Ch 3 The Wormpiller and the Flutterfly

“Mother,” several students called at once. She scanned the raised hands, selected one, and then leaned back against her desk, brows creasing as she crossed her arms.

“Sauns? My calculated, athletic girl, no need to worry about you. I hear many bets have been placed on you receiving an invitation to House Ninurta. What question could you possibly have with such a secure seat in the Upper?"

Sauns’s bronzed face lit with pride, but it faltered as she proceeded with her question. “Thank you, Mother. I want to know what happens to those who don’t get an invitation. There are one hundred and twenty-six of us left in this group. Where do the people go who don’t make it into one of the twelve great Houses?” Sauns glanced toward Gilly as she spoke, and Gilly felt the question land on her like a thrown stone.

“Each of the twelve great Houses may send out a maximum of three invitations. The rest go to the Lowborns or to the Markets. There are many options for the less talented.”

Gilly sank deeper into her seat as talk of Lowborns swirled around her. If she survived the Middle and reached the Upper by some miracle, she knew there was no chance she’d receive an invitation. She pictured herself cast far from her friends, alone.

“Now, children,” Mother continued, “this being our final class together, it’s time to be serious. I will be blunt and direct.” The words startled Gilly. Mother was always blunt and direct, and the shocked faces around the room confirmed she wasn’t the only one taken aback.

“As I’ve told you since the day each of you was expelled from your growth tubes and your feet hit the cold lab floors, you may be fully formed adults, but to those in the Upper you are the closest thing to children they will ever have. Having survivors from the Middle join them happens only once every twenty-three years. It is a rare, almost magical event—but not all of you will live to see it.”

Silence fell. Gilly’s throat tightened until she could barely swallow. Mother looked straight at her before going on.

“The Final Binding will break you down to your lowest and then rebuild you from the inside out. Your final gift is usually the most stubborn to emerge; therefore the most gloriously excruciating changes occur.” When horrified murmurs began, Mother raised a hand and the room stilled. They all knew the cost of rousing her ire. Though usually composed, when she did lose control it was like a switch flipping, suddenly Zraconian, and no one wanted that. She pushed away from her desk and walked between the rows of seats.

“Consider the wormpiller and the flutterfly. The wormpiller is beautiful in its own right, but it must be broken down, reduced to goo, at the precise moment.”

A shiver ran up Gilly’s spine.

“Only then can a wormpiller become a full-fledged flutterfly. That is why we train in the sparring rooms, practice manifestations in the gardens, and take so many classes over the years: to learn how to endure that pain.” Mother paused, eyes lifted as if weighing her next words.

“Now, like in nature, only the strong are meant to survive. So, if I am to be completely honest with you, the Final Binding usually results in the most losses,” She stopped, raised her head, and fixed Gilly with a steady look. “My darlings, I think approximately 25% of you will not live to see the glorious sights of the Upper.”

Gilly felt the room tilt. The air thinned; her vision narrowed. Mother was looking at her. She knew, with a cold certainty, that Mother was speaking about her.

Then instantly, Mother's tone changed, and her body language suggested a loving warmth that normally did not exist. With her gloved hand, she gestured high into the air to the Memorial wall behind Gilly. “My children, we will never forget those that we have lost along the way. They have all been my creations...my children. From my first group over 400 years ago to you now sitting in front of me.”

Mother's pale metallic gray eyes looked sad as the class turned backwards towards the thousands of individual symbols representing all of those who had fallen before them. All the way on the bottom, in the far-right corner, hung the last symbol placed on the wall, River’s.

You could have heard a pin drop in the room. Many of the students were using their hands to cover their mouths, trying to contain their expressions. Gilly used the back of her hand to wipe away the silent tears that began to flow, she missed River so much.

“You learn from your very first day here in the Middle that loss is acceptable, and that one must always move forward. Every one of you is birthed with a single thermal marking on your body. It is your Soul Symbol, and over the years it grows across your body. Please know if you do not make it you will never be forgotten, for you will be here, high on the Memorial Wall in the Middle with me.”

Gilly was trying to figure out if that thought was reassuring or not when the automatic door quietly slid open again, allowing Little Sister to flutter in.