There is a crowd already waiting in the meeting cave, which is the only place large enough to hold all of the Dwellers at once. My father, his face covered in bandages, stands on the wooden dais in the center of the circular cave. The sight of him standing fills me with an overwhelming sense of awe. He doesn’t look like someone who nearly died from the Burn.
The guards lead me to the dais as the other Dwellers file in, whispering excitedly. Everyone falls silent as my father begins to speak. His voice carries clear and strong despite his bandages.
“The high day curfew, put into law by the Duskers, is necessary for the protection of us all.”
Shame prickles along my spine; not for breaking curfew, but for being the cause of the blisters under my father’s bandages.
“Ten lashes will be given for putting the Subterrane at risk.”
A murmur of disapproval runs through the crowd. Twenty lashes had been promised.
He looks at me. “With the recent disappearances, there is added responsibility on us all.”
A guard hands my father the leather whip. Another guard binds my hands to the wooden stake in the center of the dais. I grit my teeth, staring straight ahead.
I catch Destinel’s gaze in the crowd. Her face is Dusker pale, and there are two guards gripping her shoulders to keep her from running straight to me. Her mouth is moving in what I’d guess is a prayer. I try to give her a smile to let her know I’ll be alright, but I only manage a wobbly grimace.
My father leans over me as though checking to make sure the knot around my wrists is secure. The bristles of his close-cropped, graying beard tickle my ear. He whispers, “You are strong, daughter. The strongest of us all.”
His hand hovers over my mother’s key necklace, and his message is clear: be brave. Like her. When he straightens back up, my father’s lips are pressed in a tight line.
I clench my jaw. Hold your head up high.
But even as I think the words, my mind fills with the image of my mother’s bloodied face and unseeing blue eyes.
The first crack of the whip reverberates through the cave. A strangled cry escapes me, even though I swore to myself I wouldn’t make a sound.
Pain rips up and down my spine even after the sound of the whip has died. Waiting for the next stroke is as unbearable as the lash itself. My screams are drowned out by the jeers of the crowd.
Four, five...my body will be torn apart by the time he reaches the tenth stroke.
My fists are clenched so tightly my nails bite into my palms. When the count reaches seven, the beating stops.
I cringe at the sound of the whip hitting the packed dirt floor of the cave.
The crowd’s disapproving boos sound far away. My father says something, but I don’t hear what. I sink to the ground, unable to support my own weight. A guard steps forward to untie my hands.
My back feels like it has split open from the base of my neck to just above my waist. Drops of blood dot the dusty ground as I rise to my feet, blinking to keep my vision from going dark.
“Serves you right, Bisecter!” a woman snarls as the guards help me walk through the crowd. “You should be thrown out like the beast you are!”
The sting of her words, ones I’ve heard all my life, cut deeper than the wounds across my back.
The guards bring me back to my sleeping cave, where I collapse onto the bed. My fiery back throbs as I lie motionless on my stomach. Eventually, I give in to the desire to close my leaden eyes.
✽✽✽
When I wake, the guards are gone, but I’m not alone. My father, his face a mess of purplish, partly-healed blisters, is looking down at me.
“How are you feeling?” he asks.
“Better,” I say, surprised to find it’s the truth.
I run my fingers along the rough bandages a healer must have wrapped around my back as I slept. I find the knot in the cloth at the base of my spine and loosen the bandage. It’s crusted with dried blood. With the tips of my fingers, I explore the depths of my wounds.
A muffled sound of surprise escapes my parched lips.
What I was certain were bone-deep cuts have turned into little more than scratches. It doesn’t even hurt when I press on the flesh where I was lashed.
Did I imagine the beating?
But no—dried blood covers the bandages and my sheets.
“Nothing?” my father asks, studying the look on my face.
I shake my head in confusion. My throat has gone dry.
“It’s your blood,” he says. “I wasn’t sure it would affect you the same way as them.” His voice takes on the hint of excitement it gets when he has made some great new discovery. “In all my years as a healer, I never saw anything like it.”
In spite of the oppressive heat in my cave, a shudder wracks my body. “The Halves?” I manage.
My father nods. “They possess extraordinary healing powers.” His thin lips curve up in a rare smile. “And so, it appears, do you.”
For a moment, we just stare at each other. I have so many questions I don’t know where to start. I don’t even know if my father will be able to answer them. So little is known about those monsters.
We’re both jolted out of our thoughts as four drumbeats in quick succession echo through the tunnel.
“Dusker inspection!” a guard outside my sleeping cave shouts, even though we all know what the drumbeats mean.
I yank on my cloak. By the time I turn around, my father is gone. I push away my disappointment, telling myself I’ll be able to talk to him later. I slip into the tunnel along with the other Dwellers. Each level gets more crowded as we move in a body up to the meeting cave. Everyone is talking at once.
“Did the Captain know they were coming?”
“I wonder what news they bring.”
The Duskers are always discussed with some combination of fear and reverence.
Everyone rubs a hand over the stone Dark God statue on our way into the meeting cave. Some even kneel down before it to pray as if it will somehow curry them extra favor.
I stay at the back of the crowd with the hood of my cloak drawn up. If they ever discovered me, the Duskers would kill me on the spot for being like the Halves. It’s only because my father is Captain Harkibel that none of the other Dwellers have turned me in.
The Duskers became powerful right around the time people started being slaughtered by the Halves in droves. According to the stories, the enormous underground citadel, Malarusk, was presented to one of the original Duskers by the Dark God himself. The Dark God tasked the Duskers with protecting the six Subterranes, which offered a safe haven from the harsh sunlight and wild beasts. Anyone who challenged the Duskers was exiled to the Banished Lands.
Snatches of the Dwellers’ whispered conversations reach me as I stand against the wall of the cave. Nervous glances are thrown at my father. Everyone wants to know if he will give any lawbreakers up to the Duskers.
The law is all that separates us from chaos, the Duskers always say. Without it, we are no better than the Halves.
The four men in gray cloaks are escorted onto the dais. One of them, the one wearing the black armband of the Captains, towers over the rest. I recognize the cut and shape of an enormous emerald I mined myself gleaming at the collar of his cloak.
A break in the gray material is just wide enough to expose the man’s eyes and a strip of pale, chalky skin. It is a source of pride among the Duskers; the whiter the skin, the purer the bloodline. Supposedly, Arlow Harkibel, one of the original Duskers and my great-great-great grandfather, had skin so pale it was possible to see through to his bones.
“Hemera!” Destinel fights her way through the crowd to me, her face awash with relief. She throws her arms around me.
“Sorry,” she gasps, dropping her hands to her sides like my back was made of fire. It takes me a moment to realize she thought she was hurting my lash wounds.
“Shh,” a Dweller standing nearby gives us a stern look.
“I’m okay,”
I tell Destinel in a whisper.
“I tried to come see you, but the guards wouldn’t let me.” Destinel’s eyes start to water.
I reach down and give her hand a squeeze.
My father stands to the side of the dais, scanning the crowd. His hard gaze lands on me for a moment before it moves on again. For some reason, it makes me long for my mother. When she was alive, she was always beside me in the meeting cave, a protective hand resting on my back. I swipe a hand across my eyes and force my attention back to the dais.
After greeting the Captain and sharing news (Subterrane Leonold is quarantined for sweating sickness, and grain production is improving at Subterrane Jevin), the Duskers begin their speech with the same story they always tell. All of the Dwellers know it by heart, but we are expected to listen with rapt attention as though we’ve never heard it before.
“There will come a time when this endless day ceases and the darkness comes,” the Dusker Captain begins.
His words are muffled by the gray material covering the lower part of his face, which is part of the Dusker uniform.
“The Dark God sent a vision, a world where Dwellers live without fear of the sun, where there is only darkness. It may be years or generations from now, but the sun will set, and darkness will come.
“Go in darkness.”
“Go in darkness,” we echo.
The Duskers kneel on the floor of the dais as they hold up the charcoal statues of the Dark God. I mutter the prayers along with them, but my attention is drawn away from the statues to a group of scared-looking Dwellers huddled together and whispering.
I edge closer to a woman in the group who stands nearest to me.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
The woman looks at me with disgust, avoiding my eyes.
“What’s going on?” Destinel echoes.
The woman gives me another distrustful look, but the thrill of whatever news she has is irresistible. She leans closer.
“Haven’t you heard?” she whispers. “One of the Dwellers was captured by those dreadful mutant Halve creatures.”
She glares at me as she utters the word “Halve.”
“Who?” I ignore her glare.
Our Subterrane is lucky; only a few Dwellers have been captured by the Halves so far, but none of them have returned.
Except Taniel.
The woman leans closer to Destinel and me. She whispers conspiratorially, “It’s that handsome scout, Brice.”
CHAPTER 6
All of the air rushes out of my lungs. It’s like I have been thrown into the river and can’t reach the surface. It feels like being buried alive.
Brice has been captured by the Halves.
The Duskers finish their prayer and begin their inspection of the Subterrane for any violations. My father is nowhere in sight. He must have returned to his cave.
I stumble away from the crowd of Dwellers. My father will be furious his best scout has been captured and will send out a rescue party. Brice will be back before high day, I tell myself.
I run down five levels to the Captain’s cave. Without pausing to catch my breath, I burst through the door, pushing past a guard who tries to stop me.
“Captain!” My voice is hoarse with fear. “You have to help—send out a search party.” I gulp a quick swallow of air. “Brice has been captured!”
My father sits behind a large oak desk littered with rolls of script tree bark. He steeples his fingers on the desk in front of him. He is wearing his black armband, the emblem of the Captains, and a gray sash in honor of the Duskers’ visit slung across his shoulder. He is the image of everything I am not: calm, collected, and unconcerned.
“I know Brice has been captured.” His tone is calm, his expression unreadable.
My father holds up his hand to stop the flood of anger about to burst from me.
Unhurried, he faces me across his desk. “When your arrest was announced, Brice came to me. He tried to stop your lashing by telling me about where you were. About how you found Taniel.”
For a moment, I’m speechless. Why would Brice do that? If the Captain finds out about us….
My father continues, “When he told me about Taniel’s…note….” A strange look passes across his face before he continues, “I assigned Brice to lead a small band of scouts to Tanguro to investigate.”
My lips move, but no words come out.
My father makes a small gesture with his hand, as though inviting me to sit in the single chair across from his desk. I don’t move.
My father shrugs. “No more than eight hours after they set out, the guard I assigned to Brice’s company made his way back to the Subterrane. He was injured, and the Halves left him for dead. He lived just long enough to report that Brice and the others were taken captive.”
A scream is lodged in my throat.
My father pushes back his chair and stands. “There has been talk of the Halves making a lair of sorts at Tanguro.” He taps a map lying open on his desk. “Apparently, they are bringing their prisoners there.”
I already know all of this, I want to yell. The words carved into Taniel’s arm are burned into my memory. TNGR. Help.
“You have to send out a rescue party,” I choke out. “You have to do something!”
I force myself to release my mother’s key before I rip it off its chain.
“Hemera,” my father says in his Captain voice, “it is my duty to protect the Subterrane and its Dwellers. It has become clear the mission to Tanguro is too dangerous. I cannot sacrifice any more lives for the sake of one scout.”
This can’t be happening. I want to scream, rip the calm from my father’s face, do something.
“If the Halves took Brice back to Tanguro, then he is lost to us,” the Captain continues. He stares at me while I struggle for breath. “I’ve done this to protect you, daughter.”
Protect me? A sick feeling of realization washes over me.
“What have you done, Zeidan?” I demand, stepping forward until we’re nose to nose.
All of the air leaves the cave at once. No one calls the Captain by his first name.
The guards step forward, their hands on the hilts of their swords, but my father puts up a hand to stop them.
“I will not tolerate disrespect from any of my Dwellers.” His eyes narrow until they are little more than slits. “Not even from my own flesh and blood.”
“I don’t need your protection,” I retort. “I need your help. Send out a rescue party.”
My father shakes his head, like he’s pitying me. It makes me want to punch something.
“You are young and know little about the world,” he says. “I chose Brice for the mission to give you time to understand—”
“I understand,” I interrupt, “that Brice loves me. And I love him.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
His lip twitches in a humorless smile. “You think so, do you?”
I raise my chin. “Yes.”
“If the scout knew what you can do…if he knew your differences were more than just your eyes…?”
His question hangs in the air as we glare at each other.
“So, that’s it then?” I ask. “You’re just going to sit here and do nothing?”
My father’s silence is answer enough. Swallowing the scream threatening to rip free from my throat, I push past the guards and out of the cave.
Brice saved me during the cave collapse when everyone else would have left me for dead. He never would have abandoned me to the Halves. And I won’t abandon him. If no one will help me, then I’ll go after Brice myself.
Hot, furious tears threaten to spill over as I push past another set of guards.
My mind is spinning by the time I reach the main tunnel. My father said the Halves were bringing prisoners to Tanguro. That’s where they’ll take Brice if they don’t kill him first. No, I correct myself. Brice is alive. And he needs me.
I’ve never traveled beyond the borders of our land and
have only a vague idea that Tanguro is somewhere far to the North. That doesn’t matter, though. Already, visions of rescuing him swim through my head.
But it’s not just the thought of Brice making me bolder than I have ever felt before. If I can reach Tanguro, I can make the Halves pay for what they did to my mother. I put my hand over the silver key, where it rests above my heart.
“Apologies,” says a deep voice behind me, “but it is the Captain’s orders that we confine you for your own protection.”
Two guards step in front of me. I turn from one to the other, staring at them open-mouthed for several seconds. When they don’t move, I try to brush past them. In a swift motion, they draw their swords and cross them in front of my path.
My head begins to throb.
One of the guards, whose pointy chin is made longer by a curling goatee, says, “We will escort you back to your sleeping cave.”
I don’t have time for this, I want to scream.
But both guards are gripping their sword hilts. Their grim expressions make it clear they will throw me back in the prison caves if I try to resist. With no other choice, I allow myself to be led back down to my cave.
I slam the door in the guards’ faces and begin to rummage through the pile of belongings beneath my bed. The only thought in my mind is Brice and how I’m going to rescue him. My hand searches until I find the only weapon besides my dagger I’m allowed to keep outside of the smithy. My sling.
It’s the same one my mother gifted me on my twelfth birthday, right before she was killed. I know it was really from my father, but I remember how the wrapped parcel looked in her hands. When I hold the sling, I can almost remember the soft touch of her fingers on mine as she handed it to me.
I shove the weapon into one of the deep pockets in my cloak, along with my dagger.
They won’t take him away from me, I promise myself. Not him, too. The thought both reassures me and makes my blood boil.
Bisecter Page 5
