Green Jack

  Green Jack

  By Alyxandra Harvey

  Copyright 2016

  Smashwords Edition

  Elysium City, 2086

  Chapter 1

  Saffron

  The Taggers were onto her.

  Saffron had finally found a decent clump of pineapple weed and, of course, the bloody taggers showed up. Scavenging for plants was technically illegal in the common areas, but surviving on the Directorate-issue protein paste was miserable. She didn’t know how they’d even figured out she was untagged, since she was crouched in the rain with her sleeves down to her wrists. Bad enough the Directorate opened up Tagging centres to test for numen, but it was just insulting when other scavengers from the Core turned traitor to become Taggers. She didn’t just want to escape, she wanted to break some bones at the same time.

  She ducked between two rusted cars before they could get into range. One dart from the tranquilizer gun and she’d wake up in a Tagging centre, if she woke up at all. People from the Core went missing all the time. She didn’t run south toward the Core, even though she knew the streets and alleys there better than anyone. They would expect that, and they’d have backup waiting. And anyway she wouldn’t lead them to her Oona. She’d rather be tagged.

  Actually, she’d rather feed them their own darts and electricity.

  “Stop her!” one of the Taggers shouted. The other Elysians faded away into the crumbling buildings. They wouldn’t help the Taggers. Of course, they wouldn’t help her either, any more than she’d have helped them. That wasn’t the way you survived as a scavenger.

  “It won’t hurt, sweetheart,” was the next shout. “It’s just a test and a tattoo.”

  She would have snorted if she’d had the breath to spare. It wasn’t fear, it was the principle. Leaves slapped at her as she ran. She was piling up infractions: scavenging, untagged, and now breaking branches of the trees that grew at all angles in all parts of the City. They were protected, worth more than anything or anyone from the Core. They emerged from broken windows and through the skeletons of abandoned cars covered in moss and lichen and weeds. At this rate, she’d anger a Dryad and have her intestines wrapped around a tree like a yuletide banner. She had to wonder what the Directorate had told the girls who turned into Dryads when they’d first started the Green Jack experiments. Another version of “it’s just a test and a tattoo, sweetheart.”

  A dart flew past her ear, nearly catching in the braid at the temple. She ducked behind a door, grabbing for one of her knives. It sliced between the sheets of rain, slamming into one of the Tagger’s shoulders. The tranquilizer gun clattered to the ground. It didn’t stop them though; mostly, it just pissed them off. Well, good. She was plenty pissed off herself.

  She was near the Wall, and if she wasn’t careful she’d get stuck between the guards and the Taggers. But if she went up into one of the buildings she might be trapping herself. She didn’t know which had stairs, which had bridges to other buildings, which had tenants who would turn her in for the promise of a reward. The Taggers were now offering packets of seeds for those who helped them. It was hard to compete with that. Even if she had more than a handful of weeds to offer as a bribe. Which she didn’t.

  The rain ran into her mouth; it was cold and tasted like metal. It had been raining for five weeks and three days. Before the Rains, there hadn’t been a cloud for over nine months. Everything was covered in dust, which was just as deadly. At least when the rains came, everyone had an equal chance.

  That was how you could always tell the poor folk from the others; Elysians grew their hair into long braids to catch the rain, and the rich Enclave folk cut theirs short as rat fur. The rain was a liar, though. It slid down your face and you couldn’t help but hope. And after all these wet weeks, the hope got stronger, so strong you’d swear you were drinking whiskey instead. It muddled your brain. The Wall couldn’t handle the constant water; that was the hope lured people away from their cramped apartments hundreds of feet up in the air. The electricity shorted out and the Wall looked like any other wall, and someone always tried to climb over it.

  Someone always died.

  Tonight was no different.

  Chapter 2

  Jane

  Jane hoped there was still strawberry and avocado salad.

  Her mother insisted on arriving to all social events three hours late. She claimed it showed that they were busy and important people but just once Jane wanted to arrive when the buffet table hadn’t already been decimated. People from the Enclave were meant to pick at their food in public; enough to show that there was always plenty to be had, but not enough to imply they might actually be hungry. Hunger was gauche. But strawberries were rare, and in Jane’s opinion worth any amount of disdain.

  Somehow, despite the dainty nibbling, the strawberries were always gone by the time Jane arrived.

  When the herald announced them, Jane’s mother strode forward as though the party was in her honour. “The Highgate family. Amaryllis with daughters Ivy, Jane and Portia.” Ivy was dutiful, and Portia was eager. Jane was just hungry. Her presence wasn`t required anyway; she wasn`t quite exceptional enough. It didn’t bother her, she usually preferred invisibility. It was the only way to enjoy what remained of the mint ices, since it looked as though the very elegant Enclave society folk had already licked the strawberry plate clean.

  “I knew I’d find you here,” Kiri said. She wore a delicate beaded gown with a matching bandeau in her short hair. Her black eyes were lined in thick silver, the only hint of Kiri’s real personality.

  “Why are you so floofy?” Jane asked, reaching for a spoon painted with tiny violets. “And pink. You look like cake.”

  “I’d punch you for that if it wasn’t true.” She plucked at the diaphanous petals of her dress, glowing against her dark skin. “New designer. Mother has decided to be his patron.”

  The dress was the exact colour of strawberry ice cream. “It’s making me hungry.”

  Kiri grinned. “If you bite me, I’ll bite you back.”

  “I’m aware,” Jane retorted. “I still have the scar on my thumb.”

  “I was six years old,” Kiri scoffed.

  “You were fourteen.”

  “Well, whatever.” She claimed a glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray.

  The lights flickered, but since outages were as common as rats in the Core, the dancing continued. When there was a faint and familiar pop and the lights went out entirely, the well-trained staff were already lighting the candles and solar lanterns. “Here comes Micah,” Jane murmured.

  “He’ll want to dance,” Kiri sighed and drained her glass.

  Micah was tall and lean, with coppery skin and enviable cheekbones. He was polite and patient, two qualities Kiri had never possessed. She might have liked him if she hadn’t been ordered to marry him. And it didn’t matter that Micah was in love with a young man who’d just been enlisted into the Protectorate. His lover was from the City, and that just wasn’t good enough. The Directorate mattered, and family. In that order.

  The truth was, Kiri was lucky; there were as many unkind options as kind ones. The only reason Jane wasn’t betrothed was because her mother was determined that only the best and most powerful sons would do for her daughters. She’d managed to find a food engineer’s son for Ivy and Jane was next. Portia was still at school, but only so long as it served her mother’s purposes. Kiri joined the dance and Jane went back to ferreting out rose-petal creams and candied violets.

  A familiar burn at the top of her spine made her drop a violet into the tureen of parsley soup. Spatters of green stained her dress. She smiled weakly at the gentleman beside her, forcing her feet to obey her, to bring her into the safety of the hallway. She pressed her temples hard, as if it w
ould alleviate the pressure. It never did. Numen moved through her when she used it to read the omens, but during moments like this it felt trapped, burning painfully. Her head throbbed.

  Stay calm.

  She’d been trying to find the reason behind her headaches for weeks now. She couldn’t ask the professors at the Collegium; someone might accuse her of numen poisoning. She’d be locked away, or carted to the laboratories. And worse, yet, they might be right.

  A pink moon. Red dust on a rooftop. Blue eyes between green leaves.

  She dug her fingers into the dirt of the potted plants flanking the staircase, pushing the excess numen into the earth, willing the magic to bloom out of her like a cactus rose. Instead, roots of fire crawled up into her brain. She had to remind herself that the pain would pass. There was no pink moon.

  She hadn’t really thought too much about numen before the headaches; there were too many other things to worry about: if the Ferals were going to attack, if the Elysians were going to rebel, what her Mother was planning, why someone else was being carted away by the Protectorate in the middle of the night.

  But lately, with some kind of numen burning in the back of her brain, it mattered.

  She was finally able to push away from the plant, wiping blood from her nose. She had to get back to the ballroom before anyone noticed she was gone. And by anyone, she meant her mother.

  She was still in the hall when the alarm pierced through the piano and cello. For a long frozen moment, she thought they had come for her. That someone had noticed her, despite the fact that no one ever noticed her. Someone had called the soldiers to take her away. There was no trial for numen-poisoning, no hasty explanations, only testing.

  By the time the soldiers arrived, Jane was already pressing her forehead to the cold marble stones, exposing the back of her neck and the eye tattooed there. Anyone with a talent for manipulating numen was tattooed: an eye for the Oracles, a bee for the Bee Whisperers, a see growing a spiral for the Seedsingers who worked plant-numen, and lightning for the Weather Witches. Jane was studying to be an Oracle, to divine the future of rain, droughts, and crops through divination. She learned tarot cards and runes, how to read clouds and the movement of insects, and the songs to sing to the full moon for planting, and the dark skies for reaping.

  The crystal chandeliers rattled as Protectorate soldiers marched through the ballroom. Jane’s heart raced in her chest. She could still see their previous next door neighbour’s daughter being shot in the front yard. Jane never did find out what her crime was, but the adults spoke in whispers for days. Her palms dampened with sweat when a boot clomped passed her head.

  Up until she was thirteen years old, Jane had lived in a tiny house under the parapet that circled the Enclave. She made herself remember every room, every detail of the faded wallpaper, the stones in the garden, the sound of rain on the roof. Sometimes it was enough to stave off the panic. She’d loved that house. But while it was vastly better than living inside the City, it was nowhere near as prestigious as the neighbourhoods closer to the Temple. When a great aunt nobody knew about died and left her mother a house, as well as a recommendation for a job in the Directorate offices, everything changed.

  “You are to proceed in a calm and orderly fashion back to the bridge. Your cooperation is appreciated.”

  Clearly, the ball was over. There was no reason offered, but that wasn’t surprising. The Directorate didn’t owe anyone explanations, even at an Enclave event. But at least they weren’t here for her. Relief was so intense it made Jane nauseous.

  They were escorted to the stone stairs leading to the train. Gunfire was a faint drumbeat in the distance. Unconcerned, women gathered up their hems as the rain misted around them. The enclosed bridge curved over the City, safely connecting the Enclave to the castle. The glass was bulletproof and shatterproof and the drop to the streets below high enough to kill on impact. The train was sleek and black, with upholstered benches and solar lanterns made from colourful glass swinging from the ceiling. The car was crowded, smelling of perfume and cologne. Jane wished she could hold her breath for the twenty minutes it took to get home.

  The scents of stables, rain, and mint was a relief; a combination unique to the Enclave. No one else could afford to grow enough mint in back gardens to scent the air. It chased away the last of the anxiety nibbling at the back of her neck.

  The family rickshaws waited for them, all swirls of frosted glass and gilt paint like a row of cupcakes. The solar lamps swung from the posts as the runners shifted. Jane’s mother looked past her with a sharp nod. Someone grabbed Jane’s arm. “Come with me, Miss Highgate.”

  The torchlight glinted off the metal leaves of a soldier’s mask. “Where are you taking me?” Jane asked, her throat dry and papery. Some Oracle she was. She wasn’t supposed to be taken by surprise, not like this. The tea leaves from her morning cup should have warned her with images of horses, or swans for deceit, arrows, something.

  “Don’t embarrass me, Jane,” her mother snapped. “Drive on.”

  The rickshaws pulled away, leaving Jane behind.

  Directorate before family.

  Chapter 3

  Saffron

  As the darkness fell, Saffron didn’t reach for her flashlight. Batteries were too precious to waste watching desperate idiots fry. It was the same every time. The City went dark, and people hurled themselves at the Wall. There were always guards, and their rifles had lights. And they were always on the other side of the darkness, no matter where the darkness ended.

  And Saffron and the other Elysians were always here.

  It would take a few moments for the guards on the Wall to switch on the solar lamps and from the sound of the Taggers’ voices, they were across the street now. Saffron edged out, relief and adrenaline making her skin prickle.

  Until the Protectorate soldiers came around the corner, sitting straight in their saddles, uniforms and weapons gleaming. There were four of them, with a man riding in the centre. Leaves wound through his hair and over his forehead.

  A Green Jack.

  Saffron stepped backwards into a splintered storefront window. Glass crunched loudly under her boots but the Taggers had forgotten her as every green thing around the Green Jack grew lush in his wake. Vines stretched out, dandelions flowered, lichen seemed to glow. The grass thickened so quickly the cement shifted apart like a series of miniature earthquakes. The trees grew tiny green buds.

  Saffron grabbed at dandelions and stuffed them in her pockets. The smart thing to do was to run as far and as fast as she could. You couldn’t go three feet without running into a Green Jack shrine, all painted oak leaves and gilded tin; but while actual Green Jacks were paraded around on feast days, they were otherwise kept hidden away. They must be bringing him in to be tested in the laboratories. The Directorate was always trying to find more effective ways to harness a Jack’s power.

  Back when the temperatures first rose and the crops first started to fail, a Green Jack walked out of a forest and everything he touched grew. For a few years, everything seemed hopeful. Until the Cataclysms and the Lake Wars, and the closing of the cities. The Directorate was formed, and now Jacks spent most of their time on the farms, walking the fields, and sleeping under the glass domes to helps the crops grow that fed the City.

  But the Directorate still hadn't figured out how their magic worked, not really. No one had, not even the Collegium, which was created for that very purpose. They might train the Numina to work plant numen and predict crops, but they couldn't explain it either. It was just mysterious enough, and necessary enough, that a kind of religion had formed around the Green Jacks. And as long as the Directorate came first, they didn't much care what the Elysians believed in, old gods or new ones. Still, the Order of the Green Gods had Woodwives praying in their leaf-cloaks in every cella and all over the City. If the Green Jacks had originally been prayed out of the forest as was believed, then even the Directorate couldn't be too safe.

  This Green Ja
ck was still half-wild. He was the colour of rich earth and holly leaf. They got as much water to drink and food to eat---real food, not the stuff the Core got. The tomatoes in the Core had more mouse DNA than actual tomato. All the new food sciences were tested in the Core first and usually they were so hungry, they didn’t care.

  A beam of light swung wide and gunshot splintered the air. The beam swung again, harsh blue light falling relentlessly over the bodies. There were already half a dozen of them sprawled out with dead eyes and bloody holes in their chests. Some people spent their entire lives lurking by the Wall, just waiting for the rain to do its work.

  The Green Jack leapt off his horse as if he could fly. The Protectorate flashlights tried to pin him down. Saffron already knew he wouldn’t make it.

  The Wall was lined with an electric fence, but it wasn’t the only safeguard. Saffron heard snarling. There were flashes of acid-green eyes.

  Cerberus.

  Genetic mutation and experimental science had combined the ferocity of wild boar, the strength of bull, and the viciousness of a cornered badger with wild dogs. They were only released when the power went out. They killed anything they found, whether or not they were even attempting to scale the Wall.

  Protectorate guns shattered the air above the Wall. They didn’t know what to do. Green Jacks were too precious to kill. The Wall flung him away like a rag doll. He landed in the street and was almost immediately cradled in leaves, moss, and weeds. He was near close enough that Saffron could see his teeth when he made a sound of pain. She could sense the Otherness of him. It was disconcerting. There was a smell of cedar under the mud and blood. The beams of light stabbed at the darkness.

  And then he was gone.

  The leaves started to wilt. That kind of growth didn’t last long when there was no Jack to sustain it, especially this far into the flood season. The Cerberus growled. Someone screamed.