Read Online Outlier: Rebellion by Daryl Banner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Daryl Banner
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money’s end, now. There is surely opportunity, the lower city being large and ripe as it is. Understand that I am a forgiving woman. I didn’t send him to the King for punishment; I simply sent him home. Others hardly would show such a kindness.”
“I understand.” Athan can’t meet her eyes, still thinking on the servant’s face. He doesn’t quite remember what it looks like. Already, even the memory’s gone.
“Some of their kind make a living here,” she goes on, coolly. “They are paid and sent back. I don’t mean to sound cruel, Athan, but don’t you think it’s privilege enough for one of their like to spend a day here in our Lifted City? I feed them as well, you understand … I’m not cruel, see. I’m simply aware.”
Athan hears all his mother’s words, and he tries so hard to trust them, but his dream of a life there, thrilling and unapologetic and free … it aches him to think so poorly of the slumborn. And what will come of that server now, fired and cast away? Is it all Athan’s fault?
Does kindness really have such a price?
Instead of the gym tonight, he makes a walk through the large Glassen square to the Eastly, down the long street lined in polished obsidian that reaches the Lord’s Garden, his favorite place in all of Atlas. Even after dark, the colors of the garden bleed with hyper-saturated glory—passion purples, violent reds and cerulean and golden umber.
There is, of course, an ulterior motive to visiting the Lord’s Garden. It just so happens that this is also, in regards to altitude, the lowest part of the Lifted City. It nearly grazes the slums below, he might imagine, like a giant bird swooping by a great plain, its talons tickling the grass. Though it is still difficult to make out a face or spot a person at all even from this low height, it is the closeness that shocks even more to life his fantasies.
He wonders if flowers like these grow down below. He sure hopes they do; those people, even hungry liars and stealers and drug-abusers as they may be, still deserve just as pleasant a surrounding as he.
With a smile beaming on his face, pinching his eyes, he pulls from his pocket a Sanctum coin, gold as gold can be, and tosses it over the brim … watches it drop, drop, drop … vanishing in the city below. Who might find this one tonight? he wonders.
It’s this simple act, with every coin rained below, literally deposited like a fund into his dream, that he feels the connection he so craves. Yes, with every toss of gold, his smiles come a bit easier in the morning as he’s dressed by another’s hands, his each bite of another delicious breakfast, lunch, or dinner made a touch tastier … and so carefully prepared by the crafty, experienced hands of another lowborn chef, set before him by another lowborn server, cleaned away by another lowborn hand …
All of them, more free than he’ll ever be.
000 8 Wick
The moon yawns in the window. He’s nearly asleep when he jerks awake, recalling Rone’s instruction. How could he have forgotten? He regrets not having slept more the night before.
But no time for regrets. Wick, very careful to not make noise, opens the window, climbs onto the brief jutting of roof and slides down the side of the house, darting into the night.
He can’t believe how easy it was to sneak out. Considering his dad’s Legacy, he half-expected him to be waiting there in the brush, twelve steps ahead of him and marching him right back to bed. Wick smiles broadly, drawing the hood over his head and climbing the stairs to the station. The ten train is the one he must take to reach the far edge of the ninth ward, 1200 and first block. It is a solid forty-minute train ride. As he’s in the seat watching buildings fly by, he realizes the distance he’s making between here and home is so unsettling, and several times in a row he gives an honest moment’s consideration to turning back. My bed sounds awful inviting
“I understand.” Athan can’t meet her eyes, still thinking on the servant’s face. He doesn’t quite remember what it looks like. Already, even the memory’s gone.
“Some of their kind make a living here,” she goes on, coolly. “They are paid and sent back. I don’t mean to sound cruel, Athan, but don’t you think it’s privilege enough for one of their like to spend a day here in our Lifted City? I feed them as well, you understand … I’m not cruel, see. I’m simply aware.”
Athan hears all his mother’s words, and he tries so hard to trust them, but his dream of a life there, thrilling and unapologetic and free … it aches him to think so poorly of the slumborn. And what will come of that server now, fired and cast away? Is it all Athan’s fault?
Does kindness really have such a price?
Instead of the gym tonight, he makes a walk through the large Glassen square to the Eastly, down the long street lined in polished obsidian that reaches the Lord’s Garden, his favorite place in all of Atlas. Even after dark, the colors of the garden bleed with hyper-saturated glory—passion purples, violent reds and cerulean and golden umber.
There is, of course, an ulterior motive to visiting the Lord’s Garden. It just so happens that this is also, in regards to altitude, the lowest part of the Lifted City. It nearly grazes the slums below, he might imagine, like a giant bird swooping by a great plain, its talons tickling the grass. Though it is still difficult to make out a face or spot a person at all even from this low height, it is the closeness that shocks even more to life his fantasies.
He wonders if flowers like these grow down below. He sure hopes they do; those people, even hungry liars and stealers and drug-abusers as they may be, still deserve just as pleasant a surrounding as he.
With a smile beaming on his face, pinching his eyes, he pulls from his pocket a Sanctum coin, gold as gold can be, and tosses it over the brim … watches it drop, drop, drop … vanishing in the city below. Who might find this one tonight? he wonders.
It’s this simple act, with every coin rained below, literally deposited like a fund into his dream, that he feels the connection he so craves. Yes, with every toss of gold, his smiles come a bit easier in the morning as he’s dressed by another’s hands, his each bite of another delicious breakfast, lunch, or dinner made a touch tastier … and so carefully prepared by the crafty, experienced hands of another lowborn chef, set before him by another lowborn server, cleaned away by another lowborn hand …
All of them, more free than he’ll ever be.
000 8 Wick
The moon yawns in the window. He’s nearly asleep when he jerks awake, recalling Rone’s instruction. How could he have forgotten? He regrets not having slept more the night before.
But no time for regrets. Wick, very careful to not make noise, opens the window, climbs onto the brief jutting of roof and slides down the side of the house, darting into the night.
He can’t believe how easy it was to sneak out. Considering his dad’s Legacy, he half-expected him to be waiting there in the brush, twelve steps ahead of him and marching him right back to bed. Wick smiles broadly, drawing the hood over his head and climbing the stairs to the station. The ten train is the one he must take to reach the far edge of the ninth ward, 1200 and first block. It is a solid forty-minute train ride. As he’s in the seat watching buildings fly by, he realizes the distance he’s making between here and home is so unsettling, and several times in a row he gives an honest moment’s consideration to turning back. My bed sounds awful inviting
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