The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy (32 page)

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Authors: A. E. Waller

Tags: #magic, #girl adventure, #Fantasy, #dytopian fiction, #action adventure, #friendship

BOOK: The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy
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Bridging?


Ceremony that officially promotes you to the next level on intusmagus. The first one typically happens when an apprentice bridges ink from one side of the body to the other. Depends on how they learn. There are many stages of Bridging, all of which lead up to the highest level of Doyen. I

ll arrange it for a day or two after we get back from the scavenge. You should be ready by then.

The light blinks on the desk, signaling the end of the day.

Brew the ink for the Furtim group in the morning and I

ll stamp you. Placement of ink on the neck, face and head can be problematic. We should probably talk about that sometime.

Chapter Nineteen

 

 

Two nights later, about thirty minutes after The Mother

s key clicks my door locked for the night, I hear movement in the common room, and the handle of my door begins to move slightly. A light pulses in the painted fist above my door. The pinkie finger is glowing, signaling something in our block has been tampered with. I slip out of bed and crouch behind it, my heart pounding in my ears. I

m not sure why I

m hiding. There

s nowhere to go, no way to escape. I rack my brain for something I have done to anger The Mothers, anything that would call for the five in black to come to our block. Are they here to force me to watch PG3456 tortured? The door slowly opens and I

m about to scream when I see Loshee

s shaved head and strip of braids outlined in the dark.


You could have told me it was tonight,

I hiss at her.


Did I scare ya?

she whispers back.

I grunt in reply and start pulling off my pajamas to get dressed.

Not at all, I just don

t have my suit with me. I left it in my den,

I say looking around for something appropriate to wear in the ice cold dead of night.


Gotcha covered,

she replies as she tosses me a wrapped bundle.

Juwas sends her compliments. You

ll be happy to know she finished Zink

s pants too.

I unwrap the bundle to reveal a small knot of fabric loaded down with leather straps. Holding up the top, the straps seem to keep the fabric with gaping holes attached to the body. There certainly isn

t enough actual shirt to stay on under its own power.

I

ll freeze to death in this!

I say.


Think Juwas didn

t cover her bases? Wait until I tell her what little faith you have in her abilities. Just put the thing on and let

s go. We will be late. Besides, there

s a cloak in there.

Untangling the buckles and straps, I manage to get the new suit on without much struggle and I drape the cape around my shoulders. I pile my hair on the top of my head and shove the black diamond pin over my left ear on the way out of the common room door. As I follow closely behind Loshee, I don

t recognize anything. In the fifteen and a half years I have lived in this building and traveled these halls, I have never once seen it in the dark. The city streets are stranger still. Every plant, building, and statue leers menacingly out at me from shadows.

We don

t head north towards the Gratis Building, instead making our way due east to the checkpoint arch that looms imposingly over the first of two main gates leading to the outside world. Abbot, Zink, Journer and an older woman with snow-white hair I remember from the control nest after the simulation are waiting for us.


This is Statric, Keres. She

s leading the scavenge,

Loshee says to me.


Nice to have you with us, Keres. After your performance in the simulator, I

m confident you will be a valuable asset this evening,

Statric says to me in a voice as smooth as heavy cream. Her hair arrangement of three buns arcing across the top of her head like a crown doesn

t distract from the long vertical scar that cuts her face perfectly in half. It travels down the center of her nose from far back under her hair line and ends in a deep X shape directly above her larynx. I suppress a shudder, thinking about what could possibly cause a scar like that.


Thank you for the opportunity,

I say to her. This seems to have been the right thing to say, as Statric smiles warmly at me and begins to arrange the packs. Abbot just rolls his eyes.


Everyone ready? It

s time to depart. Thank you for
retrieving Keres, Loshee.

Statric says. She looks up at the arch and waves a hand signal, a light blinks in a window, and the first gate opens enough to let us walk through single file. We walk across the huge holding yard, leaving Loshee under the arch, towards the second gate while the first one is closing behind us. Statric raises her hand to signal again, a light blinks in another window and the outer wall gate moans in protest. We pass through the opening and I find myself standing outside of Chelon for the first time in my life. Adrenaline blazes through me like a bullet train and I have to clench a strap on my suit to keep my hands from shaking. We walk across the rail tracks and into the thick woods on the other side.

I

m in the middle of the group, right behind Zink and in front of Abbot when I realize none of us have our weapons. I turn my head to say something to Abbot, when he puts his finger to his lips, signaling for me to stay quiet. We walk for several minutes, single file and silent. My nerves are on edge. Even though the trees are close, knowing I am not contained by walls is making it difficult not to bolt for the mountains.

Our group comes to a stop and I lean out of the line to see around Zink. In the middle of a clearing is another Unspoken, leaning against a hitching post with six horses tied to it.


Are we going to ride?

I say excitedly to Abbot.


Yes, now be quiet.

The Unspoken unties a set of reins and holds them out to me. I walk to him silently and take them from him. My eyes travel the thin strip of leather up to the horse

s nose, then to his eyes and over his body. He is the dappled gray horse from Fauna Management

s entertainment at the Oath of Service feast night. I was right, the tip of his soft pink nose does just come to mine. I run my hand over his face and down his neck, instantly matching my breath to his.


Whenever you

re ready, Keres,

Abbot says, already mounted on a solid black stallion that towers over my dapple gray.

We are here to wait on you.

I shoot a quick look of unabashed loathing at him and walk to the side of the dapple gray, unsure how to climb up in the saddle. The Unspoken who was waiting with the horses comes up behind me and shows me how to put my foot in the stirrup and swing my body over the saddle.

Thanks, uh-

I start to say, realizing I don

t know his name.


Holden,

he supplies while looking down at his feet.


Thanks, Holden,

I settle into the saddle and grip the reins.


Zink, if you would please,

Statric says.

Zink touches a space of ink on his right thigh, sending a flow of sparkly gray smoke around the horses

hooves. Holden mounts the chestnut mare on my left and taps the rear flank of my horse with his hand. I hang onto the saddle horn for dear life, jerked backwards by the forceful takeoff. The landscape around me whips by in a creamy blur of greens and browns. I think we cross several rivers but I can

t be certain. Zink and Journer ride in front of me. Zink

s back is pitched slightly forward, one arm hanging relaxed at his side. He is completely at his ease on horseback, traveling faster than a bullet train. From my right, Abbot looks over at me and throws back his head laughing. My eyebrows furrowed, I press my lips together and grip the saddle tightly with my thighs and loosen my hold on the horn. I try to emulate Zink

s posture, but keep both hands on the reins, resting them on the horn just in case I have to hang on tightly again.

The horses begin to slow an hour later as the edge of the woods rises on the horizon. When Journer and Zink part in front of me, I have to clap my hand over my mouth to keep from exclaiming. It

s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen: a vast blue lake, the water sparkling like a thousand sapphires and diamonds in the moonlight, surrounded by a green field studded with patches of yellow and purple flowers. Rising up from the water, in the dead center of the lake is a figure of a man holding a trumpet to his mouth. Surrounding him are giant stone fish with the faces of birds, all of them spewing water from their open beaks. The air is crisp and dry. A soft breeze ripples the water and makes the flowers nod.


Dismount, Keres, and get your weapons out of the saddlebag,

Abbot commands me.

I slide off the saddle into Holden

s outstretched hands and turn to the saddlebags to pull out my wristbows. Buckling them in place, I slowly spin on the spot, looking all around me. This place feels like magic.


Watch where you step, Keres. Don

t tread on the yellow flowers. They release a poisonous powder when you press the petals,

Zink tells me as we drop the reins in the grass, leaving the horses to graze and catch their breath.

Statric gives us instructions on what we are to scavenge and we separate into three groups- Journer with Zink, Holden with Statric and Abbot with me. We don

t spread out past the clearing, keeping each other within earshot and clear view. Abbot and I make our way to the lakeshore and look around for signs of sliver wheat growing under the soft sand. Abbot spots the oily bubbles popping through the ground first and has me dig around them with the silver trowel in my belt. He stands over me, his long bow primed, while I

m hunched over. I carefully make a trench around the bubbles so the sliver wheat can

t escape when I scoop them up from the bottom. Sliding the plug of sand surrounding the sliver wheat into a bag from my belt, I move to the next patch of bubbles and repeat the process. Abbot keeps one leg touching my back throughout, swiveling his body around, watching the edge of the woods. Once, I feel his leg go stiff and I freeze, trowel poised in mid air, but he relaxes almost immediately and I press on. When I have collected seven plugs of sliver wheat, I stand and stretch my back taut.

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