The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy (35 page)

“
Is it because I
’
m the Catalyst, like Juwas says?
”

Abbot doesn
’
t answer me and we reach my den. I stand, draped in a cape and dress that look like they are from another time, and stare at him stubbornly waiting for his reply.

“
Abbot, please,
”
I say in a low thick voice, tears pricking at my eyes.
“
Please. What is it that I am expected to do?
”

“
Secretum et Sacrificio. That is something for which you are not yet ready to know,
”
he says heavily.
“
They should not have treated your Bridging like you were a sacrificial lamb,
”
he says with a hiss.

“
I- what? Sacrifice? Are they going to sacrifice me? Kill me?
”
I squeak in disbelief.

“
No, no, nothing so simple.
”

“
What then...am I never to know what it is I
’
m supposed to be?
”

Abbot looks, his eyes drowning in a deep well of wretchedness,
“
These are things that would destroy you,
”
he whispers.
“
Things far beyond The Mothers, things far beyond the torture they inflict. It
’
s coming, Keres. But not now, not yet. You have too much to learn first.
”

“
What can I do, Abbot? What can I do to get there?
”
I plead. I have to know what I am. What is happening to me? How does being the Catalyst impact our escape? It becomes instantly and excruciatingly clear to me. It means that not only The Mothers will pursue us, but all the Tutelas as well. And if that
’
s true, then I am endangering PG3456 and PG3453 by going with them. They would never outrun the Unspoken. We would be brought back, and they would be turned over to The Mothers and undoubtedly killed in a intensely public and immensely heinous way. I would be protected from death of course, since I am the Catalyst. I will be forced to live like a horrible hybrid of Abbot and Juwas, imprisoned in the Warren with the knowledge that my own actions brought the death of eleven innocent people, friends I love with my whole self.

I will have to help them escape, then go underground in the Warren. It
’
s better to be sequestered by choice than by force. I can help Juwas and live here until my ultimate destiny as the Catalyst is fulfilled, whatever it is. Then I will either join them on the outside or be dead. Either is preferable to this awful purgatory of ignorance and doubt.

“
Keep learning,
”
Abbot says simply, roughly.
“
We can start with containing the magus in your palm without holding your fingers over it. It
’
s high time you stopped throwing like a child with training wheels. But first, change. We have training.
”

My hour of being the white cape clad savior of the Unspoken is gone. Abbot barks at me through the bathroom door as I buckle the last straps of my new suit, the Bridging dress on the floor.

* * *

At dinner a few weeks after my Bridging, Wex
’
s leg bounces nervously. Under the table, I put my hand on his knee to steady it and opt to leave it there when it works. And because I like the way it feels. Who knows how much longer I will be able to touch him before they make their escape. I push the thought away and look across the table to see Frehn, who is openly staring at my neck. Ever since I was stamped with the Furtim tattoo, a beautiful fox whose bushy tail wraps down my neck and weaves into the woman
’
s hair on my shoulder, I have caught both Frehn
and Wex gaping at it with their lips parted and their eyes glazed over. It
’
s like the swirling paisley pattern the fox becomes when not in use holds both Wex and Frehn in a trance. I tug the collar of my shirt up to cover some of the pattern and try to break Frehn
’
s gaze.

As soon as I do, he shakes his head a little and says,
“
Learned a new song today.
”
That
’
s enough to get everyone to wolf down the rest of their sweet potatoes and head quickly to the block. Once secured in our common room, Wex pulls out a dozen tiny envelopes from his boots and holds them out to Merit with quivering hands.

“
Seeds, to add to the stash,
”
Wex says.

“
How-
”
begins Harc, her eyes wide with alarm.

“
Just one from each pack in storage,
”
he quickly reassures her.
“
Took me three months to get them all. There is no way for them to find out. We don
’
t count the seeds, just weigh them. And I made sure that each pack weighed the same. I hid mine under a board in the storage room so if they were missed, they could have just fallen through the cracks in the floor. But no one noticed they were gone, even after the inventory check last week. So I thought it was safe to get them out.
”

Merit presses the thin envelopes between the pages of his notebook and stores them in his pack.
“
The only thing we are missing from the stash is something to protect us,
”
he says,
“
and that will have to wait until we are on the outside, I guess.
”
He glances furtively at me and I realize they are all counting on me to keep them alive when we go over the wall. And I can
’
t do that if I
’
ve gone underground in the Warren. Rocks in the pit of my stomach are becoming a consistent feeling for me. Every time the plan comes up, which is every night lately, my internal organs contract into wicked shapes. I will just have to find a way to get them weapons, real ones, before they escape. If Poy was able to find a way to disable the bullet train, then I can find a way to protect them.

As Frehn tunes up, Doe sits at his feet with a Healer
’
s book, and Harc and Merit arrange the fire. My heart skips a beat when Wex touches my arm and nods over to the other side of the room. I follow him to the window seat, feeling Frehn
’
s eyes watching us. Sitting down, I look up at Wex expectantly, a nervous smile on my lips.

“
You seem to have new tattoos every day now,
”
he says, touching my newest pattern on my right wrist. It was the last one I needed to complete my right arm sleeve. Tomorrow I am supposed to finally start working on different throwing techniques. Abbot wavers between wanting me covered in as much ink as possible and learning to escalate my ability with each nerve group.

Wex
’
s fingers travel to my neck and he moves them over my fox tattoo as if he
’
s trying to smooth the wrinkles out of his bed sheets. The hair on the back of my neck stands straight up. Frehn begins to play in the background but Wex and I stay on the window seat, his hand on my neck.

I
’
ll meet you under the tall corn stalks

Away from those who watch

I
’
ll meet you under the towering stair

Away from he who sleeps

I
’
ll meet you under the heavy cart there

Away from she who weeps

“
Frehn
’
s right, they are pretty. He says they are intoxicating. Soft on you somehow. I can
’
t stop looking at them. Or you.
”
I
’
m breathing short, shallow breaths. The rocks in my stomach have turned into birds which are beating their wings rapidly around.

Come to me under the blanket of dark

Where I will fold you deep

Come to me under the guise of light

Where I
’
ll shelter you for keeps

Come to me under under the eyes of Might

Where I will hold you tight

“
When we leave here, Keres, I want to start a new life. A new civilization. With all twelve of us going, we can start a new city together. One that
’
s ruled by just compassion, establish a rotating council as a government, each one of us having a vote in all the decisions,
”
he says, moving both his hands to cup my face.

Meet me under the tributary floor

Where we will yearn no more

Meet me under the layer of wood

Where our pain can be withstood

Meet me under the cold earthen mound

Where we can sleep a-crowned

He lowers his voice to a whisper,
“
Except for Banding. I want to choose who I
’
m Banded to, Keres, don
’
t you?
”
He leans his head close to mine, his breath is warm and buttery like the sweet potatoes we had for dinner. Something hot burns through my chest and throat and I close my eyes as his nose comes so close to mine it
’
s no longer in focus.

The common room door tone sounds and two Mothers bustle in, one with plates of marshmallows and chocolate and the other with skewers. Wex had leapt up at the sound so fast, he was at the fireplace before the door even opened, leaving me leaning forward slightly with my eyes shut and lips extended. Blazing hexes, how do they always know the perfect moment to interrupt?

“
A little late night treat for you, dears!
”
trills a Mother waving her skewers.
“
We thought it would be so fun for you to roast them in your fires on such a cold night.
”

“
Thank you, Mother,
”
Harc says sweetly.

“
Oh, yes, thank you!
”
everyone choruses.

The Mothers arrange the plates and skewers around the fireplace and give a long list of reminders not to get burned, not to drop anything on the rugs, and not to eat too much. They go around the room straightening pillows and books while Harc and Frehn make an effort to start roasting the marshmallows in apparent raptures. Wex keeps his back to me in the window seat.