Destroyed

by Madeline Dyer

“What?” I don’t want to say the words, but I do. My heart slams, faster, faster, faster. “The Untamed? We don’t win, do we?”

  “We can’t say.”

  “But about us—us being here, it doesn’t mean it’s going to happen that way again…just because we’re here now,” Siora says. “It’s not a guarantee. The future isn’t a set thing that can only happen one way. Mum, you told us that.”

  “If things go wrong, happen differently,” Quinn says, “even the slightest of things, we may not even exist in the coming future.”

  “And I told you to say all this to us now?” I raise my eyebrows, lean against the wall. “Or is this you?”

  She looks at her hands, then tugs at sections of her hair. It looks glossier in the artificial light.

  “You need to know it’s not a guarantee.” Siora’s eyes seem to get larger. “We’re sticking to what you told us to do, but even then, something else could happen. You told us it wouldn’t, that we should trust time itself, but…” Her bottom lip wobbles.

  “Don’t worry,” Corin says. “You’re still here, both of you. If your existence was impossible because we’d gone off-track, you’d have disappeared, you wouldn’t be here.”

  “That’s not how time works,” Siora says. “One thing doesn’t erase another completely or immediately—not like that. We’d disappear at the point at which we’re no longer viable—not before. We could be heading toward a dead-end, but we wouldn’t know until we get there.”

  I can see it in their eyes: fear. It’s like smoke circling them, leading me into their souls. I think how horrible it must be for them. Fourteen years old, knowing they’ve lived this far, and if they don’t do what I’ve apparently told them, they may not even be born. Their lives may end so suddenly. This may be as old as they get.

  Quinn shrugs. “You always said hope is an important thing.”

  “It is,” Corin says. “The most important thing.”

  We lapse into a heavy silence that tries to brush our souls, paint new feelings onto us. But I don’t know what to feel, what I should be feeling, what I want to feel.

  I look at them, my daughters. “What’s Death’s Realm like? Really like, once my torture and pain’s set in?”

  “You saw my vision,” Siora says. “You can’t know anymore.”

  Quinn nods. “Knowledge distorts time. Bad things happen when time distorts.” Her eyes bore into me. “You taught us that too.”

  I expect to feel something, because her words are so charged—but I don’t.

  I just stare at her.

  Corin’s gaze flickers to me. Then he looks at Siora. “What are your tattoos of?”

  She looks down at her arms. The swirls are just visible, peeking out from under the edges of her right sleeve. The visible skin around the design still looks irritated, but not as bad as before.

  “It represents how I see life,” she says, but she sounds uncomfortable.

  “She cried like a baby when she did it,” Quinn says.

  “You did it yourself?” Corin raises his eyebrow.

  Siora nods. “It was… It was…Raleigh. He made me.”

  I stiffen. “What?”

  “He wanted to see how much pain we could withstand,” Quinn says, her voice curt. “He said only the best of us could become Chosen Ones—he killed the others who were brought in. He was interested in Siora’s artistic abilities.”

  I frown. “Did he get you to do it too then?”

  Quinn snorts. “I can’t draw. He wasn’t going to have me mar my body, ruin it. Even if he probably did just want to test Honesty on us and kill us when we didn’t know the answers to his questions. All those lies about how he’d chosen us to survive.” She pushes her hair back. “We should go now. It’s been a busy day.”

  Before any of us can answer, she turns and walks off, disappears around the corner. So abruptly.

  “She finds it difficult to talk about that time,” Siora says. “When Raleigh kept us imprisoned.” She looks at me for a moment. “Bye, Mum.”

  I smile back.

  Corin swears softly when she’s gone. “This is messed up.”

  I nod vaguely. Siora’s Bye, Mum rings in my ears. Quinn didn’t say anything, and it’s that silence, that gap that haunts me, that feels wrong as I lie with Corin all night, trying to sleep, trying to tell myself it will be okay. That we have hope, that we can win the war, that we will be together.

  People, spirits, scream at me in my sleep. There are golden threads everywhere, twisting around, tangling.

  You’re running out of time, a girl cries, and her cry chases me. Do it now.

  But I can’t. I can’t do it—and I don’t know what it is, and I’m running, my vision blurry. I can’t see. Can’t see anything but a swirl of color and heart-blood, deep, dark, carving a world inside me.

  You need to do something.

  But I can’t. I’m yelling those words, but I have no sound.

  I am nothing.

  There is nothing, anywhere. Only shells empty of their promises, and lines racing along too quickly, getting farther and farther away, before they double-back, the shock of the new direction rippling everything. Through me.

  Pain and—

  No! It’s not right.

  Do it!

  I scream and scream and scream, and I see angry figures, but then a burst of white light comes and—

  Run, run, run.

  Do it, do it now, Seven.

  Help your people! Save your people now!

  Sweat pours down me, gets in my eyes, my mouth, and I’m gagging and—

  “Sev?”

  I blink, see only darkness. My chest feels raw.

  I’m awake. Awake. I mouth the word. I’m sitting upright. My heart pounds, and sweat has stuck my hair to my neck. I take a deep breath, and my eyes adjust to the light. Corin’s face is close, his eyes tender.

  “It’s just a bad dream,” he says, drawing me close.

  I gulp, wrap my arms around him, listen to his heart. We stay like that for a while, breathing deeply. When, at last, Corin suggests we try and get some more sleep, I feel better.

  He lies back down and looks up at me, I haven’t moved.

  “Sev?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” I close my eyes for a second, then lie down.

  I turn onto my side, my back to him, and I concentrate on my breathing, count slowly to ten.

  But I don’t feel tired now. I’m too wired-up, energy’s buzzing around me.

  I look around. It’s lighter now, and the bedside table on my side of the bed is well-lit by the early sunbeam from the window. It shows the book on the cabinet, and the knife sitting on top of it.

  The knife.

  I frown as I reach an arm out from under the bedcover. My fingers touch the knife. It’s an ornate knife, the handle made of carved ivory. The blade looks like flint.

  I run the fleshy part of my thumb over the edge.

  It’s sharp.

  I smile.

  I wait for Corin’s breathing to deepen. Wait for him to sleep.

  It doesn’t take long.

  Then I sit up and look at the knife more carefully. The intricate carvings are animals. Snakes and bison.

  Snakes and bison.

  I frown, try to work out the significance. But it doesn’t make sense, yet I know it means something.

  Something important.

  Corin murmurs something, and I turn to him.

  He opens his eyes, sees the knife in my hands. He jolts, but he doesn’t move.

  Stupid boy.

  He just stares at me, at the knife, as I bring it closer. As I hold it over his chest. As I plunge it down.

  As I stab him.

  I jolt awake, heart pounding, my breathing ragged.

  Corin—no!

  But he’s here, lying next to me. Breathing. I can hear his breaths.

  He’s alive.

  I blink hard, trying to see more than I can in the darkness. But my hands aren’t wet with blood, and th
ere’s no knife on the bed. I reach out, next to the bed, heart pounding, feel across the floor.

  Nothing.

  It’s not here.

  Of course it’s not.

  It was a dream.

  But it felt so real.

  I touch my Seer pendant, then take the weight of it in my hands. It is hot.

  I gulp.

  I stabbed Corin.

  I wouldn’t stab Corin. So why the hell did I dream it? I’d never do that. I love him.

  I press my lips together, feeling sick.

  That dream—it didn’t feel like a normal dream, did it? I rub my forehead, try to think. Was that what Seeing dreams felt like? They’re accurate, except for the little details, and Seers can remember everything. Those dreams don’t fade, and that dream—that nightmare—is fresh in my mind.

  There was a knife in it—a knife we haven’t got. A detail that wasn’t right. And the bedside table too. The book. Gods, I didn’t even question those.

  But what the hell? A warning? A warning that I’m going to stab Corin?

  No.

  Not Corin.

  Raleigh. Raleigh using Corin’s image again? Is that why I killed him—because it wasn’t really the man I love?

  I force my breathing to calm down. I have to keep calm. Raleigh can’t do that. He can’t. He’s not here. He doesn’t know where we are. I look at the man next to me. It’s Corin. Just Corin. And that was just a bad dream. Yes, a nightmare. My father always said our worst fears are personified in dreams. It’s not the first nightmare I’ve had where Corin dies. Neither is it the first where I kill him; I think of the nightmare where Raleigh made me melt Corin with my fire.

  I push my hair away from my face, tell myself it’s not a warning. It can’t be. We don’t get Seeing dreams like that now. The Dark Void is different. It shows the future, the good future, things we should aim for, like this settlement. Doesn’t it? Unless it really is becoming more like the Dream Land?

  I gulp.

  It was just a bad dream. I tell myself that over and over again as I look at Corin’s sleeping form, at his chest rising and falling.

  Just a bad dream.

  I grit my teeth, and I lie back down.

  That’s all it was.

  Taras was wrong.

  I can’t use my powers by morning. They’re still jiggled up, pieces in the wrong places. Damn Seer instability. Or Raleigh’s work. Whichever it is.

  Dawn light filters through the window, casts what would be a magical light across the room on any other day. But now it just washes out everything. A sea of grays and lifelessness.

  A sign of what’s to come?

  I push that thought away, know it will be all too easy to get lost in despair. I have to stay positive. Have to.

  Corin’s still sleeping.

  I climb out of the bed carefully so as not to disturb Corin, change into clean clothes, pull on shoes, then creep to the door, open it. A soft click. My heart pounds, and I look back. Corin stirs, but doesn’t wake.

  It’s a short walk to the room where we keep what food we have—predominantly fruits and the leftover meat from a muntjac that Melissa caught—and I take the longer route around. Just want some time alone with my thoughts. Although it’s early, I know some people will be up, and I just want some quiet, some peace.

  The sky is heavy, and the spirits—they seem different. I frown, can’t place my finger on what is different about them. Maybe it’s the air itself, it’s heavier, pushes down on me, feels thicker as I breathe it in, like it contains forgotten secrets and so much more.

  I get to the courtyard and stop. There are ceramic pots, glistening red and blue, standing in front of piles of rubble. Inside each pot, someone has planted a clump of asystasia. Each clump has several trumpet-shaped flowers, and each flower has five white obovate petals. The lowest petal on each has dark purple streaks.

  I stare at them. The pots, the flowers, they weren’t there before. I know they weren’t.

  They’re new?

  I crouch in front of one, trace my finger along the lines that spread across one pot. Someone’s glued it back together. Something broken, now whole. One of us trying to fix something, make this all a bit more bearable. Even though things are bad, someone’s made the effort for this to look pretty. To look nice. And they chose last night to do it? When everyone was so angry. They did that to distract themselves?

  I stare at the pots, feel my heart flutter, like the petals in the slight breeze and—

  A scream crushes the petals.

  My heart stops.

  It takes a moment for me to realize the scream isn’t inside me. It’s here. It’s real. It’s now.

  I jump into action, turn, run.

  The scream sounds again.

  Déjà vu? But I can’t think.

  I’m sweating, sweating so much and—

  Everything happens in slow motion.

  I skid around the corner. Small stones fly up, hit the rocks to my right, make a grating sound that mingles with the rushing noises in my ears.

  Eight figures.

  Eight men.

  Tattoos and—

  No.

  I throw my arms out, try to stop, need to stop, have to stop.

  Because—

  But it can’t be!

  But it is.

  The Zharat are here.

  I skid to the left, but there’s another ceramic pot there—an empty one—and I crash into it.

  It shatters, and the sound alerts them.

  They look at me, all at once, like they’re controlled by the same person.

  “That’s her!” a Zharat Seer shouts, raising his hand. The hand with the axe. The axe that’s already dripping life over the ground. “She’s the one who pretended, who angered our Gods, who destroyed our Dream Land! Kill her!”

  I jolt, step back. Adrenaline spikes through me. I run.

  The Zharat. What the hell? They’re here? How? But I can’t think, not properly. My head pounds. I throw a glance behind me. So many of them.

  I run faster, look up at the sky. The spirit dome is still holding, no gaps. The Zharat are inside, being kept safe, and—

  You’ve brought them here!

  But I haven’t!

  I’ve never summoned anyone here. Not in the settlement. Taras’s group and Melissa’s just appeared when—

  Another time-jump? The asystasia plants in the ceramic pots! We’ve gone forward…lost the days when the pots were fixed, flowers planted, when I brought the Zharat here?

  But no! My head pounds. We didn’t lose time with the last time-jump. There wasn’t a chunk of time missing. Unless it works differently, going forward?

  But what about the dream, the one before the nightmare?

  My head spins. My breaths are coming too quickly, bursting from me. I skid on loose stones. There’s no time to think now. My heart pounds. They’re gaining on me. How are they gaining on me? They shouldn’t be able to! I can run fast—the fastest runner the Untamed have.

  But not these Untamed. They scream at me, some in words I don’t understand. The Zharat language.

  Bea skitters into view ahead.

  “Run!” I scream at her, then I’m level with her, and I grab her arm—remember too late that she doesn’t like people touching her. Only her family. I pull my arm back. “Sorry! But wake the others! Zharat are here, tell Corin and—”

  I trip, land on my stomach, taste dirt. Pain slams through me.

  “Kill the female Seers!”

  I roll over, look up, just as the axe appears. Blood drips from it, onto me. Warm blood.

  A female Seer, killed already. I feel it.

  I know it.

  Everything in me tightens.

  There are only two other female Seers here.

  No.

  No.

  No.

  “You are the route of all evil in this world,” the Zharat man above me snarls, his white hair flashing. The early sun is right behind him, illuminates his
hair like a halo. But inside his soul, there’s only blood and death and power and—

  He’s a Seer.

  I taste it on the back of my teeth, meek and yellow.

  I feel the power surging, rearranging, inside me.

  The Zharat Seer brings the axe down.

  I roll over. It slams down, cracks the earth.

  Adrenaline courses through me, and I jump up, send white light at them—it’s just there, back with me, everything settled, healed.

  Of course, yes. Taras said I’d be able to access my powers if it was absolutely necessary.

  Yes.

  “Kill her!” the man to the right of the Seer screams, his face shiny with sweat. The whites of his eyes flash, and blood has been smeared across his pale skin in war-paint fashion.

  The Zharat Seer curses, struggles with the handle of the axe. The earth holds the blade tightly.

  I run, look around. Bea—is she still here?

  But there’s no sign of her.

  Good.

  Just me and them.

  I twist and shoot white light at them and—

  There are more.

  Twice as many. What the—

  How many are here? How many got out of the Zharat den? Everything pounds inside me. The blood on the axe head… They’ve killed a Seer.

  The ground shakes as I send more white light at them.

  Screams and blood fill the air, then Elf’s at my side.

  Reindeer herders too.

  Guns go off.

  I blanch at the sounds. Look up, and it’s like I’ve lost track of time, because I’m indoors now, and I don’t remember coming in. But we’re in the hallway to the big meeting room, and the room where we found all the Glocks is nearby, and the fight is moving continuously, so rapidly I can’t keep up.

  “We have to kill them all!” another Zharat screams. One I don’t recognize. “It’s our duty to kill them! They’ve been contaminated by the frauds! We’ve been sent here to—”

  Elf shoots him. The Zharat doesn’t even see him, he’s facing the wrong way, completely occupied with me. He just falls, gone, like he never existed, and I stare at him, the imprint of his life on the world, everything else a blur.

  “Get out!”

  “Stop!”

  “Kill them all!”

  “Do not protect them or we will kill you too!”