“I’m sure your mother was thrilled to see you,” Anna says sarcastically.
Maia laughs. “I wouldn’t quite describe it that way. Furious is more like it. I’d never seen her that angry. My mother had never laid a hand on me growing up, but this time, despite the fact that I was injured and gasping for breath, she grabbed me by the ear, hauled me to my feet, and marched me out of there.
“My knee was throbbing and I could barely put any pressure on it, but my mom had me by the collar of my sleeping tunic, practically lifting me off the ground. Once home, she sat me down, refusing to look or talk to me, and dressed my wounds, applying expensive ointment for faster healing. I just watched her, confused at her behavior. Was she mad, or wasn’t she?
“When she finished, she pulled up a chair, sitting across from me. It was the middle of the night, mind you, but I don’t think sleep was on either of our minds. Finally, she looked at me, her blue eyes darker than usual, her face still moist from the training session and dragging me home. ‘You can never speak of what you saw tonight, is that clear?’ she said. I nodded sheepishly. I wouldn’t have told anyone anyway, but promising my mom guaranteed it. It wasn’t in my nature to break a promise, still isn’t.”
From the little Anna knew about Maia, she believes her. The courage she had seen her display, her solidarity, her calm demeanor: everything pointed to Maia being a woman of character and honor, worthy of trust. “A wonderful story,” Anna says, “but you still haven’t said how you managed to join the WLM. So far, I’d say it’s a long shot, but I must say, I’m rooting for you.”
Grinning, Maia says, “Thanks. I almost forgot. It wasn’t until I saw you the second time that I even knew I wanted to join.”
Chapter Six
The trampling thunder of boots on rock hushes them both into silence. There’s no fear on either of their faces, just a cautiousness that’s born of courage under fire. The soldiers pass by directly overhead, and then across the mouth of the barricaded cellar opening, casting wraithlike shadows across the thin beams of light that sneak through cracks in the large stone that bars the entrance.
Heavy voices shatter the night, yelling commands and warning of threats. Shots ring out and anguished cries cause Anna to visibly wince. At least one moon dweller has been killed, probably several. More gunfire. More shouting and screams of pain. More death.
Anna’s fists clench at her sides, one around the handle of her gun, and the other around a sharp rock that cuts into her skin, providing her a small measure of comfort.
“I want to be out there, too,” Maia whispers, glancing at Anna’s angry hands.
Discarding the rock, Anna shines her flashlight around the cellar once more, hoping one of the four walls has disappeared, revealing a hidden passageway. Thick gray rock stares back at her, its arms crossed.
“We could make some noise,” Anna suggests, knowing full well it would be suicide.
“We could,” Maia agrees, but neither of them raises their voice above a whisper.
Another flurry of explosions cut through the quiet, someone shouts “Move!” and then the clop of dozens of footsteps fades away, into the distance.
“Where were we?” Anna says, her heart still beating too fast. She’s anxious to distract Maia from what’s happening outside. She could use a distraction, too.
“Joining the WLM,” Maia says, eyeing the stripes of light from the door, once more unbroken.
“Ah, yes. Please continue.”
“Well, like I was saying, I didn’t really even think about joining the WLM until I saw you for the second time. My mother, under the permission of WLM leadership, was able to explain the bare minimum about the WLM. She didn’t need to say it, but she told me I couldn’t join because I was too young. I asked if I could watch the training sometimes, and she and the WLM agreed, although first I had to take a solemn oath of secrecy, which I did.”
“I wrote the oath,” Anna murmurs, staring at the ceiling once more.
“I didn’t know that,” Maia says. “I watched the women train several times, enjoying the way they moved, all graceful and coordinated. It was almost like dancing. Soon they began fighting each other, and I remember having to clean up my mother’s bloodied noses and other nicks and cuts on many occasions. She was getting stronger all the time, more capable, one of the better fighters in the group. I was proud of her.
“I still practiced the movements, but now I didn’t have to hide it from my mother. She didn’t encourage me exactly, but she didn’t try to stop me either. Soon I knew them by heart, and even began joining in at training, although they wouldn’t permit me to stand in line with the other women. But even tucked in the corner I felt like a part of the group.”
“But you weren’t—not really,” Anna says.
“No, I wasn’t. But then my mother told me she had to go away for a few days, and that a neighbor would be looking after me. When I asked her where she was going, she admitted that it was a WLM conference. I begged her to let me come with her, and to my surprise, she agreed. Of course, she cleared it with the WLM first, who had apparently grown quite fond of having me around.
“It was the first time I’d left our subchapter. The train was like a ride, the gray walls whipping by, people hanging onto poles and tucked in rows of small seats. I loved every second of it.
“When we arrived I was shocked at how many women were there. Thousands. The conference was being held under the guise of an annual sewing and homemaking seminar, but it was by invitation only, so only those in the WLM could attend. We sat in a big auditorium with a stage. It was the biggest place I’d ever seen, and I later learned that it was called the Dome.”
Images of the crumbling Dome fill Anna’s head, side by side with her memories from the day of the WLM conference. Oh how things change, and not always for the better. “I have many fond memories of that day,” Anna says wistfully. “Thousands of strong women—fighters—willing to take up a dangerous cause. They did it for their husbands, for their children, for those who had already fought and died. Each and every one of them was a true hero.”
“I felt the same way at the conference that day,” Maia says. “Beautiful speeches by beautiful women. I felt a soaring in my heart like I’d never felt before. But it wasn’t until you spoke that I knew what I wanted.”
“My ‘Now Is the Time’ speech,” Anna says, hearing her own words spoken through her head. “It was definitely one of my best.”
“It was perfect,” Maia says, almost reverently. “You found a way to pour your soul into words and ideas like I’d never heard before. When we returned home, I pleaded with my mom every day to join the WLM, sometimes asking her twenty times a day, until it almost became part of our routine. Wake up. Ask ‘Can I join?’ Mother says ‘No.’ Eat breakfast. ‘Can I join?’ ‘No.’ And so on and so on all day, every day. I learned a lot about my mother’s patience during that time. If I were her, I might have slapped me.”
“She sounds like a special woman.” Anna can’t help but to think of her own mother, Adele’s and Elsey’s grandmother. Another special woman, patient and kind and tougher than anyone ever really knew.
“She was,” Maia says, pursing her lips.
“She passed?” Anna asks.
“Nine years ago. During a special mission for the WLM.”
“She was in the special mission’s corp?”
“Yes. She was recruited six years after I joined the WLM, when I was eighteen. She carried out a number of successful missions, but they were dangerous and it was just a matter of time before bad luck caught up with her.”