To the Well-Organized Mind

Chapter Ten

[Nia]

You could make an argument that ferality is an extreme jump in evolution. Earth changed abruptly, and in response, humanity must adapt quickly or go extinct. It's just ironic that our adaption for survival brings us full circle back to where humanity has been in the past.

-from Diya Rhee's thesis

It only takes one feral feast ceremony to ruin your subconscious for the rest of your life. When you witness the ritual, your mind will never let you forget it again. The sights will replay themselves for you in your dreams, in your bored wondering, in every blink of your eyelids. It will haunt you so effectively that when you hear anyone vocalizing without words, a chill will creep up your spine and your hands will go numb.

We've been walking for nearly an hour when the vocalizations start.

To the ferals, it's singing. But since they don't have language anymore, they have no words to ruin the meaning of the sound. The females all seem to have this ability to make the eeriest lullaby music, as if they internalized augmented fifths.

To us, it's a warning that we're running out of time. The cat slowed us down more than I realized. Grabbing Fen's shoulder, I pull him into a faster trot. We'll risk discovery, but if not, we'll have wasted all this time.

So much for my plan to drop Fen off at Asis's door before I went after the others. If I took the time to drop him off, he would, without a doubt, be the only survivor of this band I rescued.

And as much as that doesn't bother the way it should, I can't let them all die despite myself. None of them were who I was looking for, that's true; but they aren't to blame for that, even if I have tried to do just that.

The rest of the forest has gone quiet. We slap bushes aside that were miracles to kiss and bow before just twenty minutes ago. The roots that trip us take the brunt of our curses instead of our gentle tracery of their designs. The water that drips down our faces, blinding our eyes, is not lapped up in gratitude but wiped away impatiently.

And through it all, this undesired impatience with the miraculous forest becomes my reason to hate the ferals and the captives. Every step I must hurry through this terrain that deserves slow fascination is a step I begrudge both groups.

It takes four "Nia!"'s before Fen catches my attention.

"What about the plan?" he hisses.

I take a precious five seconds to study him. The plan had been a distraction, a lie to make him follow me. I had been planning to drop him off at the gates of Asis, after all, and go after the others on my own, making our "plan" the fastest, most believable method of counter-attack. It wasn't exactly the best way to counter-attack, simply the first one that slipped out of my mouth I thought Fen would believe.

But Fen seems determined to carry out the plan, jaw resolute in its clench and hands firmly holding his sharp stick.

And I don't have any time to think up a better plan.

"Yeah, okay, we'll stick to the plan. But if anything goes even a centimeter out of line, you better run like hell and climb a tree like last time."

He matches my gaze and then sticks out his hand to shake. I stare at his hand like I've never seen the gesture before and turn around without shaking it. I'm not going to take any steps towards goodbye.

The vocalizations have begun to taper off, but we're close enough now that I can guess where they're gathered: the glade with the river running through it. Our river, the spring from our well that forms this oasis.