Divided

by Madeline Dyer

  “Seven! No! Give me—look at me—”

  I straighten up a little, shaky, lightheaded, breathless.

  My vision dims; for a second, I’m sure I must be getting to the Dream Land. But more seconds go by, and nothing else happens—nothing more than the searing pain. It’s in waves, but the waves are getting stronger and closer together, harder and harder. They’re crashing into me, trying to take me. Yet, at the same time, it doesn’t feel like pain. It’s not hurting. Nothing in me is hurting. Not really. Not my head, my throat, my hands, my joints—nothing.

  “Death?” I call out. The Dream Land? But I know I’m not…haven’t made it that far, haven’t….

  It’s not enough. Another wave crashes. All the Promise Marks need to come off. I look for the next gold mark, and….

  The metal bars hit the side of my face, and my body jolts as I move, try to work out what just happened. My hand shoots out and the floor meets it. Pain rebounds through my wrist. Then Esther grabs me—her arms through the bars—holds me to her, the metal between us.

  I blink, woozy.

  “Seven? Seven….” Her voice fogs my ears, and I can’t breathe. The pain. The pain.

  I try to get away from her. I’ve still got the knife, and I grip it tighter.

  “I need to get the others off…the Promise Marks,” I tell her, but my words are sandwiched between sharp bursts of breath and pain, and I don’t think she hears me.

  But I have to do it. And the Gods and Goddesses, they need to know I’m serious—need to understand…and they must be watching me, they must be—Death said before that he was always watching me.

  But that’s not right, is it? He didn’t see what really happened….

  What didn’t he see? I peer around me. My vision sparkles.

  “She’s blacking out!” Clare yells, her voice feral.

  I jolt my head up, feel Esther’s hands trying to hold me up.

  I sink closer to the floor, my back to Esther, the knife still in my hands. I smile at it, feel strange….

  “Seven, give me the knife.”

  Esther’s right behind me, and her arms are reaching around my body, straining against the bars, as she becomes my walls. But she can’t reach the knife because I hold it out of her reach. It’s the only way, and she doesn’t understand.

  “Just give it to me,” she hisses.

  I stare at the knife, the way the blood drips from the blade. I can get the other marks off, soon, as soon as I can breathe properly again…just got to wait….

  Just got to….

  “Seven, please don’t…just give me the knife.”

  “Come on, Seven. You’re lettin’ them win, you’re….”

  “I’m not,” I whisper back, but I can’t use my energy on speaking…not when I need to….

  Something bangs next to me, and I flinch, eyes springing open. Light and—

  Enhanced men. Everywhere. Shit. My chest tightens.

  Do it now. While you’ve still got the knife. Get them all off!

  The room’s quiet—but a trolley squeaks…and other stuff…other stuff happens, but I can’t follow it. Can’t….

  I see augmenters…somewhere…hear a voice telling someone to drink up, that he’s running lean and—and…and my head hurts too much, and the knife shakes. And there’s so much blood. More blood than I remember… So much blood.

  “Move her out of here!”

  And maybe I lose consciousness because, the next thing I know, I’m not in the quarantine bay. I’m in a clinical-looking room, lying on a white bed, and someone’s bandaging my arm with something that smells strongly of antiseptic.

  And then—then I’m not.

  I’m back in….

  “That’s not true,” Esther shouts, and I look up, see her face and—and my vision’s bad, slightly doubled, but my eyes feel different. I look down at my arm, at the tattoos covering it, and the hair—a man’s arm hair—and I stare at it all, stare at me, but it’s not me. I’m not….

  Snap.

  Cold air against my face, the wind. Cold and fresh, crisp, with dots and sand that are like salt. Salt grains against my skin, and—

  “Shania.”

  The name jolts through me, and I gasp, look up. Colors swirl, and I’m in the clinical-looking room again.

  “Shania.” Raleigh walks up to my bed, shakes his head. He’s wearing that protective suit again, and he’s got my knife—Clare’s knife—in his hands. “Why did you do that?”

  I stare at him, groggy. They’ve given me something. Another augmenter? But no, I don’t feel calm or good. There are no positive emotions, and I don’t understand now. I don’t understand at all. I should feel better if I’m Enhanced.

  “The Promise Marks…” My words slur. “Need to get them off…so you can’t… The Gods and Goddesses, Death and….”

  “Oh, Shania. The Promise Marks are spiritual marks. They have a physical appearance, yes, but they can’t be got rid of by physical means.”

  Only a powerful God can undo them.

  The thought flashes at me, and I grimace. I knew that, didn’t I? Part of me knew that, had heard it before…but I struggle to think where. And I need the blue-eyed Seer’s help to get the Gods and Goddesses. I wish I didn’t, because I need to do this myself—sort it out myself. It’s when other people get involved that things go wrong. It’s when I’m not in control that bad stuff happens.

  Raleigh’s hand snakes out toward me, and I’m too exhausted even to try and stop him from stroking my face. But he’s still wearing gloves. Worried about contagion? That illness? Was that…that was real….

  My head pounds.

  “You can’t reverse this, Shania. Accept it. Your body and powers are mine, and we are going to do these great things for humanity—whether you agree or not.”

  Some time later, the boiler suits take me back to the quarantine bay. They’ve already filled me up with new augmenters—ones they say will block out the pain, make me feel better, calmer, more like myself. I don’t know whether that’s a good thing or not—I can’t think, not properly. Everything’s just….

  Better. There, you feel better now.

  And I do feel something—a strange numbness starts to take over my body as the augmenters spread throughout my system, blocking out the bad stuff.

  My shoulders relax, and I start to hum. Hum a soft tune.

  What? You never hum?

  But humming is nice, isn’t it?

  I get back in my cage without hesitation, unsure whether it’s my decision or Raleigh’s, wherever he is. But getting back in the cage is good. A cage means safety. Means no one can hurt me. I breathe deeply. Safety. It’s what I’ve always wanted.

  Corin was your cage before.

  There are Enhanced guards in here now, and one tells me that everyone has been thoroughly searched. He doesn’t say anything about me causing the sickness in everyone, even though I know immediately that the Zharat and Esther are much, much worse.

  I stare around at them, my eyes widening as far as they can when I realize just how much worse everyone is. Sallow skin, lusterless. Several of them look queasy, and, within a few minutes, two women and three men are sick. The Enhanced guards switch their buckets as quickly as their protective suits will allow them.

  “Seven….”

  I turn to Esther, see her sweat-lined face and the huge dark circles under her eyes. She looks like she wants to say more to me, but either she can’t or she doesn’t know what to say. I see her gaze drop to my arm. My bandage is very white, no sign of blood seeping through.

  Blood.

  I cut myself. Alarm filters through me. I inflicted pain. On myself.

  Pain is bad, very bad, isn’t it?

  My head pounds, and I lift my arms up, want to wrap them around myself—need security, comfort—but it’ll hurt. And the voice inside me is right: pain is bad.

  “Are you really doing this? Making us sick?” a voice calls out to me.

  I shake my head. “No.”<
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  But then a lump forms in my throat, and my heartbeat goes all sluggish, heavy. What if it is me? What if I’m doing this subconsciously? What if I kill them? It’s violence…and violence is bad and—

  I groan.

  The augmenter.

  I’m thinking like one of them.

  But you’re hurting these people!

  No.

  I’m not.

  Am I?

  Oh Gods. What if I do end up killing all the Untamed…not just the ones here…and I fulfill the augury that way?

  I sit down slowly, lean against the bars. They are cool and refreshing against my sweaty skin. Esther is on the other side of the bars, and she reaches through to hold my hand. After a moment’s hesitation, I let her. I stare at my hand in hers, and I don’t feel anything. Nothing now. Like the emotions have just flown away, left me. Left me empty and alone, in a room full of people.

  My stomach rolls, a sour taste spreads across my mouth.

  Bad.

  Bad.

  Bad.

  The word echoes through me.

  And Esther and I just sit here. People are coughing. Someone’s sick; I stare at the vomit, the stringiness of it. And the color. Clear but iridescent. My eyes narrow. And—and I’m fascinated.

  Someone sneezes.

  An hour or so later, the rash returns to Esther’s face, and then she’s sick. My stomach twists as my own nausea flares. The Zharat start screaming, moaning. A man calls for his mother, begs her not to leave him. Others join in, reaching through the bars with thin arms that shake. They scream more and more. They’re still screaming when trolleys of food are brought in. But the smell of food makes my stomach turn. I hold my breath, trying not to inhale anything.

  No one eats any food, and the guards scowl. One tries to force-feed Clare, and she snarls and bites him. He yells something about infections and safety. And everything’s just a…a fog. A wash of things. And, inside my head, it feels too hot. Like the air’s thick, muggy with artificial heat that clogs every part of me.

  My ears click; I hear my breathing louder. Strained. Wheezing. I turn onto my side, my back aching, but the floor is now too cold, and it chills my body through in seconds. I reach for a blanket, sure I can feel one over me, but there’s nothing. My jaw slackens after I grimace. I feel my eyelids get heavier still. Too heavy…can’t….

  Voices.

  They filter into my empty thoughts, and I don’t know how long it’s been.

  But then Raleigh’s here. And he’s unlocking my cell, dragging me out.

  He leans over me, and he’s not wearing his suit. His protective suit. Why isn’t he wearing his protective suit?

  Raleigh smiles. “Let me show you something.”

  “She shouldn’t be out here—it’s too risky.”

  Several Enhanced Ones eye me warily as Raleigh leads me outside, into a courtyard. These Enhanced have their protective suits on, and it makes it harder for me to see who they are. Not that I’d recognize them anyway.

  “She’s feeling better,” Raleigh says, his grip on my arm tightening. “And she is seeking redemption. Aren’t you, Shania?”

  I nod, because he makes me. And I try to ignore the nausea welling up in me, and how weak my legs are, how Raleigh’s power over me is the only thing that holds me up.

  Another Enhanced shakes her head. “We’re all going to get sick now you’ve brought her out here. She’ll be targeting us too now. You shouldn’t have brought her outside until you know the parasite is dead and gone.”

  Raleigh doesn’t say anything, just presses his lips into a fine line. A second later, a sliver of pain squeezes around my stomach. I don’t know whether he’s responsible for it or not, but he continues leading me forward.

  My head pounds as we walk. I try to think, try to remember.

  Something in my chest twists hard, and I gasp. Raleigh looks down at me, then makes me walk quicker.

  The courtyard seems to go on and on, forever. But at last we reach the end, and then he’s leading me down steps. The steps go on and on too, and my body’s sagging, and Raleigh’s using more power to keep me upright.

  “You’ll want to see this,” he says, and he’s smiling. “Don’t worry. I understand that the evil isn’t really a part of you, Shania. Not the real you. And we will make sure the evil has completely gone before we begin the next session, when we examine your true Seer powers of conversion and defense—Seer powers that aren’t controlled by the Untamed evil.”

  His words make me feel strange. How can he believe that, when I know Seer powers of conversion and defense include using my powers to kill—how can he believe that isn’t evil?

  “Here we are,” Raleigh says as we get to the bottom of the steps.

  There’s a low arched doorway, guarded by an Enhanced, and Raleigh leads me through it. The room beyond is small, and there are candles in it, and—

  I go cold as I see who lies on the plinth at the back of the room.

  My body locks up. I can’t move.

  I turn to Raleigh, try to shake my head, but he’s smiling.

  “He is here, awaiting the drawings and measurements for the statue construction.”

  I blink at him, feel my eyelashes get heavier. Blood rushes to my ears. A statue?

  “Of course,” Raleigh says, and I must’ve said the words aloud. He prods me forward, makes me look at Jed’s body. “We don’t bother with death rituals—after all, the New World is nothing but a wild, Untamed construction, and death itself is final, there is nothing beyond for anyone to be scared of—and I am having a statue made of my son as he gave you to us, ensuring the fate of the Chosen Ones. So we will worship his memory in much the same way we will worship yours when you seal the fate of this world, guaranteeing evil will not continue.”

  The room goes cold. Everything goes cold. I start shaking. I try to turn away, don’t want to look at the body—don’t want to see it at all, not when I thought I saw him earlier—but I can’t…can’t look away….

  And I look at it. At him. His mouth is slightly open, and his lips look strange. There’s a strange waxy surface over his skin, and the dull yellow light above him makes him look even less real.

  But it’s him.

  It’s Jed.

  His body.

  His dead body. Looking…dead. My heart speeds up, but it feels too heavy. That image, that apparition I saw—my mind playing tricks—it wasn’t… I squirm. It was only as real as that nightmare I had where—

  And this is real.

  His body, here. His skin is only marred by the kavalah spirit bites and his tattoos. No gold splashes—his Promise Marks must have disappeared after death. I try to think back to when he was killed. The gold splashes didn’t vanish immediately, did they? My shoulders tighten. I didn’t hang around for long.

  I ran.

  But they’re gone now, the marks. He just looks—

  Touch me, S’ven.

  The words spring up around me—his voice—and I turn sharply, my head pounding. I start to choke. I can’t breathe. My throat—it’s closing.

  “Ah, young love.” Raleigh makes a guttural sound at the back of his throat.

  I start screaming. The body—it shouldn’t be here… Raleigh’s wrong. The New World is real. The Spirit Releasing Words…they should’ve been said…they should’ve been said immediately…but they weren’t…they still haven’t been said.

  Oh Gods.

  But the body—and Jed’s eyes are open, they’re on me—how didn’t I notice before?—he’s watching me…and he’s still here. He shouldn’t be… No, not he—it. It shouldn’t be here.

  And what about him? His soul and—

  And Raleigh’s making me look at him, at the man who did all this. The man who made me a Dream Land exile, who bound me to my enemy.

  “Tell me what you feel.” Raleigh’s words are low.

  My heart thumps, and my hands are clammy and sweaty. The ground beneath my feet feels too soft, springy.

&nbs
p; “Tell me, Shania,” Raleigh says. And his hand is still on my arm. “Look, you’re shaking. There are droplets of sweat forming on your brow. You’re leaning toward me for support; I’m the only reason you’re not on the ground. What is it you feel? Overwhelming grief that threatens to destroy you? Fear of death itself? Horror at a natural part of life?”

  “Natural?” The word escapes me, but it doesn’t sound like my voice. And to my right, Jed’s dead body watches me.

  Natural. Natural. Natural.

  No!

  “Death is the natural end of life—and yet the darkness in you is conditioning you to feel horror at a natural event.” Raleigh shakes his head softly. “It is controlling you.”

  But Jed’s death wasn’t natural. It was murder. He was murdered by his father. By the man who’s touching me, holding me up.

  Revulsion spreads across me in waves. I try to wrench myself away from Raleigh’s grip, but he won’t let me. I can’t move. Oh Gods.

  I scream. A short, sharp scream.

  “Do you see what the darkness, the evil in you, is doing? How horrible it’s making you feel,” Raleigh purrs. “And those are not nice feelings filling you, are they? And it is this darkness that is fighting the augmenters—fighting what you have chosen to feel. It is going against your will, Shania. It is disobeying you, and it is tricking you, making you feel that it is your choice to feel this pain. But it is not. And it’s those bad emotions that are taking control, that are making you think that viewing Jed’s body isn’t a happy occasion to celebrate, but a torture. Can’t you see it, Shania? These emotions are twisting the truth, getting you on their side so you can fuel them—they’re tricking you, controlling you, rendering you weak, useless, pathetic. They’re making you want to be upset, to feel pain. And that isn’t right, is it? Manipulating you like that, and doing it so secretly. And you can feel them, can’t you, if you search for them? Those small tendrils of darkness… Feel them now, Shania, feel the darkness getting stronger, growing. And think how bad you feel now, when there are only a few tendrils left. And imagine how much worse you’ll feel again, if you let the darkness grow. And if they grow again, they’ll infect your mind once more—you won’t be able to see or think rationally. You won’t see the darkness as a separate part, and you’ll think it is you, because that’s what the evil wants you to think.”