Bisecter

by Stephanie Fazio

  BISECTER

  Copyright 2019 Stephanie Fazio

  Published 2019 by Stephanie Fazio

  This book is available in print at most online retailers.

  Cover design: Teodora Chinde

  Bisecter is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, places, incidents, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Edition License Notes

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Visit https://stephaniefazio.com/

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019902049

  ISBN 978-1-7335929-0-1 (print)

  ISBN 978-1-7335929-1-8 (e-book)

  Epub Edition copyright January 2019 eISBN 9781733592918

  First editio

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  To Andrew, without whom this book would never have been written.

  CONTENTS

  Copyright

  e-Newsletter

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Acknowledgements

  About the author

  Books by Stephanie Fazio

  PROLOGUE

  BEFORE

  Hurry up,” I call over my shoulder, laughing.

  “Can’t…too fast….” Henri, the second-fastest child in the Subterrane, flops onto the cave’s floor.

  Barely winded, I double back. I lean over him, grinning. “Does this mean you give up?”

  Henri groans.

  “He gives up,” Destinel, my best friend, announces. She waves a small flag over Henri’s head to mark his loss. “I pronounce Hemera the fastest runner in—” she looks at me while she thinks, “—in the entire world!”

  “Ha!” Henri gets to his feet. “She’s only fast because she’s weird.”

  “I am not.” I cross my arms. “You think just because I’m a girl you should be faster and stronger than me?”

  Henri’s lower lips juts out. “I would be faster and stronger than you…if you were human.”

  “I’m human,” I retort.

  “Are not!”

  “Don’t be rotten, Henri,” Destinel says. To me, she adds, “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s just bitter.”

  “I’m not the only one who says it, and you know it,” Henri persists. “All the Dwellers say there’s something wrong with you. They say….”

  I don’t wait to hear the rest of what they say about me. I don’t wait to hear Destinel’s rebuke, or for my gathering tears to spill. I run as fast as my legs will take me back to the Subterrane. I almost knock over a guard and several chattering old women on my way through the tunnels, but I don’t stop until I reach the cave I share with my mother.

  My foot catches on the hem of my cloak, and I almost fall headlong into my mother. She catches me just before I barrel into her.

  “Darling, Mer.” She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re so fast, even your legs can’t keep up with you.”

  Her smile fades when she sees the look on my face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Henri says I’m not human,” I confess, burying my face in her cloak.

  “Oh, Mer.” My mother strokes my hair.

  “But is he right?” I look up at her, my black eyes blurring until her face swims in and out of focus. “Am I so different from you and the others?”

  “Of course, you are,” she says, smiling down at me.

  Before my tears have a chance to spill from my eyes, my mother wraps her arms around me. “You’re so much better, so much more.”

  “I am?” I ask, my voice wobbling.

  “I’ll tell you a secret,” my mother offers. She waits until she has my full attention. Lowering her voice to a whisper, she says, “They say those things because they’re jealous of you.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “They won’t even look me in the eyes.”

  My mother sighs. “The Dwellers have their reasons for being afraid. But if you are brave enough to hold your head up high, it will always be enough to carry you through.”

  I sniffle, and give my mother a wobbly smile.

  “I have something to give you,” she says.

  I watch her, my mouth slack, as she unfastens the delicate silver chain around her neck. The small key dangles from the chain as she hands me the necklace I’ve never seen her take off.

  “You’re giving me your necklace?” I ask, hardly daring to hope.

  “Indeed, I am.” My mother strokes my hair.

  I let my fingers brush over the silver, exploring the key’s ridges.

  “This is the key to my heart, darling Mer. And it belongs to you.”

  “It’s perfect,” I say, still fascinated by the way the silver reflects the lantern light.

  “I have something else for you.” My mother reaches under her bed and pulls out a parcel wrapped in rough cloth.

  “What’s all this for?” I ask, jumping up and down, unable to control my glee.

  My mother gives me a knowing look. “Have you forgotten what today is?”

  I think for a moment. “My birthday!”

  “Your twelfth birthday,” she says, handing me the parcel.

  I tear it open, revealing a newly-made sling.

  The weapon isn’t much to look at—just a small leather pouch that rests between two ropes. But by swinging the ropes with the right amount of speed and releasing one end at the precise moment, the rock nestled in its pouch will fly through the air with deadly force. My father taught me how to use it, along with the rest of the weapons in the smithy. Even though Henri and Destinel have gone on to practice with wooden swords in hopes of getting a real one, I’ve always preferred the sling.

  “I love it!” I cry.

  “It’s the Captain’s gift to you,” she says.

  I look up at her in surprise. “Father made this for me?”

  “Captain Harkib
el,” she corrects gently.

  “Why did he have to be gone for my birthday?” I pout.

  “Captain Harkibel is very busy. He’s arranging a trade deal with Subterrane Jevin.”

  When I don’t say anything, my mother takes the sling from my hands. “Come, we’ll go out to the forest to practice.”

  “And can we pick—”

  “Rupyberries?” my mother finishes, giving me a knowing smile. “Yes, and maybe I can even talk Cook into making a pie with them.” She winks and offers me her hand.

  As we walk up the tunnels, my mother gives my hand reassuring squeezes. We pass guards along the way, who bow their heads in respect to her.

  “Go in darkness, Lady Harkibel, Hemera,” they say in greeting.

  They always keep their eyes fixed on my mother, and even turn their heads to avoid looking at me. I know their greeting is only for my mother’s sake.

  “Go in darkness,” my mother replies, wrapping one protective arm over my shoulders.

  “Lady Harkibel,” Henri’s mother runs down the tunnel after us. “Please,” her breath catches. “My newborn is showing signs of sweating sickness.”

  My mother takes her outstretched hand. “Give her two teaspoons of boiled giphee root and bathe her with ice water four times a day.” She gives Henri’s mother a reassuring smile. “Young Sirrel will be just fine.”

  “Thank you, my Lady.” The woman squeezes her hand. Her gaze slides to me, her mouth thinning into a disapproving line.

  My mother extricates her hand from the woman’s. “I’ve used the same treatment on my own daughter,” she says, giving Henri’s mother a cool look. “And look at how perfect she’s turned out.”

  The woman swallows, her gaze flicking to the challenge in my mother’s eyes before turning to the ground in front of her.

  “And did I hear Marca say something about the children gathering in your cave later today?” my mother asks.

  The woman’s mouth opens and closes like she’s a fish.

  “I’m so clumsy and forgetful,” my mother continues before the other woman can speak. “I misplaced the scroll telling us the time I should bring Hemera over. Do remind me of the time. Lowest day, was it?”

  My mother is neither clumsy nor forgetful, and we all know it. The other woman nods, looking a bit ill.

  “Fabulous.” My mother wraps both her arms around me. “Hemera will see you then.”

  “Yes, my Lady. Thank you, my Lady.”

  She hurries away without another glance in my direction.

  “Never you mind her, Mer,” my mother says. “Let’s go get some rupyberries.”

  My mother bends to adjust the hood of my cloak, making sure I’m completely covered in the protective material, before leading me onto the Outside.

  Once we’re in the forest, I run ahead of her along the path I know by heart. I gather handfuls of the fat, sweet rupyberries. Only a few of the berries manage to find their way into my basket rather than my mouth. My mother’s laugh rings out when I race back to her, startling the kynthia birds perched on her shoulder. I go to her, a handful of yellow flowers in my hand and my mouth stained purple from the sticky rupyberry syrup.

  “You really are a wonder, darling Mer,” my mother says.

  Shaded by a large script tree, she takes the blossoms and braids them into my hair with deft, sure movements. “You are strong, and not just in the ways everyone can see.” She ties off the braid and spins me around to look at her.

  “Beautiful,” she murmurs.

  “Even with my eyes?” I ask.

  “Especially with your eyes.”

  A crash through the brush silences us both.

  “Hemera,” my mother says, her gaze intent on something I can’t see. “Climb as fast and as high as you can up that script tree. Whatever happens, don’t come down, and don’t make a sound.”

  “But—”

  “Go now!”

  My mother never raises her voice, so when she does now, I know better than to question her. I begin to climb, even as a cold fear settles in my bones in spite of the day’s blistering heat.

  I do as I’m told and don’t stop until I’ve reached the topmost branches. When I don’t dare climb any higher for fear the branches will break beneath my weight, I peer down at the ground through the leaves.

  At first, I don’t understand what I’m seeing. My mother, as small as a doll from this height, is holding a long branch out in front of her. I’m about to call down to her, when I see movement in the trees.

  A scream catches in my throat.

  It’s the closest I’ve ever been to one before, but there’s no mistaking the hulking beast striding straight for my mother. No other creature has such scaly, sun-roughened skin…no other creature walks on two legs like a human, but has a crooked, bowed back that makes it appear almost animal.

  The creature lets out a deafening roar. My mother raises her branch.

  CHAPTER 1

  3 WEEKS LATER

  I try to pull on the adult’s cloak that is far too big for me. My feet get tangled up in the heavy material pooling at my feet, and I fall face-first onto the floor of the cave.

  “You’re so klutzy,” Destinel chuckles. She tries to help me up, but she only manages to get herself tangled up in the mess of fabric and falls to the ground beside me.

  We roll around on the ground, laughing until Destinel snorts, which only makes us laugh harder.

  My stomach cramps; it’s the first time I’ve laughed since the funeral, which was weeks ago. It’s good, at least for a little while, to be able to think about something else.

  “You both act like you’re five years old.” Henri stands, hands on hips, leering down at us.

  “Says the boy who cried like a baby when he was the first one out of the races this year,” Destinel gloats.

  Henri’s eyes narrow. Even though the Dark God festival was months ago, Henri still hasn’t gotten over the humiliation of entering the race and losing on the first lap.

  “You shut your mouth,” Henri begins, but I interrupt him.

  “Maybe if you’d shut your mouth during the race, you wouldn’t have thrown up all over yourself,” I say.

  Destinel snorts. Henri rolls his eyes.

  “If you both had a brain between you,” he says, “you’d be playing Dwellers versus Halves instead of dress-up.”

  “The Captain said killing Halves isn’t a game,” I say, repeating the words my father said the last time he caught Destinel and I playing that very game.

  “That’s true,” Henri says, and I can tell from the look on his face he’s about to say something cruel. “Maybe if Hemera had taken it seriously, her mama would still be alive.”

  His words are like a slap to my face, made all the worse because they echo what I’ve been telling myself ever since it happened. If I had done something, anything, my mother might still be alive.

  “Why you little,” Destinel starts forward, her murderous gaze fixed on Henri.

  I want to tell her to stop, that he’s right, but my throat won’t work.

  Henri takes a step back from Destinel, but he’s not finished yet. He keeps his beady eyes focused on me. “Mama says now that Lady Harkibel’s dead, we don’t have to pretend to be nice to you anymore.” Henri gives me a knowing smirk. “Now I don’t have to pretend you aren’t a freak.”

  “You shut your stupid mouth, Henri,” Destinel shouts.

  “And you,” Henri sneers, “You’re just a sad little orphan living off the charity of the rest of the Dwellers in Subterrane Harkibel.”

  Destinel’s mouth shuts with an audible click of her jaw.

  Henri’s taunts are always worse because they’re true. Both of Destinel’s parents died from the Burn after getting lost on the Outside and being unable to find their way back to the Subterrane before high day.

  The look on my best friend’s face makes my mouth remember how to form words. I try to think of the meanest thing I can say to Henri that will shut him up.<
br />
  “Just because your papa trades his dinner ration for drink,” I say, “doesn’t mean you can’t afford some manners.”

  At the expression that crosses Henri’s face, I feel a little sorry. But then I remember what he said about Destinel and my mother. I don’t feel bad anymore.

  “Why I oughta….” Henri lifts his hands and curls them into fists.

  Even though Destinel is taller than me, I step in front of her, protecting her in case Henri decides to strike.

  “No, you really ought not to,” a different, deeper voice replies. Brice, the head scout’s son, takes Henri’s fist and forces it back down.

  Brice is two years older than us and a scout in training. His parents were my mother’s closest friends in the Subterrane, and she used to bring me with her to his family’s cave. Brice was always nice to me, even when our mothers weren’t watching, although I always felt a little shy around him. We haven’t talked much since my mother died.

  Brice releases Henri’s arm, giving him a look that dares him to raise it again.

  “I’m sorry about your mom, Hemera,” Brice says.

  Unlike some of the other children, whose parents shooed them over to talk to me when they thought my father was watching, I believe he means what he says.

  Even though it has been weeks since my father and I buried her, the mention of my mother still makes my vision blur.

  “Thank you,” I stammer.

  Brice’s mother ducks into the cave. When she spots Brice and me, her gaze softens.

  “Hemera, how are you holding up?”

  She takes one look at me, and shakes her head. “Never mind, I’m a fool to ask you that.” She dabs at her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak. Her kind, familiar face invites me to speak the words I’ve kept locked away since her funeral.

  “I miss her,” I whisper.

  Destinel puts her arm around me, and I lean against her.

  “We’ve lost the best of us,” Brice’s mom says, still wiping at her eyes. “She’s the only reason Subterrane Harkibel still exists.”

  She’s referring to the time my mother single-handedly defended the Subterrane’s women and children from an attack. It was before I was born, but I’ve heard the story so many times I feel like I was there.