The Compassionate Ones

by Eilisande

Long after the fall of Immortan Joe and the conquest of the Citadel, people of the Wasteland began to see the Wives as goddesses, just like they did before with Immortan. But they're not goddesses. They are only people, and this is their story, written on the Citadel's walls so that no one forgets it, even after they're gone.

Translation of my fic "Les Immortelles"

Some people say they're goddesses like some say Immortan Joe's a god. It may become a cult, or it's already one. Once the Wives die, they'll say they were goddesses in white, with a kind smile. They'll say they were married to the Earth, and offered a green future with their compassionate hands to the faithful. They'll said they fought a disfigured god with false promises of water when he only offered war and death. Maybe people in the future will pray to both the Compassionate Ones and the Immortan, wishing for the mercy of the first, and the other's protection in battle. They'll say the Compassionate Ones defeated the Immortan, taking his title and sending him away from Valhalla. They'll tell the stories of Angharad, holding the door of Valhalla to keep Immortan from coming back, about how it's an eternal battle and that the world will cease to exist the day Immortan rises again.

They'll invent myths about them because it's the only thing they still know how to make in these desolate lands. People here need myths to remember hope. I know they'll make goddesses out of the Wives because it already started. They do not say their stories in the Citadel where the Wives could hear, but they do in the valley where water flows thanks to them and where the Green Land will be.

But I know the truth. They're not goddesses. I know that because they told me so, and because I was a child the day the brides killed Immortan and broke our chains. I was one of the war pups who helped them climb, leaving the crowd below to tear Immortan Joe's body to pieces. I saw it with my own eyes, even though I was still too young to even touch a weapon. That day, I even saw the Road Warrior. I even spoke to him afterward, when he came to visit, before he disappeared for good in a sandstorm, along with Furiosa, some say. I say his myth suffocated him and that he disappeared to take a new name and no longer be a legend.

When I told this to the Dag, she made fun of me, saying that I didn't believe in anything. I told her that wasn't true, that I believed in facts and truth. She nodded, no longer mocking me. She said that when she was young, she read on Miss Giddy's skin that before they destroyed the world, men said there was a difference between history and stories. I prefer the first because I saw the harm that Immortan Joe did to us with the second. I told the Dag that and asked her if she liked people making her a goddess.

"Of course not," she said. "Those who want to be gods are fools or killers, or both. But I can't stop stupidity. I'd be another kind of fool if I tried to stop them from believing what they want to believe."

"You could tell them your story. It would stop them from making it up."

"My story is as long as my life, and I lived longer than most."

It's true. Even Cheedo the Fragile's hair is nearly all white now. I'm getting too old too and I hurt everywhere. Not that I am complaining. They're the reason I'm alive. Without them, I would be a dead body on the road, dead for Immortan's glory. But I decided it was important to insist.

"Tell them. Not all of our story, but something important. Something you don't want people to forget about you. About all of you."

She smiled and I think she always knew I would ask her that, ever since the day I asked her to teach me how to write. The Dag is like that. At least, she's like that with me.

"I will, but only if you get a story from the others first, because you already know me the best."

Also true. The Dag was the one to initiate me and make me a green boy, and a green man after that. She was the one who told me my path was the path of written things, and the old to held me in her arms when I cried because with my foot, I'd never be a war boy. She was the one who taught me how to write, the one who held my hand when Capable had to amputate it so my tumour wouldn't devour my arm and my life, and the one who pushed me in front of Max to ask him to please tell me about the old world. Even my name, Drongo, I've got it thanks to her. She called me that because I was afraid Max would eat me, because I'm an idiot, but she always says I'm an idiot who's not stupid, and for her, it's a compliment.

I liked her idea, so I started writing on the Citadel's walls. I think it's important that we know the Wive's history before we enter the room where we've written the story of Immortan's death and the Conquest of the Citadel. Their story should be told before his. After I decided where I would write, I went to search for the Wives. I knew where to find Capable, but she scares me ever since she cut off my arm, which makes the Wives laugh, because everyone else is afraid of the Dag. Not me, and it impresses even the war boys, to the point they don't mock me for my twisted leg and my missing arm.

I found Toast first. The Dag had already talked to her, so she smiled, and sat in the engine's room dust with me, with war men training all around us.

"I came to the Citadel the year of the three rains..." she began.

We've lost the method to calculate time people used before, so we tell time in days, or we refer to events everyone knows about, like Immortan Joe's death. I too came to the Citadel in the year of the three rains, when my parents sold me to Immortan in hope of a better life for me, and in hope of food for them. Everyone remembers that time and this is how begins

the story of Toast

The year of the three rains had been a blessing, but also a curse. The sheltered people of the Bullet Farm and Gaztown had collected so much water they had become addicted to it. They wanted more and paid in gazoline and bullets. Aqua cola price felt for the first time in man's memory. Immortan Joe hated it because it made him a less important man than the Bullet Farmer and the Man-Eater. His allies were happy to disregard most of his demands and to negotiate their water with scavengers.

Toast had been born into a small clan of scavengers who controlled a mountainous territory beyond Immortan Joe's borders, a two days' drive from the Bullet Farm. They were thirty people, and they owned fourteen motorcycles, which made them a rich clan. Toast had bled for the first time this year, and when her father fell ill, he allowed her to ride in his place and use his rifle. She cried when he died, but she loved to feel the wind blowing in her clothes and the sand flying under her wheels. Her only regret was that the rest of the clan told her to cover all her skin, her face, and even her eyes when she rode because the sun was too dangerous. It was true the sun could make people sick, but her clan didn't ask the same of the other riders. It upset her, but she was vaguely afraid to ask why.

On her first raid, she could only watch from afar. On the second, to act as a scout. She liked that, to defy the Desolation alone to track those who dared to steal the water from their lands before they could reach it in their mountains' rock crevices. Even after she proved she could follow orders and was good with a bike, the Crazy Dogs only let her reload weapons for the fighters in a fight. She became faster with reloading than most of their warriors, but they never allowed her to fight, even when everyone else was required to. When she asked why, the others were elusive. Toast decided she would get even better so that they couldn't refuse her to fight. She wasn't sure if she could kill when asked, but she wanted to do her part.

They were on the move all the time that year, which was something new. Usually, they stayed hidden in high passes to attack travelers, but there was so much water in their territory right now that other groups of scavengers were getting bolder. The Crazy Dogs won all their fights because they knew the terrain and could recover bullets, gourds, and cans from their enemies' corpses. They stored their water in empty cans. When they moved, their chief slept lying on top of their treasure in case one of them tried to drink all of it. All that rain could make people mad. They could kill each other for one more drop of water. That was how addictive aqua cola was.

Toast was young and carefree. She did not worry about water madness. She hoped these three rains meant the world was healing and was happy to explore their lands. Also, her first concern was Rattail, her scout partner with her pretty smile. Sometimes, she could think of nothing else. They stole kisses whenever they could, but Toast yearned for more, even if she wasn't sure what. One day, they took advantage of a sandstorm to take refuge in a crevasse ahead of the tribe, and as the world tore itself apart all around them, Toast passed her hands under her tunic. Her heart pounded whenever she thought about that day.

But with so many incursions on their territory, the Crazy Dogs realised they would soon run out of bullets. Their enemies did not always leave full cartridge belts behind them. Something had to be done, so they put all their water on their bikes and rode toward the Bullet Farm. When she saw the vast plain with the Bullet Farm, Gaztown, and the Citadel behind, Toast was stunned, overcome with the urge to turn around. That world of noise and fury even made her shudder.

They stopped at the end of the passe and hid the bikes. The mountains were theirs, but Immortan Joe had eyes everywhere on the plains and he thought only he could trade the aqua cola. Two Crazy Doges stayed to guard the stock. Ten others, including Toast, planned to use a small sandstorm to enter the plains and approach the Farm Bullet discreetly.

They couldn't even get out of the valley before thirty men and war boys with scarred bodies painted white and heavily armed with spears, guns, and knives ambushed them. A woman with her forehead painted in black was watching them from afar. Even if the Crazy Dogs normally didn't venture into the plains, they had heard of the war boys and Imperator Furiosa. They froze, knowing Immortan Joe's men were kami crazy and trigger-easy. Scavengers drew their weapons. The war boys screamed".

"Thieves!"

"Rats!"

"Schlangers!"

"You're stealing the water from Immortan's veins!"

Old Bonescraper spat on the ground.

"Water belongs to no one, except to whoever takes it and whoever buys it."

"Maybe," Furiosa interrupted. "But no one will buy that water from you, neither the Bullet Farm nor Gaztown, not anyone. No one will sell you what you need either on all the plains and beyond."

Cry escaped from the Crazy Doges ranks. War boys laughed, looking more than ready to fight them. The clan was already dead, Toast understood with dread. They needed gazoline and bullets. They couldn't scavenge everything from their victims. What would they drink if there was no more rain for years, like before the three rains? They couldn't drink the blood of a corpse and even their worst enemies, the Vile Ones, weren't crazy enough to use human bones as weapons. Trade and barter, that was what kept humanity alive, or so the eldests of the Dogs always said.

"We never wanted to anger Immortan," a warrior said.

"It is too late for regrets. Your pitiful attempt at independence was doomed from the start. Immortan's anger means death."

The war boys raised their weapons.

"I told you so, Perth!" a Crazy Dog woman screamed to their chief. I told you your idea stank. We should have just saved our water. The Bullet Farmer betrayed us!"

"Of course he did. People don't betray Immortan. But rats like you are worth less than the bullets that will kill you. Still, Immortan demands that we expose your corpses as a warning."

"Die, schlangers!" several war boys shouted.

They were smiling like madmen. The craziness of the Dogs was nothing compared to what Toast saw in their eyes.

"Wait!", Perth shouted. "What if we had something to offer Immortan in exchange for our lives?"

Furiosa snorted.

"You have nothing of value."

Someone pushed Toast forward. She tripped and fell on one knee right next to Perth. Furiosa came to look at her. Up close, she was even scarier. Toast held out a hand to Rattail for comfort, afraid and confused. Rattail's face showed nothing. All the Crazy Dogs were looking at her, but not like she was a friend to defend, but with calculating eyes, like when they wondered how much a captive was worth. Rattail ripped off her hood and glasses.

"You see, Imperator. She's perfect. She'll make a good wife for Immortan."

Furiosa grabbed Toast's face with her flesh hand. Toast couldn't help but shake. The Imperator forced her to open her mouth to look at her teeth. Toast couldn't find the courage to bite her.

"Undress her."

The war boys had stopped laughing. They all looked away, not out of respect for her, but because she already belonged to Immortan Joe in their eyes. Her clan mates had no consideration for Toast's feelings. Three of them tore off her suit while she struggled, leaving her naked in her boots. Furiosa circled her, forcing her hands up and examining her scalp for tumours.

"Boots too."

Toast gave in. She had never felt so humiliated and couldn't say how she found the strength to stay standing when one of her feet was lifted to submit her toes to Furiosa's inspection.

"She'll please Immortan. If the V8 wants, she'll bear many strong and healthy sons for him."

The War boys applauded. Two of them violently pushed the Crazy Dogs away from Toast and dragged her more gently toward them. A part of her, the one that wasn't screaming in horror, viciously hoped they had hurt them. The Dogs had sold her. How long had they been thinking about doing this?

"She's very healthy," Bonescraper bragged. "We've been taking good care of her. Immortan be happy, yes?"

"Immortan Joe is no longer angry with you," Furiosa confirmed. "I'm sure five will be enough to satisfy him."

She made a gesture to her men. Five simultaneous detonations and the five youngest and strongest of their men fell dead, Perth among them. The others, who were congratulating themselves for their bargain, looked at Furiosa in disbelief.

"Why?," Bonescraper stammered.

"An example needed to be made. Now return to your den. Unless you have another treasure of this value to offer to Immortan, if you come down from your mountains, it's a bullet for each of you. Leave your dead and your water."

None protested. They left without a word, heads low and eyes dull. Even Rattail didn't look back at Toast. She cried seeing them go, knowing they wouldn't survive long now that Immortan's displeasure was known. They had sold her. They were still her family.

Her tunic was ruined. The war boys pulled out a fairly clean blanket from his bag. Toast wrapped herself in it with relief. She just wanted to be done, but she had to watch the war boys rope up the bodies of the Mad Dogs over the entrance of the valley. They would stay for a long time. Any marauder or scavenger passing here would know not to cross Immortan Joe. Satisfied, Furiosa nodded and ushered Toast to her car while the war boys secured the Mad Dog's water.

On their way toward the Citadel, they stopped at the Bullet Farm. Curled up in her seat, Toast listened as Furiosa thanked the Bullet Farmer for denouncing the Crazy Dogs. She gave him their water. He outbid her by offering a box of his best bullets and they parted as good friends. Toast felt nauseous. She didn't say a word to Furiosa during the journey. The woman stayed quiet too, but glanced at her from time to time. When they arrived at the Citadel, Toast knew what terror was like. Seeing it from afar was nothing compared to standing below its shadow. She had thought she could escape but abandoned this hope with the rest of her illusion as they rose to the top of the Citadel.

Furiosa got out of the car and exchanged a few words with a guard. Toast wanted to disappear into her seat, but decided she did not want to be dragged crying toward her fate. She opened the door and waited there, her hand clutching her blanket. When she came back, Furiosa smiled coldly at her.

"Good. Keep on with that attitude and you should survive. Do not lower your vigilance because of the fresh water and the abundant food. For you, life will be worse than in your rate hole."

It was almost like she pitied her. It made her look human for once, but the moment passed. Furiosa looked away and led her into the dark corridors inside the Citadel. Toast tried to drag her foot, but Furiosa clicked her tongue in annoyance.

"No point trying to find your way. Immortan's wives do not circulate in the citadel. You're too valuable for that."

Toast stopped struggling and let Furiosa lead her to a heavy metal door guarded by war boys armed to the teeth.

"A wife for Immortan! He'll be happy with you, Furiosa."

"He will. Where is Blessed?"

"Still with the Mecanic Organic. We pray the V8!"

Toast lost interest in the conversation. The war boys opened the door, and she leaned over to see inside the room. She immediately understood Furiosa's warning. She had never seen a place so chrome, with its large glass roof from which light penetrated without hurting the eyes or skin, the sound of running water and strange objects she couldn't decipher the use but must be from the ancient world. Shade, greenery, and freshness were three things Toast had missed without knowing what it was, and it was all there. It would be so easy to be happy here and forget the glass roof's thick bars and that it was impossible to open the door from the inside.

Three young women stood in the centre of the room. They looked scared but relaxed when they saw Toast. Like them, Toast would learn to fear the door's opening. It was how she met Angharad, Capable, and the Dag.

"Here's a sister for you, if Immortan likes her," Furiosa introduced her. "Splendid, make her wash. She still smells like gunpowder and scavenging."

Splendid let go of her companion to approach Toast with a reassuring smile.

"You have calluses! Have you ever held a gun?"

"Yes. Several times."

She didn't think she would ever do it again. Not after seeing the corpses of her clan's mate, even if they betrayed her.

"Amazing," Splendid whispered. "And it's so useful to know guns, right Furiosa?"

Toast tensed. She thought the young woman with her clean hair and delicious smell was making fun of her. Furiosa snorted and gestured for the door to be closed. Toast shivered when it did. Splendid kissed her to comfort her.

"Everything is fine. You're safe here."

"Really?" Her voice sounded hysterical to Toast's ears.

"Only when it's just us. Otherwise, it's an awful place to be and I'm sorry about that. I'm Angharad. Come. I'll introduce you to the others."

They were kind, each in their own way, even the Dag. They surrounded Toast to conform while she cried her heart out. Capable offered her water. Splendid pet her hair. The Dag prepared her a bath. It was surreal to put her foot in the water, so strange she forgot to cry. She had never seen so much water in one place. Such a waste.

"Inhale and exhale," the Dag whispered. "Enjoy it. The water won't go away."

"We get as much as we want, but most of the time, we bathe together, once or twice a week."

"Why? You don't need to save it. Why not use it more?"

The other three exchanged uneasy glances. They said more than they would have liked. Toast felt hope again. These looks talked of plans.

"You'll need to let your hair grow," Capable said loudly to distract her attention.

"What for? I like them like that. It's practical. They don't get in my eyes and I don't sweat too much."

"Outside, it wouldn't matter. Here, you risk displeasing Immortan Joe if you keep them like that."

"What happens if I did?"

The three women froze. The Dag sized her up as if wondering what kind of metal she was made of. Toast knew the answer. She was made of a metal made to withstand the Desolation's winds, bending but not breaking. She wasn't sure that kind of metal was good for anything here.

"You were a scavenger, right? Do you know how to defend yourself?"

"A little. They didn't teach me a lot. The plan was always to sell me, I guess."

"Then forget what you learned. If you try to fight, you'll end with your breasts milked all day for your milk."

"If you are lucky," Angharad said. "I was a child when I came here. Her favourite at the time did something he didn't like. The others refused to tell me why, but they couldn't stop me from hearing her screams. He gave her to Rictus Erectus, his son. She screamed for three days. He's been crueler and stupider since. Have you been bleeding for a long time?"

"Two hundred days, more or less. I started just before the first long rain, and have bled three times since."

"More like a hundred and fifty days then," sighed Capable. "You're the youngest, then, but you've spent more time outside than any of us. You're lucky. Joe does not touch his wives for at least three hundred days after they first bleed. He'll want to make sure you're strong enough to bear his children."

The nausea came back at that idea. The Dag put a kiss on her forehead and whispered to her sisters she should leave him alone for a moment. Toast was glad and terrified at the same time. She stayed in the water, watching it turn black. She would have liked to disappear under the water, but the pool wasn't deep enough for that, probably so that no wife could drown in it.

When she couldn't stand to bathe in her filth, she came out, her fingertips strangely wrinkled. She had forgotten the colour of her skin. The wives had left her clothes, a soft and white fabric that didn't scratch. Next to them were things the wives had told her the names of while she bathed, perfumes, lipstick... Toast had fun opening and sniffing them for a short while, then she turned to the three wives. They were sitting against the door, trying to listen through with glasses. It was the first time Toast had seen unbroken ones.

"It takes too long," Angharad said. "The sun was on the east when she left."

"If Miss Giddy and Aqua haven't returned yet, there is hope."

Toast sat next to them.

"What's going on?"

Capable looked her up and down and stood up.

"You're not chrome enough yet. I'll help you and tell you what you need to know."

Capable took the perfume and let her into the next room. There were proper beds there, but Toast refused to be impressed. She let Capable do her hair and paint her face.

"There are two other wives with us," she explained. "Blessed is giving birth right now. Aqua and Miss Giddy, our teacher, are helping her. But it is taking too long, and it's her last chance. Joe treats you well until the day you are fertile. You'll hate these days. And if you get pregnant, you get three attempts to give birth to a perfect son. He no longer tolerates viable but deformed sons. Let's not talk about daughters. Blessed is one of her favourites, but this is her third try. If she fails, she'll land among the milkmaids, providing milk to the Citadel, because he liked her. But if you displease him and it's your last try, he'll throw you out of the Citadel."

"That's what he'll do to me," the Dag joyfully shouted from the next room.

"You need him to like you, so you must be pretty, coy, and fertile. He's disgusting to look at, but don't wince, and don't cry until he's gone. You understand?"

Toast nodded, again and again, until Capable had no more advice left to give her. Night finally came. Toast went to bed, but the other continued to listen at the door. Neither Blessed, nor Aqua, nor Miss Giddy had returned. She couldn't sleep. The room was too cold and too big, the bed too strange for a girl used to sleeping on the ground, and she was used to falling asleep surrounded by her clan mates.

All the rules Capable had told her also kept her awake. So many rules... Never mention you know how to fight. Wear clothes that don't show how narrow your hips are. Never swear, because Joe would blame it on the Dag's influence and hit the girl. Stay barefoot to not look like you're hoping to get out of the Vault. Never look outside when Joe's there. Walk quietly, because it's more feminine. Bathe Joe's back without letting him show how he disgusts you. Never comment on his stories. Never look or speak to other people who could come into the Vault, unless it's the Organic Mechanic with a medical question. Never mention your life outside, except to thank Joe for saving you. Learn new things, drawing, reading, and singing, to make Joe happy with your mastery of arts. Keep your eyes down when he's here, and your voice low. Don't cry.

Immortan Joe wanted female playthings with pretty smiles and many talents, strong and smart and beautiful to the outsider's eye, but terrified and broken inside. Toast vaguely remembered her mother. She died when she was a child, with her knife in her hand, screaming threats to her killer. Her father told her to make her mother proud. And now Toast was here, in a gilded cage. She curled into a ball and sobbed as quietly as she could.

The sheet lifted, and Angharad hugged her.

"You're strong. You'll survive him and we'll be here for you. Remember, you're safe for now. You're too young for him to touch you. It's the only crime we can't accuse him of."

"But he'll do it one day."

"I'm sorry. But yes. Do not think of that now."

Now Angharad was crying too. Toast felt sorry for making her cry. At least, the hugging was nice.

"If you could leave," Angharad finally asked, "would you try to return to your people?"

"They're the ones who sold me."

"But you could survive outside?"

Toast bit her lips. She knew how to load a gun, how to use a knife and her fists. She knew how to spot lizard dens and how to tell a storm was rising. The clan had kept her safe to keep her value high, but she had still learned a lot.

"I think so."

Angharad hugged her even tighter.

"Never tell it to anyone. Blessed lost the will to fight a long time ago and Aqua was born in the Citadel. For her, Joe's a god. But maybe one day..."

Hope. That was all Angharad could give her. In the long days that followed, when Joe showed them Blessed bloodied body to remind them of the price of failure, or when Cheedo joined them, and during her next eighteen cycles, Toast often cursed Angharad for giving her that hope. She still cherished it like a child growing inside of her.

Hope than hatred. Angharad's choice. Toast's choice.

When Toast the Knowing finished speaking, the war men and war boys around made the V8 sign to show respect for her testimony. She never cried and her voice didn't crack. She's strong, our Toast, like Furiosa. Hearing her story, I wanted to cry for her but didn't because it was not my place. If I had grown up in Immortan Jo's world and not theirs, I would have been proud that he had such chrome wives. I would have envied their water and their shade and thought them the luckiest women in all the Desolation.

I thanked her, and I wrote her words on the wall while she watched. I haven't written everything she said because some things we're ready to talk about, but not to see them written on a wall every day. She hugged me when I finished. The Wives love to hug each other, but they do not do it often with us. It's a sign of great favour and we revere it. Three times I've been hugged by a wife, once by the Dag, once by Capable, and now once by Toast. Closing my eyes, I can still feel their touch.

"I didn't know it was something I needed to tell anyone other than my sisters," she said. "Thank you."

I blushed, and together we watched the ink dry. I didn't stay to watch people read her story the next morning. I was wondering who I should speak to next, but since she was the one absent from Toast's story, I went to Cheedo.

Most of the Wives are easy to find. Toast is in the training room or work with engines. Capable spends her time in the infirmary, the Dag with her hands in the dirt. Cheedo's not so easy to find. She can be in the gardens, helping in the infirmary, writing numbers in the Books of Memory, organizing the next supply run, feeding the children, or listening to the requests of the people of the valley. I found her watching over the water distribution. She smiled at me.

"Toast cried last night. It had been a long time for her, so thank you."

"I didn't want to hurt her."

"Everyone needs to cry, even Toast. She wants to be strong to protest us all, but it doesn't mean she can't cry too, and it was a moving story for her. My stories always made me cry, but not the one I'm going to tell you, which is how I earned my name."

We sat on the terrace. She had to speak loudly to be heard above the noise of the water, but it didn't matter. I knew this story, but I'd never heard it from her. Cheedo the Fragile never talks for long.

"Fragile means weak. Innocent. Easy to break."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she raised her hand to silence me and that's how began

The story of Cheedo the Fragile

They had all earned their nicknames in their first days in the Vault. "Splendid", Immortan had said when he saw the gift from the Man-Eater, refusing to hear Angharad's real name. Toast had impressed her sisters with her knowing of survival, so Toast the Knowing. Capable knew nothing when she arrived, neither her name, her age, or origin, but she learned everything so quickly the name stuck. If she hadn't had the potential of a breeder, Joe might have made her an assistant to the Organic Mechanic. The Dag had come dragged by her hair, screaming. She had spat on Joe and called him a kami crazy stinking bushranger. The name basically came from itself.

When she arrived, Cheedo had cried for three days straight in Angharad's arms.

"She's fragile," the young woman begged when Joe tried to touch Cheedo. "Do not scare her."

Later, the Wives would tell her Joe rarely touched women who were too young because he needed them to survive their pregnancies, but five hundred days earlier, he had lost two unborn children in quick succession. He was getting sicker and desperately wanted to have an heir. The survival of his breeders looked less essential.

"Fragile, you said?", he said in a threatening tone.

"And she's not bleeding regularly yet. Please, Joe. It's too early for her."

"Fragile, yes. Take good care of her, Splendid. She must get stronger."

After that, the other wives called her Cheedo in private but Fragile in front of Immortan. It wouldn't have protected her for long, but they were planning to flee. Cheedo couldn't understand why. She had grown up sheltered, in a way. Her grandparents had escaped the ultimate days of civilization by burying themselves in a basement, only coming out for supplies runs. When they grew older, their son took over. One day, he came home with a woman and Cheedo was born. She had grown up happy, loved by these four people, but confined in this basement with only a tiny window for light. She could only go outside after a big storm when no one could be around to see her. Still, one day there was someone to see them. Her parents had been killed, and her taken to Immortan Joe. She had never seen so much sunlight, eaten so much food, or drank so much water. Quickly, she'd erased her parents' memory. It was easier to not suffer from their loss. She was even ready to believe that Joe would be true to his promise and that he would make her happy.

Then the Wives fled. They lost Angharad, but gained their freedom. Cheedo had learned that fear did not prevent her from being useful. She'd saved Furiosa and helped her kill Immortan Joe. As they climbed toward the Citadel, lifted by the cries of joy of the Wretched below, she told herself that perhaps she could be strong enough.

"It was clever, pretending to get back to him," Furiosa had said after the fact.

Cheedo's heart beat faster. No one had ever said she was smart. Her parents, grandparents, Joe, Furiosa, and the Wives had used other words to describe her. Adorable, cute, pretty, beautiful, sweet, kind, quiet, fragile... There was an ancient dictionary from a kinder world in the Vault. Cheedo learned what the words meant: weak, frail, useless.

She hoped for other compliments but got none, even from her sisters. Her enthusiasm died down. It hurt. It was one thing to know they knew she had not returned to Immortan Joe but set a trap, using his perception of her, but she wanted them to recognise how useful she had been to the victory, to tell her she hadn't been fragile when it mattered to be strong.

Cheedo didn't blame them for having forgotten her. There was so much to do in the Citadel after Joe's death. So she let herself disappear and listened quietly to the newly elected Citadel council meetings. There were two representatives of each group, the war boys, the green thumbs, the mechanics, the milkmaids, the welched, and the Vuvalini, all seated around a table to discuss with Furiosa and Corpus Colossus at the end of the table on one side and the Wives on the others, representing the past and future of the Citadel.

"Another car came close to the Citadel this morning," Corpus Colossus said one day. "They looked around, then turned back towards Gaztown."

"Another group of survivors," Furiosa signed. "Which car model?"

"A Magna GLX Sedan."

"Hubris and Snag, then. Bad news for us. Hubris's smart. If he tries hard enough, he could force his way in."

"What do we do?" a war boy asked.

"More patrols?" a milkmaid asked.

"We're already at maximum capacity," the second war boy said. "Everyone willing to obey the Wives is patrolling. The others are a risk. They could betray and leave."

Everyone nodded. They couldn't be sure of the war boys' loyalty. There were few left, mostly the sick and the injured, and most still convinced by Immortan's lies. Some had fortified parts of the Citadel, refusing to get out and surrender. Toast and Furiosa were working on it.

"There is something we can do," Corpus said. "We must reopen negotiations with Gaztown and the Bullet Farm."

People screamed their approval or refusals. Cheedo hated screaming. She leaned back in her chair, wanting to disappear. Her mind wandered, and she dozed off. Each time someone suddenly raised their voice, she opened her eyes to see if there was a danger. Three times in a row, she noticed Corpus Colossus' gaze lingering on her. Each time, she closed her eyes again as fast as she could, not knowing how to react. Should she say something to someone? Should she stare back?

"Enough."

When Capable said something, even in her soft voice, everyone stopped and turned to look at her. Toast smiled and took over.

"We won't achieve a decision today. Since there is no other urgent issue, I suggest everyone calm down and we'll decide tomorrow. If you're against a delegation to our neighbours, come up with another solution. If you're in favour, come with names."

Many mouths opened to protest, but when Furiosa stood up, everyone hurried to get out. Cheedo was the last of the Wives to do so. She stood there, hesitant to join her sisters, but reticent to leave Corpus Colossus alone while the war pups came to take him away.

"You should put your name forward."

Cheedo froze and looked at Corpus.

"If there is a delegation, I mean. You are smarter than they think. You should show them, or they will never believe you can do anything for them.

Cheedo fled the room, passing the Wives to join the two Vuvulani ladies, Harpy and Jo-Terror. They smiled at her and placed their hand on her shoulders. Cheedo couldn't say why she went to them and not to Furiosa. Maybe she wanted the opinion of someone to whom she was only Cheedo and not Fragile.

"Corpus Colossus is trying to manipulate me."

"Not here, little one," Harpy cut her.

They took her to the top of the Citadel, where they spent most of the time near their sister's seeds. They sat there under the green, where they could see anyone trying to listen to their conversation.

"Since we took the Citadel, and he swore allegiance to Furiosa and my sisters, Corpus has been whispering things to me. He's always where I go and he tells me things, like how giving water freely to the Wretched makes us look weak. Right now he said I should volunteer to go to Gaztown and the Bullet Farm."

"And what do you think?"

Cheedo took the time to think about it and looked around. From where they stood, she could see as far as their enemies' place and a part of the Citadel below.

"I think Corpus doesn't want to work for the women who killed his father. I think we're above his rooms and no one has checked to see if he can communicate with Gaztown and the Farm. There are too many eyes during the day, but at night, you can use a lamp to send messages. It's in Immortan's books."

"Good thing, little one. We'll take care of that right away. The man will trouble us no more."

Cheedo interrupted her.

"But if... If he communicates with them and stops suddenly, they'll know that we found him. We need to take them all by surprise, like Furiosa surprised Joe when she took us away."

Jo-Terror smiled at her.

"Good point. Let's talk to your sisters."

Capable looked surprised when Cheedo talked to them, but not Toast and the Dag, and certainly not Furiosa.

"Divide and conquer. The old Immortan's strategy. You can't go from the Bullet Farm to Gaztown without the Citadel seeing it, but the mechanics don't talk to the green thumbs, the war boys despise everyone who's not one of them and the Imperators are just waiting to denounce each other."

"Corpus wants to divide us so he can choose his side and weaken us to force us to give back part of his father's power."

"He suggested Cheedo to be our emissary because he thinks her the weakest and he knows losing her after Angharad would hurt us," Capable thought out loud.

Cheedo cowered again. Here it came again. Cheedo the Fragile, Cheedo the weakling, always hidden and protected by others, her parents, her sisters, Furiosa, Max... She hated that. She wanted to be someone strong, like Capable, like Toast, like the Dag... like Angharad.

The Dag took her in her arms and kissed her on the temple.

"He was wrong. You can put out a small flame, but try to manipulate it and you get an unstoppable fire."

Cheedo blushed with pleasure. The Dag always knew how to cheer her up. She was secretly Cheedo's favourite. Well, their sister knew, but what mattered was that the Dag always gave her the strength to do or say things she wouldn't dare to. Cheedo turned to the Vuvulani. Jo-Terror nodded, smiling to encourage her.

"I think we need to send a group to Gaztown, right now."

Furiosa raised an eyebrow.

"That would be a mistake. We know they're setting a place for us."

"Are we sure? Corpus Colossus may have not talked to them yet. He's probably waiting for the cover of the night. If we go today, before they can talk, we've got a better chance of gaining the upper hand in negotiations."

"We would do so without the Council's avail," Capable said. "It would be a bad idea, so soon after we've established it."

"Most people are just beginning to accept our presence," Toast agreed. "Even less so our orders. If we act without their approval, they might decide to take the same road we did."

"A revolution."

"Exactly. This means we must get the Council together again, but without informing Corpus. We must also intercept all who try to visit him today, learn who works for him, get the council's agreement, and put together a team."

"It would take hours. Some will protest just for the sake. Others will try to slow us down and go inform Corpus."

They were already wasting time, but Cheedo didn't dare say it. She walked out of the room without them noticing. Jo-Terror and Harpy followed her.

"You have a plan, little one?"

"The same as Max's. Do what no one expects."

She waited for their protests. She was too young, too shy, and had no experience,... But the two old ladies just nodded.

"We need a vehicle", Cheedo said. "Preferably a fast one, in case of pursuit, but it would be nice if it didn't look like a fast one."

"Most of the remaining cars here are not a perfect condition. But these idiotic war boys love a scary car and could have let a good but unimpressive one rot away. If we search, we may find what you want."

"How many men do you want to take with you?"

"Just you two. One to drive and one as a... lancier? Is that the word?"

This time, they seemed unsure of her plan. Cheedo silently begged them to trust her. They knew all war boys couldn't be trusted. Last night, someone had planted a knife in Furiosa's door. The culprit hadn't dared enter, and Furiosa wasn't even sleeping in her room because she wasn't stupid, but Cheedo was afraid for herself and her sisters.

Something needed to be done. Her plan needed to work.

Her parents prayed to a strange god, and she had never understood their prayers. Joe's god offered only hatred and death. While she walked to the Citadel garage, Cheedo prayed, hoping Angharad could hear her and give her some of her wisdom. So missed her so much. She prayed when they chose a car when Harpy negotiated them taking the car, and even after when she saw the Citadel's height diminishing behind them. She prayed for the Vuvulani, hoping not to lead them to their death, and for her sisters to survive. Finally, she had no more prayer, but she couldn't stop thinking. It was a long ride, with nothing to do except look at the Desolation and thinking, so she couldn't help but worry. What was she doing? She wasn't Angharad, with her unshakeable faith in their future freedom in a world without violence and water and greenery everywhere. She wasn't Capable, with her compassion and inventiveness, could become friends with a war boy in a few hours. She wasn't Toast, always getting back up after she fell, laughing and planning her next movement. She wasn't the Dag, living a violent life but finding Petry around her, always in balance. Cheedo didn't know what to be, except Cheedo the Fragile.

"I hope you're ready, little one. We're almost there."

She pulled herself together and watched the growing form of Gaztown.

"And I found the Citadel filthy," Harpy hissed.

Cheedo agreed. She found the place disgusting, with its high columns of smoke and its walls covered with spikes. Bodies were hanging on both sides of the main door, women and men, and even a war boy.

"Looks like Joe's fools aren't welcome here either."

"Unless it's a warning planned for us."

What would Angharad have done? Cheedo took a deep breath and placed a hand on Harpy's shoulder.

"Stop here. I'll walk to the door. Alone."

"Out of question!"

"Alone. I know what I'm doing. Don't you trust me, if you're here?"

The two Vuvulani exchanged a look. For a moment, Cheedo thought they were going to bring her back to the Citadel against her will. She might even be glad they did, but finally, they let her do what she wanted. Jo-Terror opened her door to use it as a shield and pointed her rifle toward the black doors.

"We'll cover you."

Cheedo left her car on trembling legs. She felt exposed to all eyes. Her white clothes didn't protect her in any way. She wished she had the courage of Capable and Toast, who had burned her dresses the day after the Conquest of the Citadel to wear Furiosa's leather and more functional clothing. Cheedo would have looked ridiculous in them, but maybe ridiculous was better than dead. Probably, even.

Something moved on the top of the walls, people all armed. Cheedo could see the bullet going through her head or stomach. She knew what violence was now. But Angharad walked in front of her, her head raised, so Cheedo did the same.

"I am Cheedo the Fragile, of the Citadel," she said before the doors. "I come to negotiate on behalf of the Citadel council to continue our exchanges of water and gazoline."

Someone laughed above her.

"Are you all they send to us? The Citadel is as good as gone!"

More laughter answered the man. Angharad would have raised her head. She would have smiled. Cheedo imitated her.

"Our water for your gazoline."

Behind her, the car engine roared. Cheedo didn't turn her head, even if it was clear the car was turning away.

"Still there, little one," Jo-Terror said.

Cheedo could breathe again. She waited. The sun hurt her, despite the cloth she had wrapped around her head, but she refused to show her pain. Close to the door, there was a roof covered in fabric to wait in the shade. She tried to not look at it. Instead, she watched the shadow of the wall widen and tried to forget the foul smell of gazoline.

When the door finally opened, she could have cried in relief. It was the first time in years she remembered what it was to suffer from thirst. She understood how people could kill for aqua-cola.

Three men came to her. They didn't bring water and were pointing guns at her. Cheedo didn't like how they looked at her.

"Follow us. You'll receive a well-deserved reception since you come from the Citadel."

The man couldn't hold back a sneer. Cheedo didn't move.

"Who runs Gaztown?"

"Who? The Man-Eater, of course."

"I would find that lie easier to believe if I hadn't seen him killed by Immortan Joe's hand."

Cheedo couldn't hold back a smile. Angharad said Joe was lying to them when he said their lives would be worse without him, but the real question was to know why men lied. Joe lied because he could no longer defend his empire without lies and fear. And these people, they were lying because they were afraid they would be too weak without the fear the Man-Eater created. They were scared enough to lie to Cheedo the Fragile.

"Who runs Gaztown?"

"Guzzler."

Cheedo almost laughed at their faces. She now understood why the Dag made fun of everything. Men were ridiculous. From Man Eater to the Guzzler. The next one would probably be Toe-biter.

"I won't talk to Guzzler. I've come to negotiate with Gaztown's women."

They laughed. It makes her think of Joe. The fear came back, but she refused to show it.

"I'll wait," she said when they stopped laughing.

This time, she walked to the shelter and sat down. It was hotter there, but at least the sun didn't hurt her eyes anymore. The three men paused, uncertain of what to do. They wondered if they should bring her inside by force, but Jo-Terror reminded them of her presence with a sharp click of her tongue. That and the Citadel silhouette looming behind her were enough to make them retreat inside.

The wait began again, but even without water and sweating, Cheedo found it easier to wait. After a couple of hours, she heard screams on the other side of the walls, loud enough to be heard above the machine's noise, then gunshots. Cheedo jumped despite herself.

"Did I do the right thing?" she whispered.

Hearing her, Jo-Terror joined her under the shelter to briefly hug her.

"When you start a revolution, you can keep your hands clean only if others are doing the dirty work. It was a good idea. Stopping another tyrant from rising and cooperating with women who have the same interest as us to make Immortan Joe the last of his kind is commendable. Now it remains to be seen who wins."

They waited until nightfall. The machines became silent. The smoke stopped rising. Twice the killing sound diminished before it started again. Cheedo expected to see Citadel's vehicles on the horizon, but none came. Harpy must have convinced her sister to let her try.

She was only partially right. Her sisters had ordered all remaining cars to be armed to come to her aid. They were ready to come, but Furiosa had convinced them showing their army weakness would not help Cheedo. They also risked finding the Citadel's gates closed on their return. They waited, terrified, their eyes fixed on the horizon, for Cheedo's return or Gaztown's army.

The sounds of killing finally stopped. Cheedo jumped to her feet and walked towards the gate.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Jo-Terror asked, following her, her gun firmly pointed at the door.

"No," Cheedo confessed. "But I need to try."

The gate opened. She entered, having no other choice, but she knew Angharad would be proud of her. Humanity would always fight. It was in their nature. But if they wanted to keep their humanity, they needed to think of other ways.

Once inside, Cheedo was horrified to find so many bodies. She tried not to look at them. The people inside were like the people in the Citadel. Violent. Afraid of the future. They were as scared as her, and suddenly much less frightening.

The guards led her to a throne room with walls covered in spikes like the rest of Gaztown. A scary place. Angharad had grown up there and never liked to talk about it. Today, the room was full of men and women in barely better shape than the Wretched, waiting for her.

"I am Cheedo the Fragile, of the Citadel," she introduced herself. "I come to negotiate on behalf of the Citadel Council to continue our exchanges of water and gazoline."

Someone chucked in the room. Even sick and hurt, they mocked her fragility. Cheedo discovered that she would never enjoy being fragile, but she would tolerate the surname it if others underestimated her. She took a deep gulp of hair and began the negotiation.

It took six days for her to return to the Citadel, six days of misery. Someone ran to warn the Wives who rushed down to hug her. Rumour told them she wasn't coming back alone. There was a tanker and three cars escorting her.

Cheedo had fallen asleep, exhausted by these endless negotiations, but the noise woke her up. Wretched were running around her car, screaming her name, Fragile, Fragile, like an incantation. She was bringing back gazoline. More importantly, she brought back news of peace when they feared to be the first victims of a war. That was when they began to worship her like they had worshiped Immortan. Thin, dirty hands reached towards her. Cheedo shook again, because she understood Fragile would never mean weak again, but she was wondering if she wanted to be what they wanted her to be. It ceased to matter when she saw her sisters and could rush into her arms at last. She was home.

"Next time you have such a crazy idea, tell us," Capable whispered in her heart. "We'll listen, I swear."

"I will. I only wanted to help. To be brave like you all are, and to make Angharad proud."

They held her tighter.

I remember the day Cheedo the Fragile came home. She looked glorious and chrome that day, when we learned they would protect her better than Immortan ever did. Her tell was as epic as I remembered it, even if I never knew how afraid she was. Today, there are many little Fragile in the Citadel. We give the name to girls we hope to see growing strong like the Wives.

"You look distressed," she notices. "Do you want to tell me why?"

It's easy to talk to Cheedo the Fragile so I dare ask something I wouldn't have asked the others.

"Is that truly how it happened? I remember things differently."

Cheedo smiled.

"This is how I want my story to be remembered. The Dag and Capable won't tell you about our heroic moments and Toast didn't. I want people to remember we were brave too. That we had the strength to stand up and say "no" to our enemies. I made some mistakes in these first few days and it led to the war with the Bullet Farm. I cannot stop people from thinking about us as goddesses. What I can do is decide which legend they'll tell."

I stood there, watching her congratulate the men and women coming up after having distributed the water among the Valley's people. It's been over a thousand days since the last fight, largely thanks to Cheedo. I always thought her the sweatiest and easiest to understand of the Wives. Now I wonder.

I went to write her story. It took time because I questioned each of her words. Cheedo glossed over the negotiations, and I wondered why. When I finally sat up, my work down, Capable was standing behind me, reading over my shoulder.

"Cheedo's complicated. We all are. She thinks too much or not enough."

"Gaztown's people are dangerous. They often try to take the power back from us. Was it really so easy? There's no council there, no women in power."

Capable smiled. Wives often do that. They smile and they wait and force us to think for ourselves. Also, I never asked for them to tell true stories. Of course Cheedo would be the one to see that.

"I figured you'd prefer to see me outside the infirmary. How's your arm, Drongo?"

"It's fine. Hurts below where you cut it."

"Phantom pain. It happens."

Wives are scary because they know things no one else knows. They taught us how to read, but they know things that are not in the Citadel's books. Unless they hid some of them from us.

"Let me look at your arm," Capable said, sitting down and gesturing for me to do the same. "You've heard stories of capture and a war avoided. These aren't very different from war boys' stories of the Wasteland. I'm going to tell you a tale about the Citadel. I sat down and she massaged my arm while I listened

The story of Capable

Her story had no beginning because Capable couldn't remember anything about her life before. When they ran away, Capable knew of the Desolation only by the others' stories and by what she could see from the Vault's window. Desolation was just a thought. She remembers nothing of heat, hunger, or thirst.

In her first memory, she was four thousand days old, probably. Someone was screaming in pain somewhere nearby. She opened her eyes and discovered the Organic Mechanic workshop, a terrifying place. There were pipes everywhere, blood traces on the floor, and frightening diagrams on the walls. The little girl wasn't afraid of that. She found it fascinating.

The Organic had his back to her, leaning over a war boy screaming in pain on his bed.

"Where are they all?" he grumbled. "I need thread and a needle!"

The little girl sat up on her bed and looked around more carefully. No one else was there, so she silently got out of bed, holding back a cry of pain when she put her foot on the ground. Looking down, she saw her feet covered in bandages, like her arm, but she couldn't say how she had gotten hurt. She didn't even know who she was, and it was hard not to cry at that thought. But she couldn't. She had more important things to do. The injured boy was still screaming.

She could see a large tray in the middle of the room with strange and impressive instruments. Rising to her feet, the girl grabbed thread and a needle and ran towards the Organic. The man gave her a bewildered look.

"You woke up, huh? And you're more resourceful than these war pups. They ran away. I need a length of thread long like your forearm."

She did what he wanted and looked for something to cut it.

"With your teeth, idiot! Put the thread through the needle, tie a knot, and pass it to me. Then I want you on the other side of the bed. Check if the bounds are tight enough. I don't need him to punch me in the face during the surgery."

The girl obeyed. The man terrified her. Once on the other side of the bed, she saw the boy's wounds and turned to vomit. His chest bore multiple lacerated wounds, and most of them had reopened. The Organic muttered he should have expected it and set to work. She still found the strength to stand up and check every one belt and ropes that held the injured boy.

"What now?" she asked.

"You're not half bad for a beginner. Pretty capable, I'd say. Your name?"

"I don't know."

"Capable will do, then. I need you to hold his head still. Get on the bed if you need to. This kami-crazy would tear off the tip of my nose if I let him."

"He's hurt."

"Well, if he didn't want to hurt, he should have gone to Valhalla, not to my workshop. He's a war boy at the end of his life. I'm not going to waste anything other than a thread on him. Now hold him!"

The man's screams scared Capable, but not as much as the Organic. She climbed onto the head to hold his head. The boy struggled and screamed threats at her. She nearly had to strangle him to stop him from biting the Organic. She had to keep her eyes closed so as not to see the blood escaping his gaping wounds, but finally, he stopped struggling and lay still.

"If he survives until tomorrow, he can lives and die shinny another day to reach Valhalla. You can let go, girl."

Capable obeyed and slid off the bed, letting the Organic finish his work. He was no longer interested in her, so Capable wandered between the beds. Most were empty, but a few war boys were sleeping at the other end of the room, their wounds dressed. One of them opened his eyes a offered her a horrible toothless grin. Capable retreated towards the centre of the workshop, where the Organic's tools were located. They were sharp and covered in a dried blood crust, but she couldn't take her eyes off them.

The Organic carelessly threw his needle and some bloodstained rags on the table.

"What's this one for?" Capable asked, pointing to a saw.

"It's for cutting off a leg or an arm."

"And this one?"

The Organic slapped her hand to stop her from touching it.

"Don't worry about that. You may be resourceful, but you'll be a breeder, not an organic. Follow me."

He grabbed her hand. Capable had to run beside him to keep up while he dragged her deep into the Citadel. They passed war pups coming back toward his workshop, so Capable had a moment to catch her breath while he yelled at them. He squeezed her hand too hard and her wrist hurt. She didn't dare tell him. After, they passed through green plantations. Capable admired them, but wasn't impressed because she didn't remember there were no green things outside. Her childish mind thought it was something normal.

They finally arrived at the Vault's door. It opened for the Organic. Inside, Miss Giddy gave him a look of hatred but stopped when she saw Capable.

"A bride for Immortan," the Organic said. "You'll need to train her for him."

"Fantastic. Aren't you tired of killing mothers to steal their daughters?"

This would be the only clue Capable would have to understand where she came from. The Organic didn't respond to provocation. He just smiled at the old lady.

"Let me know when she bleeds for the first time."

He pushed Capable into Miss Giddy's arms. The old woman held her to stop her from falling and watched the door close. Capable would soon learn the Vault was a prison. Miss Giddy sighed. She looked sad.

"Come on, little one. Might as well introduce you to your sisters. What's your name?"

"Capable."

"It is a pretty name. Follow me."

Capable looked at the large room. She was curious. It was so bright compared to the Organic's workshop, and women were sitting at the edge of the water basin and the window, six of them, all beautiful and dressed in white, but looking sad. One of them wore blue-green marks on her face and arms.

"These are Immortan's wives," Miss Giddy whispered while gently pushing Capable to move forward. "Don't worry about them for now."

Capable nodded, even if she had hundreds of questions. Miss Giddy led her to a staircase. There were two doors on the top.

"The left one is my room, the right one is yours, but you'll have to share. And you must never go down the stairs."

"The Wives don't want to be disturbed?"

"Something like that. You'll understand when you're older."

The old lady knocked on the second door, which opened a little. Inside, Capable could see a blond girl, a little taller than her.

"Capable, this is Angharad. If there are people around, you must call her Splendid."

"Why?"

"Immortan wants it."

Immortan wants it. She would hear that answer a lot in the next month, but for now, she didn't know who Immortan was, and she exchanged a delighted smile with Angharad.

They were the only two girls in this golden cage. Immortan had shown no interest in little girls during his Devastation's raids, until then. Boys could make war boys, but girls were too young to carry sons. But recently, he had changed his mind. Diseases and mutations were becoming more and more present and lethal. If he wanted breeders, he needed to find them before they got sick. And this way, he could shape the according to his desire. The women he had captured all had heard of the world before. Some tried to resist, and he had to tame them with his fists. The idea of girls growing up having no god other than him appealed to him. Angharad, and now Capable, were an experiment.

"He wants you to be knowledgeable," Miss Giddy explained that night. "And it's true you'll need to learn a lot of things if you want your children to inherit a better word."

Angharad had a doll in her arms, a gift from Immortan. She made a mess.

"I'm not sure I want children. Babies cry all the time."

"I would prefer a doll, I think," Capable said.

Miss Giddy took them in her arms. She was shaking. She didn't know how to explain what future awaited them and wished she never had to. Capable and Angharad, of course, were too young to understand why she cried, but they gave back her hug.

"I'll teach you how to read," Angharad said after Miss Giddy had tucked them into the only bed, which was too big for the both of them. "There's lots and lots of things in books. It's amazing. Miss Giddy has finished teaching me my letters and I'm reading on my own now. You'll even understand what's written on her body. She's a living library."

Capable liked the idea of knowing things. She wondered if there would be anything about the content of the Organic workshop.

"What about the Wives downstairs? Will they also teach us things?"

Angharad winced.

"Immortan Joe doesn't want them to talk to us and us to talk to them. We must leave them alone."

"All right. What is he like, Immortan?"

"He scares me. He's huge, and he smells bad. I don't want him to touch me, but he says he can't wait until I'm older so he can. He says I'll be the most splendid of them all. I'm glad he's away."

Capable moved closer to Angharad to hug her, feeling her fear and helplessness and not knowing how to help, especially because she wasn't that scared. Her only memories were about the Organic, Miss Giddy, and Angharad. She knew nothing of the world, so she couldn't be hurt.

She still felt anxious, but it disappeared in the following days because nothing could hurt her around here, and it was fascinating to listen to Miss Giddy talking about a green world, how to recycle water, and how to play music. On the ground, she drew what her books did not describe. She always had questions and tried not to get too impatient when Miss Giddy ignored her to help Angharad.

Her new friend was impressed with how quickly she learned everything, but Capable was a bit jealous of Angharad. She understood the diagrams in the book and learned her alphabet at an impressive speed, but Angharad understood some things so much better than her. Their teacher said she was a philosopher in the making, laughing when Angharad explained the morality of a story where Capable only saw a pretty tell. Capable wanted to be the best at everything.

Days passed. Capable discovered she enjoyed learning, but she was sorry to learn they could only learn theory with Miss Giddy and never practice things. If she was really so good at learning, would Imortan Joe not realise she could be something other than a Wive? Maybe if she convinced him, he would let her choose what she wanted to be. Sometimes, when Angharad was sound asleep, Capable would get up to watch the Wives from the top of the stairs. They were doing nothing fun. Most of the time, they glared at each other and spat insults when they talked at all. Capable didn't want to be a wife.

On the eighth day after Capable woke up, Immortan Joe came back to the Citadel. No one had told them he was coming back like no one had cared to explain he had left with half his men to deal with rivals that threatened his power. He came home exhausted and angry and wanted to see his Wives first. The two girls were studying a poem from before the fall of civilization when they heard the screams. Curious, Capable looked around, but Miss Giddy and Angharad exchanged panicked looks.

"Where are they?" Joe shouted. "Where are my Wives?"

Miss Giddy stuck her head out the door, stopping the girls from doing the same. Downstairs, the Wives were running, most of them terrified. Immortan Joe grabbed them one by one to examine their bellies. They were all as hopelessly flat as when he left.

"Useless whores," he yelled, hitting the closest Wive. "None of you is good enough to do what's expected of a woman! Where is my fiancee? Where is Splendid?"

Miss Giddy exchanged a horrified look with the two children. She didn't have the power to stop Joe from seeing them. If she tried, he would shoot her and the two girls would no longer have an ally in the Vault, nor in the whole Citadel. Capable would understand that soon.

"Girls? Smile please, we'll go see Joe."

Angharad held Capable's hand tightly and didn't let go as they walked down the stairs. Capable was glad, because she was scared, especially when Angharad walked in front of her as if to shield her from something. When she saw Immortan Joe, she understood why. He was disgusting. Joe grabbed her arm and spun her around, touching her hips and examining her teeth. Even through his breathing mask, she could smell his stench.

"Her hips look very narrow."

"She's too young, Immortan," Miss Giddy begged, holding out her hands for her. "It's too early to tell."

He was disappointed. It was easy to understand that was never a good thing with him. Capable had prepared a speech to convince him to let her learn what she wanted, but she saw it wouldn't be a good idea to try. She never wanted him to notice her. She could guess she would end like the Wive who was curled up in a ball on the floor, crying. The other Wives stayed as far away from her as they could, as if to avoid attracting her bad luck. None would lift a finger to help anyone.

Angharad took a step forward. She was brave like that. Joe let Capable go, and she ran to Miss Giddy. The old woman hugged her, whispering reassuring words in her ears. Fighting back her tears, Capable hugged her back, but she couldn't take her eyes off Angharad. Her new best friend didn't flinch when Joe's hands touched her skin. She was turning her back to Capable, but she knew Angharad was keeping her face closed. When she or Miss Giddy talked about Immortan Joe, her face always became expressionless.

"Splendid. Your hips are widening. In a few years, you'll bear healthy, strong boys for me."

"Yes, Joe."

"Are you listening to Miss Giddy's lessons? Do you progress?"

"I do, Joe."

She didn't say Capable learned quicker than her to redirect his attention. Capable wanted to take Angharad in her arms, tearing her away from this monster, maybe screaming at him. She didn't. She was too scared to do anything, rather than hope that Joe would not be interested in Angharad for much longer. Curse her for not being brave enough to step in like Angharad did.

"You'll play something for me, Splendid."

"I will, Joe."

"Not now. Tomorrow I'll come and listen to you. And when you're my wife, you'll perform for my guests. They'll know my power by seeing your beauty and talent."

This time, Angharad's 'yes' was nothing more than a strangled sound. Two of the wives glared at her.

"Now, go away, you too. My wives and I have things to do."

Miss Giddy hurried them up the stairs. The two girls were too glad to lock themselves in their room. Once the door closed, their teacher took them in her arms and let them sob at their leisure. When they calmed down, she led them to her bed and broke a candy in too parts. It was a precious remnant of the old world, but Capable couldn't even enjoy the taste. She glanced furtively at Angharad and felt guilty for her previous jealousy. Suddenly, she realised Angharad was seven or eight hundred days older than her, and no longer a child, even if she wasn't an adult yet. Soon she'd be condemned to their fate, and it would be Capable's turn soon after. The only reason Joe let them learn things was to distract them from the truth.

"Come on girls," Miss Giddy whispered, "You need to get your act together. Who wants to show me how good she is on the piano?"

Even if they had worked the piano in the morning, Angharad sat down and played the loudest tune Capable had ever heard her play. Usually, Angharad preferred soft tunes.

"Capable, why not sing something together?"

"I don't know that tune."

Bellow, someone cried. Capable jumped. Angharad put her hands on her ears.

"Sing, please."

Capable obeyed. She sang as loudly as possible the first song she could think of. She would have sung anything to drown out the cries and pleas.

On the morning Capable left the bed she had slept with Angharad when the screaming stopped. She went back to the top of the stairs and laid down to see part of the room below. Only four of the six Wives could be seen. Only one of them did not show signs of a beating. Another moaned somewhere else.

"He's angry with them," Angharad whispered just behind them. "Except for one of them, they've all been there for a long time and none has gotten pregnant for over two hundred days."

The one who was moaning asked for water. None of the wives got up.

"Angharad? Why can't we go down there? Is it Joe who forbids us, or them?

"Miss Giddy says it's better if we stay away. For them, we're a threat. Joe doesn't find them docile enough. He hopes we will, since he takes such good care of us. And he's always threatening to replace them if they don't give him a son soon enough. He's just waiting for us to be old enough to bear a child. So no, they don't want us down there."

"And they hate each other."

"If one of them gives Joe his heir, he could say the others are useless and get rid of them. Miss Giddy won't tell me what happens to women who displease Joe."

They stayed there until Miss Giddy woke up. She sighed and asked them to return to their room. Capable was surprised that she didn't punish them. Usually, she got angry when they were close to being seen from below.

"Things we do to children," she whispered, closing the door behind them.

There was a little moisture in the corner of her eye. Capable refrains from telling her they were no longer children. She didn't want to sadden her.

Days passed. They tried to smile like everything was fine, but Capable was terrified. Her only memories were of the Citadel. Miss Giddy and Angharad had said the world outside was harsh, but she hadn't imagined that. She had thought she could be whatever she wanted in the future. Discovering the Vault was a prison was hard. She no longer wanted to learn, read, laugh, or sing, and couldn't understand why Angharad wanted her to. The worst part was that they needed to lock themselves in every night and bury their head under pillows to not hear the scream below.

The two friends hardly spoke to each other. Capable didn't blame Angharad for not telling the truth about their future life, because she wouldn't have understood, but she was still angry with her. She was also quiet with Miss Giddy, locking herself in sullen silence, not seeing the point in pretending everything was fine. Knowing how to read was useless, singing too. Even her name, Capable, seemed a mockery to her. She understood the wives who sat all day waiting for what happened next. Books couldn't help them.

"We must be stronger than them," Angharad whispered in her ear. "Do not believe it is over yet."

Angharad was perhaps four or six hundred days older than her. What did she know about it? Eventually, she stopped trying to convince Capable. Miss Giddy tried to reassure her that Capable just needed some time. Capable was ashamed of her own behaviour. She was letting Angharad down and it was hard to see Angharad so sad. Deep down, she wanted to reconcile with Angharad and act like her, but she didn't know how to say she was sorry, so their quarrel dragged on. Miss Giddy sighed but said nothing. She often claimed that people shouldn't be blamed for how they dealt with the world's horror. Some nights she cried, believing the girls couldn't hear her.

Not long after her hundredth day at the Citadel, Joe entered their room. The two girls and their teacher froze. Joe never went upstairs. When he had something to say to them, he would yell at them to come down and they would hurry to obey.

Behind him, he dragged a pale, gaunt girl who was trying to bite him. Instead of bothering him, it made him laugh, even though he kept her teeth firmly away from him.

"This one has the fighting spirit of a lioness! She'll give me strong and vicious sons."

The girl spat on the ground. It was the Dag of course. Capable had never seen anyone like her. Only the war boys were paler and that was because they painted their bodies. She envied her will to fight Joe. Miss Giddy, on the other hand, looked at her doubtfully. It looked like the girl had rabies. "She looks sick."

"She does, but the Organic told me she's as strong as my other promises." He looked doubtful, but the Organic wouldn't have lied to him.

"Where is she from?"

"The Wretched at the foot of the Citadel. Who would've believed it? They kept her preciously until she had enough value to exchange her. Too bad they didn't educate her. The dag has vocabulary, but not one I want to hear from a Wife. You'll need to take care of it."

No one could refuse an order from Immortan Joe. Miss Giddy bowed, Joe pushed the Dag inside and left. When she tried to help her up, Miss Giddy had to step back to avoid a bite.

"What's your name?" she asked with her nicest voice to not scare the girl. "You seem a little older than Capable and a little younger than Angharad, but who can say with a child who grew up in the Desolation?"

Her only answer was a spit in her face.

"Joe called her a dag, I think."

"It's a word from before," Miss Giddy sighed like she didn't like the word. "It describes someone who doesn't know how to behave with people, someone who acts a little strange."

The girl smiled upon hearing that. Capable knew immediately the name would stick and she would never answer another one.

"I like it a lot," Capable said, "and she seems to like it too."

The name's topic settled, the Dag still refused to be approached. She also refused to wear clean clothes or to join the classroom on the other side of the room. This fierce girl who rejected any attempt to coax her fascinated Capable. The Dag was much better at this than her. She still felt sad for the Dag. One day, she would give up too. Girls like them couldn't resist Immortan Joe. The Wives down there were proof of that.

Capable hated Joe. She knew nothing of the world, but she understood she shouldn't have to live this life. She wished she lived in a world similar to what she read in the books. She wanted to be the Dag and Angharad's friends with no need to worry about Joe, the Wives, and everything else. She wanted a lot of things she could never get. Soon, the three of them would sit in the Wives' place and they'd be full of dread and hate, just like them.

She forgot one detail. Angharad was there, and she started pestering Capable again to take part in the lessons. Capable thought resisting until she met the Dag's suspicious gaze and heard a wife insulting another downstairs. She smiled at Angharad.

"I could play the piano and you could sing."

After the first moment of surprise, Angharad took her in her arms to thank her. They played under the Dag's careful eyes. Their new sister was surprised to see her finally giving in to Angharad after witnessing her being almost as stubborn as her in her refusal. But Capable had an epiphany. They had no choice in life. Joe had decided their future for them. It wouldn't be a good one. They would be Wives and bear children as soon as Joe said they could. But they could decide not to become hateful and distrustful of each other like the Wives downstairs. They could be friends and support each other. Capable hit the piano keys harder and smiled at the Dag, inviting her to join them. She couldn't be what she wanted, but she could at least do that.

When she finished talking to me, Capable smiled at me.

"You look disappointed. Were you waiting for another story?"

I did, of course. Everyone knows Capable's the one Wife who took the war boys under her wing. Toast trains them but Capable's their mother and sister, the one who's caring for them. She's their little goddess, some say. We know they own that to Nux who led the Wives to safety on the Fury Road and sacrificed his life for them. No one knows anything else than that, and I was hoping she would tell me the full story.

I didn't dare ask, because she always looks sad when someone asks for that story in front of her, even now that her hair is more grey than red.

"I don't know," I said instead. "When you started talking about the infirmary, I thought you were going to tell how you moved there, and when you talked about your childhood, I thought it would be a story of a child with a child's point of view."

Her smile was sad.

"I was only a child for a few days. I had to grow up immediately. I had no choice. But my fears were already those of an adult. It was true for all of us. I guess that's what I want people to remember. We were terrified little girls who never had a chance to become anything else than reproductive tools. But we helped each other bear it until we could free ourselves. And there is no story of freedom without hope surviving in chains and darkness."

We sat in silence for a while, then she got up and I wrote her story. I slept there when I was done and when I woke up, I decided to go see the Dag. Toast told me who she was before being a Wife, Cheedo how she learned to be herself and not a wife lost among others, Capable how the Wives became sisters. So I wondered what the Dag would tell me.

I looked for her and found her under the trees that grow on top of the Citadel. She was sitting and keeping her seed bag between her legs, with the three other Wives surrounding her. They smiled when they saw me, and the Dag motioned for me to sit down. I waited for a long time, then Cheedo the Fragile put a hand on her thigh and the Dag looked at me. That's when I heard

The story of the Dag

She feared nothing and no one. As a child, the Dag had to fight in the hope of eating even a lizard leg and to have a sip of the water that fell from the Citadel. After, she had to endure Joe's disgusting body on top of her and see Angharad die, and the Keeper of the Seeds, unable to help either of them. So no, she wasn't afraid of much, except the thing growing in her belly. In her dreams, Joe Junior opened her stomach with his teeth before attacking her sisters.

Before they ran away, Miss Giddy had taken her aside and explained to her how to put an end to the abomination in her belly. None was possible in their prison, but from the first moment of their escape, every evening before going to sleep, the Dag thought of nothing else. She had a deadline to make her choice if it was one.

Upon their return to the Citadel, Capable had claimed the Organic workshop as her exclusive domain. She had immediately used the Organic's books to help the ills of the war boys and war pups rallied to their cause.

On the eighth day after their return, the Dag left the gardens where she was trying to bring the Keeper's seeds back to life and went down the infirmary. On her way, people saluted her with admiration or reluctance, depending on what they thought about their revolution. What would their reaction be if they knew she was carrying Joe Junior in her womb? It didn't show, but it would soon. She had already worn looser clothes to keep the secret.

Capable smiled when she entered the workshop and they hugged. It was strange to no longer be together every hour of the day and night, but freedom had a price. Capable was happy there. Toast loved her new responsibilities. Cheedo was still unsure of what to do. The Dag only wanted to care for her seeds, except one of them.

"You don't come here often," Capable said. "I thought you wouldn't leave the terraces until all your seeds flourished."

"I wouldn't, but I need you."

Capable looked at her stomach. Her smile disappeared.

"I can't."

"Of course you do. Your hearing is keen, and you were listening when Miss Giddy explained to me what I should do. You wanted to help. You said you would."

"Follow me."

Capable led her to a small room. On their way, the sick war boys and the war pups that helped her tried to grab their hand in thanks. The Dag refused to meet their eyes. Capable carefully closed the door behind them and invited the Dag to examine the room. There were shelves and crates everywhere. Most of the shelves were empty. The few crates contained some medicines from before the fall, probably expired ages ago.

"There's two other reserves, both in the same state. The Organic hid the extent of the problem, probably from Joe himself. We need everything. Medicines, bandages, reliable instruments... The Organic didn't mind blood on his saw, but I do. My books say it's why wounded people died so much, but who cares about a war boy's life, right? The only thing we have enough of is water. But what we lack more than anything is experience. The war pups know no more than I. The Organic has never taken on an apprentice to pass his knowledge."

"He didn't want competition who could take his position and his life one day."

"Exactly. Back to your problem. Can I operate on you and get rid of it? Probably. But I'm still learning, and with the workshop in this sorry state, I can't guarantee I wouldn't butcher you worse than the Organic did to those war boys. I can't even guarantee your survival and I cannot lose you too."

The Dag searched for the truth in Capable's eyes. Her sister looked away. The Dag couldn't have stayed mad at her. She left, insulting a war boy who tried to touch her hair, rather than yell at Capable. They had lost Angharad. She couldn't hold the fact Capable wanted to save her against her, and the Dag never argued with her sisters, not since she had been tamed, but she would have if she stayed. Once outside, she wanted to go back to her plants and seeds, but she was too angry for that. She feared she would destroy everything.

Luckily, she knew a perfect place to let off some steam. A surprised war boy told her how to get there. The Citadel was still a maze for the Wives, who had only gone from the doors to the Vault, but she finally reached Joe's chambers. She walked through the door and screamed her frustration. Someone had already destroyed the place, probably Furiosa. Nothing was left intact, from the monumental bed to the desk, including the carpet and the hangings on the wall. What had survived had been gathered in the centre of the room and burned. To relieve her frustration, the Dag kicked a few times into the pile of rubbish left by the fire, some twisted metal and soft fabrics. Joe loved luxury. Although he claimed to love his wives, he never shared it with them. Their "dresses" had been rags. Of course, she didn't care about luxury herself, but she still wanted to kill Joe a second time for that.

She left the room still mad and her breath short. It was also Joe's fault, for locking up girls and still being surprised they were too weak to carry healthy sons to term.

To catch her breath, she sat on the steps of the stairs leading up to Joe's room. She sucked in long gulps of air and looked at the stairs, wondering if throwing herself from the top of the steps would eject the parasite from her. Miss Giddy had admitted to her women did that sometimes, as a last resort. It would be brutal, but she probably had a chance of survival. But if she did, Capable would blame herself for the rest of her life. The Dag couldn't do that to her.

Angharad's memory imposed itself on her mind. Angharad would never have blamed her for her choices. She might even have encouraged her, saying that it was important that the Dag made her choice on her own because she had a choice when Angharad didn't. The Organic had noticed she was pregnant before she could do something about it. The Dag knew what choice Angharad would have made. Angharad held all life sacred, even the life of Joe's spawns. She would have given birth to it, tried to love it. The Dag wasn't like her. She didn't have Angharad's kindness and patience. She only felt hatred for the thing, but she knew two things: she wouldn't be Joe's last victim by dying trying to stop his son from being born, and she wouldn't let Angharad's sacrifice be in vain. Angharad had wanted her sisters and their children to be something else than Old Joe's property.

"Looks like I'll have to let you be born, dirty schlanger," the Dag whispered to her belly. "But don't even try to be anything like your father, or I'll throw you from the top of the Citadel myself."

It was too early for the runt to move, but she still felt it grab her from the inside and cling more firmly to her. It wouldn't leave her alone. She felt sick.

"The Dag?" Cheedo's voice called from down the stairs.

Capable probably sent her, knowing that after Angharad, only little Cheedo could have reached her with her big eyes and soft voice. The Dag couldn't hurt Cheedo. Cursing Capable and her clairvoyance, the Dag joined Cheedo who rushed into her arms.

"Capable told me you weren't feeling well. Toast told me where to find you. What's going on?"

"I won't be able to get rid of the thing," the Dag explained, pointing to her stomach.

The Dag had never lied to Cheedo, only left aside some harsh truth Cheedo was too innocent to hear, but that time was gone. A few days earlier, Cheedo would have been saying how wonderful it was she was carrying Joe's child and wondering how he would reward her. But Joe was gone, thanks to her, and Cheedo hugged the Dag.

"You'll find a solution."

"There's none. When they see I'm pregnant, they'll only see Joe's heir. Corpus Colossus will get his dirty little paws on him, get us all killed, and make him a Joe Junior."

Cheedo froze. The Dag felt a pang of regret. She wasn't ready to hear that yet. The Dag should have thought. Not knowing what to say, she hugged Cheedo and led her far from Joe's room.

She took more and more care hiding her pregnancy while trying to stop Corpus Colossus' plotting and to convince the different factions not to kill each other. Then, Cheedo disappeared to negotiate alone with Gaztown. Her eyes were different when she returned. The Dag was watering the Keeper's germinating seeds when she came to talk to her, two days after her return.

"Corpus Colossus is our enemy," she said.

"He was trying to get one of us killed," the Dag agreed.

She didn't yell a Cheedo or tell her how stupid her plan had been. She was proud of her, despite her fear and her anger. It was harder not to climb into Corpus' lair to end his miserable existence. Toast and Furiosa wouldn't stop her.

"I think I found a way for him to leave us alone."

Cheedo looked certain of herself. The Dag sat down under the shade of plants to listen and waited for Cheedo to do the same.

"I'm sorry. You'll have to tell him about your pregnancy."

The Dag froze. She didn't want the thing in her stomach. Imagining Corpus getting his hand on it to form a new warlord was worse. Cheedo placed a hand on her arm to calm her.

"Listen, please. I thought about it a lot since I left; Corpus wants to weaken us because he's afraid of us and because we killed his father."

"You got it right. He seeks to destroy us before we try to do the same with him. He's sure we're trying to get rid of him. If Furiosa had not said he could be useful, I would have killed him myself. He only let us rule because he knows anyone else would have done it already. If he ever finds someone more useful, he'll have us slaughtered by war pups. But he doesn't trust us. He will continue to try weakening and killing us until there's only one of us alive. Easier to control one sister than four."

Cheedo nodded in agreement.

"He thinks he had to get rid of us to survive, so we need to show him he cannot rally Immortan's faithfuls. The only way to do that is if you're carrying his child and speak in his name."

She beamed with pleasure, happy to have found a way. The Dag resisted the urge to kiss her. She always knew Cheedo could be brilliant. Seeing her finally turn into a self-confident woman warmed her inside, even if she needed to dampen her enthusiasm.

"It can work," she finally said, "but only until the thing's birth. Afterward, Corpus will try to take it away from us, and our other enemies will try to kill it so that mini-Joe doesn't threaten their plans."

"That means we have two hundred days to find a solution, but in the meantime, Corpus will support us. Better than nothing, right?"

She wasn't wrong. The Dag hated the idea that Corpus could feel a right over her parasite. But it was better to make him believe she recognised his rights over the thing rather than let him plot against them. Didn't make her want to vomit any less.

"You'll need to convince the others, but I think you're right.

They all agreed, reluctantly. Toast took it upon herself to break the news to Corpus. The Dag would have betrayed herself instantly. Later, Toast told her Corpus was over the moon. She didn't need to. Destabilization attempts stopped completely. The rebelling war boys obeyed them religiously now, as they had with old Joe. Even those convinced of the Wives' cause seemed more keen to know they knew the tyrant had left a seed. The Dag refrained from yelling at them it was a bad seed that needed to be eradicated.

About sixty days passed. Her life became hellish. Her belly was swelling, and Joe Junior standing out. The Dag couldn't move through the Citadel without someone trying to touch her stomach. At the end of a meeting, Corpus asked, almost required, to feel her stomach. He wanted to see if his brother was healthy. She almost spit on him, but they needed this alliance too much. She let him, but when he was done, she ran to the pool and immersed herself up to her neck, not even ashamed of the waste of water. Cheedo joined her and hugged her until she stopped shaking. She was the one comforting the Dag now.

After that, the Dag spent most of her time in their old prison. Even the green boys wouldn't leave her alone, spoiling her fun when she was tending the gardens. At least in the Vault, she did not receive advice on the best ways to bring a pregnancy to term. Her sisters kept her company as often as possible, but Furiosa was the most horrified by the situation.

"I wanted you to be free," she said to the Dag. "Not for you to find a new kind of prison."

"We'll free ourselves from this one too when that thing is no longer a problem."

"So it needs to die."

"Yes. One way or another."

Cheedo and she had the beginning of a plan but didn't want to talk about it unless they were sure it could work.

The Dag got even bigger and her sisters spent most of their time with her. Angharad had been patient and courageous, but the Dag wasn't Angharad. She screamed, and she swore when she wasn't too tired to move. When she was like that, Cheedo would tell her stories from Miss Giddy's book or others she invented on the spot. It helped.

Finally, the moment came when she was bigger than Angharad had been when she died. Joe Junior was older than her child would ever be. The thing was really moving now, and the little warlord hit her as hard as his father did.

"Hate you, shlanger," she said every morning, massaging her sore stomach.

Angharad had also spoken to her stomach, but to promise the thing inside a future free from suffering. The Dag refused to promise it anything.

Before, when civilization was still a thing, people sometimes called a woman's childbirth 'deliverance'. The Dag thought that was appropriate. She just wanted to be free of the thing. The good news was that now that she was as big as a truck, everyone left a respectful space around her when she came out of the Vault. She could move around again without fear of being touched and loved that new freedom.

Cheedo often took her to the balcony from where she distributed water to the poor. Capable and she had plans for this place, but it would take years to bring them to fruition. The Dag listened to Cheedo describe their plans, understanding how important it was to her. She couldn't wait to get back to her own projects. One of these days, when Cheedo paused in his speech, the Dag stood up.

"I think it's time to go to the elevators," she whispered.

Cheedo immediately jumped up and took her arm.

"You're right. It's time."

The elevator wasn't far. War boys were maintaining it when they arrived. They stood respectfully. Maybe for the Wives, more likely for the parasite.

"We need you to take us down there," Cheedo said in her soft voice, which sounded like she was making a request rather than giving an order.

They obeyed without asking questions. A dozen rushed to manoeuvre the elevator, the others jumped on their weapons and climbed onto it with Cheedo and the Dag. Down below, the Wretched saw them come. They were less violent now. They knew water would fall every two days and not on Immortan's whim, but it was still wise to be careful, and armed. Cheedo whispered her orders to the war boys' leader, who nodded in adoration to everything she said. The Dag tried to hold back a wave of nausea and clung to one of the chains until Cheedo made a gesture to stop the platform just above the Wretched's heads. Most of them were still clustered around the waterfall, minimising the risk of an assault. The war boy leader stepped forward.

"The Wives are good for you!", he shouted. "The noble Dag is about to give birth. She invites those who are pregnant to join her in the Citadel and bring their children into this world safely! Those who accept can stay in the Citadel or come back with gift from the Wives!"

Whispers of approval ran through the Wretched. Rumour spread, and a few women broke through the crowd to come near the platform. After checking they were indeed pregnant, they help them climb up. Others came after that, around twenty women, four or five of whom were as close to giving birth as the Dag, all ragged and stinking, some covered in tumours. They gave her toothless smiles. The Dag had grown up here, but she still had to stop herself from mouthing. She had gladly forgotten the awful smell. Cheedo moved closer to the Dag.

"So many... I didn't think so many children were born here."

"That's all they have to do all day, waiting for water. It keeps them busy, and if they lack resources to raise the babies, they can always eat them."

Cheedo's look of horror would have made her laugh if she had joked, but she hadn't. The Dag remembered the hunger, and she didn't want to.

"Many children are born," she explained, "but most of them are premature or half-lived. And even those who are born healthy rarely stay so for long. Giving birth in the Citadel, without the risk of being forced to join the Milkers, is an unexpected miracle."

No more women approaching the platform, the Dag signaled for the platform to go back to the top of the Citadel. Some wretched seemed to want to jump to join them, but the promise of gifts stopped them. The expectant mothers rushed to Dag and Cheedo to bless them and kiss their hands. Some even touched her stomach, but not with reverence, just like expectant mothers who wanted to see how far into her pregnancy she was and to share their stories. If the Dag had worn anything other than Joe Junior, she might have fun, but she barely managed to smile back, and only because of Cheedo's hand on her back in a show of comfort.

The Wretched women quickly got used to life in the Citadel. The Dag and the sisters had prepared a room for them in the Vault, so the Dag thought she could avoid them, but it was harder than she thought. The Vault was almost small for so many people, and the poor women wanted to show their gratitude, helping any way they could. They were loud, laughing, shouting and being ecstatic over each new object or discovery. It was almost nice. No one had laughed like that in the Vault when Joe was alive. Their guests' enthusiasm was almost contagious.

A woman gave birth the day after their arrival, to a child with a deformed arm and spine. She still was proud of it. By Wasteland's standard, he was almost a healthy child. It was the first time the Wives had seen a baby up close, so the mother let them hold him for a while. They all took turn, except Capable, exhausted from helping with the birth and with the memory of her own pregnancy and miscarriage. No more than the Dag or Angharad, she had wanted to give birth to Joe's offspring, but she had cried nonetheless and she was still hurt by the loss.

The sixth night, the Dag was sleeping with Cheedo in her arms when she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Capable, her face stained with worry.

Jo-Terror and Toast were helping one of the women in Toast's bed. She moaned softly.

"The work has begun for her," Capable whispered. "Are you sure of yourself?"

"Yes."

"So let's go."

The Dag stirred Cheedo to wake her up too and stood up. It was time. They had planned everything, anticipated everything. She hoped. However, even if she trusted Capable and Jo-Terror, the Dag would have wanted Miss Giddy and Angharad to be there to help her.

The work lasted nine long hours for the poor woman. Joe-Terror knew a way to induce labour, and once it began, the Dag ejected Joe's offspring after seven awful hours of work. Cheedo and Toast's encouragement came to her like through a fog, and she could have sworn she felt Angharad's lips on her forehead. Finally, she heard a scream, and the Dag let her head fall back on the bed.

"Do you want to see him?" Capable asked softly.

Reluctantly, the Dag opened one eye. Joe Junior, since he was indeed a boy, looked healthy, rather plump if we compared him with the child born a few days earlier. On the other hand, he had one foot shorter than the other. Joe would have been furious, but he might have kept it. Even with that deformation, it was healthier than Joe's last ten offspring combined. t was strange. It didn't look much like Joe. Instead, it looked like a baby, not like a threat. It was screaming like Joe.

"Please make him stop," she asked, closing her eyes.

She must have slept for only a few minutes before a cry of pain woke her. On the other bed, the woman was still at work and seemed exhausted.

"You're nearly there," Jo-Terror encouraged her.

Furiosa joined them, closing the door behind her to let the Wretching women out. She sat on the Dag's bed, so she opened her eyes again to see Capable feeding Joe Junior with milk.

"Does he look like him?" Furiosa asked.

"It's a baby that looks like a baby," the Dag said, shrugging.

"So? No maternal instinct, no desire to raise him and screw Joe over by making his son something other than a killer?"

"Hell no. Angharad would. I'm not that good."

Furiosa patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

"You have as much love to give as she did. Don't blame yourself for not giving it to all creation like her. You're authorised to only care about your people."

The Dag glanced at Cheedo who was encouraging the expecting woman by massaging her forehead. She nodded. On her bed, the woman let out one last cry before collapsing. Jo-Terror and Toast let out a little cry of joy and relief when they took the child out of her womb. The silence felt on the room.

"My baby?" the woman asked in a pitiful voice. Toast glanced at the Dag then at Capable. The Dag nodded and Capable stood up to hand over Joe Junior to Toast. To help their stratagem, Furiosa and Jo-Terror, positioned themselves to hide the rest of the room from the woman lying down.

"Here's your baby," Toast exclaimed as she introduced her to Joe Junior. "He looks perfectly healthy. You did a great job."

While the woman grabbed the baby with a cry of joy, Capable brought a pitiful little bloody body back to the Dag. He was already dead, and she sighed in relief. Her last regrets disappeared. Furiosa came back to whisper in her heart.

"Corpus was already at the Vault entrance when I arrived. It won't be long before he forces his way in."

"Help me get up."

The others protested, but it was up to her to decide. Her sisters help her dress. Toast took her arm, Cheedo the little body in her arms after she wiped away most of the blood. Every step was an ordeal for the Dag, but she crossed the hall without complaint. None of the Wretched dared to approach, but two chanted something that sounded like a prayer. The Dag promised herself to find out. Prayers were always useful, and the poor being in her sister's arms deserved one since her mother wouldn't cry for him.

Corpus welcomed them with eyes full of hope, escorted by his usual war pups, but also by war boys' nostalgics from Joe's time. Too many of them for her liking. They moaned when they saw the small body. The Dag seized it and entrusted it to a random war boy, then advanced toward Corpus. The war boy did the same and let him examine the body.

"I will not cry over Joe's son," she said bluntly. "But his brother may."

The crippled man raised one hand with difficulty to caress the small fingers of the dead baby. His lips trembled as he released it and turned his eyes back to the Dag.

"Thank you."

His watering eyes screamed sincerity. The Dag realised her gesture may have given them an ally for life. She hadn't thought about that. She just felt guilty and wanted someone to sincerely mourn the little one. Physically and mentally exhausted, she went back to her room, still helped by Cheedo, trying to ignore Corpus's sobs and the little voice that asked her what they would have done if this baby had been born alive. Once she returned to the room, she couldn't immediately lie down and fall asleep. Capable rushed towards her.

"She wants to talk to you. The mother."

The Dag collapsed into a chair beside her, trying not to wince in disgust as she saw Joe Junior sucking frantically at her breast.

"You saved my baby's life", declared the woman, grabbing her hand. "I feared he would be stillborn or unhealthy, but you give us water and food and beds, and look at him! I've never given birth to a child that healthy!"

"I'm happy for you."

"And you lost yours. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It is better he is dead. I will still pray for him."

"Me too. Do you want to name mine? I would be proud to tell him a Wife gave him his name."

The Dag froze. She wanted nothing more to do with it, but the woman looked so happy that she didn't dare to refuse her. She had never thought of a name for the child while he was growing inside her. In her head, he was Joe Junior, but she couldn't call a child that. Joe would have given it a warrior name that she would have hated.

A smile came to her lips. Of course. She would give the boy a flower name, or a root name, or from Miss Giddy's romantic stories. Something that would never evoke his cursed father.

The Dag stopped here, and I waited, captivated by her story. I've known her for a very long time, but I never imagined this. The Wives tell us little about their lives. It's hard to understand them sometimes. I thought I did, with the Dag at least. How wrong was I! I waited, but she said nothing else.

"So? What name did you give the child?"

She smiled softly. I like the Dag's smiles even if I don't understand them.

"Neither of us will ever tell anyone. I may have lied about its difformities. The child lived or died. Never mind. My revenge on Joe is that no one will ever know what happened to his last son. Some of these mothers went back down to the valley, others stayed here. Their sons became war boys and green men, artists, and water carriers. Some died. Some lived. I even lied to you about when he was born and all those women were sick. They died young, like most Wretched. You said you wanted to make people understand we were not goddesses with our stories. It's an honourable goal, but I don't know if it'll work. If it doesn't, if these idiots make us goddesses when we're gone, they'll still learn something by reading your wall story. They'll know the truth. Joe died, and we won. End of the story."

The four wives all stood up at the same time and hugged each other. There was a sob but I don't know which one made it. I sat for a long time before I was able to get up and finish writing my wall. I thought I was going to have to ask them to tell me one last story, Angharad's story, but as I reread everything, I told myself that it was already there, on the wall.

And I asked many of them already. Too much. There still was room left on the wall when I finished. I wrote "Angharad" here and stopped there. As for Furiosa's story, even if she was only a Bride, never a Wive, an Imperator not a Breeder, her story had already been told.

Now the last of the wives are dead and I will join them soon. The Dag was right, my work was of no use. Each time one of them died, believers went to pray in front of their story. They call it the Holy Wall of the Compassionate Ones. I still believe they're wrong, but if it's true, I hope I will not go to Valhalla. It would be good if their hands guided me to the Great Green Land instead. And I hope that in our Wasteland, where it is easy to forget the past, we will always remember them.