The Sowing (The Torch Keeper)

by Santos, Steven dos

  Once the clapping storm blows over, Talon continues. “Without further ado, I call upon the first cadet to graduate from First Tier trainee to Imposer level.” She pauses to study the hovering teleprompter. “Dahlia Bledsoe!”

  Cheers rumble like thunder.

  Dahlia squeezes her way past me and trots up the stairs to the dais. Her face is unreadable.

  Cassius steps forward and shakes her hand. Then he’s removing her pin and replacing it with a brand-new insignia.

  It’s official. She’s an Imposer now.

  Leander and Rodrigo follow Dahlia in rapid succession, until only Arrah and I remain.

  Talon fixes her sights on us. “The next trainee, who is being promoted to Third Tier cadet, is Arrah Creed!”

  Arrah shoots me a nervous glance before heading up the stairs.

  I glance casually toward the crowd, and see that at the fountain, Cage is engaged in a heated exchange with two Imposers. He reaches into his pocket—

  The Imposers raise their weapons—

  My breath freezes in my throat. All I can hear is my heart hammering away at my ears.

  But instead of the triggering device, Cage hands them a document. ID by the looks of it. One of the Imposers snatches it from him to study.

  The other Imposer is on her radio. Is she calling for backup?

  “I now call the final trainee we are honoring today: Cadet Lucian Spark!”

  It takes me a moment to realize that Talon has just called me up onto the stage. Everything—her voice, the crowd—it all sounds muffled, as if someone has a pillow over my head and is suffocating me in my sleep. I force my limbs to move, but it feels like I’m slogging through a bog.

  The bitter taste of blood oozes into my mouth from the teeth digging into my lower lip. It seeps down the desert of my throat.

  I move toward Cassius. He takes my hand in his, but I can barely feel it. He leans forward, his breath against my ear. “I have a little surprise for you,” he whispers.

  I look up. Behind him, Prior Delvecchio and another one of the Anchorites move apart, revealing the figure standing between them.

  Cole.

  twelve

  He smiles at me and waves.

  The shock tears through the shroud of numbness enveloping me. Instead of everything moving in slow-motion, it’s as if things are speeding up. This can’t be happening what have I done he’s going to die right here in front of everyone and it’s all my fault oh mother forgive me I failed you both I fucked things up murdered my own brother all my struggles to save him were for nothing I’m nothing but a dumb stupid shit oh sheesh oh no cole I’m so sorry I’m so—

  Cassius reaches in and plucks the BMP pin from my uniform. He may as well be ripping my still-beating heart from my chest.

  I clutch at his hand. “No! You can’t take that—give it back!”

  He gapes at me as if I’m crazy. Maybe I am. “What’s going on with you?” He squeezes the whisper out through a gritted smile.

  I risk a glance at the fountain. Cage’s backing away from the Imposers. His hand’s reaching into his pocket. The same pocket that holds the triggering device …

  On the stage, Cole’s looking at me, his eyes brimming with confusion and fear. He mouths the words what’s wrong? The other trainees are fidgeting in their stances. Arrah’s shaking her head at me.

  Cassius tries to pull his hand away. His mild annoyance has turned to anger. “Let go of me, Lucian.”

  But I don’t. I can’t.

  My eyes lock with Cassius’s. I hear Prime Minister Talon’s voice. “Is there a problem, Prefect?”

  The wave of fury in her voice drowns out the hubbub of the crowd. Her bodyguards move in on me …

  The Imposers at the fountain draw their weapons at Cage’s team. Cage is nothing but a blur as he shoves one Imposer against the other and whips out the gleaming black remote.

  “Stop him! He’s got a bomb!” someone yells.

  Screams and shouts penetrate the crowd.

  “Give it to me!” I shriek at Cassius, even as my fist connects with his jaw and I rip the BMP free from his grasp. He tumbles backwards.

  Cage’s jaw drops. He stares at me in horror for a moment, then aims the remote at the stage. The guards lunge for me. But before they can tackle me, I hurl the BMP toward the only place I’m sure will prevent it from being triggered.

  Right at the fountain. Right at Cage and his team.

  They didn’t take the blocker. If Cage triggers it, they’ll die.

  A heavy weight slams into my back. I collapse onto the stage floor, my head hanging over the edge, my body pinned in place.

  Ignoring the pain, I raise my head, looking for Cole. But he’s gone, along with Delvecchio. The Prime Minister’s guards have already escorted her off the stage to safety. In the square, enforcements have arrived, ringing Cage and his team and seizing the remote from his hands. As the Imposers lead them away in energy cuffs, Cage glances my way, his face a mixture of disbelief and disgust.

  I’ve betrayed him. I’ve betrayed them all.

  I had no choice.

  There’s always a choice.

  “Put him in the brig,” I hear Cassius say.

  Then I give into the pain, the dizziness, the nausea and close my eyes, wondering if I’ll ever open them again, not caring if I ever do.

  I wake up alone, in one of the Citadel’s holding cells.

  As I flex my jaw and finger the tender skin, all I can think about is Cole. Where is he now?

  There’s a bandage covering the crook of my elbow. Once I’ve checked to make sure nothing’s broken, a panicked thought hits me and I check the hidden compartment in my uniform. Digory’s video journal is still there.

  Sighing, I pull it out and clutch it in the darkness, a shield against the desperation creeping in. There’s no reason they won’t kill me now, and probably Cole, too.

  What the hell can I do now?

  After what seems like hours pass with no one making an appearance, I decide to risk it and activate the holocam.

  Digory’s face appears once again, eclipsing the dread of loneliness.

  “There’s no reason why Lucian has to be recruited,” Digory says, continuing from where I shut the recording off before. “He can be a very valuable ally.”

  Valuable ally? Me? We’d barely said two words to each other at that point. Besides, I don’t think Cage, Arrah, and the others would agree.

  Digory’s face seems different now. More … I don’t know. Clinical. Detached. “All I need is a little more time with Lucian and I’ll be able to get results. One way or another, as instructed, I’ll find out where his loyalties really lie. If it turns out he can be trusted to join our cause, I’ll personally deliver him.”

  My finger jabs the pause button, freezing Digory’s face.

  So Digory was working with the rebellion to actively enlist me? And the meeting in the alleyway that morning was scripted, not just random? But why am I so important to the rebellion that they’d actively seek me out? What the hell could I possibly have to offer? It makes no sense.

  And if Digory meeting up with me that day wasn’t chance, then what about everything else he said and did? What about the way he felt?

  My head throbs and my mouth goes dry. I hesitate for an instant, and then my trembling finger presses the play button.

  Digory’s expression grows colder than the blood churning its way through my system. “If it turns out Lucian Spark can’t be trusted, then I’ll make sure he gets recruited myself.”

  I pause the playback again. Staring at Digory’s face. Trying to reconcile those last words with the memories of what we meant to each other.

  There has to be a rational explanation. Yes, he made this recording shortly after our not-so-fateful first meeting. He didn’t really know me, didn’t h
ave deep feelings for me yet. But he told me, later, that he’d cared for me since way back in school, before we’d ever spoken.

  Whatever the truth is, it doesn’t change the look in his eyes. It’s a look I’ve never seen before. Cold, emotionless.

  Who is this Digory?

  There’s movement, right outside the cell, and I turn off the holocam and jam it back into the hidden pocket just as the cell door opens.

  Styles and Renquist barrel in. “We’ve been ordered to take you to the Recruitment Ceremony,” Styles hisses.

  My eyes bug out of my skull. “The Recruitment? You mean I’ve been out a whole day ?”

  Styles snorts. “That’s right. The Recruitment is already underway.” He aims his weapon at me.

  Renquist drags me out of the cell and shoves me into a line with Dahlia, Leander, Rodrigo, and Arrah. From the circles under their eyes and the bruises on their skin, they don’t seem to be doing much better than I am.

  Leander grabs me by the collar and shoves me against the wall. “This is all your fault! One second we’re getting promoted, the next we’re being hauled off and interrogated by our own people about some plot to assassinate the PM, all on account’a that stunt you pulled on stage! Start talking, Spark!”

  “Don’t forget the blood they drew!” Rodrigo adds.

  This revelation has a sobering effect. “Blood?”

  “Yeah, blood,” Arrah hisses.

  I can barely look her in the eye and turn away.

  Dahlia nudges her chin in the direction of my arm. “From you, too.”

  So that’s what the bandage on my elbow’s about.

  Leander shoves me again. “Just what the hell have you gotten us mixed up in?”

  “Move!” Styles commands, leading us down the corridors.

  “I give you … this season’s Recruits!” Cassius announces from his balcony to the cheering crowds below, just as we’re escorted onto the observation deck behind him.

  During the whole trek from the prison, I’ve been imagining all of the monstrous forms our punishment can take. Public execution. Private torture. Even being sent back into the Trials to compete against each other.

  But that last possibility dissolves the moment I look at the jumbotrons—and see the faces of the five Recruits standing on the dais below.

  Cage, Preshea, Boaz, Crowley, and Drusilla.

  Tears stream down Arrah’s cheeks and she turns to me, trembling with rage.

  Prime Minister Talon steps forward and the crowd goes silent.

  “It seems, since our last Recruitment, we have started a trend of firsts,” she says. “Most of you witnessed the attempt on my life yesterday, carried off in part by the insurgents who have just been selected to partake in the Trials. Being the just society that we are, we have given them the chance to redeem themselves and embrace the principles we so cherish.” She braces herself against the lectern, as if in great pain. “But a darker problem has been brought to light. It appears, through the actions of Cadet Lucian Spark, that our trainees also had knowledge of this plot, a fact that has been further corroborated by a blocker that was found in their bloodstreams.”

  Rodrigo nudges Leander. “What’s she talking about?” he whispers.

  But Leander only glares at me. “You should be asking Spark. Maybe he can offer you another drink while he’s at it.”

  Talon extends a hand to Cassius. “Fortunately, Prefect Thorn has suggested a perfect way to deal with this distressing situation.”

  Cassius smiles and steps forward again. “Thank you, Prime Minister. Citizens of the Parish, in keeping with our principles and our commitment to instill a sense of justice in all of our citizens, we have decided that the five insurrectionists shall compete in the Trials to redeem themselves, as planned. However, only one of each Recruit’s two Incentives shall be selected from their pool of loved ones.”

  My throat tightens.

  “Their other Incentives,” Cassius continues, “shall be comprised of the five Imposer trainees: Dahlia Bledsoe, Tyrus Leander, Valdin Rodrigo, Arrah Creed, and Lucian Spark. These former Recruits will now get the chance to experience the Trials from a whole new perspective.”

  The crowd erupts.

  Leave it to Cassius to think of such an ingenious way to appear benevolent while disposing of his enemies at the same time. Cage and the others will choose my death, and the deaths of my fellow trainees, before their own Incentives’ without hesitation. And whichever of the rebels prevails in the Trials will undoubtedly suffer a little accident.

  We’re all doomed.

  Thanks to me.

  Cassius raises his hands to silence the crowd again. “During the Trials, our new Recruits will learn”—he glances at me—“that there’s always a choice. Which do they value more, their personal relationships or their misguided cause?”

  I step forward but am immediately intercepted by the Imps and pulled back. “They’re all innocent. It was all me !” I shout.

  Cassius sighs. “You’re making quite a habit of public spectacle, Cadet Spark.”

  I sag against the guards.

  On the jumbotrons, Cage and the others’ expressions seem to burn right through the crowd, singling me out.

  By my side, my fellow trainees stare at me with nothing but hatred and contempt smoldering in their eyes.

  I’m going back into the Trials.

  Surrounded by former allies who want nothing more than to see me dead.

  And this time there’s no way out.

  PART II

  EXILE

  thirteen

  The Eel-class submarine shoots through the dark ocean like a bullet searching for its target. I’ve been isolated in this tiny compartment on the berthing deck for days now. The sub has stopped at a few ports along the way, to restock supplies, before zooming onward toward Infiernos and the Trials.

  I can’t believe I’m headed back there again. I can still picture the enormous steel dome, the teethlike spires, the jutting pillars of the deadly sonic fence that surrounds the military training base. Last time, I spent a few months in training before being sent underground for the actual Trials, held in the subterranean labyrinth known as the Skein.

  I thought that part of my life was over. But as horrible as it was, at least I had some control over my fate then. The idea that whatever happens to me now, as an Incentive, rests purely on someone else’s performance and decisions just emphasizes how powerless I feel.

  I never asked Cole what life was like for him as an Incentive, living in fear of the moment when I’d finish last in one of the rounds and have to choose whether to save his life or Digory’s. After Cole’s ordeal was over, he seemed to block out most of what had happened—a defense mechanism I’m sure—and I didn’t press him. Better for him if he didn’t remember.

  But during those few days we spent together right after the Trials, I got to witness him waking up in the middle of the night screaming, and zoning out during conversations. Innocuous noises like the shutting of a door could send him into a tantrum. Classic symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.

  Huddled here in the darkness, my brain is my own worst enemy. It grasps at every possible scenario, trying to focus on anything but the growing claustrophobia smothering me.

  I’m not sure how much longer I can take being trapped in this tiny compartment without losing my mind.

  What few meals I’ve received have been sent via the vacuum chute on the wall panel, mostly stale ration bars and lukewarm water. At this point, I’d relish the company of anyone, even those bastards Styles or Renquist. That’s how lonely it feels.

  The only other sound besides my breathing is the steady hum of the steam-driven turbines and generators of the nuclear reactor that’s powering the sub’s propellers. Then my stomach sinks as the cabin shifts. The air pops in my ears. There’s a di
stinct change in the thrum as the nose of the craft tilts up. The stern planes in the rudder have been activated.

  I press my face against the cool glass of the solitary porthole

  that separates the inner hull from the outer hull. My head feels like it’s going to implode from all the tension. Up until now, I haven’t been able to make out anything through the blackness of the murky depths that make everything feel like one endless night.

  Now I see bubbles. The ballast and trim tanks must be expelling water.

  We’re preparing to surface at last.

  Rising through the darkness are the remnants of an immense city comprised of massive structures; some look almost perfectly preserved. It’s as if the inhabitants have just fled, never to return, leaving the buildings undisturbed.

  This must be the Lady’s city. Or, it was. Before the Ash Wars consigned it to the bottom of the ocean.

  The Eel maneuvers through the once-towering buildings. Lights from the sub sweep over an enormous multileveled bridge with giant towers that crisscross like an insect’s web. What a great civilization this must have been, to have built such a grand system of thoroughfares.

  Next, we pass over what appears to be a huge coliseum. It must have seated at least fifty thousand people. But all those seats are empty now, barnacles clinging to them like a cancer, eating away at them until they’re barely recognizable.

  Then we’re rising again. The lights grow brighter until I can make out the ramps and platforms of a docking bay looming all around the Eel.

  We’ve arrived at Infiernos—the one place I’d hoped to never see again in my life.

  I’m about to face them all. Flame Squad—Leander, Rodrigo, Dahlia, and worst of all Arrah. What can I possibly say to erase what I’ve done to them? And how am I going to look Cage and the other rebels I betrayed in the eye again?

  The cabin door bursts open.

  Two armed Imposers stand at attention on either side of the doorway. Can’t see how I’m much of a flight risk. Where the hell would I go on a sub?