Joshua cried out, then convulsed, wrestling the man off, freeing himself, as time slowed for a moment. I watched the horror on everyone’s faces as the blood trickled down Joshua’s back. He collapsed to the ground, screaming in agony, as his attacker took a step back, shocked by his own success. There wasn’t a trace of Punishment on his face. Attempted murder, with no consequences.
To my absolute revulsion, the crowd cheered again, trembling with animalistic delight as Joshua cursed in pain, blood pooling around him. A few guards rushed to his aid, but the rest stayed back, pulling me away from the fray.
As I was dragged away, I saw the crowd closing in. Still Unpunished. Wild with glee. Tearing into him.
When security finally dispersed the mob, it was clear—Prophet Joshua was dead.
14
Not knowing what else to do, the guards threw me back into room 20A with Zack. I was unhandcuffed, but for once I had no desire to leave—I was terrified to step outside.
Zack was stunned to hear the news. “Could it have been Esther?” he quietly surmised, face pale. I knew what he was implying. Might the CIA, afraid of having two prophets, have taken one out, choosing to protect me in the process?
“Maybe,” I said anxiously. It would let me off the hook at least, if someone else was responsible for this. But I felt cold; I couldn’t shake that the feeling that it hadn’t been Esther—that my speech had riled up those people so much that they were capable of committing murder.
Eventually Esther returned, pulling off her veil. “Are you okay?” she asked, shaken.
“Yeah. Joshua . . . ?”
“He’s dead. You need to go.” Her urgent tone unnerved me.
“Why?”
“He had a lot of allies. It’s hard to tell where loyalties lie. Who might be out for revenge.”
“What about Jude, and everyone in Turkey?”
“Safe for now.”
I was incredulous. “How?”
She pulled out her phone to show me—the speech I’d given only an hour ago already had millions and millions of views. “Your little sermon made it all the way to Turkey. You managed to turn just enough of Joshua’s troops to derail the operation. Right now, the army’s in a stalemate. As long as it holds, your friends should stay safe.” I wondered how long a detente like that could last . . . and how long the resistance could go without replenishing supplies.
Esther tossed me a second burqa, which I put on, and I followed her as she led Zack out in handcuffs. No guards hassled us while we were with Esther.
“Where are we going?” Zack asked as we walked.
“You’ll find out when you get there.”
When we arrived outside, a car was waiting for us with Dawn already inside, beaten and bloody from her interrogation. But she smiled at me, glad to be alive. “Great speech.”
After taking the handcuffs off Zack, Esther opened the car door for me. “Don’t come looking for me again.”
“I won’t,” I said. For once, I knew I’d made a promise I could keep. I’d almost sacrificed everything just trying to see her one more time, and now I never wanted to see her again.
After a moment, I gave in and let her hug me. I hated how much I still loved her. Her hug was safe and warm, and for a moment, I forgot what year it was, and who she’d become.
“I love you, Grace,” my mother whispered.
“Goodbye, Mom.” At least, this time, I got to say it.
Zack drove us to the point Esther had marked on the map, where we were to meet our transport out of town. It was near the docks, an unmarked building that appeared abandoned. But as we exited the car, a figure stepped out of the shadows.
“Grace?” It was Samantha, my dad’s girlfriend, walking toward us. I knew she had her own agenda! “I’m here to help you get to safety.”
Dawn and Zack instinctively followed her, but I hung back, suspicious. “Who are you working for?”
Samantha seemed to expect my wariness. “Your mother. She was worried when you got involved in all this. She wanted someone loyal to help keep an eye out and make sure you stayed safe.”
I tried to ignore the implications of my mother hiring someone to date my father. “So you were spying on me.”
“I never would have given the prophet any information that would have hurt you. That’s why I was there, to make sure no one did. After you tried to tell your father the truth, I was the one who convinced him not to take his concerns to Walden Manor.” I was disappointed to hear my father had broken my confidence, at least to Samantha. On the other hand, I’d never been so grateful to have an Evil Stepmother in my life.
As I followed her inside, I asked, “So what now, you disappear and break up with him?”
“No. He’s in more danger now than ever before. Because of you.” Her tone worried me—I hadn’t even thought about what might happen to my father.
“Can you get him to safety, too?”
“I’ll try,” she said. Though I believed her, the thought of him being watched over by an agent of my mother didn’t ease my worries as much as I would have liked.
“You’re getting us out of the country, right?” Dawn asked, clearly uncomfortable following a plan that wasn’t her own.
“We’re going to smuggle you out by boat,” Samantha said. “Someone on the other end will let you out.” Like everyone else in my mother’s organization, she either didn’t know or was unwilling to tell us our final destination.
Samantha loaded up the stock of supplies we’d need for the journey—enough food and water and Dramamine to last us weeks. The space belowdecks was cramped, and I knew we’d have to hide there until we got out onto the open sea. But we were safe, and alive, which is more than I could say for Jude and the others in the compound. I prayed that they were safe, prayed to Great Spirit, hoping He could hear me over the rambling voice in my head, hoping He might protect them. Hoping that I’d get to see Jude again.
Once it was safe for us to emerge, the men who sailed the boat were eager to speak to me. They knew exactly who I was, and they were excited to aid my cause. Over the course of our weeks-long trip, they bombarded me with questions. The captain wanted to know, should he propose to his girlfriend? The first mate worried about her father’s health—could Great Spirit heal him? I tried my best to answer, realizing just how far out of my depth I was. I had taken no class on how to be a prophet, and it made me nervous to realize just how powerful each and every word I uttered was now. And after witnessing Joshua’s death, that power scared me to my core. As did the thought of what would happen if people discovered the truth.
I remembered the conversation I’d had with Irene, Dawn’s wife, about religion being a mechanism for control. Assuming she was right, I’d just taken the reins to control a massive number of people . . . and I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to feel about it. Especially because, while I could say I believed in Great Spirit, I still couldn’t fully define what that meant for myself, much less for the world I’d just created.
I missed that feeling I’d had so briefly, when I’d first been infected with the mind control bugs—that my life had some kind of purpose again. The nanotech had hijacked my brain and convinced me that Great Spirit was leading me somewhere, that my actions looking for my mother were part of some greater plan. And it was a lie, I knew it was.
But in a way, the bugs had given me purpose, if only by accident. If I hadn’t been compelled to search for my mother, I never would have ended up in Joshua’s office, never would have seen that yellow residue, never would have been able to come up with a plan to stop him. It was simply a series of random events that had led me to this place, I knew that. But if I wanted to, I could create a story out of those random events, a story that gave my choices some kind of meaning. I knew it was a stretch, a selfish attempt to justify my own mistakes as being part of some larger purpose. Maybe that was all the purpose you could get out of life, the meaning you gave to it yourself.
And I knew now, this choice I’d mad
e, this path I was going down—that was all my doing. And whatever came next, it wasn’t Great Spirit who would have to answer for the consequences . . . it would be Grace Luther.
After weeks on the open ocean, sun beating down hotter by the day, we saw land again. As we navigated closer to the shore, I saw a small port, flanked by lush trees, sandy beaches—paradise, with a silver city peeking through treetops in the distance. Massing along the shore, there was an immense crowd of people—Outcasts, I realized, as we grew closer, all cheering. They knew we were coming; they were cheering for me.
As I exited the boat, they reached for me, all at once, overwhelming. Zack had to step in front of me, acting as my bodyguard. One woman tentatively touched my arm, then shivered with delight. I saw her face change—become more beautiful. I realized, with equal parts astonishment and fear, that I no longer needed any kind of special chemicals to heal people. Just being near me created a powerful spiritual experience inside someone, the kind that Forgave.
“The prophet of the Outcasts! You bless us with your presence,” a grotesque man said happily as he embraced me. He identified himself as the mayor of the nearby town and explained that we’d made it all the way to the northeast coast of Brazil, to one of the largest Outcast encampments in the world: Redenção, named for the Portuguese word for “redemption.” An Outcast metropolis, it seemed like, from the gleaming skyscrapers I could see not far from shore. The folks assembled here had been camped out for days—these were my most ardent followers. And it was true—Zack couldn’t hold back the crowd as they grabbed at my arms, touched my face, healing bit by bit.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner.” I stumbled over my words, overwhelmed by their response. And though my instinct was to avert my eyes from their mangled faces, I looked on through my disgust and saw their beauty. All these souls who wanted the same things I wanted—love, respect, companionship. I was their prophet now, whether I wanted to be or not.
“What can we do for you?” another woman asked, as she clutched at my sleeve.
I looked at Zack and Dawn, and they nodded at me encouragingly. “We need a place to stay for a little while. Somewhere safe.”
The crowd jittered with excitement. “She’s staying with us! She chose us!” I heard among the chatter.
The mayor reached out his hand and took mine, pulling me away from the fray. “Welcome home, Prophet Grace.”
Acknowledgments
Six years ago, I sat in my friend Ari’s apartment, and together we mapped out post-Revelation Earth—its detailed history, its major players, its future. It was one of those moments that made me realize just how much I loved that friend—what writer doesn’t want to date their very favorite collaborator, after all? Since then, Ari, you’ve read just about everything I’ve ever written, and I can find your thoughts entangled with mine on pretty much every page. One book dedication doesn’t seem like quite enough to thank you for your unflagging emotional support, and how frequently I get to borrow your brilliant creative mind. And I’m even more grateful knowing that this series is just the first of many worlds we’ll get to build together.
I also want to extend a massive thank-you to everyone who bought and read and tweeted about and recommended Sinless to their friends! I’ve been overwhelmed by all the love and support from friends and family and colleagues and delightful strangers; your kindness has meant the world to me. And a mega, massive thanks to the whole Harper Voyager marketing and publicity team for all the hard work you’ve put into this series!
Thanks as always to my amazing agent, Peter Steinberg, for your thoughts and helpful advice throughout this process.
A huge thanks to Priyanka Krishnan for your deft editorial skills, helping to shape this story and shepherd this series—you’ll be missed! Tessa Woodward and Elle Keck, thank you for getting this book to the finish line.
And thanks of course to the folks who helped get this series started: Rebecca Lucash, David Pomerico, Randy Kiyan, Claire Londy, Markus Plank, and Eva.
To Julianna Hays at MarVista, who’s been supervising the television adaptation—working with you has been such a pleasure, and I’m so excited to see where this journey takes us!
To Silanur Inanoglu, our fabulous sensitivity reader, thank you for all your thoughtful insights!
To everyone else who gave feedback on early drafts: Sarah Hawley, Laura Herb, Becky Ridgeway, Allie Kane, Janet Epperson, Casey Joy Ward, Cathy Hill—I’m so grateful for your wisdom!
To my Arrow family, for your support throughout this adventure, as well as all my mentors and creative partners from other projects.
And as always, my amazing parents. I wouldn’t be here without you (quite literally, duh), and I’m so grateful to get to share this with you.
About the Author
SARAH TARKOFF currently writes for the CW series Arrow. Other TV writing credits include ABC’s Mistresses, Lifetime’s Witches of East End, and the animated series Vixen and The Ray. She graduated from USC with a degree in screenwriting (hence all the screenwriting), and currently lives in Los Angeles. Sinless, the first book in the Eye of the Beholder trilogy, was her debut novel.
www.sarahtarkoff.com
Twitter: @sarahtarkoff
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By Sarah Tarkoff
Sinless
Fearless
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
fearless. Copyright © 2019 by Sarah Tarkoff. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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first edition
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
Digital Edition JANUARY 2019 ISBN: 978-0-06-245641-0
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-245640-3
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