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After I leave the wo place to see if they have s After the theft of s, I asked the Archivist to store my case for me They keep it somewhere back in a hidden room, one I’ve never even seen Only a few of the Archivists have keys

They bring me out es, my case now holds a roll of paper from a port, a pair of Society-issued shoes, a white shirt that was once part of some Official’s uniforht I would see Ky at the lake The poe does not make up an impressive collection, but it’s a start It’s only been a feeeks Either the Rising will take me to the ones I love or I will find a way to do it myself

"It’s all here," I say to the Archivist helpingyou need me to do today?"

"No," he says "You’re welcome, as always, to wait outside the Museum to see if anyone approaches you"

I nod If I hadn’t talked the woman out of the trade earlier today, I’d be on my way to another ite strip of port paper from the roll and wrap it around my wrist, under my plainclothes "That will be all," I say to the Archivist "Thank you"

The head Archivist catches my eye as I come out from the shelves She shakes her head Not yet My poeh

Someti us into the waters of our oant and need and helping us cos for each person, the iteht lives

It’s not impossible

What better place to run a rebellion than down here?

When I cli up, and feel night co down

Back in the City, I’ Perhaps I’est regrets are fro and they were stolen; I never taught Xander or Bram to write Why didn’t I think to do that? Bram and Xander are sood to have so

I creep out into the dark and unroll the spool of paper fro the sreenspace, and then I write, pressing down carefully with a charcoaled stick They’re so easy to make if you kno, a dip of a branch into the incinerator When I finish, my hands are black and cold and my heart feels red, warm

The branches of the trees hold out their arently, and it seems the trees cradle the words as carefully as a mother would a small child As carefully as Hunter held Sarah when he carried her to her grave in the Carving

In the white light of the streetlah flight of iination or the depth of a dreaone These paper trees, this white night My dark words waiting for someone to read them

I knoill understand why I have to write this, why there was nothing else that would suffice

Do not go gentle into that good night

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

Even if it’s a Society sympathizer who takes them down, he will see the words as he pulls the papers from the tree Even if he burns theers on the way to fire The words will be shared, nohow bright

Their frail deeds ainst the dying of the light

There are ood ht have been, how things ht

I have been one of them

I unwind ht and sang the sun in flight

I weave the papers through the branches A long loop Up and down, irls I saw once in a painting in a cave There is a rhyth of ti

CHAPTER 11

KY

Are you ju today?" one of the other pilots asksthe path next to the river that twists and turns through the City of Camas At one spot in the river--down near City Hall and the barricade--the river becoh the saters near us

"No," I say, not bothering to hide the irritation in my voice "I don’t see the point of it"

"It’s a sign of unity," he says I turn to look at him a little , don’t we?" I ask "Isn’t that all the unity we need?"

The pilot, Luke, falls silent and walks a little faster, so that I’iven a few hours off and everyone wanted to go into the City Forto walk freely through the streets of a City that used to be Society, even though the Rising has had full power in Camas for some weeks now As expected, Ca to take over--so ents live and work here

Indie falls back to ith me "You should jump," she says "They all want you to do it"

So into the river Though it’s officially spring now, the water coid I have no plans to go in the river I’m not a coward, but I’m also not stupid This isn’t the safe, warh After the Sisyphus, and what happened when Vick died--