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"That’s harder," a ular way--it’s not bad"

"No," I say

"So why haven’t we been doing it all along?" he asks

"I think some people have," I say, and he nods

We have to be careful There are still pockets of Society syerous The Rising itself hasn’t forbidden us to gather like this, but the Pilot has asked that everyone focus attention on coue He tells us that saving people is what matters most, and I believe that to be true, but I think we are also saving ourselves here in the Gallery Sotime to create, or had to hide what they’d done

We bring whatever we’ve made to the Gallery There are many pictures and poems tacked to the ith tree sapThey look like tattered flags--paper from ports, napkins, even torn pieces of cloth

There is a woman who carves patterns on pieces of wood and then darkens theainst paper, i her world on ours

There is a man who must have been an Official once, who has taken all his white uniforms and found a way to turn them different colors He cuts the fabric into pieces andin a style different froles and flourishes and lines that are unexpected and right He hangs his creations from the top of the Gallery, and they look like the proht be in the future

There is Dalton, who always brings artwork that is beautiful and interesting, fashioned froht a person created out of bits of cloth and paper torn se, with stones for eyes and seeds for teeth, and it’s beautiful and terrible "Oh, Dalton," I say

She sy scent of the tree sap she uses to hold all the pieces of her creations together

"There’s a ru to sing"

"Are we sure this time?" I ask We’ve heard the rumor before But it never seems to happen Poems and artwork are easier to leave; we don’t have to stand before the others and see their faces as we offer up what it is we have to give

Before Dalton can answer, someone is at my elbow I turn, and there is an Archivist I know Panic sets in for a moment--how did he find the Gallery? Then I remember that the Archivists are not the Society, and also that we are not co with the Archivists for trades This is a place of sharing

He pulls so white from the inside of his coat and hands it to e from Ky? Or Xander?

What did Xander think of e? Those were the hardest words I’ve ever had to write I begin to open the paper

"Don’t read it," the Archivist says, sounding embarrassed "Not when I’m here I wondered--could you put it up sometime? After I leave? It’s a story I wrote"

"Of course," I proht" I shouldn’t have assuht have so to add to the Gallery, too

"People co if there’s any value in what they’ve made," he says "I have to tell them that there isn’t Not to us I send them on to you But I don’t knohat you call this place"

For a moment, I hesitate, and then I remind myself that the Gallery isn’t a secret, it can’t be kept "We call it the Gallery," I say

The Archivist nods "You should be careful about gathering in groups," he tells ue has mutated"

"We’ve heard those rumors for weeks," I say

"I know," he says, "but soht I had to write this down in case we ran out of time"

I understand I have learned that, even without a Plague or a mutation, tis to Xander, even though it was almost impossible to do I had to tell him the truth because, since ti:

I know you love s can’t hold like this They have to break You say you don’t mind, that you’ll wait for me, but I think that you doin our lives, Xander Don’t wait for me anymore

I hope for love for you

I hope for thiselse, maybe even more than my own happiness

And in a way, perhaps that means I love Xander best of all

CHAPTER 16

KY

Where are we going?" Indie asks, cli into the air ship

It’s my turn to fly, so I sit in the pilot’s seat "No idea," I say "As usual" Once the Rising began in earnest, we stopped getting our assignments in advance I start my equipment check Indie helps me

"An older ship today," she says "Good"

I nod in agreement Indie and I both prefer the older ships, which can be more temperamental than the new ones but which also have a different feel to the the new ships, so the other way around