She grumbled under her breath, proving she had nothing to come back with. "Ayla, I don't want you to die."
"But what if I could live?" I asked, starting to embrace this idea. "Callah, what if I could figure out how to live on the surface? I know medicine. I could heal myself if I got hurt."
"Not if a Dragon shot you with an arrow!"
"But I could hide," I countered. "I don't have to live with the heathens, the wild men, or the Dragons, right? I could lose myself on the Earth, survive on the plants that grow up there, and maybe even make us that farm we wanted."
She huffed something almost like a laugh. "Wouldn't that be nice? But it won't work. We both know that."
"I'd still have control of my life," I pointed out.
"No," she corrected. "You'd have control of your death. Ayla, if you don't marry Peter, they'll just assign you to someone else. If you act too defiant, they'll send you to quarantine!" She grunted. "Most likely, they'll marry you off to Peter first and then send you to quarantine."
"Or what if I refuse?" I asked. "I mean, they asked Meri if she agreed to her marriage. She said she did. What if I say no?"
Callah shook her head. "It won't work."
"I have to do something!" I wailed.
"I know," she breathed, setting aside my mother's picture to come sit beside me. "Oh, Ayla, I know. It's just that there's nothing to be done."
"There has to be."
Wrapping her arm around my shoulders, she hugged me from the side. "But I don't want you to die. Besides, Meri said it was already getting better after only three days. Maybe it's only the first week that's so bad? I mean, you like cooking, right?"
"Well enough," I admitted.
"You enjoy learning," she pressed. "And what is becoming a wife if not learning a new stage in your life?"
"It's servitude!"
She murmured, the sound neither agreeing nor disagreeing with me. "But it's a thing to learn. If you can't have your books, then at least that might keep your mind busy?"
"I know how to cook," I reminded her. "I know how to clean, do laundry, mend clothes, and all of our daily chores. I don't need to learn any of that. What I need is a way to not get married."
Callah turned so she was sitting sideways, facing me. "Ayla, this is our lot. It's a woman's place."
"It's not!"
"It is."
I pushed out a heavy breath. "But there has to be more."
"And there is - for men," she replied. "Not for us. Our duty is to care for our husbands and children. Our sole purpose is to create the next generation of the Righteous so that one day our great-great-grandchildren might live up above. We must prove our faith to the Lord so He will win back the Earth for us."
"I just don't understand why we have to suffer for someone else's mistakes," I admitted.
"Me either," she said. "That doesn't change anything, though. Ours is not to wonder why."
"I know," I groaned.
"But," she went on in the same calm tone, "the only irredeemable sin is suicide."
"Because we cannot repent the sin." I nodded to show I knew that.
For a long moment, she just looked at me. There was sadness in those green eyes of hers. Her gaze was intense, as if she was trying to memorize my face.
"Ayla, I don't want you to die. I don't!" Then she pulled in a breath. "I also know that's our lot in life too. One way or another, we will end up dead. So the way I see it, if you're sent to your death, then it's not suicide. Not even if you do something to deserve the punishment. It's still simply dead, Ayla."
My breath hung and I looked up, finding her gentle gaze waiting. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," she breathed. "Because you're right. We're going to die. We all know we will. One of our children will be too big, turned the wrong way, or pull us apart in the birthing. We will die to serve the Righteous, so is it really wrong to think about serving in another way?"
"What way?" I asked, feeling my heart start to move again.
"By reclaiming the world. Ayla, if Eve could damn us to this level of suffering, who's to say God isn't waiting for someone to undo her sin?" She made a face. "Not undo, since that's impossible, but maybe He's wanting a different sacrifice to balance it?"
"Like making a farm?" I asked.
She shrugged. "The Bible says nothing like that."
"But God is good," I insisted.
"That's what they say," she agreed. "He's also supposed to be kind, though, and none of this feels very kind."
"It feels hopeless."
"Yeah," she agreed. "And the Devil rewards his minions. The same minions who currently live in the sunlight above."
