Parallel Lessons

Aaron Stowe sat rigidly in the hot classroom at Wanted University as he had done every day for more months than he could recall, willing the sweat not to drip and sting his eyes. But it was no use. Droplets landed on the ancient pages of the musty-smelling book on his desk. But Aaron studied it despite that, for he knew he must let nothing distract him from the most important class in the university: Governmental History of Quill, taught by the governors themselves.

“Quill is the land of the strong,” Governor Strang droned. “The strongest society that exists. We are feared, yet we are always on the ready for attack from those who want what we have.”

The class of more than twenty nodded sharply, as their instructor required of them during lectures.

The governor continued. “As your parents and instructors taught you, the land of Quill is nearly surrounded by enemies, except for the Great Lake of Boiling Oil, which lies beyond the south wall.” Half the class shuddered at the mention of the deathly place, but the students kept their eyes on the books in front of them, as they had been taught to do.

Aaron scanned the worn page before him, wanting to know more about the enemies, but there was no description. He wondered how the governors knew that other lands wanted to attack, since there had been no communication outside the walls of Quill in fifty years. But he knew better than to ask. To question a governor would not only risk his quest to someday actually become a governor himself, but could risk his life as well.

“Yet Quill continues to grow as a powerful force, with the most modern fleet of tanks and all-terrain vehicles and the grandest, most intelligent military of any kingdom in all the world!” Governor Strang took a breath and wiped his brow with his handkerchief.

“Quill prevails when the strong survive!” shouted the class in unison, Aaron among the loudest, even though he wondered how they could fight so well when the Quillitary vehicles kept breaking down and falling into rusty, smoke-belching disrepair along the road that encircled Quill. Thank the high priest that no one else can exceed the level of our poor fleet, Aaron thought.

“And our great and fearless ruler, the High Priest Justine, has improved the people of Quill a thousand percent by eliminating the incapable among us!”

The classroom erupted again, as if on cue. “Highest honor to the High Priest Justine! Long may she rule the land of the Wanteds! May all our enemies die a thousand deaths!”

Aaron snuffed out the twinge in his belly by switching his thoughts to his daily mantra. I am strong! May Quill prevail with all I have in me!

On Sunday afternoons Mr. Today swept through the grounds of Artimé, his long gown flowing over the sweet-smelling grass and often dipping into the gentle waves of the sea when he walked along the narrow strand of beach. Behind him, like ducklings, trailed the most recent group of Unwanteds, eager to learn from the old man who would answer any question the young teens could think of, even the ones that seemed obvious.

“Tell us more about Quill,” someone invariably asked, for that was the hottest topic. As each child spent another month in Artimé, the questions grew about Quill and how awful it was.

“What, again?” Mr. Today teased. “Perhaps you all need something that will help you remember from week to week.”

For Alex this was the only time each week where he felt on the same level as the others, and he didn’t have to fear Lani’s magical pranks when in the presence of Mr. Today. All the Unwanteds, of all levels of training, were equally astounded by the odd and sinister practices of the land they’d never thought to question before.

Meghan spoke up. “Mr. Today, if Quill is so powerful, then why is everything so rusted and broken down?”

“Well, Meghan,” Mr. Today said, climbing to the lawn and settling for a chat on the grass, “most likely it’s because Quill hasn’t figured out how to manufacture and produce metal products, and it no longer trades with other lands for goods. So every piece of metal in Quill is at least fifty years old, as are the vehicles. And the oil they use is some concoction of rainwater and chicken fat. Not ideal, in my opinion.” The Unwanteds sat down around him.

“But why did Justine stop trading with other lands?”

The mage pressed his lips together. “Hmm. Isolationism is the root of it, I think. Fear and a suspicion of strangers is, I’m afraid, a characteristic of many humans.

“Justine wanted no outsiders to infiltrate Quill—if others were coming and going, trading goods from other lands, the traders might have spoken to the people of Quill and questioned Justine’s rule. Justine would have none of that. Her idea of power is to run Quill like a puppet show—everyone doing only as she, the puppet master, demands.”

The children smiled at the idea of a puppet show, for they all knew by now what puppets were, but their smiles turned to concerned looks when they realized that they, like their parents, had been the puppets.

“Mr. Today,” someone else asked, “why is the gate only locked from their side? If you are so trusted by the High Priest Justine, why does she lock you out of Quill?”

“Ah. Well, that is the way of Justine, isn’t it? Protection from everything, control of everything. No one allowed even a peek outside those walls, right? Not that any Quillen dares come near our gate. And certainly, what if a group of Unwanteds, on the way to their deaths, were to revolt and overpower the Eliminators? Justine wouldn’t want that mess spilling over into Quill. Alas, locking the gate was not my choice to make. And while I don’t wish anyone to go back to Quill, for fear of exposing Artimé, I also don’t wish to hold anyone hostage.”