The Seeds Trilogy Complete Collection: The Sowing, The Reaping, The Harvest (including The Prelude)

by K. Makansi

  Vale’s breathing is steady, comforting.

  “I picture you and me together.” Vale’s voice is soft but firm. “I imagine us surrounded by friends, with music and art and laughter filling our days. How do we get there?”

  “No more violence.” I close my eyes.

  I remember something from my days at the Academy. Professor Lark, Architectural Foundations: A building is nothing without its foundation. Remove the support beams and the building topples. A strong building is resilient to many types of pressures, but every one has its weak spots.

  “You know your parents best, Vale. You know our strengths and weaknesses and you know theirs.”

  “Their strength lies in controlling the reins of government, their ability to speak directly to the citizens, their willingness to violate the law and wield military power against us.”

  “And their weaknesses?”

  There’s a long silence. I can feel him thinking. His fingers tighten against mine, his breath thrums in the quiet air, and his index finger involuntarily twitches, as if a thought is preparing to spring forth. Finally he croaks. “Me. They love me.”

  What would Meera say if she were here with me now? There are few people in this world immune to love, Remy.

  I squeeze Vale’s hand, imagining the pain he’s suffered all these months since discovering the truth about his parents. “Loving you is no weakness, Vale. But it is a vulnerability.”

  The Director: We must analyze their weak spots, hit them where it hurts.

  “This might be a reach, but—” Vale begins, hesitance in the small quaver of his voice.

  “Go on.”

  “You’re right that we need to think outside the box. We also can’t win with one strategy alone. We need to combine the full force of our power, not just yours and mine, but everyone in the Resistance, in a way they would never expect.”

  “Bear’s march,” I whisper. “It’s the perfect moment.”

  “We can use it. We can use their energy, their momentum.” He sighs, shifting gears. “However much I repress it now, there’s still a part of me that loves my mother. I’ve been denying that feeling to convince myself—and others—that I am fully with the Resistance. But she’s my mother. She’s lost touch with the things that used to motivate her, the things she taught me to believe in so fervently, but they must still be there. Buried.” He pauses. “Osprey said the peyote was ‘magic.’ Rhinehouse said its hallucinogenic effects have been used for thousands of years to enhance spiritual rituals.”

  I don’t know where he’s going yet, but I can sense his excitement. “He said ancient peoples used to go on Ghost Dances where they’d use it to go into a trance. They thought they were reuniting the living with the dead, and before a battle, they’d ask the spirits to join them or to fight on their behalf.”

  I think back to when Bear and I traveled to the Farms. When we used the dreamweed to trick that guard into opening the doors to the Dietician’s lab so that I could disable the MealPak formulas. You’ve got stars in your eyes, he’d said to me.

  I let several more deep breaths flow through my body.

  Vale’s voice is low, urgent. “I need to get back to my parents. No games. No pretending I’m on their side. I have to confront them. Somehow I feel there’s hope for my father, but my mother’s turned her back on her humanity. If we can use the hallucinogen to hold up a mirror so she can see the corruption that has hardened her, the ways it has masked her true self, we may be able to break her.”

  Break her. What a terrible thing for a son to have to do. An image blooms in front of me. For a brief moment, a flash of the synesthesia I used to experience as commonplace comes back. The image is intense, glowing and shimmering in saturated colors. In one hand, Corine, eyes bloodshot and bulging, features contorted in pain, holds a bloodied knife to Vale’s throat. His expression is serene, like a pale mist floating over Lake Okaria. In Corine’s other hand, she grips her own neck with elongated fingers and enlarged knuckles. Behind them, the landscape is littered with bodies with thin wisps of bluish smoke trailing from each one, gathering above to form a single word in the charred, blackened sky: Atone.

  I open my eyes and break free from Vale’s grasp. I pull myself to my feet, and Vale follows suit.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head, alarmed at the ferocity of my own thoughts. “Just an image. I’m okay. I need to take a break.” I head over to the window. He joins me, rubbing comforting patterns on my back. I lean into him. “The darkness of my thoughts sometimes terrifies me.”

  “You’ve seen a lot of dark things,” he whispers.

  After a while, I ask, “Do you really think this could work? How could you get her to take the peyote?” The doubts flood in, filling me just as surely as the hope and light filled me during our brief meditation session.

  Vale nuzzles my neck and whispers, “I don’t know. But I am sure of one thing: we can’t win with force alone. Even with our largest full-frontal attack, they’ll take us down in an instant. Unless we dig out the root of the problem, we have no hope of preventing her from putting her plan in place. Moriana says everything is almost ready and that they hope to start inoculating citizens with her ‘cure’ by next week at the latest. We have no time and no other options.”

  I turn to face him, my body aligning with his, his words still hot on my neck. “I want this nightmare to end. I want to start over. I want—”

  Vale’s hands are firm on my waist, and it’s suddenly hard to think about anything at all. I reach for the spot where his neck meets his shoulders and pull him down to me.

  “—you,” I say, and stand up on tiptoes to press lips against lips, limbs against limbs. Vale’s hands spread like two fans against my back, like he wants to touch as much of me as possible at once. The need to touch all of him fills me like fire. Like flames dancing in shards of moonlight, we swirl higher, faster, growing wild and hungry for that white hot zenith emerging between us.

  “Wait,” Vale rasps, pulling away. I frame his face with my hands, sending him that voiceless question, and he smiles so I know that everything is still okay. The flame abates and he kisses my lips, my jaw, my forehead, my ears, whispering between touches: “I want to savor this.”

  And so we savor it. Every delicious touch, every searing word we share, every awkward tangle and the light, easy laughter that follows. After, we lie together in the moonlight and name our greatest fears, laying them to rest for the night. Mine: that everyone I love will die, one by one, until I am just a graveyard clinging to what once was beautiful. His: that everything he believes in will be proven impossible, dream stuff best left tucked so far away you forget it even exists. Mine: that Evander Sun Zi will burn us all to the ground and my last memory will be the smell of bodies burning. His: that his parents will hurt him in the name of a sacrifice of love for power. Mine: that Kenzie’s baby will know a world of betrayal and corruption. His: that the nightmare will never end, and we’ll never have a family of our own.

  “The one thing that I feel sure of more than anything else,” he says with a devastating moonlit grin, “is that your freckles are adorable.” His fingers trace a pattern across my nose and cheeks, his smile turning serious. “And by that I mean that I love you more than anything I’ve ever loved before. You are my music.”

  This morning, everything about my grandfather’s house feels alive, electrifying. After getting up early yesterday, we discovered that Chan-Yu had mysteriously reappeared, to my great relief. With Moriana still under lock and key upstairs, the rest of us gathered for breakfast and Vale told everyone his ideas about using the peyote. We brainstormed for hours, coming up with some ideas that are terrible, that would surely get us all killed. And some that might actually work. Finally, we all squeezed into the comm room, and Eli and Zoe managed to get Zeke, the Director, and Bear patched in so we could outline a final plan. We then spent the day reviewing and fine-tuning logistics. Of course, the best plan is the most flexible one, and
the best warrior is the most adaptable. So there is no saying exactly how everything will turn out. But one thing is certain: the time has come to pull the corruption up from the roots and plant the Okarian Sector anew.

  22 - VALE

  Summer 4, Sector Annum 106, 19h48

  Gregorian Calendar: June 24

  With hardly a breath or a wink Remy kisses my cheek and is gone, melted into the fog, a phantom spirit of dusk. She and the others are headed in their own direction, on their own mission, and I will reunite with them later. Hopefully.

  My heartbeats are as loud as kettle drums.

  Are you sure about this? I ask myself. Doubt creeps into my bones. But all I can do is move forward, one foot in front of the other, until quickly and quietly I arrive at my destination.

  Moriana and I were the last ones out of Kanaan’s house tonight, which is now as silent as a grave. We spent hours yesterday scrubbing the place down, removing all evidence, returning it to its original state of disuse, and carefully sealing up the greenhouse so it would remain hidden. I don’t doubt that the drones will be able to trace our steps back to the house. But they won’t stop there. Chan-Yu and Osprey laid a careful trail beyond the house and into the Wilds, to a cliffside shelter where they left food, clothes, signs of habitation.

  Moriana is silent at my side, her footfalls soft in the encroaching dark. I watch her out of the corner of my eye. She doesn’t smile, doesn’t blink, stares straight ahead. With her hair tied back and her back erect, she looks almost military. I wonder what changed in her, what hardened in her. She’s different, now, from the confident and carefree woman I remember from classes, social outings, the Solstice ball. I can’t help but feel responsible for destroying that part of her. She reminds me too much of Corine.

  Demeter, too, is quiet.

  “Is this what fear feels like?” she asked me last night as I slipped off to sleep. “I’m afraid for you, Vale.” I spent a tortured night dreaming of Persephone, Demeter’s daughter from the myth, eating pomegranate seeds from the underworld and condemned to stay there for half the year as punishment.

  Am I Persephone, descending into the underworld?

  But when I woke up with a start, sweating and cold, Remy leaned into me and whispered in my ear, shushing me like a child, and I believed again.

  It’s going to work. It’s going to work. It’s going to work.

  These are the words I tell myself as I press my palm into the reader at the gate to the chancellor’s mansion.

  It blinks red, identifying me. But the gate still slides open. Within a few seconds Moriana and I are surrounded by soldiers, at least ten of them, all with their weapons out and trained on us. I put my hands up in a gesture of surrender, and Moriana does the same. For a long moment, no one moves.

  Then, one of the soldiers pushes the black visor on his helmet up, and I meet his eyes. It takes a moment, but I recognize him.

  “Hey, Ren.” The captain of the Guardians assigned to the chancellor’s mansion, I’ve known Ren since my father was elected almost four years ago.

  “Vale?” he says, squinting at me. He looks confused, unsure whether to aim at me or not, whether I am a threat or not. After a moment’s deliberation, he opts for caution, and steadies his Bolt, once again leveled at my chest. “Moriana? What are you doing with him?”

  Ren and Moriana are on a first-name basis?

  “We are requesting an audience with the chancellor and Madam Orleán.”

  He glances back and forth between the two of us and then looks at the other guard, who nods. Ren lowers his weapon and speaks into his earpiece.

  “Alert the chancellor. Valerian Orleán and Moriana Nair palmed in. They claim to be requesting an audience.” We wait another few moments, the air hot and humid, so thick with tension I feel like I’m suffocating. Then, Ren nods at something over his earpiece, waves his hand in little circle, and addresses us. “Come with me.”

  They lead us to the grand, wood-carved doors at the front of the house. In step with Moriana, I walk through the doors, feeling like I am being led into the mouth of the underworld.

  “If anyone offers you a pomegranate,” Demeter says in my ear, “don’t take it.”

  Inside, two of the soldiers holster their weapons and start to pat us down. Moriana looks unhappy at the prospect of being treated like a common criminal, but she doesn’t protest. I watch her frown, glare at the soldiers, and wonder what she’s thinking. Can I trust her?

  Whether I can or not, I need her. Without her, my parents will never believe my plea, will never believe that I came here in good faith.

  I didn’t, of course. But they don’t need to know that.

  Blood pounds in my ears as we are searched. Our jackets are taken off, and they ask us to remove our boots. One of the men runs his fingers through my hair. He finds the pendant around my neck, and glances at Ren, who shrugs. How could they know to worry about a simple piece of jewelry, a trinket?

  Finally, Ren nods, satisfied, and waves us in. I walk through the foyer and down the hall, feeling strange and alien in this place I once called home.

  Philip comes around the corner first, his movements quick and excited. In a navy sweater and house slippers, he looks relaxed and casual. Quite the opposite of how I feel. There’s almost a smile on his face when he sees us.

  “It really is you,” he says, his voice rich with astonishment, as if I’ve returned from the dead. Maybe I have. He comes up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder, standing opposite me, the same way he used to do when he was congratulating me or telling me something important. “I can’t believe it.”

  “Vale.” My mother’s melodic voice rings out from behind my father. Unlike Philip, she doesn’t immediately approach us. “And Moriana. What a relief to see both of you safe and here together.” But she doesn’t sound relieved. She sounds wary. Watchful. As she finally walks toward us and embraces me, I can feel her keep her distance. She is nothing like the Corine Orleán who took my hand as I returned to consciousness. You can’t imagine how I felt when you stepped off that ledge. Then, at least, she still felt like my mother. She still thought there was hope for me.

  Not anymore.

  “Why are you here?” she asks.

  “Corine,” my father says, chastising. “We don’t need to interrogate them.”

  “It’s okay.” I shake my head. “We need to be honest with each other. I’m here because—” I glance over at Moriana, who hasn’t spoken a word since we left Kanaan’s “—Moriana told me everything.” I narrate as though no one else in the Resistance knows yet, as though Moriana only told me and no one else. She shudders as if in pain. Corine shoots her a glance that looks sharp enough to kill, but her gaze softens after a moment as she watches her protégé. “She told me about the parasite, and the cure. She said you’re going to implement genetic changes to every citizen of Okaria. Without their knowledge. Just like you did to me.”

  I take a deep breath.

  “We’re here to ask you not to do this.”

  There’s a heavy silence. Corine glances at Philip, and then at Moriana, before meeting my eyes again. Her expression is neutral, unreadable.

  “Let’s discuss in the meeting room.”

  She reaches out to take my hand, the first gesture of affection I’ve seen from her so far. As our fingers meet I feel a jolt, almost, some kind of energy I don’t recognize, some connection I don’t understand. It’s no longer the connection between mother and child. She meets my eyes.

  I know, she says silently. I know who you are. You are not my son.

  Her boots click against the wood floors as she turns to walk down the hall. She pushes open a door to the right, leading into the small meeting room reserved for the chancellor and his closest advisors. Moriana immediately follows her, but my father turns to me first. He looks at me wide-eyed and opens his mouth as if to say something, but he can’t seem to find the words. After an awkward second, he too follows Corine.

  “Tell us more abo
ut your request, Vale,” Corine says, as I sink into one of the plush leather chairs next to Moriana. “Why is it that you don’t want us to move forward with our modifications?”

  I am under no illusions that anything I say tonight will convince my mother not to proceed with her plan. But watching my father, his twitching fingers, his eyes jumping around the room, the way his gaze lingers on me, I think I have a chance with him.

  I rub my fingers on the polished wood, tracing invisible patterns into the grain.

  “It’s not right,” I say finally. “I know what the MealPaks do to the Farm workers. I’ve seen how their senses are dulled, how slow they are, like people who are half asleep. I know they’re built for strength, not intelligence—”

  “What need do they have for intelligence?” my mother asks sharply. Instead of retorting, I opt to continue as if she had not spoken.

  “—that you have reduced their neural connectivity, their emotional responsiveness, their critical thinking skills. I know you’ve done all this with their MealPaks. I’ve seen it, Mom,” I say, as she opens her mouth to interrupt me again, “and I know it isn’t right.”

  Philip is glancing back and forth between me and Corine like we’re contestants in a sparring match at the gymnasia, trepidation written all over his face.

  “Vale, the modifications we plan to make to the people aren’t bad.” She looks at Moriana, consternation in her eyes, as though she’s somehow responsible for the negative ideas I’ve gotten of their master plans. “They’ll make people stronger, as you said. Faster. Able to see in the dark and to hear more clearly than any humans have ever heard before.”

  “You gave me all those things, too. I didn’t ask for them, and I still don’t know if I want them.” Corine leans back in her chair and crosses her arms. I meet her gaze. I can’t tell them I have no hope of convincing them not to move forward, that I’m here not because I can sway them to my side but because I have to be with them when everything changes.

  “Unless you’re planning to give everyone the same kind of modifications you gave me, you’re effectively creating slaves. The Farm workers won’t have a choice. Those in the towns won’t ever have a hope of sending their children to the Academy. You’re building a caste system, and no one will be able to escape their genetic destiny.”