My thighs protest as I stand—sharp, burning pains—but I make it to the side of the cage; my back presses against cold metal bars. The man with the axe advances toward me.
An executioner.
Behind him, on the other side, I see Corin fighting with a second man—another executioner, wielding a bigger axe and—
“Corin!”
A blur of movement as the axe moves toward Corin, but then he moves faster, and I hear his breathing—heavier.
“Lie down,” the man in front of me snarls, and my gaze jolts back to him. I recognize him distantly—I’ve seen him about in the cave, but that’s all I know. He readjusts the weight of the axe in his hands, grips the weapon higher up the handle. Light glints from a ring in his left brow. “It will be easier if you lie down.”
“Sev, no!”
I try to stand my ground, but I’m shaking. The man and the axe get nearer. I press myself farther into the side of the cage, until the metal bars push painfully against my spine. Until it feels like I’m going to break.
“Lie down.”
I look behind him, my chest rising and falling too quickly. Clench my fists, consider going for a punch, remembering what Corin taught me. But the axe is in the way. It’s massive.
Oh Gods. I’m going to die. I’m really going to—
A gurgled noise fills the air, makes me jump.
My gaze jerks to the left…to Jed. On the floor, outside the cage. He’s sitting up, wiping white frothy stuff from his mouth.
The executioner’s still looking at me, still talking, telling me to lie down.
“No!” Jed yells. His arm flies out at an awkward angle, and he winces. “Do not kill her.” Jed leans on the bars. “Do not kill either of them!”
The executioner turns back to him. “But they are traitors.”
“No, they are not,” Jed says. “She is my wife, and I do not want you killing my wife. And him—” Jed spits at the ground as he points at Corin. “Keep him alive. Both are to stay alive.”
My executioner looks like he’s going to protest, but Jed raises his hand. And I just stare at him, at Jed. He doesn’t look good, sways slightly, and his eyes are bloodshot.
“That is an order, Renan. An order from a Seer.”
I stare at him. Jed’s protecting us—still…even though they all think we’re spies…and he knows I’m a Seer? And he’s not killing me….
Unless he really doesn’t know?
I push that thought away; he knows I’m a Seer, definitely. What other reason could he have for wanting to keep an eye on me? And he sent Manning and Mart away, so they didn’t see how I was affected by the God’s death.
The God’s death. I shudder. I don’t understand.
I swallow hard. Jed has to know I’m a Seer. And he doesn’t want anyone else killing me, because he wants to kill me himself.
“Why?” I ask, the sound drawing out. I catch Corin’s eye. “Why save us? Jed?”
Jed’s eyes seem to get darker as he walks toward the cage. “I would not ask that question,” he says. “Not unless you want me to realize how mad I am because I listen to voices inside my head.” He touches the padlock, and it unlocks—his Seer powers, got to be. Then he yanks the door open. “S’ven, just go!” he shouts. “Go back to our room. I will be there shortly, and I expect you to be wearing your engagement ring when I get there. And if you try to escape, mark my words, S’ven, I will kill you and Corin and Esther.”
I swallow hard, don’t want to go—don’t want to leave Corin here. But something tells me disobeying Jed would be a very bad idea. And he can’t be about to kill Corin, can he? Not when he just saved him….
“It’s all right, Sev,” Corin says. But he doesn’t look certain.
“Go!” Jed yells. “I won’t hurt him.”
I go, heart pounding.
I get to Jed’s room quickly, look around. The first thing I see is that there’s an extra mattress in here now. It makes the room look smaller, more cramped, but relief floods through me. Then I pull the ring out my pocket—partly glad it’s still there—and put it back on, try to pretend my stomach isn’t churning.
I stand in the corner and wait, wishing I had a weapon, some way to protect myself. I don’t know how long I’m in here for, but, when Jed arrives, he smiles strangely as he hands a cup and a bowl to me.
“You must be hungry, thirsty. Eat. Drink, S’ven.”
After a long moment in which I try to work him out, I sit down on the nearest leaf mattress, and take a sip of the drink. It’s that peppery flavor again. For a second, I feel uncomfortable, associating it with how ill I felt before. Then I tell myself to get a grip. It was that snake spirit that had made me feel bad before, or the alcohol. Not the drink Jed gave me.
I drink more, and I feel fine. There, I tell myself, but I don’t move onto the food.
Jed points to the bed at the side of the room. “I will sleep here. I did not mean to scare you, S’ven.”
I nod, but his words hang between us. I wait for his next sentence to be about me being a Seer. But it’s not.
He just smiles. A smile that makes my skin crawl. A smile that makes me wrap my arms around myself. A smile that makes me sure there’s something off about Jed, something I don’t understand. Something bad.
But how can he be bad when he’s letting you live, a female Seer? When he stopped them from killing you? When he stopped Manning and Mart from seeing how the dying God affected you?
I don’t know. But I don’t like him.
Jed sits down, looks at me. I swallow a bit more of the drink, a little too hastily. It seems to be getting hotter.
“I know you are not a spy,” Jed says. “And I have searched for this radio you apparently used to plan the attack, and it does not exist. It was all Mart’s lies. I have just been to Manning and made sure he knows of your innocence too—it will take a while for word to spread around, though. And I took Corin to get his head looked at—apparently he banged it hard on the way down there, when he was blindfolded. But he is okay.” He shakes his head. “It was all Mart, his plan to get you killed for treason—pretending you were spies. He can be childish. I will have words with him, but you will have to watch out for him. He does not like you, thinks you tried to get him killed by blaming the kavalah spirit attack on him.” He brushes his clothes down. “And the cave has been searched. Mart’s story does not hold up. There are no Enhanced Ones here.”
My body jolts a little, out of my control. I lift my head, find his eyes are on me. His look makes me go cold. Again, I try to work out why he’s protecting me—a female Seer.
Because he thinks women can be Seers?
I clasp the back of my neck, feel pain in my head.
“Do not worry,” Jed says. “I will protect you and look after you and honor you. I will never leave you.”
I grip the cup tighter. My lips buzz. Why? My eyes narrow. Jed’s lying. I know he is.
“But nothing can be done about your status now.”
“What?” My word is a whisper.
He points at me—at my yellow top. “I told you what would happen before if you wore an inferior color. You become it. Dropped two whole ranks down the rainbow. Yellow is now your color.”
There’s something dark and heavy about the way he says the words, something that makes me shudder.
“We should get some sleep. I will be out hunting tomorrow.” He pauses, and I hear his sharp intake of breath. “I do not want you to go outside.”
“Why?” My voice is uncertain. He knows? How can he know? Have the Gods and Goddesses told him that our enemy had my eyes before and that they’ll be trying to use them again? Or has he been warned that Raleigh’s already done it again, that he’s got my eyes once more, and that the Enhanced can track the Zharat through me for a second time? But, if that’s the case, why hasn’t the Dream Land told me that, warned me, like last time? Or am I going to get that message tonight?
And surely, if Jed knows I’m such a liability—
that I could lead the enemy here—then he should just kill me right away to protect his people? Not keep me alive….
Jed’s face darkens. “My wife—my last wife, Elle…she was killed during a hunt. A lion got her. They come up into the montane forest… I do not want you getting hurt. Stay in the caves. You will be safe here.”
I swallow hard, feel a little sick. But why does he want me to be safe? He’s not interested in me romantically—he made that clear. And he should hate me, should want me dead.
“We shall sleep now.” He gives me a strong look. One I can’t decipher.
I take off my shoe-wraps and lie down slowly, stiffly, still clothed in my damp jeans and yellow top, complete with blood and dirt. I brace myself as Jed places a blanket over me, then he lies down on his own mattress. A few minutes later, I hear the cries of a far-away baby.
“I do not want you talking to Corin anymore,” Jed says suddenly. “You are supposed to be my fiancée. We have an appearance to keep up. You do not want to make me unhappy.”
It sounds like a threat. And the words ring in my ears for hours afterward, and I fill in the rest of the threat: You do not want to make me unhappy…else I’ll tell Manning what you are.
I swallow hard, turn onto my side. It takes hours for me to fall asleep, even once the far-away baby is quiet. Jed has kept the lantern on its lowest setting, so weak light filters out. He can’t creep up on me in the dark. I stare across at the plates on the floor as sleep starts to overtake me. My food is still there; I can smell it.
My eyelids get heavier, and I don’t want to sleep. Mustn’t leave myself vulnerable to him….
But what if I need to go to the Dream Land? I need to sleep, in case the Gods and Goddesses and spirits need to give me a vision, warn me about Raleigh. I know that.
Sleep takes me, and I swim through darkness that drags me down. I wait for the Dream Land to materialize around me, wait for the bison.
But there’s nothing. I just sleep. No Dream Land warnings. Nothing.
Because it’s safe here, with the Zharat, a voice tells me. Safer than you’ve ever been before. And you’ll get used to the way things are run around here soon.
And because I’m not called into the Dream Land, it makes me feel better. Raleigh hasn’t got my eyes again, and he still isn’t on his way, so he never saw the land outside when I went out that first time. And he didn’t have my eyes earlier today, when I saw through the grid. If he had seen either of those times, the Dream Land would’ve warned me.
We really are safe here—and the bison told me to find the Zharat. We’re meant to be here.
And it’s that thought that terrifies me so much.
The next morning, Jed looks awful. Like he hasn’t slept at all—the thought of him watching me sleep makes me shudder, and I curse myself for leaving myself vulnerable to him. He doesn’t say a word as he joins the group of men waiting by the gathering area, ready for the hunt. They all stand there, sorting through their weapons.
After a while, I head down to the floor below. I need to wash, then find Corin—check that he really is okay.
There are a few women and girls already there, and some watch me with narrowed eyes. I hear the words Enhanced spy more than once. I tell myself to ignore them. I’m used to doing that. Having grown up with a highly prejudiced leader, I’ve learned to ignore a lot of comments.
It mustn’t have rained that recently because the waterfall is a trickle, and the waterwheel is barely turning. One woman wonders whether the spirits have decided to cut the rainy season short, and several agree. Then another woman arrives, says that Barlee’s gone into labor, and many leave quickly.
I wash myself as best as I can under the water, but end up using too much of the soap-root, and it takes ages to wash it off.
I scrub at my sides, and I—
I freeze, stare at my skin there, then twist around, try to see it closer, clearer. My eyes widen as I touch my side again, feel the indentations above my left hip. They’re close together, so close, that at first I think it’s one wider mark, starting at my lower ribs and extending down, but it’s not. The marks are slightly different. The ones in the middle are squarer. The ones around the edges are rounder. I wince, slight pain there. I poke at my skin more, until the whole area’s sore. I think I can see specs of blood, but I’m not sure, the light in here’s not great.
I frown, try to remember catching myself there. Then I remember the prickliness I felt before, when I fainted those times and when we were trying to escape…as if an insect had bitten me. I was going to check the skin there later, but I never did.
Now I stare at it. It’s the same place. I nod. Insect bites. Maybe the Zharat den is infested.
I poke at my skin again, then try and stretch it out so the marks disappear.
“We need you to help with food preparation,” a voice says.
I turn, see Jed’s daughter—Jeena—staring at me, and I immediately put my hand over the insect bites. I don’t know why I hide them, it’s just instinct. My engagement ring burns.
Jeena doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t glare. It seems like a small thing, but it makes me feel a bit better. Maybe not everyone still believes I’m an Enhanced spy then.
For a moment, I want to say I can’t join her yet—I need to find Corin—but I don’t.
“Come as soon as you can,” Jeena says, then turns away, leaves.
I quickly finish washing and try to forget about the insect bites, then dry myself off, pull on some clothes from the nearby box, careful to make sure my top is of my new color. The only one I can find isn’t a nice yellow—somewhere between flaxen and a brassy hue. The only shorts in my size are a dull brown, and I hope that they will do. I can’t find any shoe-wraps—but most of the women here don’t seem to wear them in the tubes.
I feel better as I walk now, since I’m clean. But I’m walking on my own, and, at every corner I turn, I expect to see Mart and his friends up ahead. Expect to suddenly be grabbed. It is not a nice feeling, and I brace myself.
I speed up a little, trying to look into all the shadows, all the dark areas. But no one jumps out.
It’s quiet now. But the air’s getting hotter, drier. Harder to breathe.
I frown. This is right… I think. This is the right way to the food preparation area.
I trail my hands along the walls, over the lava ropes, feeling the bumps and dips. There isn’t much light in here, though the skylight helps. I start to notice color on the wall as the tube twists around, up ahead. Blocks of red and white, thick black lines separating them. And drawings inside each marked-out box.
The bison is the first one. The bison from the Dream Land. I’d recognize him anywhere. Seeing him here though—in the real world, not in a Seeing dream—makes me feel strange. His eyes still follow me, and there’s something about the atmosphere here…something that makes me feel this is important. That it’s not just a painting I’m staring at.
I start to feel lightheaded, hear a hissing noise. I look up, see something cloudy ahead. Like the air’s been colored slightly. Volcanic gasses? I frown. Hadn’t the Zharat said there were no volcanic gases in the cave before?
I shrug.
The bison watches me the whole time.
I move onto the next painting, my skin crawling a little. My head tingles.
It’s a man. The figure’s a man. A dark cloak covers his hunched body, and the hood obscures his face, but I can tell he’s not facing toward me. He’s looking to my left, but he’s turning—he must be—because his arms are sticking out. Thin bony limbs that twist the wrong way from his body. Behind his arms, the black rock’s been painted brighter. Blocked out with something white that makes it look as if his elbows are glowing.
I freeze, stare at the drawing.
My mouth dries, and I think I hear a clicking, whirring noise in my inner ear. I start to back away, but my legs feel like lead. I try to turn my head—got to look somewhere else—but can’t.
My eyes burn.
It is a painting of him. A painting of Death. Done in dark blues and oranges, yet somehow I see other colors—a whole spectrum, twisting before me.
At the foot of the image are lumps of rock. Dark, sparkling gems. And a crudely carved, wooden doll with sparse straw-hair and a red-dyed face. Its mouth is a yellow half-moon, and its eyes watch me.
And then—
And then everything disappears. There’s nothing—just blackness, emptiness.
I’m falling, arms and legs jerking out, trying to catch onto something—but there’s nothing.
The air whizzes past me, moving too fast, and then—
Then it’s gone.
No air.
The scream whirls inside me, can’t escape. I try to turn, try to—
As quickly as it started, it stops. Air rushes into my throat, makes me choke. I look up, and I’m back in the Zharat tube, enclosed in the painted lava walls.
But it’s different. It feels different. Everything looks the same, but dissimilar. Shimmering. Yes, it’s shimmering—but only a little, as if there’s a thin, watery glaze over my eyes.
I stare at the painting of Death.
It moves.
I leap back.
He turns toward me, and though I can’t see his face—his hood holds a pit of darkness—I’m sure he’s giving me a malevolent grin. His cloak billows, and he unfurls his back as he stands straighter, his head extending beyond the edge of the painting. He raises one bony arm and points a long finger at me.
“Death will be watching you… A traitor’s soul is never free. A traitor’s soul is Death’s soul.”
I flinch at the words, as if they’ve been cut into my skin, and jerk my gaze away from him. My breath comes in heavy bursts, and I lean forward, brace myself with my hands on my knees. But my arms shake, and I feel something fold around me, like the air’s made of millions of threads, and they’ve formed a blanket, a blanket that wraps around me, tries to drag me down so Death can—
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