Mortal Sight

by Sandra Fernandez Rhoads

  Good going, Cera. I’ve made her mad. Who knows what she’ll do to me now.

  Harper rummages through a cabinet and turns on a faucet, but the running water doesn’t drown out Maddox’s voice. “I’ll check in with Gray and clear things up, but talk to me about Cera. She reads like a Legacy with a dual Bent. But she didn’t even know what a Cormorant was. She called it something else.” Moloch. “When the Cormorants attacked, she tried to fight back.”

  “She didn’t run?” Devon’s voice lilts, surprised.

  Despite the pain, I push up on my elbows again and stare at the folds in the screen. They either don’t know I can hear them, or they don’t care if I do.

  “Yeah, but she ran toward it. I had to pull her away. It was like she wasn’t afraid of that giant crow beast.” Maddox is wrong. I was afraid. Terrified. The only reason I fought back was because I was so angry. Not angry, furious. At Moloch, at what that evil predator did . . . “That’s why I thought she had a dual Bent—Blade and Guardian, but something’s different, and I know you can tell.”

  The faucet turns off. Harper heads my way with a clean rag and a blue bowl of steaming herbal water that smells of grapefruit. She sets the bowl next to me and turns on the headlamp with a determined look on her face. “Take a deep breath.”

  I lie back down. “You sure you can—”

  As soon as the hot cloth touches my skin, I shut my mouth. The pulsing wound bubbles under the heat. I lie there for what feels like an eternity before Harper takes off the towel. When she does, I feel a slight pinch. A thin glass shard covered in bright red blood clinks into the tiny metal bowl Harper holds at my side. “Got it. You’ll feel a whole lot better after I stitch you up. Ointment won’t seal a cut that deep.” She irrigates the wound with the herbal water and a syringe.

  I’m grateful but can’t speak. Not because of the serum or the dull pinch of the needle against my skin. Words evade me because, not only am I indebted to Harper, but the truth of Maddox’s words weighs heavy. I’m something different. And not in a good way. Unless I rid myself of these visions, I’ll never belong anywhere—even here.

  “You know you’re nothing special, right?” Harper slathers cold ointment on the wound before applying a thin bandage.

  “What?” My eyes widen. Please don’t tell me she reads minds.

  Harper gathers up her supplies. “It’s what he does.”

  “Who are you talking about?” I lift my head and look at the perfect bandage hugging my side.

  No longer in her hyper-medic mode, Harper rolls her eyes. “Maddox. He finds the Awakened and brings them here. He has this knack for making everyone feel special, like they’re one of a kind. This place practically exists because of him. It was his idea after he met Gladys.” She snaps off her gloves. “He found me, and I owe him everything for it.”

  Why is she telling me this when she should be telling me how long I wear the bandage and how to care for the stitches?

  After dropping the gloves in the trash, she picks up a small mirror. “Just thought I’d give you some friendly advice since you’re new, and all.” She adjusts her bangs in her reflection before checking her lipstick. “I wouldn’t want you getting any wrong ideas.”

  “Don’t worry. You’ve been pretty clear.” I sit up, and swing my legs over the side of the table, feeling no pain. Pretty amazing, but I won’t tell her so.

  Harper opens a drawer to a tall dresser. “Leave your ragged clothes in the corner. I’ll probably have to burn them. Here . . .” She tosses me a gray sweatshirt and some black leggings. “Throw on something clean.”

  I catch the clothes, to my surprise, considering how groggy I am. The oversized shirt is made for someone as bulky as Devon and will probably fit me like a dress, but I’m not complaining. I’m thankful to have something warm to wear.

  She slides the partition open. “Oh, and you can take the bandage off tomorrow. Stitches should dissolve by then.”

  Wow. Turbo healing. “Thanks,” I say as my stomach growls. I’m ready for that cranberry wrap now.

  Instead of acknowledging my gratitude, Harper tosses her silky hair over her shoulder. “Maddox, you ready?”

  I meant my thanks. I really did. But if that’s the case, then why do I want to claw that haughty smirk off her face?

  I slide off the table. Forget it. She’s not worth a fight. Now that I’m healed, I need to corner Devon and get answers.

  After getting dressed, I push the partition aside, expecting to find Maddox sitting on the cot with the IV drip leeched to his arm, but he’s not in the room. Neither is Devon, Harper, or even the turkey sandwich, for that matter. They’ve left me alone. Abandoned me in Harper’s lair. With heavy feet, I make my way down the hall toward the café to find Devon. I’ll call Mom and let her know I’m all right after I talk to him.

  Lively voices, laughter, and peppy drum beats fill the café. I have no clue what time it is. If I had to guess, it must be close to nine, maybe even ten o’clock at night. I search the room for Devon before stepping fully in. It’s not hard to spot him through the crowd. He’s almost a head taller than most everyone else, and his hearty laugh warms the room.

  He’s talking to a bowlegged guy with wavy brown hair, a flannel shirt, and vested jacket. I make my way to meet him at the counter and pass the alcove under the staircase. Surrounded by a small crowd, Maddox sits on the table with his feet propped on a bench and a guitar in his lap. Harper is glued to his side.

  I keep walking and head straight for Devon. “Can I have that turkey wrap now?”

  I can’t help but notice that, as I walk up, he studies my collarbone a little too intently. “I’ll do one better. Burger, fries, and a milkshake for the girl who was walking around with a glass spear in her side.”

  The skinny, bowlegged guy turns to me. His pale, freckled face is somewhat boy-next-door, and he smells of leather mixed with too much spicy cologne. “That had to hurt. How long did you walk around before ya knew?” When he looks at me, the Current zips right through me. He gives a subtle nod. I’m guessing that’s a sign he feels it too.

  I nod back. “I didn’t know it was there. Harper found it.”

  Devon grips the guy’s shoulder and gives a hearty shake. “Kellan, this is Cera. I’m thinking she might be a Blade, but I need to talk a few things over with her first. I’ll send her your way if that’s the case.”

  Kellan stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks me over, this time with a little more scrutiny. I match his long, hard look, analyzing him just the same. He seems ordinary, but not afraid to take risks—a cowboy, but not.

  I feel smug. I’m getting pretty good at handling these stare downs. He doesn’t smile, but when he drawls, “Welcome,” he’s sincere.

  “Thanks.” For the first time since I’ve arrived, someone isn’t questioning my belonging.

  “I’m headed to the roof,” Kellan says. “Tanji and I are on watch tonight. Catch ya later.” He tips his head to me and then ducks out of the room. All he’s missing is the cowboy hat.

  Devon looks at me. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little groggy, but I’m good.” I glance at my side where the bandage hides under my bulky sweatshirt dress.

  Devon’s eyes gleam. “Harper’s one of a kind. She can fix just about anything.”

  “Oh, I bet she can.” I can’t hide my sarcasm.

  He raises an eyebrow. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?”

  I shake my head. “No.” But she’s not exactly rolling out the welcome mat.

  “Good.” He pulls out a chair at a nearby table and motions for me to sit. “Let’s talk about you.”

  I take his offer and lower myself into the seat. “There’s not much to talk about. But learning why everything’s happening and how I can defeat the creatures . . . that’s another story.”

  Devon sits across from me. “Slow down. Talking about that is like putting a roof on a house when the foundation hasn’t been poured. You’ve got to have a good understand
ing of what’s happening before you run out of here trying to destroy something that can kill you in a matter of seconds.”

  That’s true. I’ve had one on my tail a good part of the day. It’s only thanks to Maddox that I’m sitting here right now. I lean back. “Fine. Then tell me what I need to know. ’Cause so far all I know about this world is that there’s a second realm that only Awakened can see where these creatures roam. They attack us because we can see the damage they do, and apparently there’s an Alliance with a Council that trains Awakened, but not in a place like Hesperian. Is that right?”

  “Mostly right.” Devon waves someone over. The girl with the pretzel-looking braid sets down a basket of golden fries, a steaming burger in a buttery bun with melted cheese and fresh lettuce, as well as a frosted glass topped with whipped cream and a decorative swirl of hardened chocolate. Devon nods his appreciation. I don’t even get a chance to tell her thanks because the shy girl lowers her head and walks away without saying a word. Devon pushes the basket my way. “You eat. I’ll talk.”

  “Sounds like a deal to me.” My mouth waters as I pick up a crispy fry, blowing on it so I don’t burn my tongue, but I can’t wait any longer. I shove the salty potato in my mouth. Food. Tastes. So. Good.

  Devon’s eyes smile as he watches me eat. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” I sure do, but I’m too busy stuffing my face with fries to say more. “I know that being Awakened feels overwhelming.” He looks directly at me and the electric Current from before feels nothing more than a faint hum. “Let’s start there.” He points across the room near the brick. “There’s a verse painted on the wall.”

  I squint, trying to make out the calligraphy. Devon has obviously memorized the verses because he recites the words without even glancing at the wall.

  I oft remember, when from sleep

  I first awaked . . .

  Much wond’ring where

  And what I was.

  Energy rushes through my veins. I sit up. “Milton? That’s from Paradise Lost. Eve’s monologue to Adam about what she felt when she first woke in the garden.”

  “Very good.” Devon looks genuinely surprised. “You took advanced studies, I take it.” No. Not even close, but if he thinks I’m smart, I won’t correct him. Devon rests his elbows on the table and leans in. “You’ve probably felt something. Seen things. Maybe even been searching for answers?”

  My breath catches in my throat. “Yes. When I first read Milton, something about what he wrote . . .”

  “Triggered something?”

  Definitely, yes. I lick salt off my finger. “I know this sounds crazy, but every time I read through the poem, it’s like Milton is . . . writing more than a story about the fall of humanity or his opposition to the British government. It’s like there’s another layer with something else hidden in the verses, something he didn’t feel open about sharing, but I could see it.” Hearing my confession pour out to a total stranger feels odd, but I can’t hide my excitement. “I thought it was just my way of coping. I didn’t think what I was reading was . . . real.”

  “You’re not crazy. Milton was part of the Alliance back in the 1600s. So are many of other famous artists from the past. Michelangelo. Delacroix. Evard Munch. Keats, to name a few.”

  Emotions swirl. “This is totally surreal. I mean, sometimes I even feel like Milton sends me verses out of nowhere, and I can hear him in my head—” It hits me. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. Milton has been talking to me all along. He led me here with his verses. He told me to follow Maddox . . .

  “You connect with Milton. With his verses?” Devon seems concerned but adds, “Normally, we connect with artists from previous generations who have our same Bent.”

  “I’m not an artist.” I shove more fries into my mouth, because I get the feeling I might have said something wrong. Best thing to do now is redirect the conversation and hope he doesn’t notice. “So, these Bents—are they like talents?”

  My question does the trick. “More like an innate strength or skill.” Devon explains, “Awakened all have a Bent. We’ve identified that most fall into five groups: Healers, like Harper; Guardians who find and protect the Awakened, like Maddox; Blades who fight the creatures the same way soldiers might, like Kellan, who you just met; and Caretakers like me, who keep everyone in balance, since there seems to be ongoing enmity between Blades and Guardians.”

  I swallow a bite of the juicy burger and wipe my chin with the paper napkin. I want to ask why there’s strife between groups, but Devon forgot to mention the fifth group. “What’s the last Bent? You only explained four.” I wash the burger down with a sip of the milkshake.

  “Seers.”

  “As in . . . they see the future?” I try to still my features. This has to be what I am.

  “Not always. We’re not entirely clear on all aspects of their Bent because they are so rare. If someone was a Seer, we’d cease all other training and send them to Council for extra protection.” Devon watches me closely as he says, “Milton was a Seer.”

  “Milton was blind.” I laugh.

  “They make the best kind.”

  I rearrange my spoon, lining it up next to the fork, and stare at my warped reflection in the shiny metal. “So someone couldn’t be a Seer and fight the creatures?”

  “No, they’d be far too vulnerable.”

  “Well, that’s insulting.” I slide the knife up and arrange the trio in a straight line.

  Devon gives a quick grin. “In a good way. Seers’ visions show us what’s to come, tidbits about who we are, our power, and our essence. That’s information we can’t let get into enemy hands.”

  “Enemy, like the creatures?” I think about how Mom hides her drawings, even from me. “How would they get information?” They’re creatures, not people.

  “If a Seer hasn’t been properly trained to harness the vision, the image can be intercepted by the enemy. If that happens, we lose the ability to decipher the vision, giving the enemy an advantage.”

  I stir the shake with the straw. Mom must have been intercepting my visions and drawing them out. That’s how she knew what I saw.

  “What do you mean by ‘stolen’?” I choose my words carefully. I can’t give away how much I know, or Devon will ship me to Council—the CIA of the second realm—without telling me how to fight the creatures.

  “Think of a vision like a printed photograph without a negative. Only one of its kind. If the image gets into the wrong hands before a copy is made, no one else can see what the picture is. That picture gives us information we need to create strategies to keep everyone safe.”

  “How do you make a copy, or harness a vision?” I’m certain I know the answer, but Devon can’t know.

  “When a Seer has a vision, the image must be transferred onto an external medium. Transferring the image comes in different forms: sketches, painting, sculpting, poetry—depends on the harnesser’s talent. Once the image is duplicated, the image can’t be siphoned—or stolen.”

  “That makes sense, but why are they the weakest of your group?”

  “They’re not the weakest. In fact, the opposite is true. We keep Seers under tight protection, because out of all the Awakened, they seem to have a ‘direct line’ in revealing and explaining our powers. And for our survival, that’s something we can’t let the enemy get a hold of.”

  I crumple my napkin, dropping it into the empty basket. “So they don’t fight, because if they have a vision when they’re in a battle, the enemy can intercept the vision and steal the knowledge?”

  “Precisely.” Devon looks searchingly. “Have you ever had an image in your mind that foretold the future or showed something you couldn’t explain, like you thought you were dreaming, but you weren’t?”

  Acting as nonchalant as possible, I pick a charred fry crumb out of the basket and pop it in my mouth before taking a long sip of the milkshake. How do I answer? Yes, Devon. I’ve been foretelling deaths since I was ten? Yeah, right. There’s no way I�
�m telling him that I’m a Seer so they can lock me up the same way Mom kept me sheltered and ignorant. My visions always foretold someone’s death, not Alliance trade secrets—at least, not that I know of. If I have another vision, I’ll draw out the image best I can so it can’t be stolen—or siphoned or whatever. Problem solved. ’Cause one thing’s for sure: regardless of their rules, I’ll do whatever it takes to fight and avenge Jess’s death, and I’m not above lying.

  I bite on the straw and pretend I’m thinking. I’ve got to come up with something close in case Devon can read through my lies the way Mom can. “I imagine things I want to happen, but it rarely pans out. Does that count?” Definitely not a lie.

  “Unfortunately, no.” He looks me over again. After a long, awkward silence he says, “Have you ever heard your parents use the word Dissenter?”

  “No. Never.” And that’s the honest truth. I squirm when he studies my collarbone again, as though he’s expecting something to appear.

  I brush the sweatshirt collar. “Is something on me?”

  Devon shakes his head. “I’m not sure why you’re so tough to figure out. It’s best if you test out all disciplines. Your Bent will become clear.”

  “It’s pretty clear I’m a Blade, don’t you think?”

  “We can’t go throwing people onto the front lines. Being a Blade isn’t just learning to fight. A Blade has an innate ability to detect threats and can sense when someone is about to attack seconds before it happens. It may appear like great reflexes, but it’s an added level of protection that keeps them alive. You throw someone into the battle who’s not a Blade and they’ll be dead in a matter of minutes.”

  “Guardians don’t have that gift?”

  “No. They’ve been given the ability to seek other Awakened, and instead of sensing an attack on themselves, they can sense potential destruction for others and protect them from it. Not fight the beasts.”

  “So they’re basically bodyguards.”