The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) (9 page)

But Micajah engulfed my trembling hands with his warm large ones, curling my fingers closed around the antidote. “It’ll keep the other trainees safe, and you focused. I’m sure you’ll figure out a clever way to get the blocker into their systems.”

“What about you?”

“No worries, mate.” He smiled. “It was purely a precautionary measure for us. We’ll be outside the pulse radius. We don’t need them. Why waste these pills on us? Besides, what my dad and the others don’t know won’t hurt them.” He shrugged. “I bet your oldies are overprotective, too.”

“My parents are dead.”

His smile disappeared. “Sorry. Any other rellies?”

“Just my brother, Cole. Look. I can’t take your stash of the antidote. What if something goes wrong?”

He laughed. “With the Torch Keeper at the helm of the ship, what could possibly go wrong?”

Instead of easing my mind, his words filled me with dread. I tried to give him the pills again, but he was already backing away.

“Micajah! I can’t accept this. It’s too much of a risk,” I whispered.

“It’s
Cage
.”

“Excuse me?”

“Call me
Cage
. Everyone does, except for my dad.”

“Look, Cage—”

“Get your sleep, mate. Big day tomorrow.” He tipped his fingers to his forehead in salute.

“Why would you do this? You barely know me.”

He paused and shrugged. “Like I said. I’ve been following your brief but impressive career. I like what I see so far. Maybe you’re more than a show pony after all.” His eyes fixed on me. “Besides, Digory Tycho and I were cobbers. He spoke very highly of you before he was recruited.”

I tried to swallow but it froze in my throat. “Digory … was a very special guy.”

“His blood’s worth bottling, I thought.” Cage paused then, eyes narrowing, lips pursing, before reaching into his pocket and taking out one more item: a small, circular holodisc. “Take a squizz at this.”

Taking it, I couldn’t help noticing the scratches marring its shiny surface. “What’s on it?”

“Tycho kept a journal. After his recruitment, I found it hidden among his personal effects. The final portion’s been damaged. Been working on restoring the bloody thing, but no luck so far. That’s what’s kept me from showing it to anyone else—I need to be sure.” His eyes burrowed into mine. “Maybe
you
can make sense of it, mate.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the veil of snow.

And now, after hours of tossing and turning, I remove the holodisc from where I’ve hidden it under my bunk. I jam it into my holocam, pop in an oval earpiece so none of the sleeping trainees can hear it, and slide under the sheets. My trembling finger hesitates before hitting the play button.

There’s a burst of three-dimensional static as the image begins to glow, and I take a quick peek from under the covers to make sure everyone else is still asleep. Then I turn on my side and position the holo off the edge of my bunk, which is right next to the corner of the room. For a second, there’s just eddies of electronic artifacts, and I worry that the disc has been damaged beyond repair.

But then it begins to morph, and I inhale sharply as Digory’s face appears.

His bright blue eyes are so full of excitement, so full of life. Unlike the last time I saw them, wrapped in that sickly caul. I shove that memory aside. His tawny hair hangs wildly about his handsome face and he’s dressed in the same tattered coat he was wearing the first time we connected in that dingy alley.

As Digory’s hand reaches out to adjust his recorder’s lens, I can almost imagine he’s extending it to me, and I catch myself before reaching out to touch the image.

“Not much time left before the Recruitment Ceremony,” he says.

The sound of his voice reignites so many emotions I’ve forced myself to let freeze over. I’d never thought I’d ever hear him again.

“I can’t risk this recording falling into the wrong hands, which is why I’ll destroy it after the ceremony,” he continues. “I’ve just made contact with Lucian Spark. I opened up to him about the rebellion—tried to convince him to join.” He shakes his head and a slight grin appears on his face. “But Lucian’s a stubborn one. I remember the way he used to give instructors a hard time in classes, always pressing them, always questioning the facts.” His face goes serious again. “He
really
loves his brother. That’s all he has left.” Digory’s eyes seem to pierce right through the image and into mine. “If Lucian gets recruited today, I have no doubt he’d die trying to save Cole.”

Now it’s my turn to smile, although it’s laced with
heartache. Even back then, he already knew me so well.

Digory shoots a look behind him, and, when he turns back to the cam, anxiety fills his face. “I’ve got to get to Town Square for the ceremony. Hopefully I can make contact with Lucian again before things start.” He leans closer to the cam, until his entire face fills the image. I can almost feel the warmth of his breath on my face. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get him to join our cause. I just need more time—”

The lights in the dorm flare, cutting through the darkness
like a supernova. I quickly shut off the holocam and stuff it under my mattress.

“Rise and shine, maggots!” Renquist blares from the
doorway. “Ascension Day has arrived!”

As Leander, Dahlia, Rodrigo, and Arrah scramble to their feet, I pause for a moment, Digory’s face still burned into my vision. When they’ve left to go shower, I retrieve the yellow pills and the retrofitted Fifth Tier pin from under my bunk.

I’ll
never
give up, Digory.

Today is for
you
.

eleven

That morning during breakfast in the commissary, the five of us are treated to a celebratory Ascension Day feast. Everyone’s so excited by the festivities that it’s easy to slip the powdered residue of the crushed GX07 pills into the orange juice before we toast.

My fellow trainees are all in great spirits. Dahlia actually compliments me on how I look in my uniform, and even Leander and Rodrigo—after all their bullying and verbal abuse—tease me in a brotherly way. I sense something different; a grudging respect that’s never been there before. They see me as someone who’s paid his dues. I’m one of
them
now.

After we’re done with breakfast and Dahlia pulls out her holocam to snap one final group picture commemorating the event, we march single file from the Citadel into Town Square. The growing sounds of the assembling crowd buzz in my ear like a hornet’s nest. But no matter how loud it gets, it can’t drown out the one thought bombarding my brain over and over again like a strategic military campaign:
Cassius is about to die and I am his murderer.

Good thing I was able to reach my contact at the barge last night before sneaking back into the Citadel. The barge operator was so grateful for how I saved his brother that I had to insist he take the money I offered. My plans are set: as soon as the Ascension Ceremony is over, I’ll slip away in the chaos, pick up Cole at the Priory, and board the ship. We’ll head west and disappear for good. Arrah and Cage will never know what happened to me, and it’ll be better that way.

The memory of Digory’s face floods my thoughts. I wish I’d had time to watch the rest of his journal. But I will, soon, when Cole and I are far away from this terrible place. For now, there’s comfort in knowing that not only am I carrying Digory in my heart and memory, but literally, in his ID tag, which is once again intertwined with mine under my uniform. The holocam with the disc is stuffed into a hidden pocket of my uniform. I know it’s risky to have it on me, but if all goes according to plan and we manage to escape after the assassination, I
need
to have this, the only image of his face and sound of his voice I’ll ever have.

Styles leads Dahlia, Leander, Rodrigo, Arrah, and me through the throng surrounding the dais, Renquist bringing up the rear. I squint against the hazy morning light that’s assaulting my sensitive eyes.

The heat pylons embedded throughout the square hum with activity, keeping the area clear of snow. It melts into clumpy rivulets that slosh through the perimeter before seeping
into the drainage grates. The moaning wind is crisp and bitter cold. At least it’s not snowing. But from the look of the grays and blacks tainting the horizon, it’s obvious that another storm is on the way.

We stride past the grand fountain of Queran Embers
that
Cage showed me on the diagram, and my eyes can’t help
but dart to the onlookers surrounding it. There’s Cage. And Drusilla, Boaz, Crowley, and Preshea. Nearby, the kid Corin is tossing pebbles into the water. Then we’re striding past and they’re behind us.

They’re already in place. Now it’s up to me to deliver.

The throng of spectators surrounds us on either side, glaring. It’s like they know what I’m about to do. In spite of the cold, sweat beads on my neck and trickles down my spine.

I loosen the collar of my uniform.

Focus. Breathe.

When we reach the first row of the cordoned-off seats right in front of the dais at the far end of the square, we file in and sit down.

The last time I saw this platform was during my recruitment for the Trials. Then, I’d been detached, removed from the entire process, watching from Cassius’s balcony and on the jumbotrons surrounding the plaza.

Now it all feels more real. More visceral. It was to
this
very platform that Digory, Cypress, Gideon, and Ophelia were led when Cassius announced their names on Recruitment Day. It’s fitting that it should all end in this very same place—before a new batch of sixteen-year-olds are chosen during tomorrow’s Recruitment Day ceremony.

Arrah nudges my arm and I turn to follow her gaze. Lurking in the shadows of the turrets and gargoyles of the Citadel, overlooking the dais, are dark figures wielding gleaming weapons. Snipers, armed with assault rifles. Considering that most of the seats behind us are filled with squads of Imposers, this seems like overkill to say the least. I guess that with the Prime Minister making a personal appearance and the recent acts of sabotage against the Establishment, they’re not taking any chances.

Ten Imposers trot up to the dais, each guiding a leashed Canid. The hulking black beasts pad up the stairs, and it’s almost as if they’re the ones leading their masters. They strain against the leashes, burying their large snouts in every nook and cranny of the stage. Searching for weapons, no doubt.

My hand reflexively tugs at my pin, almost as if I’m trying to shield it. Hopefully they haven’t been trained to sniff out BMPs, or this little party will be over before it’s begun.

After a few tense minutes, the beasts settle down and lead their masters off the stage and through the crowd. People scramble to give them a wide berth, despite being so tightly packed together.

I free the breath I’ve been holding.

The spotlights flicker to life and arc through the square. There’s a burst of static from the jumbotrons as all of them fill with live feeds of the stage.

Trumpets blare, heralding the start of the Ascension Cer
emony. All my muscles tense. This is it. Whatever happens,
there’s no going back now.

Everyone stands. In case anyone forgets to, there’s always an armed Imposer around to remind and motivate them.

I crane my neck to look behind me. A procession of hover coaches winds down the pathway toward the stage. Even though their cabs are transparent, the occupants are protected by a safety bubble of repellent energy seals, designed to deflect even the most aggressive weapon’s fire.

I flinch. Even through the ticker-tape blizzard I can make out Cassius’s profile next to that of the Prime Minister. They’re waving to the crowds, who are too terrified not to reciprocate.

Valerian is sitting in the row behind me, along with Sergeant Slade. Slade sneers and turns away, as if the very sight of me offends her. But Valerian’s face is a marble bust of non-emotion. I swipe the sweat from my brow. What is she thinking? Does she suspect what I’m up to?
Shut up
, I tell myself. I’m just being paranoid. I try to break the tension with a nod, but her unyielding expression is too unnerving. I finally force myself to look past her.

As the cars get closer, the forced applause builds to a rumble. It feels like I’m at the summit of a volcano, unable to move, waiting impotently for it to erupt and engulf the entire Parish in a deluge of molten heat and ash.

Beside me, Dahlia, Leander, and Rodrigo are whistling
and pounding their palms together with verve, as are most
of the military personnel surrounding us.

My hands barely graze each other and, though I open my mouth, no sounds tumble out. My eyes snare Arrah’s and I can tell she’s doing her best to mimic the others, just like I am. Then they flit to the fountain to catch a glimpse of Cage and his team.

Prime Minister Talon and Cassius are now standing on the dais, along with their retinue of government officials and at least a dozen armed security escorts. I stifle a satisfied gasp—standing behind them is Prior Delvecchio and a quartet of monks, their scarlet robes silhouetting the others like flames. My tongue caresses my lower lip. Good. The pot just got sweeter. If anyone deserves to be up there, it’s
him
.

Cassius holds up his hands. Unlike at my Recruitment Ceremony, where he had his back to me the whole time he concocted his ultimate betrayal, this time Cassius is facing me head-on. At least I’ll give
him
the courtesy of staring him in the eyes when I destroy his life.

He lowers his hands to grip the sides of the lectern. A smile snakes across his face, cutting across the stage and right through me. “Citizens of the Parish and honored guests,” he begins. “As we gather here today to celebrate this time-honored tradition of Ascension Day, it is my great privilege as your Prefect to present the esteemed leader of our society, the person responsible for maintaining the legacy of the strong and just civilization established so long ago by our forefather, Queran Embers, and for forging the pathway to our future.” He extends a hand to his right. “I give you Prime Minister Talon!”

The masses burst into applause and cheers, which reverberate through the square like the buzzing of a giant hive. Fear and starvation are truly amazing motivators.

Prime Minister Talon glides across the dais, her limbs long and lithe like an arachnid, the train of her silver, fur-lined gown unspooling behind her like a web. Her dress matches the gray of her hair, which is pulled back into a bun made of braided hoops that dangle at the sides of her neck like twin nooses. The deep wine of her lips contrasts against a canvas of frost-colored flesh pulled too tightly around the sharp bones of her skull—the artificial effects of ten-too-many age-
rejuvenation treatments.

She smiles and grabs Cassius’s hand with her spindly fingers. Leading her the rest of the way to the lectern, Cassius fades into the background as she stabs at the air with her index fingers and clears her throat.

“My dear Prefect Thorn. Thank you for such a warm welcome,” she croaks. Her voice sounds like spinning tires on gravel. “I know that I speak on behalf of all the citizens here today when I commend you on what an exemplary job you’ve done in enforcing the laws of our government and maintaining order here in the Parish”—her face congeals into sorrow—“despite the continued onslaught of the insurrectionist vermin even now plotting to sow the seeds of discord among our people.”

Arrah and I shoot each other a look. I can tell she’s just as nervous as I am—even more so, because the girl she loves is here right now, exposed and vulnerable should anything go wrong.

“We need more young people like Cassius Thorn,” Talon continues. “More young people to take pride in their government and join us to build a bolder future. That is why this ceremony means so much to me.”

She takes a deep breath, as if trying to compose herself. “The sight of the Imposer cadets we are honoring today, who are taking the selfless initiative to serve their country, fills me with pride as if they were my own children!”

Another tempest of applause. I shift my weight back and forth and swipe at the cold sweat blurring my vision. My eyes dart from Cage and his crew to the snipers, the exits, and then back to the dais, over and over again. The BMP feels like it’s burning a hole through my uniform and seeping acid into my chest.

Cassius won’t stop staring at me, and I force myself to hold his gaze so he won’t suspect what’s about to go down.

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.