The Torchbearers

by Ally Condie

  “No catch.” Emma popped to her feet and rezipped her bookbag.

  Opal watched her friend through narrowed eyes as she placed the photocopies in her own backpack. “Let’s check on the Darkdeep before we go. See if it’s still farting.”

  They moved to the stairs. When Emma cleared her throat halfway down, Opal hid a smile.

  Here it comes.

  “Just, you know,” Emma mumbled, as they reached the lower chamber, “I’ve been thinking. We should get the boys to take Thing’s message more seriously. It might be really important, but who knows what it means? I think we have to find out. We may even need to … to go in again.”

  Across the room, the Darkdeep belched. Black water shot into the air, kissing the rafters.

  Both girls jumped backward in alarm, but the ripples faded quickly. The dark liquid stilled as if the expulsion had never occurred.

  Opal glanced nervously at her friend. Emma stared at the now-silent pool, eyes serious.

  Turning back to the well, Opal tried not to shiver.

  They’d entered the Darkdeep before, even knowing it was dangerous.

  To flee a figment horde. To battle a Taker. To access the Rift.

  When necessary, they did what was necessary.

  But there was always a risk. Nightmares that emerged afterward.

  Thing’s words rang in Opal’s head.

  There’s something here that doesn’t belong.

  Or, I should say, someone.

  Opal suddenly had to know who it might be.

  7

  NICO

  Tyler’s scarlet vestments rippled in the steady breeze.

  Bathrobe, Nico thought. He’s wearing his dad’s terry-cloth bathrobe.

  His friend was standing on the island’s small beach, legs planted wide, an old book wedged in the crook of one elbow as the other hand waved an algae-covered stick high overhead. Tyler faced Still Cove as if confronting it. His eyes were shut and he was humming to himself.

  Nico shook his head. His patience was already gone and they’d only been there ten minutes.

  “Why the bathrobe, man?” Nico blurted finally.

  Tyler shushed him with an annoyed glare. “It’s the color, ignoramus. I’m attempting to attract a vicious predator. I figured red might get its attention. Like a bullfighter.”

  Nico snorted. “Bulls charge when attracted, you know.”

  Tyler flinched, but then his brow furrowed. “Will you please let me do this?”

  “By all means, continue. It’s going great so far.”

  Tyler clicked his tongue. “This book isn’t exactly a how-to manual, Nico. It just says that former Masters were able to summon the Beast by”—he glanced at an ancient page—“ ‘forging a spiritual connection with the Lotan so as to commune with its primordial essence.’ ” Tyler looked away. “So, like … that’s what I’m doing.”

  Nico shrugged. “Tell me why we want to summon the Beast again?”

  “So we can learn how to make it go away.”

  Nico blinked rapidly a few times. “Makes sense,” he managed finally. “Lure a killer alien sea monster here, so we can … ask it to leave.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes. “Look, we need to know if I can command the Beast or not. Or at least control it. I was able to communicate with it that once, during the beach attack. I think.” He shot another reproachful glance at Nico. “And that sea monster saved our butts against the Takers at the Rift battle. Don’t act like it didn’t.”

  Nico nodded reluctantly. “It did. No question. I just worry that the Beast had its own reasons for fighting Takers, and now we might just be a tasty afternoon snack.”

  By the shiver that ran through Tyler, Nico knew he wasn’t the only one concerned. But Tyler had declared himself the next Beastmaster, and he was determined to revive the old connection between Beast and Torchbearers. Which was why they were both freezing their butts off on this lonely, windswept beach, instead of investigating whatever the heck that wolf thing had been. At least he has that bathrobe to wear. Looks pretty warm.

  Tyler turned back to the slate-gray sea. Still Cove was as smooth as glass, with barely a wave despite the whipping gusts assailing both boys as they stood near the waterline. It didn’t seem possible that sky and water could act so independently, but little about Still Cove made sense. It’s why no one ever comes here but us.

  Tyler lifted his algae stick once more. Eyes closed, he seemed to be chanting something, but his words flittered away on the swirling wind. Nico held his tongue for as long as he could, but the air was bitingly cold, and he was starting to lose feeling in his toes. He was about to whine again when Tyler dropped his arms in frustration.

  “I don’t feel anything,” Tyler snapped. “No connection, no vibe. Nothing. Maybe I need more algae.”

  Nico kept his tone as neutral as possible. “Let’s go to the houseboat and regroup. Opal wanted us there an hour ago anyway. I’m sure the others are all still spooked about what happened this morning.”

  “You mean the crazy-eyed super-wolf that clawed through a metal door?” Tyler tugged his robe closed. “Um, yeah, I imagine they are. So am I. That had to be a figment, right? But how?” With an exasperated grunt, Tyler chucked his algae stick into the cove and shuffled over to stand with Nico. “Hey, you know Logan might be at the boat, right? Opal’s text went to everyone.”

  Nico felt his pulse accelerate. “I hope he is.”

  “No no no.” Tyler scolded, crossing his arms. “Enough of that nonsense. Logan may have been a jerk about your dad’s transfer at first, but he had nothing to do with how it actually went down. That was his dad. And we both know he doesn’t want it now.”

  Nico scowled. “He didn’t seem too broken up about it at school.”

  “Then you weren’t looking hard enough. Logan feels terrible. Like he’s partially responsible.”

  Nico’s glower deepened. “Because he is. You were there when he taunted me in the cafeteria last month. Logan’s the one who told me about it! He was gloating. Right to my face.”

  Tyler frowned, ran a hand over his scalp. “We’ve been working with Logan for a while now. Through a lot of hard, bad stuff. You know he’s been solid. I thought we put this feud to bed a long time ago.”

  “I’m about to have a bed in Portland, Ty. So I guess we closed the matter too soon.”

  Tyler’s head dropped. “I’m just sick about this. Is there anything your dad can do?”

  Nico’s tone was acid. “Probably, but he won’t. His pride always gets in the way.” He made a deep voice that mimicked his father’s. “I go where they tell me, son. It’s not my place to question the decisions of my superiors. You’d do well to act accordingly.”

  “Maybe we could sabotage it somehow?” Tyler stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You said the move is kind of like a promotion? What if we screwed up something your dad is responsible for, so that he doesn’t get the new job and has to stay.”

  Nico rubbed the back of his neck. “Believe me, I’ve actually considered it. But what if that got him fired instead? Then I’d still be moving, only my dad would be out of work. Plus, what do we know about espionage? We’d just get caught, and then I’d spend my teenage years in Portland under house arrest.”

  Tyler sighed. A beat later he looked sharply at Nico. “Hey, did you read that thing about Old Faithful going haywire?”

  The subject change caught Nico off guard. “Huh? No, what?”

  “I saw my mom’s Facebook this morning. Somebody had posted an article about that famous geyser. The one in Yellowstone? Last night it erupted in bright yellow.”

  Nico gave his friend a squinty look. “Old Faithful went to the bathroom?”

  Tyler spread his hands. “I’m just telling you what it said. The geyser used to shoot out regular water, but now the flow is coming up like neon highlighter fluid. Apparently stinks like a sewer, too. The park rangers are bugging out. The article ended with a whole list of weird events that happened there over th
e last week.”

  “Stank yellow liquid?” A chill course through Nico’s veins. “Sounds like what happened here when the Darkdeep went nuts.”

  Tyler nodded, eyes worried. “Could be a coincidence. But also, maybe not.”

  Nico dragged a hand through his hair, silently berating himself. He was supposed to be keeping an eye out for any freaky environmental stuff, but Tyler had found the most troubling signs yet. This definitely sounded like a Rift problem. But all the way in Wyoming? How did that make sense?

  What was going on at the Rift anyway? Nico knew they needed to check on it, but that was now basically impossible. The oil rig had collapsed, and the Rift was below that wreckage, socked away at the bottom of the ocean. It might as well have been on Mars. Sooooo frustrating.

  “Let’s get to the houseboat,” Nico repeated, with as much authority as he could muster. “We need to figure out some way to recon a sunken platform.” He hesitated for a sec, then added, “But maybe don’t tell Emma about Old Faithful right now.”

  Tyler halted midstep. “Don’t tell Emma? Why not?”

  Nico’s shoulders rolled in a guilty shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t want this to become a YouTube story. We don’t need anyone out there connecting dots, or thinking about Timbers at all. Emma’s lost sight of that.”

  A bit of heat crept into Tyler’s voice. “Are you saying you don’t trust Emma now? Just how many Torchbearers are on your unreliable list at the moment? Me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Nico was suddenly angry, too. “I’m out here with frostbite on my ears trying to have your back.” Then he gave Tyler a look. “But you’re honestly telling me that the exciting adventures of Emma-mazing! don’t make you nervous? After all, the Beast is our biggest secret after the Darkdeep.”

  Tyler looked away. Nico knew his words had hit home, but he didn’t celebrate. It felt terrible losing trust in Emma.

  Logan, however, was another matter. We never should’ve let him through the door.

  “Come on,” Nico said, gripping his friend’s bony shoulder. “The showroom has to be warmer than this beach. I’m sure we can tell Emma everything. I wasn’t being fair.”

  “She wouldn’t sell us out,” Tyler insisted. But was there a slight hitch in his voice?

  “Opal’s gonna kill us both for blowing off her text,” Nico said. “I hope she understands about the bathrobe.”

  Tyler’s face grew sickly. “Maybe you should go on ahead. To, like, smooth the way.”

  Nico snickered. “No chance. We’ll face her together. And next time I’ll bring a bathrobe, too. My mom has this fluffy peach-colored one. That’ll attract ol’ Beastie for sure.”

  Tyler laughed. They turned and started up toward the tree line.

  Behind them, a tremendous splash sounded.

  Both boys spun, then danced back as a ragged wave crashed onto the beach and rolled up the sand. Out in the bay, a thick line of wake was sliding away from the island, arcing toward the mist-choked mouth of Still Cove and the wide Skagit Sound beyond.

  Nico’s mouth had gone dry. “Um, Ty?”

  “No idea.” His friend had paled several shades. “Maybe I’m … I’m not so far off after all.”

  Beyond them, the water smoothed, then went as still and silent as glass.

  8

  OPAL

  Opal knocked on Logan’s front door.

  How old is this house, anyway? Was it here when Yvette Dumont lived down the block? Did she ever climb these steps?

  Two months ago Opal had been standing in the same spot, tasked with checking on Logan after he’d tracked them to the houseboat and come face-to-face with the Darkdeep. Nico and the others had hidden behind garbage cans while she’d done the dirty work of finding out if Logan was going to tattle.

  This time Opal was alone, but her purpose was the same.

  She wanted to know what Logan was up to.

  He answered the door himself. “Hey. What’s going on?”

  “We need to talk,” Opal said, then she cursed under her breath as Logan’s little sister bounced onto the porch.

  “Ooh!” Lily Nantes grinned wide. She wore an apron and was holding a giant bag of apples. “Do you want to talk to Logan alone?”

  Opal cut to the chase. “Yes, I do.” Her gaze flicked to Logan. “Like, right now.”

  “Or,” Lily said, drawing out the word, “you could forget my doofus brother and come bake pies with Mom and me. We’re making all the family favorites. Mom’s is apple crumb. Dad likes coconut cream. I prefer chocolate chip cookies.”

  “That’s not a pie,” Opal pointed out.

  “Is so,” Lily said. “Chocolate cookie pie. I invented it.”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Fine, whatever.” Lily started skipping down the hall, but then she spun at the last second. “What’s your favorite pie, Opal?”

  Opal blinked. “Lemon meringue.”

  Lily nodded her acceptance before turning away once more.

  Logan kept a hand on the doorframe. “Look, I know you said for us to meet at four, but those two grabbed me right after school and it’s been The Great British Baking Show ever since. I can’t get away.”

  Lame excuse. Though he did have flour in his hair.

  Opal made no move to leave.

  Finally, he stepped aside. Reluctantly? “Do you want to come in?”

  Opal entered the foyer and followed Logan to his father’s study. A welded conglomeration of metal gears and blunted mill tools hung behind the enormous desk, which looked as solid and heavy as a tugboat. A puffy white cat uncurled from an armchair next to the unlit fireplace, stalking past them as if they’d purposely ruined its nap. Framed pictures and old books lined the shelves.

  Logan slid the doors closed once the cat had made its leisurely exit. “Yeah?”

  Before Opal could answer, the doors popped back open, causing her to jump.

  Logan’s father entered the room. “You’re needed in the kitchen, son.” Sylvain nodded at Opal. “You two can speak tomorrow at school.”

  Opal’s mouth formed a tight line. She felt a sudden rush of anger. This man is responsible for Nico having to leave Timbers. I bet he’s been gloating about his victory all week long. Mr. Nantes didn’t appear exultant at the moment, but who knew what went on behind those piercing blue eyes.

  Although …

  Looking closer, something seemed a bit wrong with Logan’s father. He wore his usual jeans, plaid flannel, and work boots, but his face appeared haggard. Sylvain Nantes typically gave off an indomitable vibe. His nickname around town was “Paul Bunyan”—used by some with respect, by others in a kind of fearful awe.

  But at the moment he seemed kinda … beaten down. Used up.

  Opal succumbed to a wild impulse. “Nico’s dad got transferred,” she blurted.

  “I heard, Opal.” Mr. Nantes shot a warning glance at his son before meeting her eye. “I know you’re friends with Nico, and I’m sorry he’s moving, but that’s life in the Park Service. Transfers are part of the job.”

  “But you requested Mr. Holland’s transfer.”

  Holy moly, what am I doing? Taking on Paul Bunyan himself? In his own office?

  Sylvain’s cheek twitched, though the rest of his face remained impassive. He cleared his throat. “I can assure you that I don’t run the Park Service. Where’d you hear a rumor like that?”

  “From me.” Logan’s voice shook, but only a little. “You were bragging about it. I told the whole school weeks ago.”

  Mr. Nantes passed a hand over his face. Opal was struck by how tired he looked.

  Sylvain sighed. “That was just me blowing off steam. Now look what I’ve done.” He placed a calloused hand on his son’s shoulder. “Let me be clear: I could no more get Warren Holland transferred out of town than I could stop him from prioritizing a few dozen owls over honest people’s labor.”

  His gaze drifted to the study’s bay window, which had a stunning view of the Pacific, eve
n better than the one from Opal’s house down the street. He seemed to go far away for a few heartbeats, looking out at the dark water. Something in his posture wilted, like he was barely able to muster the will to explain himself.

  Opal didn’t care. She felt a wave of indignation surge over her. I’m being lied to. “You’re the most powerful person in town,” she pressed, astonished by her own temerity. “The Nantes family always calls the shots in Timbers. Since the very beginning.”

  To her surprise, Sylvain began to laugh. Low and bitter, it rumbled through the room.

  Logan stared at his father in shock.

  “It’s true,” Opal shot back, her ears growing hot. Was he laughing at her? “You, and your dad befo—”

  “Actually,” Logan cut in, “why don’t we talk about Grandpa for a second.” His voice was rough. Logan’s face paled, even as dots of red bloomed on his cheeks. He dug into his hoodie and pulled out the baseball he’d found on the houseboat. “This was his, right? The Babe Ruth ball with a scuff on it?”

  When Sylvain saw the baseball, his jaw dropped open. He took a halting step toward his son. “Where did you get that?”

  “I think you know.” Logan thrust the ball toward his father, trying to get him to take it.

  Sylvain Nantes recoiled as if snakebitten, dropping both hands to his sides. He strode quickly to the front door and opened it. “Opal, it’s late. You should—”

  “I’ll tell you where I found it!” Logan insisted doggedly, stalking his father into the foyer.

  Sylvain spun, eyes tight, every muscle in his body rigid.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Opal hissed, waving at Logan. “Take it easy! Don’t say anyth—”

  “When was your last visit to Still Cove, Dad?” Logan’s voice cut like a razorblade. “It took me a while to put it all together, but I finally did. Grandpa didn’t stuff his baseball under the floorboards. You did. When was the last time you checked out the houseboat?”

  “Logan!” Opal cried. “Stop talking right now!”

  But his father only covered his eyes. His shoulders drooped, and a long sigh escaped his lips.

  Sylvain Nantes slowly closed the door. And locked it.