by Kass Morgan
“I’ll do it,” Felix said, breaking the tension. “Just send someone back to tell me where you’re camped so I can get word to you if anything changes.”
Paul looked disappointed, but he nodded, then turned to the rest of the group, saying, “Keep low and stay quiet,” in the loudest whisper Bellamy had ever heard.
They started away silently, a single winding line through the woods, following the same track they’d taken in. Clarke lingered in the back with Bellamy. “Are you okay with that plan? I think it’ll give us the best shot.”
“Yes. Fine,” he said, not meeting her eyes. They’d barely exchanged more than a few words since last night. He felt as if he was being torn in half. Part of him wanted to pull her into his arms and beg her to forgive him for acting like an ass. But an equally strong part of him wasn’t ready to forgive her. What did he have to do to make her trust him?
“Hey, Clarke,” Paul called. “Come look at this crazy bug… wait, hold on… no way! I think it’s a frog with wings. It’s got the strangest face.”
Without another word to Bellamy, Clarke jogged up to where Paul was standing at the edge of a small pond. Bellamy scowled at Paul’s back.
The group continued walking, and Bellamy followed them around the bend of a little tributary, covering their tracks as he went. Finally, Clarke motioned to the shell of an old building. Some of its steel beams were still intact, dripping with moss so thick it formed a funny kind of wall on two sides, thick enough to shield them from view from a distance.
“This should work fine,” Paul said, his hand reaching out to rest on Clarke’s shoulder. “Good eye, Griffin.”
“A fire’s going to be too conspicuous,” Clarke said, turning away. Paul’s hand dropped off her. “We’ll have to do our best without one.”
Touch her one more time, and your face will be indistinguishable from the frog’s, Bellamy thought, balling his fists. He forced himself to breathe, then set to work constructing a circle of makeshift trip alarms around the camp. When he returned to the center, he saw Clarke sitting cross-legged on the ground, drawing a diagram of the raiders’ massive fortress in the dirt with a stick. Paul leaned over her, one hand on her shoulder—again—as if for balance. And she wasn’t shooing him off. She wasn’t doing anything.
Bellamy couldn’t watch this for a second longer. Instead, he turned and started away.
“Hey!” Clarke called from behind him. “Where are you going?”
“To tell Felix where we are,” Bellamy said, glancing over his shoulder.
She frowned, looking down again.
“Good man,” Paul said cheerfully, pointing at him.
Bellamy didn’t bother to reply. He trekked back through the woods, trying to untangle the jealousy that was eating him up inside. But all it did was make him more restless, more eager for action. The arrows on his back felt heavy in their leather quiver.
At the sound of footsteps, Felix spun around quickly. But when he realized it was just Bellamy, he relaxed and raised a hand in greeting. “You’re back. Great. So where are you guys camped?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Bellamy said without stopping. He motioned for Felix to follow him. “We’re going this way.”
Felix glanced over his shoulder. “What about the others? Where are we going?”
“Scouting mission. You coming?”
He hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Definitely.”
Bellamy scanned the ivy-covered fortress ahead, looming above them like a monster in the night. There was no one coming or going at the moment. He darted ahead from post to post, Felix doing the same a few yards away.
He took in as many details as he could. A wide, rocky courtyard with wheel ruts cut in the middle for a cart track. A low doorway cut into a solid wall, likely heavily guarded. Subtle gun turret points scattered along the top of the high wall in every direction, none of them manned right now, by the looks of it.
These people weren’t exactly on high alert. And why would they be? They’d wiped out their competition, practically scorched them from the face of the Earth, and taken all their weapons too.
Bellamy ran his hand down his carved bow, then darted ahead again, this time to the side of the building, if you could even call it that. This structure was impossibly vast, bigger than the three ships of the Colony combined. Bellamy felt his stomach sinking at the thought of a group of people populous enough to fill it. How could he possibly hope to bring a society like that to its knees?
But then he stopped, crouching in the tall, reedy grass, and listened the way he listened to the forest back home. He could hear a low buzz of sound from inside the fortress, but something deeper than his normal senses told him that this building wasn’t full at all.
This could be why they took our people, he realized with a cold chill. Maybe they raid in order to bolster their ranks. That would be a pretty piss-poor strategy. Kill your prisoners’ friends and family and then expect them to join you in happily marauding even more people?
The moon emerged from behind a curtain of clouds, and in the sudden glow, Bellamy could make out more about the structure of the building. What had looked like a solid, impregnable wall covered in climbing plants was actually perforated by small windows, their glass long-since blown out. That was a danger for anyone approaching, plenty of spots for rifles to poke through. But could it also be an opportunity?
He crept up to one of the windows and glanced through it. On the other side was some sort of indoor path or road. It may have been a hallway once upon a time, but now the moonlight was illuminating the pathway; the ceiling had caved in all the way around. Bellamy realized that the outer wall was just that: a protective wall, unconnected to the rest of the structure. Maybe if they could find some way to get beyond this wall, they could get their people back.
Felix sprinted ahead, pointing to the flash of light along the horizon to the right. Bellamy peered toward him and spotted it too: a wide river running alongside the building, a smaller lagoon spilling from it practically all the way to the walls themselves. The only thing between the rippling water and the building was a large, terraced, rectangular green field, somewhat less unkempt than the other surrounding spaces, along with a riverside “beach” so rocky that Bellamy suspected it was probably once used as a road.
He wanted to keep going, get a closer look, but the way there was jagged with dunes of debris; it would be hard to pick their way out if they ran into trouble. Felix was already racing away, though, no doubt thinking about Eric, held prisoner somewhere nearby. His back was turned and he was too far to hear a whistle of warning, so Bellamy followed, darting from dune to dune.
Then he spotted movement in the field ahead of them. He froze, watching as five figures emerged from the fortress, none of them a soldier with a shaved head. They were all women, most draped in rippling gray fabric. The one in the front was an older woman in white with long dark hair, her hands raised toward the hazy outline of the moon.
Shivers ran down Bellamy’s spine at the sight of them. There was something overly deliberate about the way they were walking, like the raiders during the attack, timing each step down to the precise measurement. And they were humming, making low, guttural noises, like bees emerging from a hive. Bellamy didn’t know what was going on here, but he didn’t like it.
The woman in front crouched down to touch the grass and the others followed suit, pressing their fingers to their mouths when they finished, then up to the sky.
“Great Earth,” the woman called out. “We have carried out Your wishes and will do so for the rest of our days. Now we humbly entreat You for a sign. Is this our home? Is this where we shall remain? Our stone, our hearth, our keep?”
Behind him, Bellamy could hear the wind traveling through the forest in a nearly imperceptible whisper. The woman on the lawn cocked her head. She heard it too.
“If you wish us to remain, Great Earth, send Your wind to embrace us,” she called out. Bellamy barely had time to blink before the wind reached him, w
hipping his hair into a mop, continuing on to rustle the skirts of the ladies on the lawn, all of whom looked amazed and exultant.
Except the dark-haired one, of course.
What a bullshit artist, Bellamy thought. If there hadn’t been any wind, she would have ordered the air to keep still.
“We have our answer, friends,” she said, a little lower, then turned, arms raised, to herd them back inside. But just before she’d turned completely around, she stopped, still as a statue.
Bellamy held his breath. Her eyes scanned over the rubble-strewn valley, straight past him and away.
“Let’s rest,” she said pleasantly, her shoulders relaxing, then disappeared back into the wall with the others.
After a careful moment, Felix crossed over the debris to huddle beside Bellamy. “What the hell was that?” he whispered.
“Someone to look out for,” Bellamy whispered back. “I think we’ve pressed our luck enough for one day.”
“Yeah,” Felix said, already starting away. “Agreed. Let’s head b—”
The ground roared as the rocks gave way beneath Felix’s feet, swallowing him up in one clattering gulp. Jaw agape, Bellamy scrambled on his hands and knees, peering into the spot his friend had vanished into.
Then he let out a breath, panic giving way to relief.
Felix was crumpled, confused but uninjured, on the floor of what looked like a cellar. He peered up at Bellamy sheepishly. “Looks like I found a way in?”
Without a moment of hesitation, Bellamy slid his legs into the opening and dropped silently down beside Felix. He looked around, seeing a dim light in the distance. This had been a tunnel once, then.
He pulled the little makeshift dagger he’d carved from rock out of his pocket and positioned it in his hand, in case of trouble. Then he nodded forward, toward the light. “Let’s go.”
Felix followed in a fast crouch, their footsteps echoing lightly in the cavernous space despite their best attempts to keep quiet. This was reckless, this was foolish… and this was by far the best shot they’d gotten yet.
Bellamy’s step slowed. Something was blocking the way ahead—a cart, maybe, loaded with something he couldn’t identify. He listened for the sound of raiders, but made out nothing. With a nod to Felix, he continued, reaching his hands out for the edge of the wagon so he could push it clear enough to give them space to edge past.
Then his hand grazed the top of the wood, coming away with one of the objects inside. It was round, ridged, with a little metal pin on top. Bellamy’s breath turned to ice in his throat. He put it back, carefully, and let his fingers travel lightly along the rest. Then he backed up a step, wonderstruck.
“Holy. Shit.” He let out a silent laugh. “This cart is full of weapons. There are guns, bombs… just what we need.”
Felix shook his head, peering past Bellamy to check for himself. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Bellamy smiled. “If this is a joke, it’s on them. They’re probably guarding the inner door to this hallway. They think it’s a dead end. And it will be, soon enough.”
“What’s your plan?” Felix asked eagerly.
Bellamy lifted one of the grenades up so that he could see it in the light. “We’re going to stick these in every little window we can find. We’re going to blow down these goddamned walls, walk right into the middle of the fortress, and take back everything and everyone that was stolen from us.”
A smile spread across Felix’s face. “You want to raid them, you mean.”
“They did it to us,” Bellamy said, carefully pocketing the grenade as he turned to go, a new fire igniting his step. “It’s time we returned the favor.”
CHAPTER 15
Glass
Glass woke up gasping. Someone was shaking her shoulder with a cruel, cold grip.
The blond Protector peered down at her, her hair tied back in a tight bun. Glass’s mind reached for the woman’s name as her eyes adjusted to the dark, making out her severely beautiful features. Margot, Glass remembered. One of Soren’s advisors.
And at that realization, her heart clenched, her mind spooling back to that moment on the field when Soren had pointed to Glass. It must’ve been an order to Margot. The High Protector hadn’t approved of her little speech, and now Glass was going to find out what the consequences were.
Margot started dragging her upward by the armpit. Glass fought against her. “No, no, whatever I’ve done, I swear I’ll be better! I’ll keep my mouth shut, I’ll—”
“Shhh, you’ll wake the others,” Margot hissed. “Don’t be selfish, they need their rest for the workday ahead.”
It was such a mundane thing to say that Glass fell silent, more from confusion now than fear.
“I don’t know what she sees in you,” Margot whispered as Glass stood beside her. “But I trust you’ll prove yourself useful in time.”
Margot led her silently out of the room, tiptoeing around the sleeping forms of the other girls, some with their feet still stubbornly dangling off the side of the cots so their toes could touch the ground. Those were the true believers, Glass knew. She kept well clear of them.
Glass passed Anna’s cot and nearly jostled it with her foot to rouse her. It seemed like a good idea to have somebody witness her being led out of the dorms in the dark of night, but she didn’t want to risk alerting Margot.
Once they’d left the dorms, Margot turned back to lock the door. “Where are we going?” Glass dared to whisper.
“To Soren’s quarters,” Margot answered. “Mother keeps odd hours, so you’d best get used to wake-ups like this one.”
Glass kept pace, her brain catching up. She still found it disorienting how the Protectors called Soren “mother.” Were any of them really her children?
They turned left, continuing down the endless, roofless hall. Glass looked up at the stars winking in the predawn light and wondered where Luke was. Was he awake, exhausted and distraught, staring at the same stars as he crafted a plan to come rescue her? She wished there was a way to send him a message, to let him know that she was fine.
Margot stopped, motioning Glass up a wooden stairway that still smelled like sawdust. As she climbed up the stairs, Glass felt Margot’s hand on her shoulder. She winced, expecting an impatient shove. But, to her surprise, the touch was gentle.
Two guards in white stood at the top of the stairs, wearing their usual eerily blank expressions. Seeing Glass, they nodded—almost deferentially—and parted to let her pass.
Glass forced a smile over her shoulder and continued on with Margot, both of them emerging into a wide room. Its scorched cement floors were covered with woven rugs and a four-poster bed sat in the middle. In the corner of the room, a fire burned in a makeshift fireplace, a scrap-metal chimney sending the smoke safely through the ceiling and into the night sky.
Glass marveled for a moment at the beauty of the room, the many little luxuries here, before remembering that all of this was likely stolen. Who had spent hours upon hours weaving the red woolen blanket on Soren’s bed? Glass hadn’t seen much weaving or wool-spinning going on around here.
Before she could take any more in, Margot shuffled her toward a little antechamber just off the main room. There was a cot here, just like back in the dorms, but also a little washbasin, a warm rug on the floor, even a small cracked mirror on the wall.
Glass stared at herself in it with a ripple of shock. It had been so long since she’d seen her own reflection. She looked so thin, so tired… so sad. She reached out and touched the crack, half expecting her face to fade and disappear behind it.
Margot’s eyes traveled down to Glass’s starchy white nightgown. “You’re smaller than Dara. We’ll have to take in her dress. In the meantime, you can wear your old uniform.”
She tossed Glass’s white dress onto the bed. Glass blinked, surprised—she hadn’t even noticed Margot bundling up her things back at the dorm.
“Who is Dara?” Glass asked, drawing her arms around herself.
Glass couldn’t read Margot’s smirk, but she felt suspicion swirling in her stomach. “What… happened to Dara?” She pinched the seams of her nightgown, bracing herself for the answer.
“She has risen,” came a voice from behind her.
Glass turned to see Soren standing in the doorway, languid and willowy, a slight smile on her face.
“Risen?” Glass asked carefully. Was that their word for dead?
In answer, Soren stepped back, beckoning another girl into the doorway—a broad-shouldered, dark-skinned girl in her early twenties wearing the gray dress of one of the High Protector’s advisors.
“Dara,” Margot said warmly, reaching out to squeeze the girl’s hands. “Sister.”
Dara beamed, then nodded politely to Glass. “Mother is particular,” she said. “You must have impressed her.”
“That she did.” Soren laughed, extending a hand for Glass to take. “And will continue to, I have no doubt.”
Glass’s head was spinning. “What am I meant to be doing, exactly?”
“Your first responsibility is to take a walk with me,” Soren said, gliding back into her chamber. “I’d like to see the Stone in the dawn light.”
Dara’s eyes met Glass’s. She mouthed, shoes, shawl, while Margot motioned to an open chest of clothing a few feet away. Glass hurried to it, drawing away a set of leather slippers and a thick woolen shawl. Dara nodded, and Glass took them to Soren.
Soren smiled in thanks, then squinted at Glass’s outfit. “Take one more for yourself, child, so you don’t catch a chill.”
Dara was already beside her, offering her a soft white cloak.
“Thank you,” Glass whispered, both flattered and confused by all the attention.
The Stone was quiet as dawn rose over it in waves of pink and yellow. Glass and Soren walked in surprisingly comfortable silence. Soren knew every little alleyway and shortcut through the labyrinthine structure, leaving Glass completely disoriented. Finally, Glass smelled something green and thick and heady, and knew exactly where they were heading: the Heart of the Stone.