressed into a rainbow of colors, feeling like today was going to be a wonderful, cheery day: yellow tanktop with a silvery green butterfly printed on the front with a light blue jacket to cover my bare shoulders and arms. I zipped it up only halfway so that the butterfly still showed, then slipped into the only skirt I had; it fell a few inches below my knees, and it was also a bright, sunny yellow.

Both my parents were at the table again, glancing up in surprise as I skipped down the stairs humming my Waking Song and actually EARLY for breakfast instead of late.

"Well, aren't you in a fine mood?" Dad huffed.

I smiled delicately, sitting at the table and tapping on the wood for my meal. A piping hot plate of poached eggs appeared at my place, along with orange juice in a purple cup. "Oh, delicious," I murmured and dug in. Still chewing, I asked them, "Isn't it great? Everything's working!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full," my mother reminded me.

I rolled my eyes. "It was only half full, Mother. Duh!"

They stared at me like I'd suddenly sprouted thirteen arms and a second head. I couldn't place why they were acting so strangely just because I was happy this morning. So I continued eating, enjoying the wonderful taste of eggs actually coming from the wall, wondering if, because of all the working equipment, the snow was finally gone.

But, after I'd finished eating and raced to check outside, a sudden damper fell on my good mood. "Slush," I growled, pulling the window curtains closed and stomping to the hall closet to retrieve my boots, pulling on just my music jacket, since it didn't look snowy and cold enough for my thicker, winter coat to be of much use except as a heat-trapping menace. "I HATE this!"

Seeming pleased with the return of the normal, grumpy Kitten, my parents began to speak of mature, adult things, like what sort of boring things they were going to do today and who they'd have to see.

A name caught my ear, and I snapped my attention to what Mom was telling my father. "...Ankun, you know, the one in the retiring circle. But anyway, I-"

"Wait, wait," I mumbled, putting my hands up to interrupt her. Again, they began to stare at me. Right. Kids weren't supposed to care about what adults were saying amongst themselves. But I kept at it, asking, "What about Ankun? What's going on?"

"I'm seeing him today," my mother explained. "He called me on my cell."

"Your what?"

"Cell. It's a type of personal phone. Don't you know about them? It's the latest technology. In fact, they were around in the olden days, and seeing your fascination about those times, you should have heard about them."

I ignored the snide comment and licked my lips, flustered. Why was Mom seeing Ankun? "You're going over to Ankun's because..."

My mother stood and placed both her hands on my shoulders. "This is what doctors do," she whispered, emphasizing each word equally slow. "Don't worry. He was just complaining about that blind lady across the street from him, and we need to ask him a few questions. That's all."

"Okay." I wouldn't meet her gaze, feeling like there was some sort of violation by her seeing my rebellious, book collecting friend. He was MINE. How could anyone else be with him? He said he hadn't had any visitors besides me in three years. What would she do if she saw all those books? What if she saw the supply of matches on his shelves that he gave to me? Would she call the police? The Orderman? I pictured Dasumne showing up on his doorstep with her crooked, evil grin and black uniform, maybe even Mendrick at her side.

I shivered at the thought. But Ankun wasn't stupid. He wouldn't call my mother over if he wasn't planning on "cleaning up" a bit.

"I have to get to school..." I murmured, trying to forget about it. He would be fine. And who cared if she was seeing him? He wasn't really mine, anyway. I couldn't stop her from going to his house to have a chat. It was just a few questions. That was all. Because he'd been complaining about Asrid Roygreen. Huh. What had she done?

"Have a good day, Kitten," my mother said, rubbing my back as a farewell gesture.

"Right..."

I moved to the door slowly, swallowing and willing myself to clear my mind the moment I stepped out onto slushy ground.

I'd been right about the temperature. It wasn't bad out, except for the disgusting gray slush everywhere that would soon melt in my socks.

Gray again. Just like that night when I thought my dad was going to disappear forever. In reality, he almost had. I'd been lucky that they had sent him back.

If they'd let my dad go, wouldn't they leave Ankun alone?

I hoped so.

Keeping my promise, I swept my mind clean and pressed the hem at my wrist. "Something pretty," I murmured. "Instrumental, no lyrics."

And then I was surrounded in a bubble of an unfamiliar, beautiful melody. I bit my lip as I listened to it play, wondering what it was.

"Song name?" I asked.

"The Surface of the Sun," came the chirruped reply.

"Composer?"

"John Murphy."

An old one. I listened silently, mind spinning. I felt goosebumps on my arms underneath my thin layers, my skirt fluttering out a bit by the humming wind.

The Surface of the Sun. I glanced up at the synthetic one, wondering about the leaders that lived there. How was it even possible for them to be on that thing? How did it work, anyhow, the rising and setting of that sun, made by hand by the most intelligent engineers- or mechanics, I never could tell the difference between the two- in all of Monten?

What happened to the real sun? What happened to the stars? Why did all those people die, except for us? What could cause ninety five percent of a whole planet to cease to be? It seemed so impossible!

The music continued, echoing my confusion and making me feel like I was floating, hovering, covered by an invisible cloak so that no one else could see me. A force field separated me from the world for a few minutes, and nothing could pierce it.

Until the song ended. And then I felt alone, like everyone was leaving me behind as they raced ahead to the successes in their future.

I would never be of much worth to this city. I was a natural rebel, never able to quite follow the rules even when I tried. Always shifting from this road to that road, never the same. And I was living in a place where everyone was supposed to be robotic, moving the same way and heading the same direction. Sure, you could change. But not your mindset. That HAD to remain the same.

But mine never ran out of ways to be different.

I sighed as the bus pulled up, a new melody pricking my hearing.

"Song name, composer?" I asked a second time.

"Rangers, a Fine Frenzy."

I got on the bus, feeling the pull under my feet as we rolled forward. After a while, I had the chorus memorized.

It went like this:

"And the rangers stream out of the cabins
They are the hunters, we are the rabbits
And maybe we don't want to be found
Maybe we don't want you tracking us down."

With those lyrics echoing inside my hood, a figure appeared in front of me. I thought it would be Resh or Hexa, maybe even one of those kids from the rebel posse that seemed to want to follow me around like I was some sort of Alpha female, but I was wrong.

It was kind of perfect. The song went right along with all of this.

"I'd like to speak with you alone," Leirre Talma whispered to me, flashing a grin that was all but friendly. "Won't you join me in my office?"