The Moxy Byrd

Chapter 4

Justin and Amia were sitting under a tree at the edge of the training field three days after the attack. Amia had asked for a few extra days off from her regular duties and had spent them sitting under the trees with a vacant stare. Her father and Justin had yet to bring it up. Justin also couldn't to do much because of his bruised ribs, so he'd spent a considerable amount of time sitting with his sister, trying to work out what was going on in her head.

Today she seemed fixated on horticulture. He hoped that the plants would calm the strange anxieties that seemed to be taking over her.

"I really feel like those trees out there should be producing more fruit by now," she said, glancing between a picture in a book and a clump of spindly peach trees. "Doesn't it seem like they're too old to be producing so little?"

Justin followed her gaze. "I hadn't really noticed."

His statement was followed by silence from Amia. She skimmed through the book, muttering to herself occasionally. Suddenly, she looked back at the trees. "See, I've been thinking that we're experiencing lower and lower crop yield every year. Remember last year? We barely had enough peaches to make it through the winter. But none of the books in the library have anything useful. Just basic explanations of tree diseases, but ours don't really look diseased." She set the book down.

Justin remained silent. He waited for her to look at him, but she just stared at the little grove of trees.

"Mia... can you help me understand what conversation we're having right now?" he asked.

She sighed. Eyes still fixed on the trees, she whispered, "I just... I just don't want to feel helpless is all. Taxes are due in a month, and after nearly losing the kids to those criers the other day, I just need to feel like something is going well."

Taxes. The one thing that was always changing in the Dome. Each governor seemed to increase them. And since there was a new governor elected every ten years, they had now reached levels that were painfully burdensome to the smaller clans. This year they were all nearly starving as they saved and scrimped and sold everything they didn't need in order to get the money. As far as he knew, they were still significantly short.

"Yeah, I heard about the taxes from Dad."

There was a long pause. She glared at the grey-green dirt. "I mean why does the Governor even need all of that money?"

Justin glanced at his sister. Amia had never been anything except pro-government. From the time they were kids, despite her impressive use of profanity, she had always refrained from using the swears involving the governor's name. She'd been the first one to whack a kid for using the ever popular 'governor's pants.'

"Maybe he's building a swimming pool," Justin said with a half-laugh.

"Enough jokes, Tintin! He's taking everything and there's nothing left for us. I just..." she struggled for words. "I just don't see how we'll stay alive. And the criers... they seem to get worse every year. Remember when we were kids? We used to play in the orchard."

Justin nodded. Armaria had been a much safer, happier place even just five years ago. A crier sighting once every month or so. Plenty of game in the forest. Food on the table.

"So maybe the solution for now is to see what we can do about the orchard," he said, placing a hand on the base of the tree and trying to push himself up. Her words released the anger he'd been actively repressing. Why were there criers coming out into the open areas? Why did they have to scrimp and save every penny to make sure they could pay taxes to a government that had done literally nothing for them? Why did his little sister have to sit like this, staring anxiously at a clump of half-dead trees, hoping she could find a way to get them to produce just one or two more peaches this year?