The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy (29 page)

I also have a pair of magpies wrapped around my wrist and joined at the beaks, for finding objects. There
’
s a green vine wrapping around the upper part of my forearm, which throws a gripping magus that allows me to hold things as well as feel their textures. The one I have had the most difficulty learning to control is the Contortio group. The spinning blades design of ink above my fishing net band sends out a vortex of sucking whirling power. I put the target range out of commission with it last week. Loshee said the repairs could take a month or more. I damaged the generation mechanism below the floor with the downward drawing force.

Learning to control and throw different magus in rapid succession had taken the place of physical training for several days running. Loshee had suggested that I start in the combat simulators today, a scavenge scenario to better prepare me for the trip in a few nights
’
time. Evidently, Abbot has other ideas. My thigh muscles scream in protest as I slam into the lockers on my thirtieth lap across the mats. Gasping for air, I push off and start back to the other side.

“
That
’
s enough,
”
Abbot says from his perch on my desk.
“
You can lift weights now.
”

“
Thanks so much,
”
I say, turning towards the weight bench.

“
While you are lifting, I
’
ll tell you a story.
”

“
Even better.
”

“
Once upon a time,
”

I stop pressing the barbell away from my chest and look at him with a raised eyebrow.

“
Fine. About forty years ago, the morning after a scavenge, an Unspoken in his second year of Service told his Play Group about a beautiful lake he had seen on the other side of the outer wall. He talked about it with such indiscretion that he was overheard by a much younger Play Group. One of the little girls in the group lost her head with the desire to see that lake. One day, she was so consumed with yearning, she slipped in-between the iron bars of the wall and blindly walked away in search of the cool blue water. The Mothers pursued her of course and brought her back. Within hours of her retrieval, her entire Play Group was hacked to death with an axe blade, legs cut off first to emphasize their crime was an attempt at escape. The girl went mad before the second person
’
s legs were amputated and she screamed about the lake like it was some kind of promised land, a safe refuge, through the entire Extinguishing. Until she was forever silenced with a final swing of the axe.
”

My stomach churns, my heart feels as though it
’
s somewhere at the bottom of my lower intestines, my upper lip curls back in preparation to retch on the floor, and my vision is nothing but blur.

Swimming, oscillating blur. The man who works the chickens saw her, strung up like a trussed pig between The Mothers
’
horses.
“
Why-
”
I start and find I
’
m unable to ask.

“
Why did I tell you this? Because when we go on the scavenge, you will see that lake and much more. Because you need reminding beforehand. Everything we do, everything we work towards affects everyone on the surface. We cannot relax our guard, even for a blink of an eye. That Unspoken said nothing that caused his Guard tattoo to react, yet his words resulted in the deaths of six children. And he has had to live with that knowledge for forty years. The Mothers will go to any lengths to break us, to beat us into submission. To prove that they are the ones in control of Chelon. Nothing is out of their reach. Remember that.
”
Abbot stops talking abruptly. He says nothing else for several minutes and I see his throat move as he swallows hard, his eyes over-bright as he slides off my desk and leaves my den. I sit for a long time on the weight bench, head buried in my hands.

I leave the hall for lunch with conflicting desires. I want more than anything to puts my hands on PG3456, to touch them and know that they are still warm with life. And I want to hide deep in the Warren and never see the surface or The Mothers again. My need to see PG3456 wins out and I change into my everyday clothes again. Zink is waiting for me at my den door.
“
You look green, feeling alright?
”
he asks with concern in his voice.

“
Fine, Abbot just-
”
I don
’
t want to talk about what Abbot told me.
“
He just ran me hard is all.
”

Zink looks at me, I can tell he doesn
’
t buy my story, but thankfully he doesn
’
t question me. In the elevator, we throw the thought-clearing magus together. I fall against the wall of the car once I have locked the bloody axe in a small safe and pushed it into a dark corner of my mind. I could cry with both despair and relief now that the little girl
’
s screams are no longer reverberating around the forefront of my thoughts.

Frehn catches up with me at the fork. He knows something is intensely wrong but he simply kisses my forehead and takes my hand, running it through his arm and we walk silently to the canteen. PG3456 eats quietly and retreats to the little knot of evergreen trees just north of the Quad. The trees provide some protection from the cold wind that
’
s whipping down from the mountains.

“
They are trying to break me through each of you in turn,
”
I spill out in a rush, teeth chattering against the cold.
“
They will prey on each of you to teach me I can still be controlled. I promise you now,
”
I look into each of their eyes,
“
I promise each of you right now, I will never put you at risk. I will do nothing to anger them. I will be submissive and passive.
”

“
Keres, we know,
”
Merit says as he reaches his gloved hand out to grab my arm, giving me a slight shake.
“
We know.
”

“
But you don
’
t, we haven
’
t been alive long enough to know what they are capable of! We have to stop planning. I cannot let you risk more- more torture- or death.
”

“
That
’
s our choice, not yours,
”
Harc says.
“
And we choose to risk everything in order to gain freedom. I know you can do nothing to help us now, but you will on the other side when we are out from under them. I just have to remember that when the doubts The Mothers have planted in me try to take over,
”
she smiles weakly at me and presses her icy lips to my cheek. We squeeze each others
’
hands and return to our Services for the afternoon. I feel sick with fear for their safety and for my sanity.

Loshee greets me when the elevator doors open to the hall.
“
Hiya! We are gonna infuse your weapon with ink today!
”
she chirps, beads clicking. She follows me to my den, chatting wildly about the ink blend she developed specifically for my weapon. While I change, she prattles on, touching everything she can reach on my bookshelves. I have long since removed all the orange patches from the top half of the uniform, leaving my tattoos fully exposed through the openings. Behind my reflection in the mirror I watch Loshee hop from one foot to the other in an effort to make me hurry. The second I have fastened the last buckle on my boots, she yanks me to my feet and drags me to ink production.

“
Right, here
’
s the list and instructions. You start in on it and I
’
ll run and get the wristbows.
”
She bounds out of the room, leaving me to start collecting the components. Asafetida, clove, benzoin, dogbane, fenugreek, borage, patchouli and blue beetle antenna are just the top third of the enormous list. The instructions look more complex than any I have seen in the Magus Library. Loshee returns, holding a sleek dark mahogany case with a hammered steel band around it. She whips around the room getting the remaining elements and approaches me holding out an empty bowl with a notch in one side and a wide lip on the opposite rim. She pulls out a small golden dagger from her belt and reaches for my arm. I step back from her in surprise.

“
What are you doing?
”
I squeak wildly.

“
How else do you think the wristbows are going to know they belong to you? Gotta give up some of that sweet, sweet blood, Keres. Come on, Marigold won
’
t hurt cha,
”
she says, brandishing the golden dagger.

“
You named your knife?
”
I ask incredulously, still keeping my distance.

“
When they have personalities all their own, they end up naming themselves. Now come on, you
’
re wasting time.
”

I approach her cautiously. Loshee takes my arm and rests my elbow on the lip of the bowl so my wrist crosses to a notch in opposite side. She traces Marigold
’
s tip down the center of my arm once, then makes the cut on the second pass. I wince with the pain and turn my head so I don
’
t have to see my blood spilling over the sides of the cut into the bowl. Loshee counts to eleven then passes the back side of Marigold over the cut and it instantly closes, leaving a long scabby scar that travels from my wrist to the crook of my elbow.

Loshee tips my blood from the bowl into a phial and jams a cork in the top.
“
Perfect, got everything right at hand now. Start with step one there on the middle of the page,
”
she says, jabbing at the paper with Marigold
’
s hilt. My first assessment that the ink brew was complex turns out to be a gross misjudgment. I have to reread each line of the instructions several times aloud before I understand it. I take the extra precaution of making sure Loshee hasn
’
t lost interest in my movements before I make any attempt at carrying out a step. Two and a half hours later I tip the phial of my own blood into the bowl and stir. Red steam erupts from the liquid, giving off a sulfuric smell.

“
Finally,
”
Loshee breathes. She brings the wooden case around the table to me and slides the center of the steel band to the left, releasing the clasp. She opens the dark wooden lid and I let out a gasp. Sitting on a perfectly formed cushion of emerald green velvet is a matching set of silver and mahogany wristbows: the prod made of solid silver shaped into two thin, wide-spread wings, the stock carved and embellished like the body of a dragon, complete with emerald eyes.

“
Go on, put them in the ink,
”
Loshee says with a little shake of the box.

I gingerly pick them up, running my fingers over every inch of them, before slowly dipping them into the ink. When I let the second one drop to the bottom of the bowl, the ink turns golden, then green, and begins to boil rapidly even though the fire underneath it is still turned low. The ink level starts receding and I quickly bend down to look at the bottom of the bowl.
“
Loshee, the bowl must have cracked!
”
I exclaim with urgent concern.