The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) (12 page)

“Thank you,” she whispers, trying to stop the streams
leaking down her cheeks.

All the edge seeps from Jorgen’s face. Suddenly, he looks like a child. “But we’ll never see them again, will we?”

I feel the weight of all their stares bearing down on me—Jorgen, Mrs. Grimstone, Mr. Ryland, Corin, and Tristin. Any anger and contempt they felt at my presence is gone, replaced by fear and the embryonic glow of hope. I gulp down my last mouthful of steaming gruel. “Yes. You
will
see them again.” It’s not really a lie. To say more would shred whatever comfort they can wring from my words, and I can’t do that. There are plenty of things you can rip away from a person—their dignity, self-respect; hell, even a limb or two—and they can somehow find a way through it. People are strong like that. They’ve had to be. Even organs are replaceable with synthetic replicas if you have the cash.

But once you take away hope, that’s it. Game over.

That’s when people break for good and can never be repaired. I’ve seen it happen over and over, ever since I can remember.

Corin taps me on the hand. “We’re gonna die, aren’t we?”

The kid’s rough exterior is all but gone. This is the first time I’ve seen his true age in his eyes. I’ve managed to hold it together until now, but those five words hit me hard.

I stare at each of them for a few seconds before returning my gaze to Corin. “You’re not going to die, kid. I promise.” My eyes sweep my former comrades at the next table. “With the way the Establishment’s set things up”—I raise my voice—“the Imposer trainees and myself are a buffer between you and anything bad happening. As long as we’re around, you’re all safe.”

Mr. Ryland snorts. “Oh, yeah? What happens when the five of you are k—”

I cut him off with a glare that reaps the air between him and Corin.

Ryland clears his throat. “When the five of you are
no longer part of the Trials
?”

Corin glares at him. “You mean when they bite it.”

I shake my head. “A
lot
can happen between now and then.” I pause for moment before turning to the others. “You should all consider yourselves very fortunate under the circumstances. You’re not just stuck in this hellhole with five other regular Incentives.” I turn to face Leander’s table. “You’re in here with one of the best Imposer trainee squads ever to survive the Trials.”

Through the icy stares I get back from my former squad I see something shift, if only for a second. Then it freezes over again in a blizzard of hatred and they all turn away again.

I’m going to need their help to get us all out of here. But it’s going to take more than words or playing to their egos to get my former allies to consider any kind of truce. And I don’t have much time to make it happen.

sixteen

This is it. After several weeks of being confined in the dark and cold, subsisting on gruel and enduring back-breaking labor, the Trials are about to begin.

This is the first morning that no one has said a word during breakfast. Everyone looks weary. From the look of the bowls around me, no one seems to be feeling particularly hungry either.

The mess hall doors burst open. “Chow time’s over!” Echoes barks. “Let’s go!”

This time, I’m the last one in the single-file line as we make our way back to the common room. Ever since our
arrival I’ve been cataloguing the layout of Purgatorium in my mind, not only memorizing the order of the winding passageways but also committing to memory the number of steps to any given area. If I’m somehow able to gain access to the vent shafts, air ducts, and/or drainage systems, this will definitely help me with finding my way around. The one thing that’s going to be a challenge is getting my hands on tools and some type of light source. Tricky, but not impossible; if I could make it through the last Trials in one piece, this shouldn’t be too difficult. At least that’s what I’m telling myself to keep from cracking.

Trying to get my former squad to work with me, though, has been less fruitful. Every time I attempted to talk to them, they either outright shunned me, gave me pissed-off looks, or grunted and muttered some colorful epithet. I’m going to need more time to win them over.

The problem is, time is not on my side. If Cage is the
first Recruit to lose today, then all my strategizing, memorization, and self pep talks will die with me. I need to work fast, and not just to save my own life. For all I know, Arrah could be the first to die if Drusilla falters. It’s impossible to say what
decision someone will make when put under that kind of
traumatic pressure.

Once back in the common room, I can sense a change in the atmosphere. It’s as if it’s charged with electrical particles just before a storm.

The Imps usher us toward our holding cells but don’t force us inside, instead just leave us standing there as they disappear into the shadows. Then the lights dim and the whole room begins to glow as a deep hum vibrates throughout the chamber. Tristin’s eyes are closed, her head bowed in prayer.

It’s starting. And when it’s over, there’ll be one less chicken in the coup.

The light is blinding now, and I shield my eyes against its intensity. Then it’s gone, and I have to rub my eyes to make sure I’m not hallucinating. The entire chamber’s been replaced
by an outdoor landscape. The guards, the control room—
everything’s gone.

And standing right in the center of the room are Cage, Drusilla, Boaz, Crowley, and Preshea.

“Cage!” Tristin cries, rushing toward her brother.

Around me, Mrs. Grimstone, Jorgen, Mr. Ryland, and Corin also bolt to embrace their loves ones. But as soon as the Incentives converge on the Recruits, it all makes sense. As they wrap their arms around their loved ones, they find that their embraces cut right
through
them.

Of course. The Recruits are holograms. This whole chamber is a giant holographic projector broadcasting a live feed.

We’re going to experience the horrors of this Trial right alongside the Recruits themselves.

Just like Cole must have.

Welcome Recruits! The Trials are about to begin.

The familiar voice blaring from the speaker system chills my blood. Last time, it was Slade’s voice that guided us through the Trials. This time it’s Cassius’s.

The expressions on the faces of the Recruits’ five family members turns from elated to crestfallen in the blink of an eye. Mrs. Grimstone sags into Mr. Ryland’s shoulder, pointing at Preshea. “She
can’t
see me. My baby can’t see me.” Then she’s sobbing, and I can’t help but be touched as the gruff man holds her up, patting her back, even as his own eyes well at the sight of his daughter, Drusilla. “Dru … ” His words choke off.

Jorgen, on the other hand, stares at Crowley in silence. Is that admiration on his face? Pride? They don’t really look related, and I don’t detect any romantic longing in that expression, so I can only assume they’re friends or fellow rebels, both prepared for this eventuality, like Digory and his husband Rafé were. They’re resigned to the fact that they’re both probably not going to make it out of this.

After her initial enthusiasm at the sight of her brother, Tristin is the only one to seem calm now as she gazes at him. It’s like she actually believes he’s going to be all right and there’s nothing to worry about. In some bizarre way, I envy her. Ignorance or divine enlightenment—it gives her an incredible edge in dealing with what’s to come.

Poor Corin seems confused. His body is trembling as he stares wordlessly at the image of Boaz, directly in front of him but failing to acknowledge his presence. At one point he tries to tug Boaz’s arm, his fingers slipping through to nothingness.

“Boaz raised him after his folks were killed,” Tristin says to me.

Now I see just how devastating it can be to those standing by, watching their loved ones struggle. Knowing there’s nothing they can do to help, nothing they can do but stand idly by and watch, hoping not to die.

I walk over and take hold of Corin’s arm. “Don’t worry. He can’t see you, but he’s definitely thinking about you. I was a Recruit just like Boaz is. And my little brother waited for me, just like you’re waiting for him now.”

He wrenches his arm away. “Stay the hell away from me or I’ll kill you!”

Recruits, take your places.

I look up from Corin to see Cage coming right toward me, his face stern and menacing. Before I can move out of the way, he steps right through me. Cage takes his place at the starting line beside the images of Boaz, Crowley, Preshea, and Drusilla. Their expressions are like slivers of a broken mirror, cutting through their images with shards of fear, sadness, determination, and anger.

Arrah breaks off from the other trainees and walks over to Drusilla’s image. The hologram casts a subtle glow, bathing Arrah’s features in a shimmer of warmth like a shaft of starlight. She leans in and whispers a few words that I can’t make out. The way her eyes study Drusilla’s holo, it’s like she’s in awe of the most beautiful canvas she’s ever seen. Her fingers lightly trace the air around Drusilla’s hand and then cover it, giving the illusion that she’s clasping her hand.

Leander, Rodrigo, and Dahlia stare at her, and I can tell they’re confused. They had no clue about Arrah and Drusilla’s relationship, obviously. I guess there’s no need for Arrah to hide it anymore.

For this first Trial,
Cassius’s voice continues,
each Recruit will be asked to traverse the obstacle course ahead until they reach the other side.

Obstacle course? Wonder what horrors they’ve conjured up this time.

Once all the obstacles have been cleared, each Recruit must successfully deactivate the transmitter that is programmed to detonate explosives placed within his or her Incentive. The last Recruit to make it through will only be allowed to deactivate one of his or her Incentives, making
the choice as to which. Good luck. And may the best Recruit prevail.

I feel like I’m disconnected from reality, as if a bomb has already gone off in my own head. All around me, I can see the meaning of those words dawning on everyone else’s face. Corin takes a step closer and shoots me a panicked look.

Explosive charges within each Incentive? No wonder we were all so tired this morning, even though we were anxious about the Trials. They
drugged
us—probably spiked our meager dinners—to put us to sleep while they implanted micro-bombs inside each of us.

The lights of the obstacle course brighten. Spread over the entire field, spaced just a few feet apart from each other, are the writhing bodies of prisoners, at least a hundred. They sprout waist-up from the ground like a harvest of withered crops, battered and bloodied. Flashing silver discs are crammed into the spaces in the ground between them, bathing their faces alternately in rotting green and bloody red. Their cries and moans are amplified through the speakers.

You must time your steps through the course so as to only step on the circular discs when they are lit green.

Dahlia shoots me a look before joining Rodrigo and Leander in front of the projected images of the Recruits. Together they stare into the faces of the strangers who will decide their fate.

Commence … now!

DING!

Cage and the others spring forward.

The five of them scramble across the field, leaping from one green disc to another as the prisoners shriek all around
them. How they can concentrate with all that unnerving
screaming, I’ll never know.

My heart boomerangs inside my rib cage. So far, the five Recruits are neck and neck, with Boaz and Crowley at a slight advantage and Cage and the rest not far behind.

Drusilla leapfrogs across one of the prisoners to take the lead. Arrah lunges forward, never leaving Drusilla’s side, tracking her progress. Drusilla lands on an emerald disc—

Just as it turns crimson.

Arrah drops to her knees and screams.

“Drusilla!” Mr. Ryland shouts.

Crackle!

Drusilla leaps up just as a burst of arcing energy erupts from the disc. It grazes her right foot and sizzles through the air like a whip, slashing through the surrounding prisoners and dismembering their bodies, which fall to the ground in clumps.

Then Drusilla stumbles onto the next green disc, clutching her foot, her face in agony. It looks like it’s still attached, but who knows how deep it’s been cut. She teeters, her body swaying to the left, right next to a blinking red disc …

Ryland clutches his chest.

“Be careful!” Arrah’s scream pierces the chamber.

Drusilla drops—

“I gotcha!” Cage swoops in on the other side and scoops her in his arms. “Hang on!” Bearing her weight, he jumps to the next disc just as the one he was standing on starts blinking red. Boaz emerges from a smoldering pile of body parts, nursing
an injured arm with a long, ugly, smoking gash carved into it.

Unlike the time
I
went through the Trials, this whole thing’s rigged for the Recruits to die. They’re facing dismemberment and the rest of us are wired to explode. The prisoners are just a grisly bonus added to the mix.

On the field, Preshea is closing the gap between herself, Crowley, and Boaz, leaving Cage and the injured Drusilla trailing behind. I can tell from the exhaustion on Cage’s face that the burden of leaping from sphere to sphere while carrying Drusilla is taking its toll on him.

“Can you walk?” he asks her.

She grits her teeth and nods. “Think so.”

He sets her on the closest green disc and they both dive for the next one, narrowly escaping the lethal red flashes.

The discs are flashing faster now, speeding up with each passing minute, making it that much harder and deadlier to get across the field. The half-buried prisoners are wailing louder, their screams intensifying with each illuminating strobe of the discs in front of them.

Boaz lets loose a guttural yelp as he sails through more flying body parts, his cheek bearing a smoking scorch mark, the price of his temporary victory over death.

“It’s okay … it’s okay … ” Tristin is clutching Corin close, trying to comfort him and keep his attention diverted, but the kid’s in a frenzy now, all pretense of being a badass long gone.

Just ahead of Boaz, Crowley soars from a flashing red disc across the finish line.

Jorgen drops to his knees, hands in the air. “Yessssssssss!” Then he’s engulfed by a sea of holographic body parts, the remains of the nearby prisoners. He drops his face into his hands, his shoulders heaving.

Boaz leaps through him and disappears behind Crowley, in second place. Dahlia and Leander exchange a quick look of relief. They’re both safe—for now.

“Don’t worry, Boaz made it through. You’re both going to be fine,” Tristin coos into Corin’s ear.

But the words are as hollow as the images being projected all around us. The discs start flashing faster …

Only three Recruits left.

Including Cage.

Preshea moves into the lead, followed by Cage and the injured Drusilla.

“Please, oh,
please
, you can make it … come on, sweetheart!” Mrs. Grimstone’s face looks like that of a madwoman illuminated by rainbow lightning.

Arrah’s eyes are glued to the struggling Drusilla. She sinks to her knees, her forehead slick, eyes puffy, breaths short and quick. “C’mon, Dru … ” she whispers.

Leander grabs her by the arm and pulls her to her feet. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

She rips her arm away. “Let go of me.”

Leander points a finger at Rodrigo, whose olive skin is pale as he stares at the field in silence. “You’re as bad as your little traitor friend Spark. Rod’s completely on his own and you’re on a first-name basis with
Dru
? Just how tight are you with this insurrectionist scum? How long have you been doing each other?”

Mr. Ryland steps between them. “Careful what you call my daughter—”

“Shut up!” Leander shoves him away and Mr. Ryland falls flat on his back with a loud crunch.

I lunge at Leander, pushing him back. “Leave him alone.”

His body’s a blur as he leaps forward and topples me. Then we’re rolling, fists connecting, my body exploding with the agony of his blows as I struggle to breathe. My knuckles crunch against his jaw, but he keeps pummeling me.

“Stop it, you two!” Tristin’s voice. “You want to end up in solitary?”

Then hands are pulling me away—Arrah and Mr. Ryland—while Dahlia and Rodrigo try their best to contain Leander, who’s snapping his teeth and spewing saliva like a rabid Canid.