Prologue
The Camel’s Back
Dyan ran.
She wasn’t a natural runner. She wasn’t tall, so her short legs didn’t eat up the miles like Shad’s or Cheela’s. On the other hand, she didn’t have Wayland’s bulk to slow her down, or Deek’s awkwardness with the physical world.
She was herself, Dyan, and she was at peace with the System.
She pushed up the slope ahead of her in the final seconds of pre-dawn darkness, towards the edge of the Creche that had been her world her entire life. The ridge was called the Camel’s Back, named after a pre-Cataclysm animal that Dyan had only seen in ancient pictures, and like a camel it was humped up in rounded knobs. Dyan raced along a trail only a few inches wide, tall yellow grass whipping at her knees as she went, light running shoes barely making an impression in the powdery dry dirt of autumn in Buza System.
She heard the heavier thudding of Shad’s feet behind her.
This was her last day as a Crecheling. The thought filled her with joy. She was a baby bird, about to peck its way out of its shell. This morning would come the Lot Letters, the Hanging—she shivered slightly—and then the Selection, and then she would join Buza System as an Urbane, an adult and a complete person. She would belong.
Dyan stopped just under the crest of the Camel’s Back, panting and leaning her hands on her knees. She turned and looked back at the Creche, deep in shadow and just beginning to stir. It was a complex of many buildings, nestled in the valleys of the low foothills that ran from the Camel’s Back to the towering Jawtooths. She devoured the sight of the long low dormitories, carefully segregated into the boys in one canyon and girls in another, with the Magisters living in a third. She lingered on the instruction halls where she had learned of the Cataclysm, the Cogitant Council that had formed Buza System to drag humanity up from the ruins, and the shards and tatters of legend that made up the history and geography of the world before. She basked in glowing memories at the sight of the hospital and the engineering rooms, the farms and fields and orchards, and the crafting tents. She drank in the training fields, with equestrian courses for riding and target stumps for archery, and for the monofilament weapons of the Urbane—the whip and bola.
All these spaces and all these subjects had been her school, and her life. Other than short journeys out, accompanied by a Magister, Dyan and her Crechemates had never left the Creche. They had trained and studied and prepared, under the observation of the Magisters and the direction of the Cogitants, for a Calling the System would give them on a day they had all long awaited.
Now the day had arrived, and Dyan was about to leave the Creche behind.
“We’ll be able to be Love-Matched,” she said out loud.
Shad caught up her to her as she said it. He didn’t answer, just stopped and leaned back, resting his hands on his hips.
“What do you think?” she asked him. “What will you be Called to do?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Whatever I’m asked to do, I’ll be happy to do it.”
“Me too,” she said. They were both lying, and she knew it. But it was a gentle lie, and they shared it, and sharing it made her feel closer to Shad. “To each his Calling. And we’ll be able to be Love-Matched,” she said again.
“Look.” He pointed. “I’ll never get over this.”
The sun cracked over the Jawtooths, the brilliant white rim of a blazing disk. A new day. Dyan laughed with excitement. She straightened herself, turned, took the remaining steps to the height of the Camel’s Back that was the very edge of the Creche, and looked down at Buza System.
The System lay along the Buza River, white buildings, green fields, and trees heavy with oranges. Early morning traffic clopped along the System’s wide avenues on horseback, coming in from Eyrie and Cowell in the west and Nemap in the south, on the Lull Sea where the Snaik and the Buza joined, before flowing over the Dam and into the unknown world west of the Treasure Valley. Beyond the Lull stood the Wahai, rugged and brown as the sun woke them up for another day.
Capitol in particular showed signs of early life, around the glorious Garden, the towering domed Council Hall, and the squat Prison. That would be for the Hanging, Dyan thought with a thrill in her heart.
Will my Calling be the right one? she wondered, and then forced herself to think the more correct thought: What will my Calling be? The sunlight felt prickly-warm on her skin, raising her mood even higher as she turned and began to jog towards the dormitories. Magister Zarah would be knocking on doors soon, with Lot Letters in her hand.
Dyan badly wanted to be a Magister herself, tending children in the Nursery and teaching them in the Creche. This had been her family, and she wanted to continue with it, as a nurturer and as a guide.
“There’s something maybe I should tell you,” Shad said.
Dyan laughed and broke into a run.
“Hey!” Shad blurted out, and ran after her.
She cruised across the tops of the hill to drop at a steep angle directly down towards the central space around which the girls’ dormitories clustered.
“Blazes!” roared a girl’s voice she knew very well, just as Dyan reached the bottom of the canyon and slowed her run to a sweat-chilled walk. “Who put porridge in my blasted boots?”
***