Neverseen

by Shannon Messenger

  “Yeah, but it means the plague is spreading,” Sophie argued. “That’s how it turns into a full-fledged outbreak.”

  “That’s what many of the gnomes I spoke to today feared as well,” Calla whispered.

  Mr. Forkle rubbed his temples. “I do not have to check your thoughts to know you’re angry with me, Miss Foster. And I understand everyone’s worries. But chasing clues about this plague is like chasing the wind. The only way to gain control is to get ahead of it—which is something we are working on. In the meantime, we can’t ignore other important matters, like what we’re here to achieve. We know Prentice is hiding something. Perhaps it relates to some of these problems. But even if it doesn’t, we are freeing him today. All our surveillance indicates that this is our best chance. A group of additional dwarven guards arrives tomorrow. So please set your emotions aside and prepare yourselves for the mission.” He turned to Calla. “The six of you can hold the tunnel?”

  “Our voices are strong,” she agreed.

  The gnomes spread out, forming a circle around the old tree as they sang a slow song. The tree swayed as the roots twisted and tightened. Dirt, rocks, and debris were swept aside until a burrowlike opening appeared.

  “Vered will keep the exit open,” Calla told them as all but one gnome scurried into the dark tunnel.

  The Collective followed the gnomes.

  Sophie glanced at her friends, wondering how they felt about risking their lives when the Collective had just admitted to lying to them.

  “Come on,” Fitz said. “Let’s go get Prentice.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ANYONE ELSE THINK it would be easier to just carry Foster?” Keefe asked as Fitz caught Sophie from falling for what had to be the two-billionth time.

  In her defense, it was dark, and the roots under their feet kept shifting—but still. Couldn’t the Black Swan have given her a little more coordination when they tweaked her genes?

  “Any reason we’re not letting the roots drag us along this time?” Sophie asked.

  “Roots this ancient do not hold the same strength,” Calla explained. “We’re saving their energy for our escape.”

  The tunnel narrowed as they sank further into the earth, forcing them to walk single file.

  “Couldn’t we at least have more than one balefire pendant lighting up this place?” Dex called from the back.

  “This tree has been generous enough to lend us its strength,” Mr. Forkle told them. “The least we can do is try not to bother it.”

  “You also don’t want to see what’s crawling around us,” Blur said.

  Something rustled near Sophie and she decided to take his word for it.

  She counted her steps, and each time she reached about ten thousand, one of the gnomes stayed behind to ensure the song kept the tunnel open.

  “It won’t be long now,” Mr. Forkle said when Calla was the only gnome left journeying with them. “And once we’re inside, a small team of us will go after Prentice. The rest of you will be in charge of causing as much chaos as you can generate. Squall, Blur, and Mr. Sencen will head to the most unruly residents. Between your various abilities, you should be able to get them sufficiently riled up. Just be sure to stay on the move so the dwarves don’t catch you.”

  “Meanwhile, I’ll take Della and Biana,” Wraith said, “and we’ll head for the main entrance. We want to look like we’re fleeing, so they divert other patrols to prevent our escape.”

  “Does that mean we shouldn’t vanish as we run?” Biana asked.

  “Only intermittently,” Wraith said. “We need to ensure they follow us—but also not give away that it’s our intention. And once we reach the Room Where Chances Are Lost, we’ll vanish completely and hold for Mr. Forkle’s signal.”

  “For the record,” Keefe told Biana, “my job sounds way better.”

  “But they are both equally important,” Mr. Forkle said. “Our hope is that all of your efforts will create enough of a distraction for Sophie to lead the rest of us to Prentice. Mr. Dizznee will then be in charge of opening his cell, and Granite and I will tend to Prentice and signal when we’re ready to leave.”

  “What about me?” Fitz asked. “It doesn’t sound like I’m doing anything.”

  Dex laughed at that, but fell silent when Granite said, “You’re here for Sophie. She will need someone to lean on, to keep her calm and boost her strength while she tackles our most difficult task.”

  “And what is that?” Sophie asked.

  Mr. Forkle cleared his throat. “Prentice has been moved to one of the adjuncts, and we’ve been unable to determine precisely which one. Imagine the main prison as a spiral, with smaller spirals branching off the outermost edge. The adjuncts have been added over the centuries to house the special cases.”

  “He means the most dangerous cases,” Granite clarified. “Another reason we will not want to choose the wrong one.”

  “How many adjuncts are there?” Fitz asked.

  “We have no idea,” Squall admitted. “There are no blueprints for Exile.”

  “So how do I . . . ,” Sophie started to ask. But then she knew.

  “Whoa, let’s not add projectile vomiting to the list of Awesome Things We Get To Do Today,” Keefe said, clutching his stomach.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, but she couldn’t fight back the nausea.

  “What are you guys forcing her to do?” Dex asked.

  “We’re not forcing her to do anything,” Mr. Forkle said. “But we are asking her to track Prentice’s thoughts.”

  “You mean like what she does when we play base quest?” Biana asked.

  Sophie nodded. She had the rare ability to follow someone’s thoughts to their source. It was how she’d found Silveny, and why her team always won in their games.

  “Why is that so bad?” Biana asked.

  “It’s not,” Sophie tried to tell herself. “It’s just going to be . . . intense.”

  “You have to open your mind to all the thoughts,” Fitz guessed.

  “Yeah, until I can lock in on his.”

  “And how many prisoners are in Exile?” Fitz asked the Collective.

  “Last reported count showed five hundred and eleven,” Mr. Forkle said quietly.

  “Dude,” Keefe breathed. “And these are all psychopathic murderers and stuff? Yeah, never mind, that is definitely vomit worthy, Foster. Panic away.”

  “Is there any way I can help?” Fitz asked.

  “Too many broken minds,” Sophie reminded him. “I’m the only one who won’t get dragged under.”

  “She’s right,” Granite agreed. “But we’ll still support her any way we can.”

  The promise sounded as empty as the tunnel ahead.

  “Is everyone clear on what they need to do?” Granite asked.

  “Uh, did I miss the part where you told us how we’re getting out of here?” Keefe asked.

  “We leave the same way we came in,” Blur said. “Unless the worst should happen. Then you use those pendants we gave you to create a unique path of light and leap away.”

  “Why don’t we just do that in the first place?” Keefe asked. “That sounds way more awesome than carrying Prentice through a tunnel with angry dwarves chasing us.”

  “I can assure you, it isn’t,” Mr. Forkle told him. “The Council has added a new force field around Exile, designed to pulverize anyone trying to leap through. The cloaks you’re wearing will dissolve into a protective coating, but the leap will still take a large toll. So only use your pendants if we’re captured.”

  “Then why aren’t you wearing them too?” Biana asked.

  Several seconds passed before Mr. Forkle said, “We will foolishly be viewed as the more important targets. Our surrender would give you a chance to leap away.”

  “WHAT?” Sophie and her friends shouted together.

  “Don’t look so afraid,” Granite said. “This is only a last resort. But if it comes to that . . .”

  “This is crazy,” Della said a
fter a stunned silence. “You should’ve sent lower members of the order to help us.”

  “And make the Council’s mistake?” Mr. Forkle asked. “No, I think not. The centuries they’ve spent delegating responsibilities to their Emissaries have made them lose touch with the realities of our world.”

  “Leaders must lead,” Granite agreed.

  “But aren’t you worried about what secrets they’ll learn if you’re captured?” Fitz asked.

  “We’re prepared,” Mr. Forkle said.

  All five of the Collective held up their hands, revealing identical black-banded rings.

  “They have poison in them,” Sophie guessed.

  Mr. Forkle nodded. “But it only erases our memories.”

  “Duuuuuude. You guys need some better planning skills,” Keefe said. “How about—”

  “There will be no amending the plan,” Mr. Forkle interrupted. “But we do need all of you to promise that you will respect our wishes.”

  “You seriously expect us to just leave you?” Sophie asked.

  Mr. Forkle’s voice filled her mind. You think the Black Swan cannot function without us—but you’re wrong. Our Proxies would handle things until you five are ready.

  It was the second time he’d mentioned Proxies, and she wasn’t entirely sure she knew what he meant, but she was more nervous about the last part of the statement.

  Yes, he told her as an impossible thought started to form. That is our eventual hope.

  Are you reading my mind?!

  These are not normal circumstances.

  He was right about that.

  Five members of the Collective.

  Five of her and her friends.

  But . . . we’re just kids, she thought.

  For the moment, yes. But we are talking about the future.

  You really think we’ll still need a Black Swan that many years from now?

  Yes. I believe we will always need a Black Swan. The world has gotten too complicated to leave any one group solely in charge. There needs to be a system of checks and balances. We do hope to someday work hand in hand with the Council. But even if that never happens, we should be there to keep them honest.

  “So, are we all in agreement?” he asked out loud.

  No one said yes, but no one argued.

  They marched in silence the rest of the way, until they reached a web of roots. Calla pulled a specific thread and the whole web unraveled, revealing a wooden door.

  “It begins now,” Mr. Forkle said as Calla removed a pouch from her pocket. Sophie smelled anise, saffron, and something smokier as Calla sprinkled them each with dried leaves.

  “These herbs are the gnomes’ version of magsidian,” Granite explained. “Hopefully the dwarves will scent them and assume we’re here for a food delivery. It will not buy us long, but it should give us a few precious minutes.”

  “From this moment on the mission begins,” Mr. Forkle said. “Trust yourselves. Let your talents aid you. And above all, remember your promises.”

  Sophie remembered her promise all right—but she’d silently made a new one.

  She was getting everyone safely out of Exile, no matter what.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  SOPHIE HAD FORGOTTEN the sharp, bitter smell of Exile. But this time there was an underlying sourness, masked by something artificially sterile—as if the whole place were a carelessly bandaged wound, oozing beneath the surface.

  The hallway they’d entered was plain, cold metal. No windows, no doors, and thankfully no blaring alarms or guards. Mr. Forkle closed the door behind them and it vanished seamlessly.

  “That was supposed to happen, right?” Keefe asked. “Because it feels like we just got locked in.”

  His voice was barely a whisper, but the sound felt like a T. rex roaring. Sophie remembered Exile being filled with muffled moans. But she heard nothing except the rush of their hurried breathing.

  “We must not linger in the somnatorium,” Granite warned. “These prisoners are the irredeemable cases, brought here for permanent sleep.”

  “So . . . basically they’re dead,” Sophie said.

  “If you want to see it that way,” Blur told her. “But they’re also very much alive, which is what keeps the guilt from shattering the Councillors’ minds. It’s also why we need to move quickly. We shouldn’t test the thoroughness of the sedatives.”

  Sophie wasn’t sure the whole sedate-the-evil-people plan sounded all that solid—but what did she want the Council to do? Kill them?

  “That light up ahead is the main corridor of Exile,” Mr. Forkle told them. “That’s where we must separate. I’d also advise you to keep your eyes on the floor from here on out.”

  Sophie had used that trick last time, avoiding any glimpse through the porthole windows into the cells. But she was determined to face whatever waited for her.

  “What’s so scary about—” Keefe started to ask. Then a face slammed against the glass.

  The ogre’s lumpy skin was so swollen that it could barely open its eyes—and yet, the glare it fixed on them burned with rage as it licked its bloody teeth.

  “Ooooooooooooookay, looking down now,” Keefe whispered, pressing his chin into his neck. “So . . . are we going to be messing with creepy dudes like that?”

  “Worse,” Blur said, clapping Keefe on the back. “Welcome to the land of monsters.”

  And Prentice, Sophie thought.

  One weak star, tucked among the suffocating darkness. She wondered if any other innocents were trapped in these metal cages.

  “Your group goes that way,” Mr. Forkle told Blur, pointing to the left as the hall forked.

  “Come on,” Blur told Keefe and Squall. “Time to see who can cause the most chaos.”

  “Well . . . when you put it that way!” Keefe rubbed his hands together.

  “Please be careful,” Sophie begged.

  “There you go caring about me again, Foster. Your fan club is going to get jealous.”

  He zipped away with the others before anyone could respond.

  Granite pointed down the opposite path. “The Room Where Chances Are Lost is that way. Avoid the adjuncts and the hall will dead-end there.”

  Wraith and Biana turned to leave, but Della hesitated.

  “I’ll be fine, Mom,” Fitz promised. “Just take care of yourself—and Biana.”

  Della strangled him with a hug and pulled Sophie and Dex in. “Take care of each other.”

  “We will,” they promised.

  Della held them a second longer, then took Biana’s hand and they ran after Wraith, vanishing down the hall.

  “I guess that means I’m up,” Sophie whispered.

  She leaned against the wall to hold herself steady, then gasped as a shock of cold stabbed through her cloak.

  “A Froster froze the walls,” Mr. Forkle explained. “After Fintan, the Council is not taking any chances with excess heat.”

  “Is there a Pyrokinetic here?” Sophie asked.

  “Two,” Granite said.

  Sophie hoped her path to Prentice kept her far away.

  “Here,” Fitz said as she tried to lean against the freezing wall again. “Lean on me—that’s what I’m here for.”

  Sophie doubted the Black Swan had meant it quite so literally. But he was much warmer than the wall. Fitz wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and Sophie was grateful Keefe wasn’t there to feel her mood shift—though she was proud that her heart kept an even tempo, even when Fitz leaned closer and whispered, “You can do this.”

  She pinned the words in her mind, saving them in case she needed them later.

  Three . . .

  Two . . .

  One.

  She spread out her consciousness, and hundreds of voices rampaged into her brain.

  Just take it one mind at a time, she told herself as their thoughts scraped and clawed at her defenses like wild animals. She concentrated on the nearest memory.

  A starved, rabid troll chased two teenagers throug
h a lonely forest. The teens were fast, and for a second it looked like they might get away. Then the troll was on top of them, raising its clawed hands over their stomachs and—

  Sophie shoved the memory away.

  She’d thought she understood what evil looked like—but clearly she’d only experienced the PG version. The uncensored director’s cut was a thousand times worse.

  Every memory she searched was madness and mayhem, blood and gore, death and destruction. It didn’t matter what species they were—though the ogres’ minds were surprisingly the most bearable, their hidden thoughts like sticky spiderwebs.

  “You okay, Sophie?” Fitz asked.

  “They’re so awful,” she whispered. “I can’t . . .”

  “Yes you can,” he told her. “You’re stronger than them.”

  Maybe she was. But she needed something good to cling to.

  “I need a happy story,” she said. “Something that always makes you feel confident.”

  “Okay. Um . . . Gah—I’m drawing a blank.”

  “I’ll do it,” Dex offered.

  “No wait—I’ve got it! When I was five, my dad brought me with him to pick Alvar up after he’d been descryed. I’d been so jealous, since Councillor Terik was making a huge exception to his no-descrying policy just for my brother. But when we got to Councillor Terik’s castle he offered to descry me, too. It was the best surprise ever. And then he told me I’d grow up to become an even more powerful Telepath than my dad, and . . . that was the first time I ever thought I could be special. It made me feel unstoppable. And you’re a thousand times more talented than I am, Sophie. I know you can do this.”

  Sophie stacked his words into a wall, and the violent noise seemed to dim, clearing her head enough to think.

  The last time she’d been in Prentice’s mind, he’d responded when she’d transmitted her name. She tried that again, powering the words with the last of her mental strength.

  Agonizing seconds slipped past, but eventually she caught a faint whisper through the darkness.

  Swan song.

  “I found him!” She pointed the way Della, Biana, and Wraith had gone.

  “You’re sure?” Mr. Forkle asked. “It’s strange that they would place him near the exit.”