Exile (Keeper of the Lost Cities) (44 page)

W
AKE UP SOPHIE,” A DEEP,
raspy voice called, and the déjà vu ripped Sophie out of the thick mental fog.

“Relax,” the voice ordered as she thrashed on the soft cushion she was lying on—half expecting to feel bonds restraining her. But her limbs moved freely.

“We’re on
your
side—remember.”

My side
, she told herself as she forced her eyes open—though she had no idea what
her side
was. The light from a single crystal hanging over her head burned her corneas, and it took several seconds to adjust.

How long had she been out?

She sat up slowly, letting her head clear before she turned to examine her surroundings. There wasn’t much to see. She rested on a small cushioned cot—almost identical to the cots in the Healing Center. The rest of the space was an empty void of darkness.

“Where are you?” she called, surprised as her voice echoed off walls that were much farther away than she would’ve guessed.

A heavyset figure stepped into the light. “You kids and your screaming.”

Sophie felt her jaw fall open. “Mr. Forkle?”

“That’s one of my names, yes.”

“Want to tell me the real one?”

A tiny smile played across the wrinkles of his bloated face. “When the time is right.”

That wasn’t good enough. She’d flown who knew how far and been drugged and dragged to who knew where—she didn’t go through all of that to not get answers. She closed her eyes and pushed her mind into his and . . .

Hit a wall of silence.

Mr. Forkle laughed—though it sounded more like a wheeze. “You’re not the only one with an impenetrable mind. That’s why we’re alone right now. Can’t have you searching for things you’re not yet ready to understand.”

Sophie glared at him. “I deserve to know what you’re hiding from me. And I want my memories back—and my journal pages!”

“It’s not a matter of
deserving
, Sophie. Knowledge is a dangerous thing. Trust me when I say that it’s better for you not to know.”

“All I ever do is trust you!”

“I know, Sophie. And we appreciate it.”

“Then trust
me.
Give me some answers!”

He fell silent, and Sophie wondered if she’d gone too far. But then he said, “All right.”

“All right, what?”

“I’ll give you one answer.
One
.”

“I . . . okay . . .”

“Choose your question wisely, Sophie. I won’t give you another.”

She nodded, trying to make sense of the tornado of questions swirling inside her head. There were so many things she wanted to know. But what did she
need
to know? What single piece of information would change everything?

“Okay,” she said, straightening up. “I have my question—and you have to promise to answer honestly.”

“You have my word.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath before she met his gaze and asked, “Did the Black Swan murder Jolie?”

The question knocked him back a step. “Is that what Grady thinks?”

“Yes. The fire happened right after someone slipped him a note that said, ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’ ”

“That . . . is not what that message meant,” he said quietly.

“So that’s a no, then?” she asked after several seconds of silence.

“Yes, Sophie, that is most definitely a no. Though it explains many things.”

Relief poured through her in warm waves—though she was tempted to point out that if they were
clearer
with their messages, they wouldn’t have these problems. And she couldn’t help wondering, “What does it explain?”

His lips formed a word, then switched to a smile. “I said
one
question. And we have wasted enough time as it is. We have a bigger problem to address.
You.
”

The warmth faded as quickly as it came.

Mr. Forkle moved closer, and the smell of dirty feet made Sophie gag. It was the ruckleberries he ate to disguise his identity. They made the skin swell and wrinkle, like an overweight, elderly human. “I’m afraid your mind is broken.”

The room tilted sideways—or it might as well have. “Broken like Alden . . . ?”

He shook his head, running a pudgy hand down his face. “No, not like Alden. And if we’d known you were damaged, we never would’ve sent you down there. It was a miscalculation on our part. I should’ve expected that something happened when you faded—especially since I did think it was strange that the Vacker boy could transmit to you after that. But I wrongly assumed he’d found the way through.”

“Wait.” She rubbed the temples of her still foggy head. “There’s a way through my blocking?”

How else do you think I gave you your memories?
he transmitted.

His mental voice didn’t sound screamy like Fitz’s, but hearing it in her head made her want to claw the words back out.

“It’s a secret way only I’m supposed to know,” he said out loud, “but he’s a talented boy and I thought maybe he’d figured it out when your mind was weakened by the leap. But that was my mistake. If I’d checked, I would’ve realized there are two gaps in your barriers now. And the new gap has absolutely no defenses. It’s like a chink in your armor. A weak spot where things you should be able to block push through—some easier than others. Like Fitz’s transmissions. Or Bronte’s inflicting. Or the dark shards of the broken minds you were meant to heal.”

She shuddered at the memory. “So, you
did
want me to fix Prentice. That was what your first clue meant?”

“In part. We needed Alden to take you down there in order for you to have access to Prentice, so the message was also meant to convince him that you should be his guide. But yes. We knew when we started Project Moonlark that we could very well endure some casualties—especially with our Keepers—so we gave you the ability to heal broken minds. That way you could recover anyone who was lost.”

“But everyone told me that healing minds is impossible.”

“As are most of the things I’ve enabled you to do, Sophie. I’ve done extensive research, and I discovered a safe place inside the mind. A nook where things can be hidden. We trained our Keepers to hide a part of their consciousness there during a memory break, so that we could rescue them later.”

The words triggered such a mix of relief and terror Sophie didn’t know what to do with them.

She could fix Prentice—finally set that right!

But what if she couldn’t fix Alden?

He hadn’t been trained to retreat to the nook—and she hadn’t felt his presence the way she’d felt Prentice’s when she tried the probe.

What if there was nothing left to rescue?

“How does it work?” she asked, hoping there was still a chance. “How do I rescue them?”

“The rescue is the easy part. The hard part is getting there. That’s why we designed you the way we did. We needed a powerful Telepath with an impenetrable mind to probe past the madness without getting lost. Then once you’re there, all you have to do is inflict powerful, positive emotions to build their strength back.”

“But I can’t inflict positive emotions.”

He gave her a knowing look.

“I can?”

“Only in theory—though it’s looking much more likely now that I’ve seen the connection between you and Silveny.
I modeled many of your genetic manipulations on alicorn DNA.”

“What?” She was on her feet without deciding to stand. “Are you saying I’m part
horse
?”

A horrifying image of her as some sort of mutant-Sophie-centaur flashed through her head, and she wanted to reach inside her brain and tear it out.

“Of
course
not, Sophie. I just needed something to base my research on, and Silla Heks had noted all kinds of interesting observations about the way her alicorn had affected her emotions. I suspected it meant that alicorns have a way of inflicting their feelings on others—both bad
and
good—so I decided to model some of my tweaks on their DNA. But you’re still one hundred percent elf.”

Sophie sank back down, too overwhelmed to even begin to process that. Especially when he added, “I have often wondered if that’s how you ended up with brown eyes, though.”

Sophie buried her head in her hands. How was she ever going to look in the mirror and see anything but a horse face now?

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Mr. Forkle grumbled. “This is not the tragedy you’re making it out to be—”

“Really? So you wouldn’t care if someone played Dr. Frankenstein with your genes?”

“Are you any different right now than you were five minutes ago, before you knew?”

“I don’t know,” she mumbled miserably. “It feels like it.”

“Well, you’re not.”

She rolled her eyes. Her stupid, freaky, horse eyes.

Mr. Forkle started to pace, stepping in and out of the shadows as he moved. “We’ve gotten off track. What’s important is that all my careful plans hinged on your mind being impenetrable. And it was, until you nearly faded away. Then your guard cracked, leaving an opening that light—and somehow Fitz—knows how to get through. I’m guessing you bonded with the light as you were fading, let it become a small part of you. And that bond has turned into a weak point where light—or darkness—can push through. That doesn’t explain Fitz, but maybe you pulled him through as you dragged yourself back, and his mind learned the way. Regardless, you made a special pathway straight into your brain, and things have been pushing through or slipping away because of it.”

That made almost zero sense—but Sophie supposed it didn’t matter. All that mattered was, “You can fix it, right?”

“In . . . theory.”

“No—that’s not what you said.” She fumbled in her pocket for the note and shoved it at him. “See—right there. We. Can. Fix. You.”

“We
can
fix you, Sophie.” He held up a tiny bottle made of glittering green crystal. “Drinking this will reset everything that’s been undone. But you need to understand the risk first.” He stared at the bottle instead of her as he said, “The only thing that will fix you is limbium.”

She scratched at her arms thinking of the hives. “You know I’m allergic.”

“I do. And believe me, I’ve tried to find another way. But alternatives like this”—he reached for the vial of Fade Fuel dangling from her neck—“simply aren’t strong enough. They’ve helped with the symptoms, which tells me I’m right about the cure. But the only true remedy is
real
limbium. A very strong dose.”

A slightly hysterical laugh slipped through her lips. “So, the only way to fix me is to give me something that will kill me.”

“No. The only way to fix you is to give you something that will
almost
kill you—and then give you the antidote I’ve carefully crafted and hope it stops the reaction.” Mr. Forkle sighed and sat beside her. His bulky body sank into the cushions, making her lean toward him more than she wanted. “The cure will work. Limbium affects the center of our special abilities, and this strong of a dose will serve as a reset, undoing any changes that have occurred since your abilities developed. But . . . there’s still a tremendous risk. Your allergy is a complete mystery to us. We’ve never encountered anything like it—and it’s already almost killed you twice.”

“So it
was
limbium that caused my first allergy? The one you erased from my memory because you don’t want me knowing what happened?”

He shifted his weight, making the cot creak. “Someday you will understand why that memory was taken. But yes, I gave
you a small amount of limbium—not realizing it would trigger such a violent reaction. If the human doctors hadn’t stepped in, I’m not sure what would’ve happened. Which is why I’ve made this.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the biggest syringe with the biggest needle Sophie had ever seen.

Spots danced across her eyes and she jumped to her feet, backing away from him into the shadows where he couldn’t see her. “Uh-uh—no needles.”

“It’s the only way.”

“No, I have this now.” She stepped back into the light, holding up the black vial Elwin gave her to wear around her neck.

“That won’t be strong enough.”

“It worked last time.”

“Yes, because the amount of limbium in that mild serum Dex gave you was less than a drop.” He held up the green vial again. “This is an ounce of
pure
limbium, and you must swallow every bit. It will take a lot to jolt your mind to reset—and a tiny bottle of Elwin’s medicine is not going to counteract that. This is the only way.” He stared at the needle and even
his
hands shook. “Though even then, I can’t guarantee it will be able to stop the reaction. This is human medicine I collected and then altered and enhanced. It’s completely untested. And the limbium will have to stay in your system for several minutes to allow it time to work, so the reaction will be full fledged by the time I treat you. Which is why this has to be your choice.”

She snorted. “Right.”

“I mean it, Sophie. Despite what you may think, you are not our puppet. We may give you suggestions and guidance, but in the end the final decision is always up to you. You can leave right now and remain just the way you are.”

“Oh, you mean broken.” She made no effort to hide the bitterness in her voice. “How nice of you to let me stay damaged and malfunctioning.”

“You’re only a
little
broken. You can still live a perfectly normal life, so long as you take your medicine to help with the fading.”

“But I won’t be able to fix Prentice, or Alden, right?”

“No. Your mind will never be impenetrable again. Not without this.”

“Well, then, it’s not really a choice is it?”

“It is, Sophie. You can choose to protect yourself.”

She stared at the bottle in his hands, trying not to think about the burning hives or the heaving pain of her last allergy attack. And the needle . . .

She couldn’t look at it.

And what about her family? Would Grady and Edaline want her risking her life for this?

But could she live with herself if she left Alden trapped in the nightmare of his insanity and Prentice drooling in his dim cell in Exile?