by S. S. Segran
“We’re searching for a box of ancient seeds,” Tegan said cautiously. “As far as we know, its last location was somewhere here, in a cave.”
Subira considered the group thoroughly, her fingertips pressed against her lips. “This knowledge is not known to anyone but our people. Maybe you are the ones our ancestors spoke of.”
“You were expecting us?”
“We didn’t know who to expect, or when. For scores of generations, all my people knew was that we had to guard an artifact entrusted to us by—”
“Lucius?” Aari cut in.
Subira spun toward him. “I was going to say a revered soul. How do you know this?”
“I-I don’t think it’s my place to explain. But I know about Lucius. And I know about Carmel, who planted a tree that could save—did save—many lives. She died protecting it. Lucius burned the tree to honor her last wish, and lived on for years before passing the seeds to a man he considered a son, with instructions to keep it safe and never plant another tree.”
The men and women beside Subira removed their masks, mesmerized. Subira lifted her head to the sky and Marshall thought he saw tears shimmering in the moonlight. She dragged in a long breath, then said, “For nearly two thousand years, our people wondered if there would ever be a day when what we have protected would come to light. We’ve never wavered a hair’s breadth from the promise we made to Carmel and Lucius.”
Marshall was floored. Carmel and Lucius must’ve had an incredible impact to have been worthy of a promise that spanned centuries, he thought. Not just for the seeds they brought, but the people they were. Pride stirred within him at the notion that he was, in some way, distantly related to Carmel. I wish I could know more about her, the final Keeper of the Seeds.
“Will you help us, then?” he asked Subira. “More and more people are dying every day and these seeds are our last hope.”
For the first time, Subira smiled. It wasn’t bright or wholly warm, but it was a smile and Marshall could get behind that.
“Yes,” she said.
* * *
The western face of Meru trembled with every impact. A large log with the trunks of two of the elephants coiled around it rammed the rock again and again. Subira had guided them to a spot not far from where the teenagers and Sentries made camp, claiming that the concealed cave lay just below the surface.
The elephants worked tirelessly until at last the basalt cracked and loosened, revealing a gaping black hole. Subira, torch in hand, reverently led the teenagers and Sentries inside while the rest of the Watchers stood guard near the entrance. Marshall brought up the rear, following Subira’s measured pace. The cave was musty and oddly warm, barely big enough for the seven of them as they encircled a granite pedestal at the center. Upon it rested what appeared to be a tan, claylike box. Carved into top were a row of three triangles, matching Subira’s tattoo exactly.
Firelight swayed on the walls, warping shadows. Marshall stood behind the rest, arms crossed, wanting to believe that they were at the end but too wary to be optimistic. Is this really it? After everything—Israel, Egypt, Sudan, now Tanzania—is this the final stop?
He regarded the teenagers and figured they were wondering the same thing. They looked on, hushed, as Subira removed a small reed tube from a pouch on her belt and uncorked it. Her hand hovered above the clay casing, shaking. Dominique touched her shoulder. Subira’s hand steadied. She tilted the tube and clear liquid poured out onto the exterior of the box. The claylike material began to dissolve as the drops hit, crumbling like wet sand until all that remained was a wooden box clad in brass with faded engravings. Marshall immediately recognized the carvings as those on the teenagers’ pendants.
Subira delicately lifted the box. “If what lies within this is truly destined to save humanity, then Carmel’s vision for the seeds and Lucius’s unwavering commitment after her passing will not have been in vain. Under the watchful eye of Kilimanjaro, in the bosom of Meru, this box has been hidden for nearly two thousand years. Now, it will see the light again. We… we never thought this day would come. Not in our lifetime.”
Her gaze glided across the group, alighting on Dominique. “Adiha kilazi,” she whispered, handing the box to the Sentry. “Bound by providence.”
Dominique took the box as if it was the most priceless of gemstones. “Thank you, Subira.”
The young woman led them back outside. Her people clamored to catch a glimpse of the box, speaking in elated undertones. No one could peel their eyes from the treasure until Tegan snapped out of the trance. “We need to plant one of the seeds. Kody needs this.”
Marshall came back to himself. “But we can’t wait here for it to grow. We need to head to Dema-Ki and hand the seeds to Magèo.” He found Kody watching them mutely behind the throng, then said, “What if we plant a seed in one of our bags? Then we can take it with us while we find a way out of Africa.”
“That Cessna isn’t gonna carry us across the ocean,” Aari pointed out.
“If I may,” Subira interjected, “Cape Town still offers select flights out of the continent. I don’t know where you intend to go, but that would be your best option.”
“Kody?” Tegan said. “Would you be able to figure out—”
The boy made a shushing gesture, and he and Subira conversed rapidly. He pulled a map from Aari’s backpack and studied it, eyes squinting against what Marshall suspected was a continuous headache. Then Kody cleared his throat. “If I’m right, it’ll probably be a twelve-hour flight to Cape Town in our little plane. Maybe throw in a couple of hours for fuel stops.”
“Fifteen hours for the seed to grow,” Tegan said. “How many days will we need before we can use it to treat Kody?”
“According to my, um, earlier exploring,” Aari said, glancing furtively at the Watchers, “it took six days for the sapling to come up to waist height after Carmel planted it. Maybe someone can reach out to Elder Nageau and see if Magèo knows what to do.”
“In the meantime,” Mariah said, unzipping her backpack, “we can use my bag to carry the seed once we’ve planted it.”
The group scrambled to empty the contents of her bag into the others’, then filled it with black, nutrient-rich volcanic soil. Dominique gingerly opened Carmel’s box. Inside, four seeds in separate glass vials rested on indented velveteen beds. Tegan carefully removed a vial, holding it so close to her face her breath fogged the glass. Around the group, Subira and her people began chanting a lush, unknown hymn, dense with devotion. Their voices lilted together like liquid gold under the gloss of the full moon. Marshall’s skin tingled as he listened, feeling himself slipping into what felt like another realm.
A familiar prodding pushed against his mind. Marshall!
Elder Nageau! The Sentry moved to a quiet distance from the impromptu ceremony. As he listened to the Elder, the chanting faded entirely into the background. He went rigid, horror pressing down as Nageau’s message sank in. He looked up in time to see the seed about to leave Tegan’s fingertips. An unearthly sound ripped from his throat. He sprinted to cross the ten-foot distance and as the tip of the seed disappeared into the bag, he dove, hands stretched, and snatched it away, landing roughly.
The chanting stopped. Twenty-five pairs of stunned eyes gouged into him.
“Have you lost your mind?” Tegan stormed. “Give the seed back!”
Marshall opened his hand to make sure that the kernel was, in fact, in his grasp, and picked himself up. “There was a reason those seeds were in vials,” he said, exhaling deeply, “and a reason why Carmel said they should not be planted. It wasn’t just to keep them airtight for millennia after millennia. It wasn’t just to keep them away from people’s greed.”
Mariah’s forehead pinched. “Then why?”
“The Tree of Life has another name, Mariah. It’s also known as the Tree of Death.”
Convoluted emotions competed on every face he saw. He gazed down at the kernel in his palm, then said, “The moment a seed touches soil,
it grows into a malignant fern-like tree within days. Its spores spread like wildfire in any and all climates, in any terrain, and is indestructible even by fire. Worst of all, a breath taken by any living being under this tree will lead to an instant and painful death.”
The teenagers nearly collapsed. Screams simmered plainly just below the surface. “So then what?” Mariah exploded. “Another godforsaken dead end?”
Marshall lifted his free hand when he felt Nageau attempting to reconnect with him. The others fell silent. He opened his mind, listening closely, then his expression slackened into a thousand-watt smile. He clutched the seed over his heart.
“No,” he said. “This isn’t another dead end. This is the start of salvation. To become the Tree of Life, the seed needs Dema-Ki blood.”
The underlying screams evaporated. Kody slumped onto his knees, shielding his eyes, but Marshall still saw his teardrops hit the ground. His friends were at his side in the next second, holding onto him tight.
Marshall lifted the seed toward Dominique. “Shall you, or shall I?”
She pointed her walking stick at him. “Marshall Sawyer, let your lifeblood save us.”
Marshall flicked out his switchblade and crouched by Mariah’s bag. The crowd around him pressed in. He rested the knife against his palm and drew a line, staving off a grimace as he felt skin tear. He curled his fingers into a fist, covering the seed, then dropped the reddened germ into the bag. Mariah brushed the soil over it and they all watched, the teenagers and the Sentries, Subira and the Watchers. Even the elephants towered behind them. Soundless minutes passed as the moon and torches illuminated them in the chilly air.
Then, the soil quivered. An inch-long shoot pushed out, bearing a single, luminescent violet leaf.
Marshall grinned. We did it.
62
Victor shifted in the jumpseat of the red charter bus, trying to fit his broad-shouldered frame into the small bench. Beside him, Gareth absently controlled the steering wheel, staring at the empty stretch of road flanked by ditches. His shaggy hair fell over his eyes; from the uncharacteristic tension in his shoulders and hands, Victor knew that the younger man was steeping in a toxic vat of emotions. Not one for offering empty platitudes, he kept his mouth closed.
A white Dodge Ram pickup led the way ahead and a second gray pickup tailed them, each vehicle carrying one American and one Canadian Sentry. The only source of illumination on the road came from the convoy’s headlights. They had left Great Falls, Montana an hour before midnight to avoid traffic and have better situational awareness. They’d crossed the border into Alberta, a province nearly the size of Texas, and Victor’s place of birth. His role as a Sentry often took him away from home but he was glad to see the familiar, wide open countryside that made up nearly one-third of Canada’s farmland.
He’d gotten word around noon from Marshall, who was ten hours ahead in Tanzania, that the seeds had been found. Rarely did anything faze the Canadian Sentry, but hearing the Tree of Life’s twisted dichotomy sent his gut roiling. At least they had the cure now.
Having had enough of Gareth’s atypical silence, Victor nudged him. “Be here, kid.”
The Welsh Sentry started to roll his eyes but thought better of it. “I am.”
“Really? Because you’ve had that look on your face since we left the Lodge. You need to put your regrets and guilt in your back pocket and sit on them. We have fifteen individuals in here who need our full attention. And if we can’t give it to them, this mission has already failed.”
Gareth sat a little taller and looked into the rearview mirror. “Happy bunch we have back there.”
Victor looked at the side mirrors instead, something he’d been doing the entire time to make sure they weren’t being shadowed. “They’re leaving everything behind. Jobs, homes, friends, families. I wouldn’t expect them to be dancing and singing Hallelujah.”
“True. And I’m sure it helped that you offered to move their relatives in with other Sentries till everything blows over. Not to mention telling them that staying behind would turn them into a liability for their kids. But it would’ve been nice if we hadn’t had to go that far.”
Victor gave a half shrug. “It had to be done. It made them cooperative.”
“Mmh. At least Kody’s father was a huge help. Sam’s a good voice of reason. Between you and me, I’m glad we had him on our side. Tegan’s father, on the other hand…”
Victor glanced up into the rearview mirror. Curtis Ryder sat at the far end of the bus with his wife and twenty-one-year-old son. His blown-back ebony hair contrasted with his fair skin and piercing gray eyes. He was the picture of a man whose duty was to protect his city and was upset that he had to leave it behind. Across the aisle, Samuel Tyler’s short-afro head bobbed all over the place as he and his wife tried to stop their second-eldest son from apprehending their overactive youngest.
Mariah’s mother sat by herself in one of the window seats, apparently not inclined to mingle; she was so petite Victor could barely see the top of her head. Aari’s and Jag’s parents spoke quietly while Jag’s older siblings entertained the Barnes’ four-year-old daughter.
“Fifteen lives entrusted to us,” Victor observed again, loud enough for only Gareth to hear. “And forty more hours until we get to Yukon with all the rest stops. And then, Dema-Ki.”
The radios clipped to the Sentries’ belts crackled. “Sheepdog One to Flock, radio check, over.”
“Read you loud and clear, Sheepdog One,” Victor said. “And I am never letting you pick our call signs again. Out.”
The white pickup in front of them wiggled back and forth in response. Gareth snickered. “It’s hard to believe you’re friends with them. They seem too cheery for your speed.”
“I’m friends with you and Dev, aren’t I?” Victor rejoined.
“Should’ve seen that coming.” Gareth checked the GPS near the steering wheel. “We’re less than an hour away from Lethbridge. That’ll be the last big town until Calgary. Vic, I’ll say it again, this trip would’ve been so much faster if we’d taken a plane.”
“I know, but given the situation, this was the best option. Besides, we have better control over everything this way.”
Gareth paused to listen to the radio chatter between the two vehicles sandwiching them, then said, “I can’t believe we’re going to set foot in Dema-Ki. I’ve been dreaming about this my whole life—well, who hasn’t, really—but nothing ever warranted a visit. I wish it wasn’t such a big secret to be kept hidden. Och, but the mere thought that we’ll be there in a couple of days…”
“Yeah… I’m sure it’ll be something.”
“You don’t seem eager, mate. What’s the matter?”
“What? Nothing. It’s fine. Focus on the road.”
Gareth gave him a sidelong stare. Victor twisted the silver rings on his middle fingers, refusing to look anywhere but the endless farmland. He regretted leaving Chief at the Lodge. He needed to grasp the wolfdog’s fur, scratch his head, anything that would give a sense of reassurance to quell the anxiety rising in the pit of his stomach at the mention of Dema-Ki.
Knock it off, he berated himself. Anya needs him more than you do. He’s giving comfort to an orphaned little girl. God knows you needed a companion like him when you were younger.
He was grateful when Gareth switched topics. “So many acres of farmland, barely a soul to see. There’ve been no cars on this road. Aye, it’s one in the morning, but still. It feels dead.”
“The nanomites did their job,” Victor said. “Most of the barley, wheat and canola crops were destroyed, so a lot of people packed up and moved. It’s something I never thought I’d see. I remember running around my cousin’s farm when I was a kid. Now it hurts just to look at this.”
Gareth dug his nails into the leather wheel. “Reyor’s attack is so well thought-out. Makes you wonder what else is planned. After famine and disease, there can’t be much left for the next hit.”
Victor grunted. He
felt his phone buzz against his leg and pulled it from his pocket. A name flashed on the screen: Kenzo. The silver-haired teenager from the New Mexico Sanctuary; his informant within the ranks. The phone pulsed as texts appeared one after another.
Is this working?
Victor?
The reception is so weak! Is this working??
Tell me if you receive this, PLEASE.
The Sentry typed a quick reply. Shoot.
Kenzo gave a rundown of Reyor’s address a few days prior, everything from the establishment of the five echelons dividing the Stewards of New Earth, to Reyor’s willingness to use extreme measures if thwarted, to the distribution of a group of rare individuals among the Sanctuaries. When Victor pressed him for more, Kenzo said that was all he knew and would keep the Sentry abreast if he learned anything else.
“Who’s texting you this time of night?” Gareth asked.
Victor scanned the messages a few times over. “My inside source in New Mexico. He just gave the details of Reyor’s latest speech. One thing stuck out.”
“What?”
“That people with unique blood will eventually be distributed in the Sanctuaries, and they’ll give the next generation of SONEs a quote-unquote, array of remarkable abilities.”
Gareth pushed his hair back and gave Victor a stunned look. “Unique blood? Remarkable abilities? That’s us, right? Anyone with Dema-Ki in their veins, maybe even the Chosen Ones.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I should—”
The Sentry at the back of the convoy interrupted the chatter on the radios. “Break, break, a vehicle just appeared half a klick behind us. Came from the fields to our right. Stay sharp.”
Victor sat ramrod straight as he and the other Sentries gave their acknowledgements. Gareth looked into his side mirror at the dark SUV behind the convoy. “Could just be a farmer.”
“Could be.” Victor’s fingers twitched by his seatbelt buckle.