The Sowing (The Torch Keeper)

by Santos, Steven dos

  The anger returns to Boaz’s face. “It’s because of that girl. That Imp bitch! ” He jabs a finger toward Arrah. “First Cage here, and now you. Whose side are you really on, Dru? Huh?”

  “It’s not about sides. I love her.”

  A harsh sound approximating a laugh bursts from Boaz’s lips. “Love? This coming from someone who murdered her own father.”

  Drusilla recoils. I can feel Arrah flinch as if the chains that bind us are a string of nerve endings.

  Boaz continues his rant. “These Establishment bastards are slaughtering our people and you’re too selfish to care.” He lunges at her, grabbing her throat and pulling the key away.

  “Boaz, no!” Cage leaps for him. But Drusilla knees Boaz in the groin.

  “Ungh! ” He doubles over.

  Drusilla yanks the key back and rushes over to Arrah. The chains connecting us rattle and pull taut as she grabs hold of her. Their foreheads meld together as Drusilla cups her face, laughter mixed with sobs. “I never thought I’d get to hold you again.” She fumbles with the manacles a few seconds before slipping the key into first one lock, then the other. Click! Click! The chains binding Arrah clatter to the ground.

  Arrah throws her arms around Drusilla, planting kisses all over her face until their lips meet, first tenderly, then passionately, as if they’re sharing one final breath that will dissipate the moment they pull apart.

  “I’m so … so sorry about your dad … ” Arrah chokes on her words.

  “We can’t … not now … ” Drusilla’s tone is tender but I can sense the sharp edge, like a paper cut, barely scratching the surface but deeply painful.

  I finally turn to Drusilla. “Get Arrah out of here. Now.”

  Drusilla jams the key into the collar’s slot and turns. The device pops open. Arrah rips it off and turns to me. “Lucian—”

  “Remember what we talked about at the furnace.” I force a smile. She’s still looking at me as Drusilla hauls her off to the safe zone.

  Recruit Drusilla has released her Incentive and is the victor in this trial. Only two keys remain.

  Out on the field, Crowley stumbles around while Cage and Boaz circle each other. If it weren’t for the occasional loud crunch of fists against flesh, you’d think they were dancing; their swaying, twisting bodies maneuver around each other in a spray of sweat and blood. Dark crimson trickles from their noses and mouths. Boaz speeds up his jabs. But even though Cage’s lip is swollen purple, he’s taking a defensive stance, holding back, not hurting Boaz as much as he could.

  On the ground between them, another key glistens.

  “I need it too, mate,” Cage rasps, sounding more desperate than I’ve ever heard him. “My sister—”

  “And that traitor !” Boaz takes another swing, but Cage blocks it. “You think I haven’t seen it in your eyes? If you lose this Trial you could still save Tristin. But you won’t sacrifice him, will you? Even after what he did to us?”

  “Shut up,” Cage rumbles.

  Boaz takes advantage of Cage’s temporary distraction and bashes him in the face. Cage reels backward and Boaz lunges for the key.

  Cage isn’t down yet. He grabs Boaz by the shoulder and hauls himself up. His fists are a blur. Thwack! Thwack! I can’t help but recoil from the sound of each impact. It’s as if he’s venting all of his rage at last.

  “Cage!” Tristin screams.

  But her brother doesn’t seem to hear her. Or doesn’t want to.

  “They’re just playing it up for the higher-ups.” Leander nudges Corin in the shoulder and steps forward, shielding his view.

  But the kid ignores him, pushing past Leander to get a better view. “Leave him alone, Cage!” Corin screams.

  Boaz collapses, his face pulpy like potter’s clay.

  Cage steps over him. He staggers over to us almost as if he’s on auto-pilot. His chest is heaving.

  Tristin falls into his arms. “You shouldn’t have … ”

  “It’s … going … to … be … okay.” His hands leave bloody prints on her skin as he pulls her close.

  Our eyes meet for a second over her shoulder, and he turns away. Ashamed of what he’s done? Or that I know how he feels about me? Does he know I can never feel anything for anyone ever again?

  Cage unlocks Tristin’s bonds, then turns and unlocks mine. “Thanks for looking after my sister,” he says as my neck band falls away.

  I nod. “Cage—”

  He turns away and hustles Tristin to the safety zone.

  Recruit Cage has released his Incentives. Only one key remains.

  I grab for Dahlia’s hand but she shakes her head. “Don’t worry about me. It’s better this way.” Her eyes glisten and I see relief there.

  Then I’m pulled away by Cage and thrust into the safety zone, helpless, as my foster mother’s daughter waits to be murdered.

  A few feet from where Boaz lies, Crowley crawls across the sand, his pale body covered in grit and scrawling a bloody streak like the tail of a comet about to burn out. He slumps beside Boaz.

  Boaz reaches out and touches Crowley’s head. “Aren’t we both a mess.” He tries to chuckle, but it turns into a cough and he spits out a mouthful of bloody saliva. His face turns serious. “Don’t worry. I’m going to get you some help.”

  But Crowley’s barely stirring now.

  Boaz raises himself on hands and knees. Suddenly, he digs into the ground. A high-pitched laugh echoes throughout the field.

  He raises his hand.

  In it rests the last key.

  My whole body tenses. This is it. Now Dahlia dies.

  But instead of staggering over to the Incentives, Boaz stoops, grabs Crowley in his arms, and half-carries, half-drags him over to them.

  To Dahlia.

  Her eyes open wide. There’s confusion there at first. And then, regret.

  Boaz thrusts the key into Crowley’s hands. “You have to do this, brother.”

  Crowley’s eyes flood. He mouths something to Boaz. Even though I can’t hear it, I know he’s expressing his gratitude. Boaz is giving him a chance to live.

  A chance for Dahlia to live.

  Crowley steps over the line and almost tumbles.

  Leander catches him in his arms. “You’re almost there,” he says. His voice sounds different than I’ve ever heard it before. Compassionate. Tender. Gently, he guides Crowley’s hands toward Dahlia’s bonds, holding them steady while Crowley unlocks her hands, then moves to her collar.

  Dahlia is shaking her head. Tears stream from her eyes. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Leander smirks at her. “You’ve always been First Tier, D.” He shrugs. “Guess this is one time I get to be first.”

  The collar drops to the floor.

  Recruit Crowley has released his Incentive. Recruit Boaz, you have emerged last in this Trial and must now make your choice.

  Dahlia drags Crowley over to the safety zone. They stand silently beside me.

  Leaving only Boaz and Leander and Corin.

  Corin takes Leander’s hand. “I’m not going to leave you.”

  Leander swallows hard. “Thanks, kid.”

  Recruit Boaz. Make your selection now.

  Boaz turns to Leander with what appears to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Sorry.”

  Leander looks in our direction and nods. “Not as sorry as these bastards are going to be when they find out what we’re made of. Flame Squad to the end.” He salutes us and Arrah, Drusilla, and I return it.

  “I choose Incentive Leander.” Boaz’s voice breaks, losing its earlier bravado.

  “I’ll be with you soon, Rod-Man.”

  Then the smile on Leander’s face disappears, turning into a grimace. His body convulses and his hands fly up to his temples. Fountains of blood spring from his mouth, his nose, his ears.
His eyes swell, then burst, spattering his chest with gobs of pulp. He collapses. Corin crouches down and cradles Leander’s head in his lap.

  Dahlia stiffens beside me.

  Around me, the others stare at the corpse.

  The last thing Leander saw before he died was us.

  That’s the same thing all the other Imposers at this installation are going to see.

  twenty-three

  We’ve been running on pure adrenaline for the last couple of hours since Leander’s death.

  Down in the crematorium, my eyes water from the stinging heat of the furnace. Inside, resting on the metal rack, Leander’s body blackens as his crisping skin shrivels away to the bone. A recently virile and vibrant human being, reduced to nothing but a smoldering pile of ash in minutes. I’ve grown so used to the stench of roasting flesh that it barely registers anymore.

  I feel like I’m the one that’s burning.

  Tonight’s the night we either break out of this shithole, or go down taking as many of them with us as we can.

  Either one works for me.

  Since we’ve been under constant watch ever since the last trial, I have to dish out the details of the plan piecemeal—as we load more bodies onto the carts, mop out the grime from the cells, take our shower, and finally sit down in the mess hall, sharing what could be our last, meager meal.

  Where once there were two tables, now there’s only one.

  “So, you said you and Tristin are gonna come get us tonight?” Corin asks through a mouthful of gruel.

  My eyes flick to Ensign Echoes, the lone Imposer, who’s standing by the doorway stifling a yawn.

  “That’s right,” I reassure him. After everything Corin’s been through, I’m just glad he’s speaking again. The fire I saw in his eyes way back during our first encounter at the research facility is coming back. “After lights-out, Tristin and I will crawl through the ducts and set the timers on the charges I planted.”

  Tristin gives him a hug and smiles. “Then we’ll come back and use the access card Lucian and Dahlia stole from Renquist, to unlock the cell blocks for you guys to slip out.”

  Dahlia swallows, her eyes staring ahead into nothingness. “Like I said before, opening the cell doors will transmit a signal to the duty guard in the control room. They’ll be on us in seconds. We have to be ready to take them on.”

  I glance again at Echoes, who’s scratching his nose. “Don’t worry. I told you, we’ll have some firepower on our side. You’ll get your chance.”

  Arrah lifts her water cup to her lips, covering her mouth as if she’s going to sip. “And you’re sure you have enough weapons?”

  I stir the slop in my bowl with a finger, not looking at her. “At least enough to take the skeleton crew by surprise before they send for reinforcements.” My eyes sweep across them. “The explosives will distract any guards long enough for us to slip through the ducts, into one of the aircraft hangars, commandeer a Vulture, and get the hell out of this place.”

  Corin is staring at Leander’s empty chair. “Where will we go?” he whispers.

  I reach out and muss his hair. “Anywhere’s better than here.” I smile at him, but I’ve been thinking the same thing. Flee to where? We’ll be fugitives. If the Establishment doesn’t find us first, there are other things out there.

  “Finish up!” Ensign Echoes calls from across the room. “Time to get going!”

  The squeak of chairs fills the room as the five of us push away from the table as one. We give each other one last, knowing look. Within minutes, we’re back in our cells. The doors hiss as they seal shut. Moments later the lights are extinguished.

  The only thing I can hear are the mingled sounds of Tristin and my breathing, and the throb of my own pulse.

  Time passes. Maybe twenty minutes. Maybe thirty. Can’t be sure. I strain my ears. Footfalls in the distance. More doors closing. The low rumble of voices fading.

  “Time to move,” I whisper to Tristin.

  Climbing on top of the cot, I reach my fingers up through the darkness of the cell until they brush up against the slats of the grate leading into the vent shaft.

  The lights flare on, flooding the cellblock and momentarily blinding me. My heart misses a beat, then shoves a couple of extra ones in to compensate.

  Tristin and I stare at each other in shock, not moving a muscle.

  “Lucian, what’s—”

  I shake my head, cutting her off. They found out what we’re up to. Somehow, they know.

  Do they have us under surveillance that I’m not aware? I’ve searched this cell from top to bottom, hundreds of times, and never found any hidden cameras. What else could it be?

  Did one of our very own betray us?

  No. After all we’ve been through, that’s something I refuse to believe. Even though it wouldn’t be the first time.

  I glance at the vent shaft overhead. Whatever’s happened, now might be our only chance.

  But before I can move, the cell doors spring open.

  Attention Incentives, an unfamiliar voice blares from the cell block speakers. You will now exit your cells and gather in the main holding area. We have a special announcement to make.

  Special announcement? This can’t be good.

  Several Imposers, including Styles, are milling around brandishing their weapons. Judging from the grogginess on their faces, it looks like everybody’s rest period was cut short.

  But why?

  I follow Tristin out. Arrah and Corin look my way. They both have the same look on their faces—a blend of fear and curiosity. Arrah’s eyes are asking me what’s going on, but I can only shrug and shake my head.

  Only Dahlia seems unfazed. She takes in everything with dead calm—no panic, no contempt, no rage—nothing. It’s as if Dahlia Bledsoe abandoned her body, leaving only a gutted shell. The only sign of life is the slow sawing of her ragged nails against her arms, digging deep enough to dredge up thin rivers of glistening red.

  Cassius Thorn’s face fills the screen.

  He nods. “Greetings, Incentives. I know that you are all wondering why your rest period has been interrupted in such an unexpected manner.” He pauses for a moment, as if he’s waiting for us to agree. “As you are aware, Recruit Crowley sustained an injury during one of the Trials.”

  “Yes. We know,” I respond.

  “Recruit Crowley’s condition,” Cassius says, “continues to steadily decline.” He sighs. “In fact, he is not expected to survive more than an hour or two at most.”

  “He wouldn’t be in this shape if you’d given him medical atten—”

  Styles shoves me with the butt of his weapon. “Shut up! You will not address the Prefect—”

  Cassius waves him off. “It’s all right, Officer. Let him speak.” His eyes drill into me. “Actually, what happened to Recruit Crowley could have been completely avoided had his performance during the trial met acceptable standards.”

  “Acceptable standards?” I scoff. “There’s nothing acceptable about any of this.”

  “Crowley had the opportunity, just like all the other Recruits, to train and make the right decisions—”

  “But—”

  “His well-being and ultimate fate is in his own hands. A fact you of all people, Spark, should be well aware of, given your own brush with illness during last season’s Trials—oh!” His fingers massage his forehead. “Forgive me. My mistake. You didn’t obtain those antibiotics on your own. You relied on the pity of a fellow Recruit—what was his name?” He shakes his head and flicks his hand as if he’s shooing away dust. “No matter.”

  “You know his name,” I say. “After all, wasn’t he on your payroll?”

  “Enough time has been wasted,” Cassius says, not taking the bait. “Rather than waiting for Recruit Crowley to expire, thus eliminating himself as well as his sole
remaining Incentive from the Trials”—his eyes prey on Dahlia for a moment—“we have decided to preserve the integrity of the Recruitment process and incorporate this unfortunate situation into the next Trial, which will take place immediately.”

  My mind reels. Holding the Trial right now, especially given Crowley’s condition, means Dahlia, like Leander and the others, is as good as dead. No more reprieves.

  Unless we don’t waste another second and make our break for it right now.

  I scan the room. There are only three Imposers. Maybe we can take them out and make a break for the weapons cache hidden in the vent shaft—

  Tristin’s hand brushes against mine. When I turn to her, she’s looking at me as if she’s read my mind. The shake of her head is barely perceptible but it’s there. I follow her eyes to where Corin’s standing, frightened and teary-eyed, just a few feet away from Style’s massive bulk.

  She’s right. As much as I’m dying inside at the thought of losing someone else, there are still three other people counting on my help to get out of here. This time, I can’t put my personal feelings above everything else.

  The screen showing the image of Cassius dissolves, replaced by a holo of Cage, Drusilla, Boaz, and Crowley, all lying in cocoonlike capsules. Tentacles of wire are wrapped around their naked bodies, which are strapped down to gleaming silver slabs as if they are about to be autopsied. The wires are connected to humming, blinking machinery. I can tell from some of the digital readouts on the display that all bio-functions are being monitored, just like they were when we were trapped underwater in the pods. While I would expect that the heart rate and breathing of the Recruits would be accelerated under these conditions, there’s one readout that’s too slow, barely blinking.

  Crowley is fading fast.

  As you can see, Cassius’s disembodied voice says, creeping all around us, the Recruits are incapacitated and tethered to neurostimulators. These are connected to pressure points throughout their bodies, and are capable of delivering sensations of the utmost pleasure—and the most agonizing pain.

  As if on cue, a sharp pain stabs my gut. I can see where this is going.

  This Trial will test each Recruit’s resilience and ability to withstand pain, in the event that one day they are captured by enemy forces and subjected to the most barbaric interrogation methods.