Chapter Text
Jay woke with panic tight around his throat, throttling him and making him want to retch. There was chanting outside, loud and manic and screaming for his death. He threw himself upright in his bed, straw mattress crunching under him. He'd thought he'd had more time! Today was supposed to be his last day, he'd be gone in the early hours of the morning, no one would have even known until the time came to get everyone in the village up for breakfast. It wasn't the early hours of the morning now though, orange light washed into Jay's room to the beat of the chant that rolled across the fresh morning air, the raised voices of his friends and family, once comforting, now tearing at his throat and making air hard to swallow.
He must have overslept.
On the most important day of his life, he'd overslept.
On the one day he'd needed to wake early, he'd overslept. And now he was going to die for his laziness, just like they always said. The Speaker had told them that laziness would be the death of every man, woman and child who was tempted by it. Maybe the Speaker had been right, maybe Jay's blood-family's apostasy had truly been his downfall, maybe this was his end, killed by all the things the Speaker had said would kill him, all the things that had killed his mother and his siblings. A bloodline of nonbelievers, a bloodline of monsters, in the one place they would inevitably be found out. The Speaker could see into people's hearts, and Jay had desperately thought he could hide his true nature from him.
He threw himself shakily out of his bed, hands colliding with the wall of his little room, the only thing keeping him upright in that moment was the grey plaster, washed in flickering orange light.
Flickering.
Sunlight didn't flicker.
Firelight.
Firelight flickered.
It wasn't morning.
It.
Wasn't.
Morning.
They'd known he was leaving.
They'd known, and they'd come to collect him early. They'd known he was leaving, that he'd been planning to escape for days, ever since he'd found out about his planned banishment. He'd postponed his escape as long as possible, biding his time while he tried to gather all the things he'd need to survive outside the village. Really the escape had been a long time coming, months and months of slowly feeling more and more like maybe his mother had been right. And now, for the last few days, he'd been planning to vanish into the desert, to find the nearest settlement, or die trying.
Anything to not die by their hands.
No one was supposed to know he was going.
How had they known!
He'd told no one, trusted no one. They shouldn't have known! He should've had more time!
Their chanting was louder now, a choir of murderous voices rising and falling on the wind like a prayer to the Gods Jay couldn't fucking believe in: the Speaker's versions of the gods, the versions who were cruel and so unlike how Jay's mother had taught him the gods should be. He stared around his tiny room, trying to force himself calm, trying to think. His mind wouldn't cooperate, though, and he found tears welling in his eyes.
‘The Gods know all,’ the Speaker's voice rumbled in his mind. ‘They see all, they see your heart, they know your heart. And I am their Speaker. I know your heart. The Gods are not cruel to Their Own; are you One Of Their Own?’
Jay squeezed his eyes shut. He'd never been One Of Their Own. He came from a line who rejected the Speaker's Gods, even if he'd believed; he was still the child of Monsters. He wasn't a child of the Gods, he wasn't One Of Their Own like everyone else was. He was a Monster in human skin, a Monster who'd believed he could trick the Gods and their Speaker into feeding and housing him, a cuckoo's egg hatching in a nest that wasn't built to be his.
The chanting rose again, prayers to the Gods that he'd once found so comforting, before his mother and siblings had been exposed for the Monsters they were, had proven to him that he could trust no one but the Speaker, not even his own blood family.
He hadn't known until then.
He'd truly believed he was One Of The Gods’ Own.
Jay shook his head. There had to be something he could do. He couldn't let them inflict the same wrath on him as they did on his family. He had grown up with them, unaware that he was different, that he was a lie. His name wasn't even Jay, the Speaker hadn't named him Jay, that was the name his Monsters had given him. He couldn't claim the name the Gods' Own had bestowed upon him anymore, he wasn't one of them, he didn't deserve their names.
Monster!
Heretic!
Not the Gods' Own!
He didn't deserve to think of himself as One Of The Gods' Own!
Gritting his teeth, Jay blinked the tears from his eyes only to find them instantly renewed. He wasn't one of them and there was nothing he could do about that. It wasn't a choice he'd made. It wasn't anything he had done. It was the fate of his birth, to be found out for the cuckoo's egg he was.
He hadn't asked to be born a cuckoo.
Jay shut his eyes, breathing deeply. A numb calmness spread across him. If he was going to die he wasn't going to do it begging for his life. He wasn't going to let his fear show. Ignoring the shrieking from outside his small room, Jay's legs carried him towards his chest of drawers, he ignored the packed rucksack he knew lay hidden safe under his bed, and pulled open the drawer that held his clothes. If he was going to die he was going to do so dressed well, he wouldn't be killed in his pyjamas.
The rattle of keys could be heard from the other side of the door and Jay watched with bated breath as the handle turned. The door didn't swing open though, the makeshift lock he'd made to keep it shut holding its own.
Something solid slammed against his door and Jay flinched.
They were trying to kick it in.
The door rattled violently and then another kick landed on it, harder this time, and Jay was certain he heard the wood splinter. He wasn't sure he'd ever been grateful that the doors in the village couldn't be kicked down, all those nights locked in as a child, having nightmares about the red sands of the Wastes suffocating him; all those nights desperately pounding on the doors feeling like there was a monster watching him from the corner of his room, ready to pounce and kill him instantly.
He was even more thankful that he'd found a way to lock his door from the inside, a fork stolen from the mess-hall with its prongs bent and pushed into the hollow that the bit that was pulled back into the door when you turned the knob settled into, it's handle broken off and slid into one of the gaps between the prongs.
Despite the slam of his heart, Jay took his time stripping his pyjamas and pulling on fresh clothes, the clothes he wore to the Silo every midweek. His best clothes. If his family were going to kill him, they'd have to kill him dressed as one of them.
His hands trembled as he buttoned his shirt, the buttons slipping his fingers every time another resounding crash splintered the air. He could see the wall around the door frame beginning to crack, his makeshift lock holding its own but clearly near to giving way. He buttoned up his trousers as the door finally gave way with a vile screech and Jay covered his head with his arms, crouched down small as firelight flooded in and the chanting took on a new fervour. Heavy footsteps stomped into his little room and panic renewed as large hands grabbed his arms and a murderous face was shoved close to his.
"Monster!" The man he'd gone to for bandages and remedies for his bumps and bruises all through his childhood hissed, venomous. Flecks of spittle landed on Jay's face as he was yanked upright, his shoulders jarring as his arms were twisted. They were going to dislocate his shoulders, he was certain of it. The medic, a man given the name Willow-Tree, or simply 'Willow', by the speaker when he'd first stumbled into the village, twisted Jay's arms further and a yell of pain was dragged from his throat, slow and strained and dragging painfully on his vocal chords.
"Let me go!" Jay yelled, the panic he'd almost calmed earlier returning as he struggled against the hands that dragged him easily towards the ruined door of his room. He could see the people he'd once thought of as family waiting for him outside, none were armed, but they didn't need to be. "Please! Let me go! I'm sorry!" He lashed out at Willow's knees with his socked feet.
He hadn't had time to put on his shoes.
There was nowhere near enough power behind his kicks for them to actually do anything, but he had to try. All it did was set him off balance though and Jay screamed as he fell, his weight falling onto his shoulders which were already pushed beyond their limits. Somehow they didn't dislocate and he was lifted onto his feet again.
"Quit it." Willow hissed. "If you were truly One Of The Gods' Own you would have nothing to fear!"
Jay wanted to spit at him that anyone would be afraid if they were in his situation.
He was dragged from his room, heels digging into the hard ground in a useless attempt to slow their progress. His family was silent as he was dragged out into the light; Jay would have preferred if they were hissing and spitting at him like the scum he was. He squinted against the glare of their candles, still struggling against the hands that held him captive. Another cry was forced from his lips as he was forced to his knees, harsh fingers digging in on either side of his neck from behind, forcing him to keep his head bowed as his shoulders were finally given a reprieve, he gave a small sob of relief as his arms fell to his sides.
A pair of dusty boots, easily recognisable as the Speaker's, stepped up in front of him and Jay strained against the hand gripping the back of his neck to be able to look up and look at the Speaker. Maybe he could convince him. Maybe he could show him he didn't want to be this way. He didn't want to be born of heretics!
"Let him look up. I wish to look into the eyes of our foe." The Speaker's voice was undeniable and the thought to run didn't even cross Jay's mind as the hand that kept him pinned retreated. His shoulders sagged and he shuddered, head dropping further, too heavy to hold up, its weight pulling his whole body down behind it, and he curled into himself. "Look up."
It took everything in Jay not to. He wasn't one of them anymore, he never had been, he didn't have to obey anymore. So he shook his head. The silence that followed his refusal felt like it was choking him.
"Look up, Desert-Lark." It was an olive branch, it was a mercy, it was giving Jay a final opportunity to make this easier for himself, to respond to the name the Speaker had given him when he was born and prove that he still knew his place. And still he shook his head, eyes shut as he waited for the punishment that would rain. Jay heard the Speaker inhale deeply. "I gave you a chance, son," he said, deep voice full of regret.
Tears sprang into Jay's eyes before the Speaker's hand even made contact with the delicate skin of his face. Shock jolted through him when the contact wasn't harsh. The rough fingers that had touched his face so many times before, during the midweek sermons at the Silo, crooked under his chin, tilting his face gently up. Tears spilled down his cheeks and he squeezed his eyes shut, jaw trembling.
"Open your eyes, son, I won't ask you twice."
Jay did as he was told. The sky above him was low and dark, the clouds smothering it like smoke.
The Speaker was a powerful man and it showed in his stance, his broad shoulders, muscular from working the earth alongside his family, were rolled back; his jaw, stubbled and strong, was set firm, but not unkind. The look on the Speaker's face was one Jay knew well, it was the look he'd given Jay when his mother and older siblings had been revealed as the Monsters they were. It was a look of pity, a look that told him to be brave. The Speaker still saw him as his child, as part of his family, not by blood but by belief.
The Speaker still saw him as One Of The Gods' Own.
Hope surged through Jay and he pushed his face into the Speaker's hand, resting his heavy head as he silently begged the Speaker to see that he wasn't one of the Monsters his blood family had been revealed as. "Speaker," he whispered. "Please… I never—"
The Speaker's other hand slammed across Jay's face without even a change of expression.
He was doing this for Jay's own good.
Jay's head slapped the baked earth and his ears rang, colours swimming in front of his eyes. His brain felt like non-newtonian fluid, solidifying under the weight of the slap and the bounce of his head on the floor before turning to lukewarm water and sloshing about.
"Pick him up," the Speaker said, voice soft.
Hands clasped too tight around Jay's shoulders, fingers digging in painfully to his already aching joints, and a wave of dizziness washed over him as he was yanked unceremoniously upright again. It was okay though, there would be time for ceremony later.
Jay's eyes disobeyed him as he tried to force them to focus again, and the Speaker's towering figure blurred in front of him. The side of his face that had been struck was slowly regaining sensation, and Jay wished it wasn't. His skin felt like it was on fire and he swore he could feel something trickling down his chin from the corner of his mouth. Was he bleeding? Coppery salt spread across his tongue and gave him his answer.
Had the Speaker really hit him that hard?
He didn't dare raise his hand to see if his fingertips came away slick and red.
"Look at me, Desert-Lark." The Speaker's voice was still kind, still the voice of the man the village looked to for advice, the man Jay had grown up seeing as a father figure. It was the voice of a man whose heart held only love for his village. And it was at that moment that Jay understood the meaning of the word hate. It seared through him, boiling his blood and turning his teeth sharp enough to rip out the Speaker's throat. He would spit it onto the floor with heaven-sent blood dripping from his mouth, and turn his monstrous hate on the other members of the village that he once called his family.
‘Desert-Lark’
Jay hated the Speaker for using that name. It wasn’t his name. It hadn’t been his name in years, since his mother had deemed him old enough to understand the importance of him telling no one about the name that she was going to give him. To everyone else, Desert-Lark was his name, they called him it and he answered without even the tiniest indication that he hated the way it reminded him that he belonged to the Speaker, just like everyone else.
They were property.
Jay was property.
"LOOK AT ME!" The Speaker roared. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, shaking. "LOOK AT ME! OR BY THE GODS I WILL SEND YOU TO THE MOUNTAINTOP WITH MY BARE HANDS!"
Jay's eyes snapped to the Speaker's face, spittle flecked the Speakers lips and his face was puce, blue eyes bulging. The Speaker held his gaze just long enough for Jay to start questioning what he could possibly have done wrong in obeying that order. Turning to face the congregation behind him, the Speaker opened his fists, there were dark pink crescents cut into his palms. Jay shuddered as a rough hand gripped him by the back of his neck again, pinning him down, as if his legs had the strength to lift him. He looked past the Speaker's legs to the people he was preparing to address, the people who had been Jay's family all his life.
There were children in the gathered crowd, clinging to their parents' trouser legs and skirts with tears slipping down their cheeks. There were tears on the faces of some of the adults too. Jay wasn't surprised, for many of them this was the first they'd heard of the lie of his birth; they’d found the Village after his blood-family had been ousted.
They'd treated a Monster like a brother.
"My family. I know this is a painful time for us all," the Speaker said, voice full of love and conviction. There was no questioning what he told them, after all, he was the Speaker of the Gods. His words came straight from them. "We are all only human, you may mourn your lost brother, as I will mourn my lost son. You may grieve for three days and three nights, in any way you deem appropriate. For you knew not that your children played with a Monster, that you ate and bathed with a Monster… that this Monster lived amongst us all these years." The Speaker's voice soared on the cool, late night air, rolling like thunder in the winter storms. "We gave Desert-Lark a chance, we did not punish him for the misfortune of being born to Monsters. We showed compassion, just as the Gods' instructed, and despite our compassion he still chose to follow in the steps of the Other. What does this show, but that once the Other corrupts, nothing can be done but to commend the poor Monster's soul into the hands of the Gods?"
The crowd murmured their agreement and Jay turned his eyes to the ground once more, not wanting to risk catching the eye of any of these people who stood by and did nothing while someone they'd known their whole lives was denounced as a Monster right in front of them. None of them wanted to be denounced alongside him, and Jay found that he couldn't blame them. How could he? Had he been in their places he wouldn't have spoken up.
The Speaker knew best, because the Speaker's words came from the Gods themselves.
"The children are permitted to be put to bed," the Speaker said mercifully. "This banishment is not the place for the vulnerable. All above the age of sixteen will be expected to accompany me to the Silo. All old enough must see what is done with Monsters, lest you wish to follow in this one's steps. Ten minutes will be given to put the children to bed."
The crowd began to hurriedly disperse, whispers reaching Jay's ears but the words making no sense to his spinning brain. He was going to die, he really was, and everyone was going to watch. He didn't bother trying to lift his head again as he saw the Speaker's feet turn to face him again, and the hand that gripped the back of his neck harshly didn't loosen its hold so he doubted he was expected to. Why would a Monster want to look the Speaker in the eye? He knew his charges, he knew his sentence… he knew he wasn't changing either of them.
The Speaker turned on his heels and strode away over the arid earth in the direction of the Silo. "Bring him," he commanded.