Atlantia

Bay flinches slightly at the sound of my flat voice. Did she forget already how ugly it sounds?

“It’s not that,” she whispers to me, as if she can read my mind. “It’s just that when I imagine you speaking, you’re always using your real voice.”

“The sirens all came up,” I say to Bay, “and the people Above killed them.”

“No,” Bay says, gripping my arm so hard that it hurts. “No. Are you sure?”

“I saw it happen,” I say. “So did True.” At that moment I realize that I haven’t introduced True and Bay to each other, but before I can say anything else, someone opens the door.

It’s a priest, wearing one of the sober brown robes, the same man who said Bay’s name earlier out by the altar. He’s a round little middle-aged man, unremarkable except for his kind expression and shock of unruly gray hair. And he’s followed by Fen, the boy from the Below. Fen looks terrible—his eyes wild and tired, his hair a mess. He can’t stop coughing. I take a step back in alarm.

“Don’t be afraid,” Fen says. “It’s not contagious.” He claps a mask over his face and breathes deeply. And then his eyes widen. “True,” he says.

True grins, and the two of them embrace. Before True can draw back, Fen starts coughing again.

Bay glances over at Fen but then looks back at me. “Who was killing the sirens?”

Should I talk about this in front of Fen and the priest? Can they be trusted? Bay seems to think that they can.

“The people in the boats killed the sirens.” It sounds stupid, and I shake my head in frustration. So much needs to be said, and quickly. “We all came up together on the transport. And when we arrived, people were waiting for us in boats. They never came ashore, but they started killing the sirens. True and I were the only ones who escaped, as far as I know. Maire helped us.”

“Where is she?” Bay asked.

I can’t answer.

“They killed Maire?” Bay asks, stunned, as if such a thing could never be true. I understand her. It seems impossible that Maire could have survived, but it also seems impossible that she could die.

“I think so,” I tell Bay. “I didn’t see.”

“So you left them,” Fen says.

It is exactly the wrong thing to say.

“You left us,” I say to him. To Bay.

You left us.

“I’m sorry, Rio,” Bay says. “We did. I did. I left.” Her voice breaks.

Bay knows the question I’m going to ask. I can’t help it. Even though I know the reason from the letter, I want to hear Bay tell me in person. Bay, who has dirt under her fingernails and short-cut hair and a patch of skin peeling on her nose, who has been living the life I intended for myself Above while I’ve been living out her time Below.

“Why did you leave?”

“I thought it was the best way to keep you safe,” Bay says. There are tears in her eyes. “I made a mess of everything. I didn’t know that the Above was going to kill the sirens and cut off Atlantia. Our mother didn’t tell me.”

“She didn’t tell me, either,” I say.

“We must go back to the island and see if there is anyone left to save,” says the priest. He moves, and an emblem around his neck glints in the light. It’s oxidized to a green color, not shiny like the one my mother wore, but the insignia is similar. It mirrors the image on the pulpit here in the temple Above—trees turning into clouds.

This is no priest. This is their Minister.

“It’s all right, Rio,” Bay says. “This is Ciro, the Minister.” She leans closer and whispers to me. “Don’t worry. He’s nothing like Nevio.”

How can she be sure? We knew Nevio for most of our lives and would never have believed him capable of murder. Bay has known this Minister for a few weeks. How can she be sure that we can trust him?

As far as I’m concerned, there is one Minister I trust and she is dead.

“Let me see what I can find out,” Ciro says to Bay. “Stay here. Keep them hidden.” He reaches up and touches the insignia around his neck. “May the gods be with us all,” he says, and he moves quickly through the door.

“What does he mean, keep us hidden?” I ask Bay.

“The temple is the only place you might be safe,” she says. “And even here, not for long. It’s dangerous Above.”

I know that. It’s dangerous for me everywhere.

“You trust Ciro,” I say. “Why?”

“Because he is the leader of the movement to save the Below,” Bay says. “He believes that the Above should not let Atlantia die.”

“Why would he care about any of us?” I ask.

“Because of the shells,” Bay says.

Because of the shells. What does she mean?

“I didn’t know anything about them until I came Above,” Bay says. “But Ciro told me. And others, too. There have been shells coming up with the bodies for years—in the pockets of the dead, or tied around their necks like amulets. At first the cullers—the ones who take any valuables they can find from the corpses that make it through the mines—threw away the shells on the beach. You can find them everywhere up here—they’re not worth much. But then, one day, someone picked one up. And heard a voice. A voice from the Below. Not a siren voice, commanding. Just a human voice, talking.

“The voice disappeared after it had been heard once,” Bay says. “People thought that the first person was making things up. But then others started walking along the shore and picking up shells and listening, and sometimes they heard people speaking, too. The cullers began to realize that the shells with the voices in them must be the shells they found on the bodies from the Below. They started bringing those shells to Ciro instead of discarding them. The sounds of the voices broke his heart.

“For years there have been people up here listening. Not everyone Above wants us to die. People here believe the shells and the voices must be from the gods. No one knows how else such a miracle could have happened.”

But I do.

Maire was the miracle.

She saved the voices.

I discovered long ago that some of the best voices can be heard in the prison walls. She told me that earlier. I wonder if those are some of the stories she sent up. People trapped, wanting to be free.