The Hiba Cure

It was concealed in lockets. The cure. Seven tiny capsules of micro-contained plant extract distilled in a cocktail of inhibiters and analgesics. Hiba it was called. Just a single grain was enough to restore the integumentary system completely and sustain it for a year or more depending on the health of ones cells. I wore the heart shaped locket; the sign of my house. There were six others, each worn by a daughter of the other six houses; The House of Squ, Circ, Tri, Dia, Sta, and Hex. An intricately woven gold metal hanging from a soft chain, a jewel fastened to its front to correspond with the colours of each house. A magnificent ruby shone from the centre of mine, signifying the colours of my House.

It was my father who was the one who thought to hide The Hiba Cure in them, in an agreement with the leaders of the other houses. They had made just enough to support our families, who governed our community in order to avoid suspicion or mutiny. It became clear to me after I was entrusted with this information early on, that the other daughters of The Seven Houses, some my closest friends, had no idea of the secret they held so close to them. This secret had even been kept from my mother, sister and brothers. Once I was made aware of exactly what I had been entrusted with, I slept with the locket around my neck, and bathed with it on so paranoid was I that someone would uncover the truth of how my House and the six others were able to live seemingly unaffected by nuclear fallout. The remaining population had lost all of their hair, their nails would not grow, their skin greyed as if diseased, some forming cancerous lumps across their chests, arms and face. And they died much quicker. Often when I travelled, with an armed guard to guide us through the city, people would stop to watch the carriage pass. I used to look out the windows and smile, until I saw the distain on their faces, the confusion, the jealousy, and the hate. Once a girl around my age had threatened to shave my hair off, screaming after us that she would do it while I slept. Now I kept the curtains drawn when visiting the neighbouring houses, hearing the less fortunate spit and cuss, and throw things at us as we rumbled passed.

Our guards, housemaids, kitchen staff and other servants were all afforded miniscule amounts of the Hiba plant in exchange for their services, but they did not know we had found a cure from the plant and were not aware of its extracted form. Many of them still retained their afflictions but died at a slower rate and often grew their hair and nails back. My father told me it was how we stayed in power. How we kept control. Eventually we would monetize The Hiba Cure, but there was still much to be done. Tensions had been growing among the less fortunate, who were becoming uncomfortable with staff who worked for The Seven Houses, and the Hiba plant they were given as payment of which they often shared with their families. The people were always fighting for employment within the Houses, so greedy were they to get their hands on what we were offering. As staff passed away over time and replacements were quickly found, often those replacements would turn up deceased. My father told me it was important that the eyes of the less fortunate were turned not to us, but on each other.

Today I was to make an appearance in the public arena for father’s speech. The speech was to be made to soothe the public following recent events in the House of Heart. One of our kitchen staff, a man around my father’s age named Garrin, had mysteriously disappeared. It appeared he was considerably well liked not only within the House, but by the public, hence their apprehension. People had claimed my House had done something to him, as he was in particularly good health; more so than most before he failed to return to his family one evening. The President of the Seven Houses, Agon from the House of Hex, was addressing these recent tensions with a gesture of good faith; a promise to expand our resources to go and find more of the Hiba plant to give freely to the people to extend their health. In truth, we did not need to find the plant. We grew it, and this was known only to our leaders, and the botanists who developed the cure. And of course, myself.

Many had gathered around the arena platform today, the crowd so thick with ailing bodies it was hard to stand in good health, well dressed and smiling whilst babies coughed so much they screamed and children picked at their skin. I reminded myself of how fortunate I was to be born into one of The Seven Houses and how eventually the people would be healed in time. I stood with my hands dutifully clasped behind my back, dressed in bright red velvet. I looked to my left, where Estoile, the son of Agon, watched the crowd stoically. He was dressed all in black; fine silk sleeves, dress trousers and a tunic embroidered with silver. Tall with excellent posture; and a full head of jet-black hair. His picture of health was evident in comparison to those below. Estoile locked eyes with me, noticing my staring and I quickly glanced done. He was close with the President, and it made me wonder if Agon had shared with him that his sister, Haedra wore the cure around her neck as I did. Although I had hardly spoken to him at House gatherings and feasts, he was a familiar face up here; the crowd quiet as both our fathers -our leaders spoke, a fully armoured and armed row of guards separating the crowd from the platform, as well as those who protected us on it. It was then that I spotted him in the crowd.

He was staring right at me, and I tensed in reaction. I looked away, then back at him again, but still he stared. This boy, whom I predict was around my age, all of seventeen, had been following me the past week I was sure of it. I had seen him first on a carriage ride after the incident with chef Garrin, then again, the following three days outside the House walls; staring up at my bedroom window. I had smiled at first but could not shy from the fact his expression meant nothing good. This was not uncommon, but he made me uncomfortable, the way he stared. Through me, rather than at me. I tried to model Estoile’s stoicism for the remainder of the speech and once our fathers had seen the crowd were satisfied and hopeful, we were escorted off the platform. My father whispered to me that he and President Agon had business and they would be riding together in private, and that I was to ride with Estoile back to the House of Heart for refreshment. He smiled at me as I approached, offering his hand to help me into the carriage.

“Lady Carys, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” Estoile’s practised court-manner put me at ease instantly, his hands warm and strong.

“It’s been some time, has it not?” I boldly offered, snuggling into the cushions of the interior carriage as he followed me inside and took the seat opposite.

“That it has my lady, that it has.”

We engaged in light conversation, cordial and presumptuous, speaking of frivolous things and disguising our intrigue in one another, until the carriage stopped unexpectedly, far too soon to have arrived home.

“Perhaps one of the horses has reared?” Estoile comforted my visible apprehension, stepping out of the carriage door to assist the men with whatever had hindered our journey. Outside of the carriage, I heard a muffled sound of what sounded like an altercation. I froze. Something was wrong. It was quiet, and I was alone with naught but to protect myself save for a golden hairpin. The carriage door was reefed open abruptly, and in Estoile’s place, in came the boy from the crowd. I started to scream immediately but he leaned across to me in a harsh manner, brandishing a knife of which he held up to my throat that I swallowed in response and felt tears escape my eyes.

“Who are you?” I sobbed, staring at his dark eyes, the whites of them yellow and his round head bald as a baby.

“It doesn’t matter who I am Heart girl,” he spat.

“Please don’t hurt me, I beg you!”

“I won’t, if you keep quite.” I immediately stifled my sobs.

“What did they do with the Chef?” he asked me angrily.

“What?”-

-“Chef Garrin! What did your family do with him?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know what happened to him, I swear it.” He studied me momentarily, searching my eyes. He seemed as scared as I was. He relaxed the knife.

“What do you want….” I asked in a small voice.

He grinned now, which made me nervous. He pointed the knife toward me and trailed it down my necklace until the tip rested against the top of the bodice of my dress.

“I want what’s in your locket.”