Bisecter

by Stephanie Fazio

  But when more men appear from wherever they were hiding and surround us, I understand. Two of them grip my shoulders, one on each side, while more follow in front and behind.

  “What are you going to do with us?” I surprise myself by speaking.

  The man behind me replies, “We’re taking you to our leader.”

  My stomach drops. They must be Dusker spies. Criminals who buy their way out of the Banished Lands by capturing Dwellers who grow illegal herbs or break the travel ban.

  Dayne and Wokee are both silent, so I don’t say anything more.

  I expect the men to take us southeast, back toward the Dusker territory. Instead, we march without break in a northward direction. This at least gives me some encouragement. If we can get away, we won’t have lost too much time. As the sun climbs higher, though, our path shifts westward, away from Tanguro.

  My legs ache and my stomach rumbles. Every time I try to turn around to see how Dayne and Wokee are faring, I get prodded in the back by the man’s sword.

  A cry—Wokee’s—makes both my captors and I stop. Wokee is on the ground with one of the men kneeling over him.

  “Leave him alone!”

  My captor’s sword against my neck is all that keeps me from running back to Wokee.

  When the man stands, he’s holding Vlaz by the scruff of his neck. The cub wriggles and beats his small wings as he tries to sink his teeth into the man’s hand.

  “Found a stowaway in the kid’s cloak,” the man calls out.

  I catch Dayne’s eye for a moment, and he winks at me.

  “What should I do with it?” the man asks.

  Vlaz hisses and snarls as he dangles from the folds of his neck.

  To my relief, the red-haired woman still pointing an arrow at us says, “Hell, he’s just a cub. Let him go.”

  Vlaz plants his bottom on the ground, his luminous yellow eyes fixed on our company. The men push us forward again and I lose sight of him until, a few minutes later, the cub comes trotting up beside us.

  When we reach a dense cluster of trees, we stop. The leader reaches into his cloak and produces an armful of cloth scarves. He distributes them among our captors, and without a word, they bind the scarves around our eyes.

  “Attempt to remove your blindfold or run away, and you will be dead.”

  I force myself to hold still as the scratchy material folds my eyes into darkness.

  At first, I take small, scuffling steps, convinced my already-clumsy feet will trip over a stone or root. Our captors lead us over flat ground, though, so it doesn’t take long before I fall into the rhythm of our marching.

  After what feels like hours of walking, we come to a stop. Our captors whisper together. It sounds like there are more of them than there were before, but I can’t be sure. We stand for an eternity, the sun baking us through our cloaks, before we’re pulled forward again.

  The change is instantaneous. The insufferable heat is replaced by a slight breeze, cooling the sweat streaming from my brow. I open my mouth, inviting in the cool air the way a man dying from thirst will swallow water from a stream.

  We are no longer on flat ground but walking downhill. When I lose my footing for a moment, I put my hands forward to steady myself. My fingers touch packed dirt. It’s like I’m back in the Subterrane.

  We must be underground.

  A low groan escapes my lips.

  My breathing comes fast and sharp. Should I take off my blindfold? Try to steal one of the men’s swords and kill them?

  Too risky. They’ll kill Dayne and Wokee.

  My captor places an arm on my shoulder, steering me around corners until I can no longer even guess at our direction. I jump backward when a cool mist sprays me from either side, but then open my mouth to let the water slide down my parched throat. The red-haired woman says something I can’t make out, and then the scarf covering my eyes is untied.

  CHAPTER 18

  Wokee and Dayne are beside me, blinking as their blindfolds are removed. The red-haired woman still guards us, an arrow nocked in her bow, but she seems relaxed. The rest of our captors have disappeared. I give Dayne a look, willing him to understand that now is our chance to escape. He won’t meet my eyes, though.

  Vlaz is huddled against Wokee’s leg. His long ears are pinned back and his fur is plastered to his skinny body as the water trickles from the ceiling and splashes onto him. His eyes are fixed with more than curious interest on a silver fish darting to and fro in a tiny pool.

  We’re standing on smooth, wet stone. The packed dirt walls I felt earlier have been replaced by slick gray rock, which surrounds us on three sides. A flowing sheet of water covers the cave’s cavernous opening.

  Sunlight streams through small, angled holes in the rocks far above our heads, which allows the beams to reach the highest part of the wall without coming close to touching us. Red, orange, and pink flowers spring out of the wall’s crevices. The air is perfumed with the flowers’ scent, and cool from the mist. It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.

  Little black birds flit into the cave and then dart back out through the falling water. Kynthia birds, my mother’s favorite. It’s the first time I’ve seen one since she died.

  Look at the way they fly, Mer, so high and fearless. Just like you….

  I close my eyes and wait for the tightness in my throat to ease.

  Men and women stride through the cave, barely sparing us a glace, before disappearing around large rocks. They all wear different cloaks and are a mix of skin colors, piercings, and other markings of the Subterranes. Some are unmarked by any Subterrane. None of them, at least, wear the gray cloaks of the Duskers.

  This place must be one of the settlements in the Banished Lands, although it looks nothing like the barren, dangerous caves described in the Duskers’ stories.

  Why have we been brought here? What do they want with us?

  I tug the hood of my cloak forward so my face is covered in shadow. Whoever they are, I don’t want them to notice my eyes.

  A young man passes through the cave. He glances at us, and then slides to a stop. His eyes widen.

  He’s tall and clean-shaven, unlike the shaggy-bearded men who captured us. His skin is unlike either the pasty Duskers or the reddened, spotted variety of most Dwellers. It is a coppery bronze, matched with eyes the color of honey. His sharp jaw and straight nose make him look both handsome and arrogant.

  “Incredible. You’re Dayne Clarion. I’m just…honored….” He walks up to us and shakes Dayne’s hand reverently.

  His right hand is covered by the same sun design inked into Dayne’s skin.

  “Dayne Clarion?!” The red-haired archer drops her bow. She looks from the young man, still gripping Dayne’s hand, to Dayne. Her jaw goes slack.

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t recognize him,” the man says.

  At the red-haired woman’s expression, the man grins. “The guys are going to give you hell about this later.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Red Hair says to Dayne, her curls bouncing with every word. “Truly, I didn’t know…should have looked at your face….” Her cheeks have turned as red as her hair.

  In spite of my confusion, I can’t help but feel satisfied at her discomfort. Serves her right.

  The mere mention of Dayne’s name draws a dozen people through the sheet of falling water. They all talk at once, elbowing each other to get closer to Dayne.

  “Dayne Clarion!” someone calls. “It’s him!”

  More of them pack into the crowded cave. Now that I’m looking, most of these people have the sun tattoo on their right hand. I want to ask Dayne about it, but a crush of people separates us.

  An older, stooped man clasps Dayne’s hand in both of his. “I never expected to see you here again. Welcome home!” His grin reveals a missing front tooth.

  I watch, open-mouthed, as an endless stream of men and women file into the cave. They talk excitedly as they wait on line to shake Dayne’s hand. Every one of them is m
arked with the sun tattoo.

  Choruses of “thank you for coming back” and “what are you doing in these parts?” and “are you organizing an attack?” echo from all sides. Wokee and I manage to exchange a puzzled look through the crowd.

  Dayne stands in the midst of the chaos, uttering a terse word here and there in response to the eager questions. He seems neither surprised by, nor to welcome, all of the attention.

  The man with the golden eyes who first recognized Dayne squeezes closer to him.

  “I’m Wade,” I hear him say.

  Dayne barely glances at him, but he persists. “How did you do it, Dayne? Jadem would never tell us.”

  “I heard he was brought here as a prisoner before he was recognized,” a woman near me says to someone else. “How could you not notice you were blindfolding Dayne Clarion?!”

  Dayne’s expression is growing surlier by the minute, although the people who surround him don’t seem to notice. They continue to pepper him with questions and praise. Finally, Dayne breaks his silence and says, “Get Jadem.”

  “She’s been summoned,” the archer with red hair replies breathlessly. “And sorry for you know—” She flaps a hand at our discarded blindfolds.

  Dayne gives her a curt nod, “The rest of you clear out of here.”

  At that, everyone files back out through the tunnel behind the waterfall, still chattering.

  “What was all that about?” I demand as soon as we’re alone.

  Before Dayne can say anything, a massive figure steps through the waterfall.

  I can’t help but gasp at the sight of the woman towering before us. She’s taller and wider than any woman I’ve ever met, her bulk taking up most of the cave’s opening, but that is nothing compared to the rest of her.

  Her face is distorted, with long scars stretched across her eyes and cheeks. It reminds me of the Dusker I killed, except it looks like her wounds were from many years ago. A displaced bone in her jaw makes her entire face lopsided. Her left eye is missing, replaced by a jagged scar that runs the length of her face. When she reaches up to push aside a wisp of gray hair, I see the sun tattoo on the back of her hand.

  Wokee whimpers and moves behind Dayne as the woman’s voice fills the cave.

  “It’s good to see you, Dayne. I never expected you to come back, especially blindfolded and at the sword-point of a few of my soldiers. You must be getting careless.”

  Her mouth twitches into a sagging, crooked grin.

  I look to Dayne for some kind of explanation, but his gaze is fixed on the woman.

  “Jadem,” Dayne says curtly. “If you think your men could capture me against my will, then you are older and more senile than you look. We were passing this way, and your guards made for a convenient escort. Anyhow, we’re short on supplies.”

  Jadem’s one eye focuses on Dayne. “My resources are always at your disposal. But I imagine that is not the reason for your visit.” She seems unperturbed by Dayne’s scowls.

  “My young friends and I are headed north….”

  Jadem isn’t paying attention to Dayne anymore. She has noticed me with my sling dangled by my side, a stone already in the leather pouch. Her scarred mouth drops open.

  “It can’t be,” she whispers.

  Her one pale blue eye is trained on me. A shiver runs down my spine.

  “What’s going on?” I hate the way my voice wavers. Every nerve in my body is poised to run.

  “Is it?” she asks Dayne, who gives a slight nod in response.

  “Hemera.” She says my name with a softness I wouldn’t have guessed such a woman could produce. “Is it really you?”

  “How do you know my name? How does she know my name, Dayne?”

  My words are laced with panic. I wind the sling at my side, making no effort to hide my intentions.

  “It’s alright, Hemera, she won’t harm you,” Dayne says.

  His sour expression doesn’t reassure me.

  “I haven’t seen you since you were a baby,” Jadem says. “You look just like your mother did at your age, except for your eyes, of course.”

  My breath catches. I tug at my hood to draw it farther over my face. But her words make my sling go limp in my hand.

  “You knew my mother?”

  Nodding, she gestures toward me. “Please, we have much to talk about.”

  “Jadem,” Dayne starts.

  “I take it she doesn’t know?” Her voice is so quiet I barely hear.

  Dayne shakes his head.

  “What don’t I know?” I look from one to the other, but neither responds.

  Jadem holds out her hand and motions for me to walk through the waterfall.

  Still clutching my sling, I turn around to watch as Jadem follows me. I pass through the waterfall and step into a stone room with lush, green vines climbing up the walls.

  “Hemera, beautiful Hemera,” Jadem shakes her head as she stares at me. “I thought I had lost you forever.”

  This hulking brute of a woman speaks in a voice so soft it sounds like she might cry.

  “Who are you?” I demand. “Are you a Dusker?”

  “No.” Her response is quick, sharp.

  I take a step backward, but her voice is gentle when she speaks again.

  “I was one for a short time, but it was for my own reasons. I was part of a movement to overthrow the Duskers and set up new laws.”

  She motions to the ink design on her hand.

  “The rebels? They’re real?” The disbelief in my voice is plain.

  “We call ourselves the Solguards, or guardians of the sun. But I assure you we are very real.” Jadem draws her finger along a scar that runs from her missing eye to the bottom of her pointed chin.

  “And this is where you live?”

  She gestures to the cave we’re standing in. “This fortress was built to offer a safe haven for the Solguards, where we could plan the overthrow of the Duskers.”

  I have no fewer than a thousand questions. “So Dayne is one of you, too?”

  Jadem sighs. “Yes, and no.” Her distorted features pinch together in sadness. “Dayne and I worked together to infiltrate Malarusk and learn the Duskers’ secrets. But the plan was uncovered, and the Duskers imprisoned us for many years. By the time we got out, we were both changed.”

  She looks like she has more to say, but then changes her mind. She clears her throat. “It was after my return that I heard about my sister, and how she and my niece had been murdered by a Halve.”

  Sister? Niece?

  My mouth opens and closes without producing a sound.

  “I heard you were dead,” she continues, almost pleading. “I never met you, but I heard about you and knew who you were the moment I saw you.”

  Pain deepens the creases on her face. She swipes a hand across her glistening blue eye.

  “Hemera,” she murmurs. Another tear tracks down her ruined cheek. “My beautiful niece.”

  CHAPTER 19

  This woman is…my aunt? Impossible. And yet….

  Even though her face is scarred and distorted, there’s unguarded emotion written all over her features. In spite of all logic, more than a small part of me wants to believe her.

  If what this woman says is true, if she’s really my mother’s sister….

  My mind whirls with possibilities. There’s so much she could tell me. She must have hundreds of stories about my mother from before I was alive. She must know what my mother was like as a child, what kind of person she was when she was my age. She can tell me what my mother’s interests and passions were before she became Lady Harkibel.

  But no…everyone in my family is dead. When I look at the woman’s distorted face, there is none of my mother’s beauty. The blue eye, perhaps?

  I banish the questions I really want to ask, forcing my lips around something more practical. “If you’re my aunt, then why did my mother never mention you?”

  Jadem cocks her head as she studies me, like she’s trying to decide how much to
tell me.

  “If you wish for an answer to that question, I’m afraid I must make some rather unfortunate remarks about your father.”

  “My father?” It was the last thing I expected her to say.

  She raises her eyebrow as though asking for my permission.

  I wait, too curious to try and stop her.

  Jadem sighs. “As Captain of the Subterrane, your father belonged to the Duskers.”

  “But he wasn’t a Dusker—”

  She holds her hand up.

  “No, he wasn’t. But if Zeidan wanted to keep his position, he needed to show the Duskers he wouldn’t suffer a traitor back into his Subterrane, even if she was family. He made it clear what would happen if I ever tried to contact my sister or return to the Subterrane.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I say. “Even if what you say about my father is true, my mother wouldn’t have gone along with it.”

  “She had no choice,” Jadem says. This time, her voice is hoarse with sorrow and regret. “The Duskers knew I had been building a secret fortress for the rebels for more than a decade, but they couldn’t find it. They suspected my sister had been helping me, and intended to arrest her along with me as soon as they found me. Your father bargained with them for her life. The agreement was that she could live, in the custody of Captain Harkibel, only so long as she never spoke of me again.”

  I shake my head, my brain rejecting Jadem’s words.

  “You said you were sent to Malarusk, yet here you stand.” The challenge in my voice is plain. Everyone knows that no one sentenced to the dungeons in Malarusk ever returns.

  “That’s not my story to tell.” Jadem doesn’t blink when her one eye meets my black ones. “But I swear by the sun what I say is true.”

  There is something about the way she says it that makes me believe her.

  “By the way,” she clears her throat. “I’m not sure I ever properly introduced myself. My name is Jadem. Aunt Jadem, if you wish.” Her voice is husky, and a deep blush darkens her scarred cheeks.

  I glare at her. “Why should I believe anything you say? You have no proof you are who you say you are.”