Mortal Sight

by Sandra Fernandez Rhoads

  I crack my eyes open. The wispy fog vaporizes enough so I can see Harper kneeling beside Maddox. He’s passed out on the worn carpet near the couch. Harper holds his wrist, checking his pulse. Guilt pangs through me.

  “Keep yourself still, Honey.” An old man wearing blue flannel pajamas and wraparound sunglasses hobbles into view. White hair crowns his dark, wrinkled head. His cane hits the coffee table. Four round indentions in the carpet map out where the table probably sat before Harper pushed it aside to get to Maddox.

  “Sorry, Pop.” Devon slides the table out of the way, resting it against the wall by a worn, green recliner with patchy scabs peeling away on the arms.

  The haze fully recedes, but my lungs feel bound. I can’t get enough air to breathe. I get up slowly, careful not to step on Maddox. Weakly, I force out the words, “I need to know who is going to die. I have to stop—”

  The old man presses both hands on the handle of his cane and leans forward. “You’re no good to anyone till you rest.” His loud voice feels like cannon fire inside my head. Instinctively I cover my ears.

  Harper is checking Maddox’s airways. Devon hovers behind her. “Pop, we better contact Council and—”

  “None of you have any idea how much pain the girl’s suffered, except maybe the boy.” Pop pokes at Maddox with the tip of his cane like he’s checking to see if Maddox is still alive.

  One look at Maddox’s pale face and limp body lying on the floor near my feet, and I wrestle back a sob. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t even know I could.

  Pop lifts a boney finger at Devon. “As soon as he wakes up, he’ll know exactly how much stronger she is than the rest of you.”

  Pop is wrong. I’m not stronger.

  “Maddox is cold.” Harper stands. “I’m getting a blanket.”

  Devon’s gaze follows her as she disappears around the corner of the hall near the front door. “Pop, it’s only a matter of time before the Legions find Cera. They’re circling East Ridge, searching. We’ve got to inform Council and arrange a transport.”

  “The girl’s done with the vision. The boy has it now.” Pop hunches over his cane. He looks like a pint-sized version of Devon—only older. A lot older. They share the same round head shape and frown lines, but Pop has bulldog-like jowls that Devon lacks. “The Legions may know she’s in the area, but they won’t know exactly where. Now that she’s tethered, they’ll stop searching. We’ll move her when the time is right.”

  Devon gestures impatiently. “But what if—”

  “What’s the matter with you, son?” Pop thwacks Devon with his cane. “Didn’t I teach you right? The boy’s intercepting them now.” Pop points to Maddox. “He’s near her. There’s no need to worry the vision will get taken.”

  “I know about transfers, Pop.” Devon puts his hands in his pockets as he stares at the ground. “It’s just that Council orders us—”

  “Don’t be lecturing me on Council. I may not be in the thick of things right now, but I was running Council before your mama was in diapers. Now let that girl rest.” Pop pounds his cane on the carpet with an emphatic thud. It’s not a suggestion. It’s an order. Of course, he doesn’t know that I don’t follow orders very well.

  “I don’t need rest.” My head throbs. I am totally nauseous, and I want to curl in bed until the lingering pain passes. But I can’t stand around and do nothing. If Devon plans on taking me to Council, I’ll run out that door and find Mom—okay, so maybe walk out the door. Running won’t be possible for a few more hours.

  Feeling his way to the recliner, Pop says, “Honey, you’ll get about two feet out that door and those beasts will track you. They ain’t gone yet. Sit yourself down until you’re useful again.”

  I freeze. How did he know what I was thinking?

  Harper hurries back into the room with a green crocheted blanket. “Has Maddox woken up yet?”

  “Not yet,” Devon says.

  She shakes her head. “He’s been out too long. I’ll try and wake him.”

  “He’s breathing, isn’t he?” With a grunt, Pop lowers himself into the patchy recliner planted across from me. “Don’t smother the poor boy. Let him be.”

  Conflict burns behind Harper’s eyes as she stares at Maddox. Eventually she lets out a dramatic sigh and says, “Fine,” before tossing the blanket on the couch next to me. “Then I’ll fix him something to eat for when he wakes.” She marches into the tiny kitchen near the front door.

  I wince each time she slams a cabinet or drawer. The loud thump, followed by the angry clank of a metal pan hitting the stovetop aggravates my already pounding head. I rub my temples, trying to ease the pain, as I ask, “How can I find out who was in this vision?”

  “You can’t interpret your own visions?” Devon gives Pop a sideways glance.

  I shake my head. Bad move. I lower myself back down on the couch. “I only see fragments. Bits and pieces at a time.”

  “But not a whole picture?” Devon asks.

  “No.”

  Devon turns to Pop. “Why doesn’t she receive a clear image?”

  With a fluid motion, Pop rests his cane across his lap like a safety bar—or a weapon. “Honey, tell me what you saw.”

  Right then Maddox stirs. His arm shields his face from the light. I want to kneel down and tell him that I’m sorry a million times over, but Harper has somehow long-jumped from the kitchen and swooped to his side. “I’m right here, Maddox.” She grabs the blanket and tucks it behind his head. “Does anything hurt?”

  Maybe I’m being hypersensitive, but her question feels like an accusing dagger aimed right at me. Especially as Maddox groans in pain. “I’ve got something to help.” Harper takes a small purple vial out from her front pocket, the same liquid she had me drink when she removed the glass shard. She lifts his head and sets the vial to his pale lips.

  “Focus, Honey,” Pop tells me. “Think on the vision, on what you saw, and not on the boy.”

  My cheeks burn. How could he tell I was looking at Maddox? “I wasn’t—”

  “Don’t argue. Think.” Pop rocks forward in emphasis.

  “I saw a cup. Maybe. It didn’t look like a cup. It could have been a wine glass. I don’t know.” Doing my best to ignore Harper, I search the room for something to focus on. A Coltrane album leans against the wall near the front door; a gold picture frame with a family photo sits on the bookshelf near Pop’s recliner.

  Nevertheless, I can’t stay focused, so I close my eyes and rest my hands on my knees. I exhale and let the picture resurface. “There was also lightning.” I open my eyes. “I saw lightning.”

  Pop's lips press into a slight scowl. “What color?”

  Harper looks surprised at his question. Anyone might think that odd but . . . “It was red . . . or the red was blood. I’m not sure.”

  Pop stills the recliner. His words come out slow, careful. “Honey, when were you Awakened?”

  “You mean when I started seeing things?” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Harper placing her hands on Maddox. She’s listening for any injuries. What if I hurt him internally?

  “That’s right.” Pop’s tone is calm. “How old were you when you had your first vision?”

  “My first vision . . . ?” I try to think. “I was . . . uh . . .”

  Devon interrupts. “Did you have visions before you turned seventeen?”

  “I’ll be seventeen in a few days.”

  “So you were Awakened at sixteen?” Devon looks surprised.

  “What’s the big deal?” Harper sits back on her heels and looks up at Devon. “I get she’s a Seer and now she’ll get all the protection, but seriously, do we have to make such a fuss about when she was Awakened? So what if she got her Bent early? That doesn’t make her better than the rest of us.”

  Fire burns through my veins. I didn’t say anything when she insulted me, accused me, humiliated me, but I’ve shut my mouth for too long. I launch myself off the couch. “I’m not better than anyone else, and I
don’t want to be. The only reason I’m here is to find out how to destroy those”—I fling out an arm—“those evil beasts. You think I wanted to start seeing and experiencing this horrible pain when I was seven? I couldn’t care less when I was Awakened. The only thing I care about is keeping someone else from dying!” The whole room goes quiet.

  “Seven?” Devon stares at me in disbelief. “You got your Bent at seven?”

  Harper tosses her hair over her shoulder. “That’s such a lie.”

  This time I’m the one glaring as I tower over her. “I don’t care what you believe. Unless anyone can draw out—or better yet, tell me—what I’ve seen in my vision, then somebody will die. Don’t you get it? It has to be stopped now. Every minute we spend arguing is nothing but wasted time. We’re talking about a life! If I’d had more time to find Jess—” The rest of the words get strangled in my throat. I take a cleansing breath. “Whatever it takes. The situation has to be stopped from coming true, and I won’t know what it means unless I can see it drawn out. And—”

  “Cera.” Devon stops me. “You can’t change a vision.”

  “What?” His words stun me. “No. No! I almost did with Jess. I just needed more time . . . I could have—”

  Devon slowly shakes his head. “Visions expose elements of the second realm. Either an event so far off in the future it won’t happen in our lifetime, or an event from the past, giving hints about our history as keys to protect our power. It’s like getting a puzzle piece, or mosaic tile, that fills in gaps of a greater picture we can’t fully comprehend. They simply show what is. They don’t reveal present-day events—or foretell deaths. And even if they did . . .” He looks at me almost apologetically. “I’m sorry to say, the situation would be unchangeable.”

  No. He’s wrong. He has to be wrong. “That’s not true!”

  “Calm down.” Devon holds a hand out, and his voice is filled with warning. “Listen to me. Interfering with a vision—it’s forbidden. A lot could go wrong.”

  “I don’t care what’s forbidden! I can’t stand by, knowing someone is going to die, and just let it happen. Who could? Besides, what you described as a vision is not what I see. My visions don’t show events from the past, or some event in the distant future. Every single vision I’ve ever had leads to a near and impending death. My mom drew out the images and even cut out newspaper articles as proof.”

  “I’ll draw it out.” Maddox’s voice is rough as he pushes himself to his knees. My heart lurches. His face is ghostly pale—not unlike Mom’s the morning after I’ve had a vision. “I saw everything in the transfer. It’s in my head. We can still find a way—”

  Devon’s lightning-quick glance flickers between Maddox and me. “Hold up. What do you mean by ‘still’? How long have you known about her second Bent?” A combined look of disbelief, hurt, and anger sweeps his face. “You knew and kept it from me. From the group? You put everyone at Hesperian in danger. And in the workout room . . .” The swelling muscles in his arms match the rising of his voice. “You were planning on leaving, weren’t you? Take off right before Council arrives and use her Bent in some way to avoid training. Was that what was going on?”

  Maddox hangs his head, teetering a little as he stands.

  “Why wasn’t I included?” Harper sounds as devastated as she looks.

  “I . . .” Maddox presses his fingers against the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. I know the feeling. That’s the pain of your own words echoing like fireworks inside your brain, but I also know hurting someone else feels ten times worse. But Maddox wasn’t alone in this. I betrayed Devon as well.

  “I didn’t want to get locked up by Council,” I admit, my voice shaking. “I knew what I was as soon as you told me. I’m the one who put everyone in danger, and I’m sorry. I only wanted to keep those horrid things from hurting anyone else.”

  Despite my honest confession, Devon is still terse. “There’s a reason the Alliance has ranks and order. It’s for protection. Yours and those around you. Regardless of what you want, you weren’t given the Bent for fighting them off.”

  “But I have to try.” The desperation in my voice mingles with choked tears.

  Devon’s scowl softens. “You can’t.”

  “No, son.” Pop clears his throat. “I believe she can.”

  Devon stares at his grandfather. “She’s not a Blade or a Caretaker. It’s been confirmed.”

  Confirmed. My heart sinks.

  Pop gently rocks in his chair. “She’s absolutely a Guardian and Seer. But she’s something more. You can sense it, but you don’t trust yourself enough to see it.”

  My gaze darts between Devon, who looks dejected, and Pop, whose expression hides behind his dark glasses. “Do I have three Bents? Is that even possible?”

  Harper rises to her feet and rolls the blanket in her arm, puzzled. Maddox looks at the ground.

  “It’s not a Bent.” Pop stops rocking. “Honey, I believe you’re what we call a Blight.”

  Blight? A disease. Decay. Death. He’s tagged me with a name that can’t mean anything good.

  Pop adjusts his glasses and leans forward intently. “According to some folks, you’re considered the biggest threat to the Alliance there ever was. Honey, it’s a wonder you’re still alive.”

  The grim walls of the cramped apartment seem to close in on me as everyone stands frozen with fear. “What do you mean by still alive?” I ask.

  “Does she have a virus?” Harper’s fingers twitch, ready to spring into action.

  Devon studies me with scrutiny, and if I’m reading him right, a hint of disgust. “No. It’s congenital. Something she was born with that can’t be undone. Blights are born with a mixed, dualistic bloodline with traits from both parents, one who is Awakened and the other who is a . . . Dissenter.” A rebel. Devon almost spits out that last word. If what Devon says is true, then it’s no wonder Mom kept moving me. Maybe it wasn’t so much about the bodies I left behind as it was her way of protecting me from the Alliance—or both.

  Harper removes herself into the open kitchen as Devon continues. “Blights are considered a threat because, like Sirens, they lure the Awakened away from the Alliance so they’ll dissent. With every convert, Sage’s army grows and gives him more power.” Devon’s stern look aimed at Maddox is clear.

  “Tell me, Honey,” Pop asks. “Did either of your parents have a red mark around their neck? Maybe looked like a birthmark, a burn, or dry skin?”

  The Dissenter isn’t Mom. I swallow. “My father. I only saw the mark a few times because his shirts always covered what looked like a rope burn.” I’d seen a similar blotch on someone else not too long ago. I go behind the couch to create a barrier between them and me. As I try to recall who and where, a bigger truth overtakes me. Dad knew I was a Blight when I had my first vision all those years ago. That’s probably why he called me a monster and ran out on us.

  My heart pangs. All this time, Mom’s been by my side protecting me, enduring the pain of my visions, so no one would know . . .

  “You’re a Blight, sure enough,” Pop says firmly. “The fact that your visions are fragmented, that there is a telltale sign that your bloodline is tainted.”

  Tainted. I hold on to the back of the couch to support my weakening knees. “What’s so bad about having a dual bloodline? I’m not on the enemy’s side.”

  Pop folds his hands across his lap. “Unions between Dissenters and Awakened are forbidden by the Alliance. If they’re even able to have children, then their offspring—a Blight, like you”—Pop points at me—“not only dilutes the bloodline and weakens our powers, but if the conditions are right, could potentially destroy the very source of that power.”

  His words are making me physically ill. Not as bad as a vision, but in some way, just as awful. I’m not the enemy, but the way Maddox looks away, his face a storm of emotions I can’t read, makes me believe I am. Harper listens intently as she stirs a steaming pot that smells of chicken soup.


  Devon is now in full-blown military mode. “A Blight like her is beyond our scope of authority. I’ll inform Region and arrange a transport.” He pulls out his phone.

  “Don’t.” Maddox looks ready to tackle Devon. “I know what Region Council does to Blights.”

  Devon looks straight at him. “Maddox, Blights are dangerous. We’re not equipped to handle them. We could end up putting everyone in danger.”

  “Stop talking like she’s some impersonal Alliance concept. It’s Cera!”

  “Doesn’t matter who it is. We can’t protect her. The enemy’s pull toward her will be ten times stronger than what we’ve ever experienced. Not only is she a Seer, but a Blight? Once Sage knows she exists, he’ll stop at nothing to get to her power and siphon what’s inside her head or use her to read any image renderings. He’ll destroy anyone who gets in the way.”

  “Then we’ll keep Sage from finding out—”

  “At what expense?” Devon’s voice rises, the two of them less than two feet apart. “How many lives are you willing to put in danger? Tanji? Amide? Everyone at Hesperian?”

  The thought of anyone else dying sickens me. And there’s a life on the line right now. Unless Maddox draws out my vision, I won’t know who it is. “What will Council do to me?” I step away from the protection of the couch. “I don’t want any more blood on my hands. Will they kill me? Lock me up forever? Tell me what happens if I turn myself in. I want to know.”

  “Hard to say.” Devon looks at Pop, who sits quietly with his hands folded over his belly, letting it all play out.

  I cross my arms. “Say it anyway.”

  Devon fidgets with his phone. “From what I’ve heard, Blights are usually . . . terminated.”

  Harper lets out a small gasp. She tries to cover up her distress by running water into a clanging pot. Maddox’s concerned eyes fight to say what his tight lips don’t speak. As far as looking to Pop for help, he might as well not be in the room. So much for having a fellow Seer on my side. I guess Blights don’t get that luxury.

  I absorb the weight of the word. Terminated. They’d kill me. Me. Someone who’s on their side. No wonder Mom ran from the Alliance all these years. Maybe running is still the answer.