When it hits, it creates a ripple effect. Circles of shimmering liquid reverberate outward from the point of impact. But it’s a remarkably languorous ripple, like time is slowed down inside the barrier. I see the arrow’s tip sliding through the liquid, decelerating rapidly with every millisecond.
And then it stops partway through, trapped.
We all stare at the arrow suspended in the strange substance. It made it only about a foot before getting stuck. A few colorful feathers stick out and mock us, like some kind of exotic flower.
“You won’t be getting that arrow back,” Sinxen remarks.
But Gadya’s already got another one ready, and it looks like she’s about to try again.
This time Veidman won’t let her. “Hold your fire!” he snaps. “That’s an order.”
She hesitates.
“We need to conserve our arrows,” he explains. “Besides, they’re not going to work. We need another way.”
“Can we dig under it?” I ask.
Everyone looks at me, except Gadya, who’s pretending I no longer exist.
“Not enough time,” Veidman says. “Plus, we don’t have shovels. And I’m guessing it goes deep enough underground that we couldn’t get through, anyway.”
“What about going over it?” Markus asks.
“Won’t work either.” Veidman is staring at the barrier. “We can’t climb up that high. We’d get stuck on top.”
I wonder to myself, What the hell is this barrier made of? And who would build such a wall?
Then I think that there must really be something worth hiding behind it—just like David said. But how will I ever find the section where the drones cross over? And the messages on the rocks inside? Will I really have the courage to leave the group if I need to?
I take a few steps back, trying to survey a larger section of the barrier. How do the drones get through this thing and into the gray zone so easily?
“Let’s walk around it,” Veidman instructs. “See if we can find a place where it gets thinner.”
I trudge after Veidman with a heavy heart. Not only is Liam gone, but his death was in vain. We’re not going to be able to get past this barrier.
I can’t imagine the trek back. I wonder if our village will still be standing, or if it has already been reduced to rubble by drones, and annexed by the Monk.
“Quick!” a voice suddenly screams out. “Over here!”
I freeze.
It’s the surviving builder, whom I don’t know too well. He keeps screaming hysterically. “Oh God, I found someone! It’s a boy! And he’s stuck inside the wall. . . .”
RECKONING
WE CATCH UP A moment later. The rain has started coming down harder now. Cold drops pound the top of my head, and rivulets run down my cheeks and the back of my neck. I wipe rain from my eyes, struggling to make sense of what I’m seeing.
A skinny boy in black robes hangs before us, several feet off the ground. He’s partially engulfed by the wall like a bug in an old paperweight.
“Keep your distance!” Veidman cautions.
Gadya and the hunters already have their bows out, all aimed at the same spot. I get mine out too.
The drone looks to be about my age, with long dark hair. He’s short and thin, with a little peach fuzz stubble. His head, one shoulder, and one clawed hand are sticking out of the barrier. So is part of a leg and a foot. The rest of him is fully encased inside the translucent material.
His eyes are shut and his mouth is closed in a thin, tight line. Crimson blood has crusted around the edges of his nostrils and lips, as though squeezed out of him. He’s not moving.
“Is he dead?” I whisper.
Sinxen hears and glances back. “I think so.”
We stand there in the cold rain, scrutinizing this drone, none of us eager to touch him. His exposed skin is alabaster white.
“Who do you think did this to him?” Rika finally asks.
Markus shrugs. “Maybe he did it to himself, trying to get through.”
“But the pressure . . . ,” I murmur. “Could he really make it that far? And why is he turned around, facing us?”
I’m still watching the boy’s face, thinking to myself how awful it would be to die this way. To end up a frozen corpse inside the gelatinous barrier.
Then the boy’s eyelids flicker open.
“He’s alive!” voices start yelling.
Veidman steps forward. Gadya, Markus, Sinxen, and the others follow him with their bows. The boy’s pupils roll into position, fixing us with a bleary gaze. His eyes are pale blue, and I can see the pain in them. The loss of hope.
“What’s your name?” Veidman asks.
The boy struggles to open his mouth, licking his cracked lips. Then he tries to take a huge breath. But he just gasps instead, like a fish on dry land. I realize that his chest must be under incredible pressure. “Help,” he whispers. “Can’t breathe . . .”
“‘Can’t breathe’? That’s not a name!” Gadya taunts viciously.
His eyes swivel toward her.
“Don’t look at me, drone! I’ll cut out your eyeballs and feed ’em to a hoofer!”
“Ignore her,” Veidman interrupts. “Talk to me. Maybe I can help.”
“Please . . .” The boy can barely utter more than one word at a time. I realize if it weren’t for us, he never would have been rescued.
Veidman looks around at our small group. “We need to get him out. He might be useful.”
“He’s the enemy,” Markus says. “Let him rot. If he knew anything about how to get through the barrier, he wouldn’t be stuck.” For a moment, even Veidman hesitates.
“What if this were one of you?” Rika pleads, her voice ringing out over the patter of the rain. “Not every single drone is bad. They can’t be! Some just chose the wrong path. And this drone doesn’t pose a threat to us right now. We can afford to be kind, for once.”
Is she right? I think about David. About how he saved my life, and shared secrets with me. “I think I’m with Rika,” I begin softly.
“You and Rika can go stuff your kindness!” Gadya yells, cutting me off. “The wheel doesn’t respect kindness. Look what happened to Liam! And the others! And you just don’t care.”
“The drones didn’t take Liam, a feeler did,” I say. “Maybe a feeler did this to the boy.”
“Alenna’s right,” Veidman speaks up, before Gadya can shout over me again. “We have to get some answers from this drone.”
“And if he doesn’t have any, we can always put him back in the wall,” Markus says ominously.
Veidman and the others walk forward and grab hold of the boy’s free arm and leg. Gadya hangs back with her bow, covering the group.
I try to help by walking forward, crouching down, and yanking on the drone’s foot. I wonder how long he’s been trapped in here. The parts of his body inside the barrier are as white as a sheet of paper.
Gadya sees us having trouble. “You need me to do it right,” she says in frustration, tossing down her bow and joining the fray.
Progress is slow. First we get the rest of the drone’s shoulder out. Then another portion of his leg. Then part of his neck and chest. He starts to gasp as more air finally reaches his lungs. “Please, please,” he keeps whimpering in a high-pitched voice.
“We’re almost there,” Veidman tells him. Indeed, I can feel the jelly of the barrier loosening as we keep working.
Finally, with an explosive pop, the boy is pulled free from the wall.
He sprawls facedown on the dirt as we cluster around him. His body is slimy with the substance of the barrier. For an instant, a large indentation remains where his body was. But then the jelly surges forward and the hole slowly disappears.
I look down at the drone. Now that he’s been liberated, we’re all a little wary of him. Gadya picks up her bow again. We stand in a semicircle, watching and waiting to hear what he says. The rain is finally letting up.
The drone takes deep, shuddering br
eaths. He coughs, gurgles. Hacks up phlegm. His limbs look thin and weak.
“Tell us your name,” Veidman gently instructs.
The boy can’t even raise his head. “They call me . . . Jump.”
“Dumb name,” Sinxen snickers.
“You’re one to talk,” Gadya retorts.
Veidman silences them both with a look. But the boy has heard.
“You’re right,” he manages in a breathy whisper. “It’s dumb. . . . But they call me Jump ’cause that’s what I do.”
“Is that how you ended up stuck in the barrier?” Markus calls out. “Jumping around like a monkey? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
The drone has another coughing fit, and Veidman leans in closer to talk to him. “My name’s Matthieu Veidman. We’re from a village in the blue sector, near the big river. We’re searching for a way through this barrier and off the wheel.”
“Then you’re infidels. . . . You don’t believe in our Monk’s eternal powers.”
“No, we don’t. But we’ll give you water and food. And a chance to rest. In return you have to tell us everything you know. About this barrier, and about why you’re here. About your Monk, too.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Gadya cuts in, sounding incredulous. “Because if you don’t, we’ll leave you here to die! That’s why. We just lost most of our friends. You mean nothing to us.”
“Jump, do we have a deal?” Veidman asks. Jump squirms around, like he’s trying to sit up. “Someone help him,” Veidman adds, but the drone waves everyone off with his good arm.
“I can manage,” he gasps, although it’s pretty clear that he can’t.
Veidman glances at Rika. “Get some water and food from my pack.” Then he looks at me. “Alenna, grab some blankets.” He peers back down at Jump. “We’re going to help you, and you’re going to help us. We don’t have to be enemies.”
Jump presses himself off the ground a few inches, using his good arm and shoulder.
“Okay. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“I’m listening.”
“Come closer,” Jump pleads. “I don’t want everyone to hear. What I have to say is just for you. You’re the leader, right?”
Veidman reluctantly crouches down next to the fallen drone. “Fine,” he says. “Whisper it to me, then.”
I strain to listen, and everyone else does too. I hear Jump start whispering. I can’t see his face, only Veidman’s. But Veidman’s expression is blank. Emotionless.
And then everything changes.
Jump emits a gurgling shriek, like his lungs are imploding. Veidman instantly lurches up, eyes filled with total inexplicable horror.
At first I don’t understand.
But then I look down.
Sticking out of Veidman’s chest, at the level of his heart, is a silver dagger. And Jump’s hand is wrapped around the other end of it. “I sure got the jump . . . on you!” he says, cackling madly, bloody saliva dribbling from his lips.
Before I have time to scream, an arrow flies straight from Gadya’s bow right through one side of Jump’s neck. The impact snaps his head back.
“It’s a trap!” Sinxen yells.
Everyone explodes into action.
Sinxen grabs Veidman, whose shirt is already soaked with blood, and pulls him to safety. Jump lurches to his feet, displaying more energy than I thought possible. He yanks at the arrow impaling his Adam’s apple, and gurgles blood.
“Death to all infidels!” he hisses, his voice a chilling, mutilated rasp, barely audible because of the hole in his throat.
I stand there paralyzed.
An instant later, Markus and the other hunters come down on Jump like a ton of bricks, their fists battering his face. I catch a glimpse as his head lolls back. I see that he’s laughing like a maniac, blood dripping off his chiseled teeth.
“Don’t kill him,” Veidman calls out weakly. He sways, going into shock. He glances down at the dagger sticking out of his chest. “We need him alive.”
Everyone hears, but nobody listens. Markus brutally rips the arrow right out of Jump’s throat. Blood sprays up and paints the barrier red.
Markus steps back.
Jump is dying now. His throat is torn out, leaving a gaping hole. But a satisfied smile lingers on his lips.
Then a final arrow flies through the air from Gadya’s bow, striking him right between the eyes. His body tenses, hands seizing up, and then he relaxes again. Drooping. The life is gone from him now for good. And so is his smile.
“A dirty trap!” Gadya rants, brandishing her bow. “The Monk probably sent him here and stuck him in the wall. He was waiting to get us!”
“I bet they’ve been putting drones in the barrier as sentries, ever since the tunnel collapse,” Sinxen mutters glumly.
Gadya flings down her bow in anger. “This never would have happened if Liam were here. He would have protected Vei.”
Sinxen is sitting down now, cradling Veidman’s head. Blood wells from Veidman’s mouth, coming up from inside him. The knife is still in his chest. I know that if we try to remove it, it will just make things worse.
“Keep his head elevated,” Rika warns.
We all crowd around our fallen leader. I understand that Veidman is probably going to die because he tried to save someone. Just like Liam. Generosity is clearly a character flaw in the twisted microcosm of the wheel. Gadya was right.
Veidman’s breath hitches in his chest. His neck arches.
“He needs air! Give him room!” Gadya yells.
“If you get back to the village, tell Meira what happened,” Veidman murmurs. He sounds sleepy. I feel an overwhelming sense of dread. “Tell Meira that I love her.” He coughs, his chest rattling. The knife handle moves up and down.
“Fight!” Markus says. I see tears running down his face. “Don’t give up!”
“Tell Meira she has to forget about me. And continue our mission alone. . . .” His words disintegrate into a breathy gasp. His mouth remains open. I think he’s about to start talking again, but then I realize he’s dead.
“Veidman!” Gadya yells. “No!” Everyone starts screaming and yelling. Liam and Veidman were not supposed to die. Without them, we have no real leaders.
In desperation, Markus pulls out the knife and tries to breathe life back into Veidman’s body, giving him CPR. But it doesn’t work. More blood flows from Veidman’s corpse onto the grass and dirt.
Rika wipes at her eyes.
“It’s not fair!” Sinxen yells at no one in particular. He looks around, frantic.
“Damn this place forever!” the builder curses.
It’s then that we hear the rumbling noises.
They emanate from the thick wall of forest that we stumbled out of just minutes earlier. It sounds like an army is marching toward us.
We’ve all been preoccupied with Veidman’s death. For once even Gadya doesn’t have her bow ready. Most of our weapons are down, scattered on the grass.
I spin toward the trees. The others hear the noises too, and grab for their weapons.
But it’s too late.
Armed drones step from the forest in all directions. At least fifty of them. All of them have arrows and spears pointed directly at us. We’re outnumbered, backed against the barrier, and there’s no time to run.
A few hunters race for their bows anyway, but arrows fly and strike them instantly. They fall at once, screaming in agony. The builder dashes for a spear, but gets an arrow through his back.
All movement ceases. The drones watch the rest of us silently. For once they don’t shriek and yell, or toss fireworks. I’m in shock. There are only a handful of us villagers left standing now: Gadya, Rika, Markus, Sinxen, and me. Everyone else is dead or dying.
None of us dares move or speak. If these drones fire more arrows, we’re done for. Maybe we can take a few of them out with us, but it won’t matter.
I don’t want to die. Not before finding the signs of my parents, and the
rocks with their messages on them. Not after I’ve come so far, and after Liam sacrificed himself for me. I stand as still as a statue.
Then I notice something strange beginning to happen.
Four drones with painted faces slowly emerge from the trees. They aren’t clutching weapons. Instead, they carry a cushioned platform on their shoulders. On top of the platform is a reclining chair, ornately carved from black oak. A small, dark figure sits inside it, bundled in heavy woolen blankets up to his neck.
I stare at the terrible sight unfolding before me.
Where the figure’s face should be is a malevolent wooden mask, with two eyeholes and a twisted grin carved into it. It looks like some sort of ritualistic death mask from a lost primitive tribe. In fact, I’m not sure if this figure is alive or dead. He looks so old and hunched over. The drones carrying the chair walk closer.
I stand there, still afraid that arrows are about to fly through the air toward my heart. We are the victims of a perfectly executed ambush.
The four drones bring the chair even closer, just fifteen paces away. Then, as if hearing the same silent signal at once, they gently place the chair down on the grass and step back.
The masked head suddenly moves, swiveling in our direction.
I gasp, despite myself.
Behind the eyeholes, I see demented-looking eyes, burning red with fever and sickness. I flash back to what Gadya told me all those days ago about the Monk. That he never talks, never walks. Gets carried everywhere.
Could this monstrous, disintegrating figure be him? It must be. But why is he showing himself to us now?
The head moves again, panning stiffly like a camera on a tripod. Taking everything in. All the drones are eerily quiet, like they’re waiting for something crucial to happen.
“Checkmate,” a raspy voice finally intones from behind the mask. It sounds like this man’s larynx has been burned away. Or maybe he just hasn’t spoken in a very long time.
“Who are you?” Gadya growls. I hear the fear and anger in her voice, intertwined like the vines that grow all around us on the trees.
“You’re the Can—” Markus begins softly, but then stops. Backtracks. He almost said “cannibal” by accident. “You’re the Monk, aren’t you?” I hear horrified awe in his voice.
The Forsaken (Forsaken - Trilogy) Page 18