The Parish is in chaos.
Attack squadrons of Squawkers soar through the air, spitting out fiery missiles that streak across the horizon like angry talons, tearing great rents in the sky. Loud concussions transform the tenements of my old neighborhood into billowing plumes of dark smoke. The stench of fire and roasting bodies clogs my nostrils and stings my eyes, which pool with burning moisture that streaks down my cheeks.
Right now, the resistance is scrambling, outnumbered, overpowered. I have no idea if Arrah and the others are already dead. For all I know, I could be looking at the funeral pyre of the rebellion, snuffed out of existence before it ever had the chance to thrive.
As soon as the last of the bombardment’s echoes die away, all the jumbotrons across the Parish flicker, cutting off with a burst of static, going black, then coming back to life.
It’s Cassius. His face appears saddened, yet stern. Not a trace of arrogance.
“Citizens of the Parish,” he begins. “I come to you in the gravest hour our society has ever known. You are all aware of the tide of insurgence that has plagued us for quite some time now. A short time ago, a pocket of these traitors were discovered, and swift justice was meted out.” He pauses and inhales sharply. “What you do not know is that these criminals have not been acting alone. While we have been searching for them in every crevice of the bowels of our city, the greatest threat to the Establishment is being perpetrated from within the very core of those ensconced in our ruling body.”
The camera angle zooms out to a wider shot, revealing Talon—revived from stasis and looking confused, weak, and haggard—and the members of her cabinet, all being held at gunpoint by Cassius’s elite security team.
That image is replaced by a close-up of Cassius’s face, visibly distraught as if he’s trying to keep his emotions in check.
But I know better. This entire thing is all a ruse.
He looks directly into the camera. “This is going to come as quite a devastating shock to our honored and revered elite Imposers, but evidence has surfaced linking Prime Minister Talon and her cabinet to a plot to undermine the very stability of our society by aligning with the monsters that seek to destroy us.”
There’s a cut to a montage of the information I discovered in Sanctum, including the simulations of Incentives designed to deceive everyone into thinking the Recruitment process could provide a good life for the Recruits’ family members. Cassius narrates the details of the conspiracy, which is intercut with startling footage I’ve never seen before—the friends and families of winning Recruits being tortured and experimented on, some turned into Fleshers, the ones that don’t survive the process dumped into mass graves.
At certain points, there are live cutaways to the faces of Imposer squads throughout the city as they take in the revelation that everything they’ve sacrificed, all that has made them into the hardcore soldiers they are, the reason for their unquestioning allegiance to the Establishment, has been a great lie.
Cassius is doing the same thing to Talon and her cabinet that he did to me on Recruitment Day, masterfully trying and convicting her in front of all to see. I can almost pity her. She’s nothing but a pawn, like I was.
Onscreen, Cassius shakes his head. “I cannot stress enough how disgusted I am that the covert actions of so few”—there’s another shot of Talon and her crew—“have resulted in such devastation to soldiers who have given so much of themselves and provided services so loyally for years.” Cassius swallows hard. “But, my poor citizens, this isn’t even the worst of it.” He clears his throat. “It appears that Talon and the insurrectionists have established an alliance with a dangerous cult of extremists entrenched in the bowels of the forbidden territories.”
Once again, the broadcast switches to a montage. This one depicts the legions of Fleshers attacking Infiernos and readying for combat in the catacombs of Sanctum. Even from way up here, I can hear the gasps of the crowds, feel the fear in the air. And most damaging of all are the images of Talon and Straton. Her smiling as she takes his hand. The huge projection of the Parish map in the Sanctum war room.
So it seems that Talon and Straton met prior to Talon’s recent trip to Sanctum. Unless Cassius is using her unconscious body to create another simulation, like those of the Incentives …
The cameras cut back to Cassius, now holding up his hands. “I urge you all not to panic. There’s still time to avert this tragedy and restore order to our great nation. But to do this, I need you all to join me in our most desperate hour.” The camera starts to zoom in slowly as he speaks. “Despite the differences we may have had, we cannot let the actions of a handful of criminals dictate the survival of our society. It’s not too late to protect ourselves. Protect our families. Protect our children. Even as we speak, I have already launched a preliminary offensive on those who seek to destroy us,” he concludes.
Sanctum. If Cassius is willing to betray them too, it can only mean that he plans on gaining even greater power than he already has now.
The screens fill with images of Squawkers zooming through the skies over the still-smoldering Infiernos. And then the statue of the Lady zooms into view. The Lady who’s been such a beacon of the hope and beauty of the old world to Cole and me ever since I discovered her picture in the Parish library.
There’s a series of blasts, echoing through the Parish, that may as well be bullets fired directly into my heart. Each missile blasts into the Lady, who remains defiant if just for a few seconds. Her stone eyes dominate the screen and I imagine I see sorrow there—and pity.
And then she’s toppling to the ground, her body and book disappearing in a billowing plume of black clouds.
One of the missiles impacts the only part of her still intact—her torch—and ignites it in a huge fireball. Then it, too, shatters into a million pieces. And then the Lady is no more. Just a crumpled pile of smoke and ash.
I feel sick with loss.
An extreme close-up of Cassius’s face now dominates every single jumbotron in the Parish. If I didn’t know firsthand how treacherous he could be, even I might believe him.
A fierce determination sears his eyes. “I urge you to trust in new leadership and join me to defeat our enemies—
starting with these traitors behind me, whose vile corruption has threatened the very core of our existence, but will do so no more.”
In a flash, he whips out a weapon, jams it against Talon’s head, and pulls the trigger. The sounds of the shot tears through the city, magnified by every loudspeaker and screen like a violent storm. Talon is thrown back in a bloody mist and her body collapses.
Then the squad of Imposers holding the cabinet members hostage begin firing, not stopping until every single member of the entourage has been assassinated ten times over.
Cassius turns back to the cameras, droplets of blood bleeding down his face. “I promise to end the plague of corruption polluting our country and restore a peaceful, prosperous society. Who is with me?” he shouts.
That’s when the chanting begins, low at first, then gaining in strength and momentum until it roars like a hurricane.
“CASSIUS! CASSIUS! CASSIUS!”
He’s holding up his hands now, a grin spread across his face, his eyes burning with triumph.
And that’s the moment when I know he’s won. He’s successfully pitted the Establishment against Sanctum and established himself as supreme authority, only having to sit back and pull the strings as everyone he’s manipulated wages his personal war. Every Imposer will be on his side now, carrying out his every order. This time not out of fear of reprisals against their loved ones, but bloodthirsty vengeance against those who’ve wronged them.
Random shots of the crowd fill me with dread. These citizens who have been oppressed, living in squalor and fear, seem to be embracing him, forgetting what they’ve been through, willing to trust a new order cut from the same cloth as its
malignant predecessor, clinging to a false hope that even now is binding them in the links of heavier chains. They’re turning against the resistance, the only true chance they have at getting a decent life.
Everything’s lost.
Unless I stop Cassius now—finish what I started in Town Square on Ascension Day—before the seeds he’s so carefully sown have a chance to grow and mature into a poisonous harvest that’s more terrible than everything that’s come before.
“Beautiful view, isn’t it?” an all-too-familiar voice says behind me.
My hand grips the flare gun still hidden in my pocket and I spin to face Cassius.
The broadcast was on a time delay. He’s been waiting for me to come to him. Always one step ahead of me, from the beginning.
And I played right into his hands.
He looks calm and appears to be unarmed, which somehow makes me even more ill at ease.
“Congratulations,” I finally say. “Beautifully played.” I try to remain composed, even though I’m boiling over with hatred. My sweaty fingers brush against the flare gun, my eyes focused on Cassius’s chest.
All I need is one shot, right in his heart, and this madness will be over before it has a chance to unravel.
I pull out the gun and aim it at him. “You used me from the beginning. Baiting me by recording that footage of Digory taken alive. Manipulating things so I’d end up at Infiernos. And when Digory and I crashed in the ancient city, you seized the opportunity to get us to Sanctum. You let us find our way into that cryo chamber so we could leak intel about what was going on to the resistance. You didn’t have to get your hands dirty while everyone else did your work for you. You’ve betrayed Talon and Straton. All so that you could be the Parish’s savior.”
Cassius shakes his head as if he’s pitying me. He makes no move to defend himself. “No need for violence, Lucky. Yes, I’ve sown the seeds. But it was your skill, your drive, that was the impetus I didn’t have complete control over. Despite what you’re thinking, I still—you still mean a great deal to me. Why else do you think I had Valerian destroy the forensic evidence that tied you to the attack on the Pleasure Emporiums? And don’t you recall how I intervened at Infiernos when you were about to face the Culling? Or once again at Sanctum, when Straton wanted to cut open your brain? There’s always a place for you in the new regime—if you want it. Once again, you have a choice.”
“I choose to kill you before your squad of Imps arrives and kills me.” My finger applies pressure to the trigger.
Cassius shakes his head. “Who needs Imposers when I have something better?”
I’m just about to pull the trigger and end this for good when movement catches my eye. I whip the gun in that direction as a figure emerges from the shadows.
It’s Cole.
He looks thinner than the last time I saw him, on the podium in Town Square. His eyes are swollen, either from tears or lack of sleep. But he’s alive. My heart leaps. The arm holding the gun drops to my side.
“Cole. You’re okay.”
I drop to my knees as he comes running into my arms. I squeeze him tight, then pull away, cupping his face in my palms. “Did they hurt you?”
He shakes his head.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come for you when I said I would,” I whisper, “but I’m going to get you out of here now.”
His eyes light up and he hugs me tight, pressing his face against my chest.
Just as I’m about to lift him into my arms, something sharp jabs into my side. It’s like a million shards of glass piercing my flesh. I can’t breathe … everything goes hazy …
Cole tears away from me, the cold steel of a knife blade glinting in his eyes. I stare at the weapon and it takes me a moment to register that the dark liquid dripping from it and spattering on the white marble is my own blood.
I’m too late. The Ultra Imposer indoctrination of my brother has already begun. He’ll eventually end up another lab rat like Digory, his mind and body subjected to countless experiments. But Digory was selected because he’d proven himself strong. With Cole being programmed so young, who knows what kind of monster he’ll be groomed to be?
I look back up at him. Then I stagger backwards, the flare gun clattering to the floor. And still Cole stares at me, eyes unblinking, as if I’m a total stranger.
Cassius walks up behind him.
“Stay … away … from my … brother … ” It’s more of a wheeze.
But Cassius rests his hands on Cole’s shoulders. My brother looks up at him, the way he always looked up at me whenever he wanted my approval.
Another wave of intense pain, accompanied by nausea, almost makes me pass out. My vision blurs …
This can’t be happening …
Cassius sighs. “It’s your rejection that forces me to do this, Lucian.”
He looks up at a hovering cam, and then I see his face plastered all over the jumbotrons once again. “Citizens of the Parish, behold. At last I’ve apprehended the terrorist known as the Torch Keeper, Lucian Spark, who has conspired with Talon and her cohorts to destroy us from within. Behold the face of the most insidious of traitors, revealed at last and brought to his knees on this most momentous of days.”
Then I see myself, bloodied and pale, crawling like a wounded animal … and shots of Squawkers on their way to take me into custody, before the screens go dark.
Another wave of anguish wracks me. My back presses against the roof railing and I somehow manage to push myself up. If I’m going to die, I want to do it on my feet and looking Cassius in the eye.
I can barely see from the pain and dizziness and the hot tears streaming from my eyes as I look at the smaller of the two shapes in front of me.
“Cole … ” I choke out.
I stagger against the railing, weak, teetering as the cold wind lashes my face.
Cassius’s shadow engulfs me. He grips my head, pulling me close. “I tried to spare you this. But my feelings for you are a liability. You can’t escape your true nature.”
“My true … ?”
“The rebellion is lost. Tycho is being purged of his humanity—and his pain—as we speak. And Cole belongs to me now.” He leans in close, his lips brushing against mine and moving to my ear. “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” he whispers. “Cole isn’t your brother.”
This can’t be true. I’m delirious. I can remember Cole as an infant. His tiny fist clenched around my finger. The anger gives me a final surge of strength. “You’re … lying. Cole is a Spark.”
Cassius’s eyes deadlock with mine. “But you aren’t,” he says calmly. “You aren’t Lucian Spark. Your true name is Queran Embers.”
Cold envelops me. I no longer know what’s real and what isn’t. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The Sowing Protocol. It’s the method developed by the original settlers of the Parish, who perfected a physics-based cloning system that can replicate a human being at an atomic level. Every single molecule is copied, preserving not only an individual’s physical attributes but also their memories. The cloned embryos were to be implanted in future generations, so they could be reborn again and again, achieving an immortality to rival the Deity—or the Begetter—or whatever one chooses to call it. The entire Recruitment process we both experienced is much less random than it appears.”
My head’s spinning and my body feels like it’s been sucker punched. “No. These are just more of your lies and manipulations.”
He shakes his head. “All this time, you’ve been trying to destroy the Establishment. And the irony is … you are the person that founded it, centuries ago. You built this place, stone by stone, upon the suffering and blood of countless innocents. And now you’ve been reborn, resurrected as a cloned embryo implanted in your mother during a routine medical examination.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore … �
� I whisper.
His eyes water and a tear streams down his cheek. “All the things I’ve done since I discovered the truth—some of them terrible—were all in an effort to try to crush the Establishment once and for all and save you, the only person I’ve ever truly loved. Even though you are responsible for all this.” His arms reach up toward the turrets and spires of the Citadel, then drop limply to his sides. “But I’m starting to realize I can’t do both.”
It’s too much. I just want to shut my eyes and be swallowed by oblivion.
Beside him, Cole lifts the dagger one more time, aiming for my heart.
I push away from Cassius and tumble over the railing, spinning, flashes of color assault my waning senses, just wanting it all to end in that final darkness—
The impact jolts every nerve ending in my body. I expected death to be infinite blackness and peace. Why hasn’t the pain throbbing inside me stopped?
“Get him inside, quick!” a voice shouts from far away.
That voice is familiar … I’ve heard it many times before …
but where …
It’s Arrah.
I open my eyes and make out Arrah, Drusilla, and Cage pulling and dragging me into a coffin … no … it’s a ship … a Squawker …
Then the cold wind stops and I’m inside. A mask is smashed against my face. Oxygen. Someone’s at my side. Cloth swipes my side, white cotton turned red with fire.
“We have to stop the bleeding,” someone—Arrah again—yells.
The last thing I see, through the cabin window, is a formation of Squawkers heading toward us. Our ship veers and banks wildly, around and over buildings … and then we’re heading into the blackest night of my life.
thirty-seven
The convoy stretches over the rocky plain like the winding body of a great caterpillar. Battered glide-craft, rebuilt Squawkers cobbled together from discarded parts, and makeshift transports patched with rust all zigzag through the dying night. Even with the creaking from poor shock absorbers and lack of proper lubricants, it’s relatively quiet—considering the thousands of people that are part of this stealth caravan, the remnants of
The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) Page 29