“I did not teach them that way,” William replied, his voice grave. “I teach them to honor and protect. To strike fear in the First Brother’s heart, to ease the way of the worker.”

“So, what happened?” Voltaire asked.

“I trained a man, Condor, to second my command. But, at last, his heart became dark. He ordered attacks. He joined another worker, Martin. And so came Voltaire’s Army. Martin is the brain. Condor is the muscle. The Rebels who wear the white-face have anger in the heart. They said to me, ‘Crane, we do not want you to lead. We chose the way of Condor.’ On that day, I laid down my club.”

In my bedroll, tears trickled from the corners of my eyes. I clasped my hands behind my head and considered the leader, Condor. He had rallied the White-Face soldiers. I, too, had rallied my people. Comrades, to me! What might have been, if my peers had picked up their quills, like daggers, and followed me from the Schoolhouse into rebellion.

The Truth About Voltaire

THE TRUTH ABOUT VOLTAIRE

Later, I went to Voltaire. Since learning my secret, she’d softened toward me. She was not kind, but she was no longer derisive. And, sometimes, she called me by my given name. I stepped into the light of her campfire.

“It’s about time—English.”

I ignored her bad mood. We had finished Candide and were reading through it again. In return, she gave me another precious pair of leggings. They stretched over my legs as I sat down beside her.

Hoping to catch her off guard, I spoke quickly. “Is Fly Man your birth brother?”

“He is,” Voltaire said.

“How do you know?”

She hesitated, then pushed aside her blouse. She turned, showing me a mark on her back.

“Does he have the same birthmark?” I said, thinking of the mole I shared with William.

“It’s not a birthmark, it’s a scar.” She traced her finger along it. “It’s a bird in flight.”

I squinted. The mark was raised like an old burn. A sprawling M shape, the bird was pale against the brown sky of her shoulder blade.

“We think our birth mother gave it to us to mark us as hers,” Voltaire said. She covered her shoulder.

“Did you claim Fly Man as soon as you knew he shared your blood?” I asked.

“Yes. When my auntie, a nursery attendant, told me our scars were the same I went that night to the nursery and compared our tattoos.”

“Were you found out?”

“Yes. They sentenced me to an intermittent Rebirth, but I ran away. I planned to leave for good. But, after a few weeks, I went back. I couldn’t stay away from Fly Man.”

I compared her loyalty to William’s abandonment and bitterness filled me. “Were you erased when you returned?”

She shook her head. “I changed my appearance so they wouldn’t know it was me.”