The Forsaken

was only ten when my parents got taken away. If they did anything radically subversive, beyond minor infractions, then they hid it from me.
    Finally, after what feels like hours, my interrogators begin to sound tired. The questions wane.
    “She doesn’t know squat,” I hear Gadya mutter. “Just like I figured.” She’s the only one who hasn’t asked me a single thing. “She’s not the one you’re looking for, Veidman.”
    “Maybe,” I hear Meira say, still unconvinced.
    Gadya and another girl eventually lead me out of the hut and back into the grassy clearing. The sun is lower on the horizon, the sky a deeper shade of blue. I sit down. The girl splashes cold water across my face before heading away with a dismissive glance. I’m still groggy, but starting to come around.
    “I told you I didn’t know anything,” I murmur to Gadya.
    “I know, but I don’t make the rules, remember?” She forces a plastic water jug into my hands. “Drink. It’ll help you pee the serum out faster.”
    With trembling fingers, I raise the jug to my lips and take a sip. Then I lower it. “You tricked me.” As my senses return, I’m starting to get angry. “You lied about the vaccine.”
    “I didn’t have a choice. There was no way to know if you were a spy or not. You and David could have just been pretending to be new to the wheel.” She crosses her arms. “It wasn’t my idea, if that helps any. Veidman and Meira are the ones who figured out how to make the truth serum—from henbane seeds and grain alcohol. They’re crazy smart. They know things we don’t, and they’ve been here longer than anyone else in our village. They’ve started using their truth serum on every new arrival.”
    I take a deeper sip of water, feeling it trace a cool path down my throat. “So now that you know I’m not a spy, tell me why you think I got sent here. Give me that much.”
    Gadya takes the jug from my hands and swigs from it, and then wipes her mouth on the back of her arm. “None of us know why we’re here. Personally, I think the wheel is just a place where the government sends any teenager it wants to get rid of. I don’t even know if the GPPT tests for anything at all.” She pauses. “In your case, you told us under the serum that people came into your cell and administered ECT before the test could even take place. That means the government had marked you as an Unanchored Soul from the get-go. But it doesn’t always work that way for everyone. . . . Look, we’ll fill you in on what we do know at the campfire meeting tonight, with Veidman and Meira.”
    “I don’t think they like me.”
    “Those two don’t like anyone except each other. Canadians are weird.”
    “Are they twins or something?”
    Gadya stifles a grin as she passes me the water jug again. “Don’t let either of them hear you say that. They’re a couple—they just look alike.” She watches as I chug more water. “How are you feeling?”
    “Like I just got tricked and drugged,” I mutter. “Other than that, fine.”
    Gadya smiles. “I’ll take you on a tour of the village, introduce you to some other kids. When I first got here, I felt really alone until I made some friends.” A shadow falls over her eyes. “A lot of those friends aren’t alive anymore.”
    “They got killed fighting the Monk?”
    “That, or they were taken by—” She breaks off, standing up. “If I say too much now, Veidman and the others will get mad.”
    As we start walking around the edge of the clearing, I take in my surroundings. Sloppily constructed cabins are clustered beneath the trees. They’re made of moldy wooden slats, propped up with stones. The roofs are either thatched or made from sheets of corrugated metal, like the shantytowns I’ve seen in government-sanctioned depictions of Europe and Asia. The village looks ramshackle and filthy. I remember what Gadya said about the drones constantly destroying everything. This is probably the best the villagers can do, given the circumstances.
    I’m reminded of a book of mythology that my dad gave me when I was six. D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths . It was mostly drawings, which was why I liked it so much at the time. My dad would read the text while I looked at the pictures.
    One of the myths was about Sisyphus, who had to roll a boulder endlessly up a mountain—only to have it crash down on him whenever he neared the top. Then he’d have to start his journey all over again. He was locked