The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) (21 page)

twenty-seven

Light.

My eyelids feel like a burden as I struggle to finally pry them open. I squint against the dawn’s first rays, streaks of pink and yellow stretching tentatively over the fresh canvas of a new day. Unlike the unseasonably long and harsh winter in the Parish, it seems that cold has never touched this place. The ground feels firm, but soft. I’m lying on a bed of lush overgrown grass, covered from my chest to my feet in a blanket of leaves that keeps me snug. I can taste the remnants of some sweet nectar on my tongue. My hair feels damp and my skin tingles, as if I’ve been freshly bathed. My fingers trace the cuts on my body and come away with sticky warmth. I sniff. Crushed plants. An herbal remedy, applied to my wounds like a salve.

The smile on my lips fades. Where’s Digory?

I sit up too fast. I’m still feeling a little lightheaded and woozy. My leg bumps against the rucksack Valerian gave me. What was it she said when she insisted I take back the ID tags and Digory’s holo?

When you get out of this, you’ll thank me.

Digging into the rucksack, I pull out the holocam and stare hard at it for what seems like forever before hitting the activation button.

The air in front of the device shimmers and the holo of Digory appears, still wearing that cold grin he had when he was addressing Cassius. “Tycho signing off,” he announces. Then he leans in close to the screen, as if hitting an unseen switch, and the window with Cassius’s image disappears.

The moment that happens, Digory slumps back against his chair and lets out a long sigh. His face loses that hard edge, and once again he’s the Digory I’ve always known.

Except now he looks worried. He leans forward, his face practically pressing against the holocam’s lens. “If I don’t make it back today, I want … I
need
someone to know—Rafé, Cage, Jeptha,
all
of you—that I never betrayed you. I’ve been on a rogue mission, making the new Prefect believe I’m a mole within the rebellion. I’m trying to gain his confidence, and gain access to Establishment intelligence in the process.”

So Digory never did betray the rebellion. He never betrayed me. Why couldn’t I have had faith in the love we had for each other?

I never deserved him.

The holo of Digory is talking faster now. “I’ve stumbled on something called the Sowing Protocol. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous. I think it’ll crush the rebellion if we can’t stop it. I’ll try to learn what I can and report back. But I’ve got the feeling Thorn is on to me.” His face softens. “If I’m right, and my cover’s blown, please do me one last favor and look out for Lucian Spark. He’s … he’s a good guy. And I think he and his brother are in some kind of danger from Thorn. Promise me you’ll take them under your protection, keep them safe.”

The holo goes out of focus for a moment, but it has nothing to do with the device.

“If I don’t see any of you again, it’s been an honor to serve the cause with you.” Digory smiles, but I can see how nervous he is. “I’m going to hide this in my quarters when I’m done. Until then, this is Digory Tycho. Down with the Establishment. Protect your families.”

The image flickers, then fades away, replaced by an endless stream of static.

That’s it. Recording over. I shut it off and stuff it back into the rucksack, even as I place the ID tags around my neck once again.

I was so wrong.

The joints in my knees creak and pop as I haul myself to my feet and take a few steps, my bare soles crunching the leaves beneath them.

I cup my hands to my mouth. “Digory!
Where are you?
”

Trudging deeper into the lush pockets of pink and purple flowers, I hear a sound up ahead. A gurgling sound.

Water.

With both hands, I part a soft curtain of hanging moss.

And there he is.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding, drunk with relief.

Digory is sitting on the remnants of a small stone bridge, bare-chested, his feet dangling in the water and his long damp hair draped over his shoulders. His eyes are intent on the shimmering brook just below him.

Breathing deep, I wade through the tall blades of grass toward him, fighting a limp, drawing strength from his glowing form. I stop just behind him.

Suddenly, I’m afraid, in spite of all the horrors I’ve endured up until now.

He whips around to face me, and it’s like looking at the sun, a sight so brilliant and warm yet painful all at once.

I freeze. I’ve been seeing him in my dreams for so long that it still feels so surreal to be standing just a few feet from him again. Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but along with the glint of recognition in his eyes, I sense so much more—fear? Suspicion?

Anger?

I turn away, focusing on the rippling stream shimmering beneath us. “Thanks for the bed. And tending to my wounds. I didn’t see you when I woke up. I thought … ” My words trail away with the current.

Digory still remains silent and I sit down beside him.

“I tried
so
hard to get back to you. But I thought that you were dead, that it was too late … and then I saw that holo recording.” I choke back my anguish, needing to get my words out. “I should
never
have given up on you.”

Pivoting, I sit cross-legged, facing him, and force myself to look directly at him. “You haven’t said a word to me. I understand, Digory. I won’t hold you to anything we might
have said in the past.” We gaze into each other’s eyes in
silence, the sound of our breaths harmonizing.

Taking a deep breath and steeling my nerves, I touch his warm, dewy skin. My fingertips graze the contours of his biceps, which, even relaxed, feels like granite, and then work their way to the inside of his elbow.

Digory flinches, and I instantly regret letting my feelings get the best of me. He can’t even stand my touch any longer. I feel sick and start to pull away.

But his hand grabs mine and presses it back against the hotness of his skin. I can feel the scabbing in the crook of his elbow. I lean in closer. The entire area is mottled with dark purple bruises, the smooth skin broken by needle marks. I examine his other arm and see the same thing.

It wasn’t
me
he was recoiling from.

Ignoring the aches of my own battered body, I sink into him, relishing the heat of his body in the chilled air, my face pressed against the expanse of his chest. All I can hear is the sound of thunderous beating, and I can’t distinguish between his heart or mine.

I look into his eyes.

He leans in close, his warm lips grazing against mine, igniting every nerve ending, even more wondrous than I remember.

Our mouths lock onto each other’s, tongues exploring, tentatively at first … I taste that same sweet nectar on his breath. It feels like I’ve left my body and I’m floating. All the aching, all the pain, both physical and mental, dissolves in that kiss, a sanctuary against all the darkness that’s engulfed my life for so long.

Soon we’re rolling in the still-damp grass. What little clothing we’re wearing is tossed aside as limbs intertwine, our hands and hearts eager with discovery.

He lets out a small cry. I look up in alarm. But his face is pure bliss.

His arms pull me into him. Then he’s planting more warm kisses on my lips. His tongue feels like heavenly fire as it traces down my neck, across the contours of my chest, and beyond.

At that moment, it doesn’t matter that he can’t speak. His eyes tell me how he feels.

“
Me too
,” I whisper.

After what seems like hours, we collapse against one another, slick with sweat, nestling in each other’s arms. I can feel Digory’s smile against my cheek. Soon, the sounds of his breathing and the steady rhythm of his heart against me lull me into the most wonderfully exhausting grogginess ever. I allow myself to drift into sleep, never wanting to wake from
this
dream.

Ever
.

Hours later, we’re still lying on our makeshift bed of grass, Digory spooning his body against mine. He fingers the Recruit ID tags I’m wearing, nuzzling his lips against my neck. I take off the ID tag with my name on it and slip it around his neck, so that we both have one, then give him another kiss.

I smile and silently vow to give Valerian the biggest hug and kiss if I ever see her again.

Digory sits up beside me, his eyes wide. He looks around with that almost animal-like instinct, as if he’s reaching out with his senses and making sure there’s no danger around us.

I give him a peck on the forehead and hug him close. “There’s so much that you don’t know.”

Then I’m telling him everything. My training as an
Imposer. Cole being housed in the Priory under Delvecchio’s
eye. The failed assassination attempt against Cassius and
Prime Minister Talon. Our exile to Infiernos and imprisonment in Purgatorium. Everything leading up to our reunion.

Even though he remains mute and I can’t be sure how much he understands, I can tell he’s hanging on to my every word, grasping the urgency of what I’m saying, if not the specifics. Whatever’s been done to him that’s traumatized him into silence, there’s still that compassionate, gentle Digory brimming underneath.

He’ll speak when he’s ready, when he’s healed—as much as he ever can be.

He wraps his arms tighter around me and I pull away just enough to stare into his eyes. “You know Cage, Tristin, Dru, and Corin, don’t you?” I ask tentatively. “You were part of the same rebel cell, weren’t you? They were your friends.”

He sighs and his fingers interlock with mine. His lips purse and he finally nods.

Of course he’s hesitant. After what he gave up for me during that last trial, sacrificing his husband, Rafé—and his entire cause—just so I could get to Cole. The mention of his old allies must be painful. Especially since a part of him might feel guilty for choosing to save Cole’s life with so many other things at stake.

“I know you feel you betrayed the rebellion, turned your back on what you were fighting for, all because of me
. But I’m sure your friends would understand and welcome you back. They
need
you.” I squeeze his hands.
“
I
need you. We all do.”

He nuzzles my nose.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you,” I whisper into his ear. “I should have looked for you. When you wouldn’t speak to me after we found each other, I was afraid you hated me for leaving you behind—”

He touches a finger to my lips, capturing my eyes with his own blue prisms. Then he shakes his head slowly. His eyes glisten with moisture. He rests his head on my chest and I squeeze him tightly.

Digory’s hands caress my body, reawakening those sensations, sending the blood rushing to every part of me. His fingers trace the contours of my pectorals, squeezing. When he looks up, his eyes twinkle at me.

I can’t help but smile. “Yeah, I
have
been working out a little since the last time you saw me. I’m not that scrawny, naïve kid anymore.”

The glint in his eye turns to concern. He sits up. With his index finger he traces a shape in the earth. A crude figure of a man. When he’s done, he points at the sketch, then back at me.

“I’ve looked better.” I chuckle.

But he’s already drawing another shape next to the one representing me. A smaller one.

A child.

He draws a line connecting their hands.

The smile fades from my lips. He knows me too well.

Digory looks up and motions to me, then to himself, before his finger settles on the horizon.

I wipe my eyes. “We have a long journey ahead of us.”

twenty-eight

The sun burns high overhead as we finish a refreshing swim in the stream—wrestling around, splashing, taking turns dunking each other as if we were children, until we reluctantly get dressed.

Digory scampers up countless trees, using his bare feet and hands with such agility and grace, he’s almost a blur as he propels himself up and through the dense foliage. Even with all the Imp training I’ve undergone over the past year, I can barely keep up with him as I run alongside on the ground, pointing out which berries he should pluck that might be edible based on a few birds pecking at them.

Eventually he drops to the ground in front of me, scooping me over his shoulder while I make a feeble attempt at protest. We finally settle under the shade of an enormous magnolia tree, where he insists on feeding me himself as I rest my head on his lap.

“Mmm.” My mouth waters when my teeth sink into the succulent fruit. Sugary nectar drips from the corners of my mouth. “Thith ith delithus.”

Digory lifts my head and kisses me.

I kiss him back. “I wish we could stay here forever,” I murmur. “Just the two of us. But right now we have to figure out how to get out of here and back to the Parish.” I force myself to push away.

But I have no clue what direction to go in, or how to get back to Cole. The transceiver I’d hoped to use to communicate with Cage and the others was damaged in the glider crash and I don’t have the tools to repair it. I can only hope they made it out okay.

I stand and offer Digory my hand, savoring the way the muscles in his arm swell as he stretches and reaches for it. Then I’m relishing the feel of his hand in mine as I pull him to his feet.

Our fingers remain entwined like the roots of one of
these ancient trees, infusing me with strength. My eyes scan the lush foliage
. “What do you suppose this forest is doing, right in the middle of a ruined city?”

Through a gap in the leafy awning shading us, I glimpse
several of those enormous buildings, or at least what’s left
of them, far off in the distance, specters lurking in the mist.

And a plume of dark smoke billowing into the air between them.

“Look!” I point.

Digory’s eyes, narrowed to slits, are already glued to the site.

“Could be other survivors from Infiernos,” I say. Then another thought hits me. “Or maybe there’s
something
living here.”

Clutching each other’s hands tighter, we trudge off in the direction of the curling blackness.

Once we leave the clearing, our pathway toward the smoke weaves through ever-thickening underbrush, which grows so dense at times that we can barely see a few feet beyond it. Soon both our arms and legs are covered with thin scratches from the whipping branches and waist-high grass.

More than once we stumble over protrusions jutting from the ground. At one point, my foot hits something and I trip, almost nose-diving. But Digory grabs my arm and holds me steady.

“Thanks.” I stare down at the metal disc embedded in a patch of dirt. “Looks like a manhole cover.”

Digory kicks the earth and shrubs away from it, exposing a series of words surrounding a leaf design.

CITY OF NEW YORK PARKS AND RECREATION.

My forehead crinkles. “City of New …
York
. I guess the Lady’s city finally has a name.”

We move on.

So this wasn’t a natural forest after all. It was a park. There were once pathways cutting through the greenery, long ago. But in the years since the Ash Wars these paths have been reclaimed by nature, overrun with moss and earth.

And the pathways aren’t the only sign of the city’s previous inhabitants. Every once in a while we come across the remnants of intricate cobbled bridges, now ensnared by twisting vines. And
that
looks like the remnants of a lamppost.

Digory’s leg sinks into a pothole and he grunts.

“I gotcha.” I hunch down and help free his foot. Something catches my eye.

More writing. “There’s something here!”

Digory stoops beside me, our hands overlapping as we clear the earth and leaves to reveal what’s left of a black and gray pattern, made up of tiny stone tiles, with one word at the center:
IMAGINE.

“Imagine what
?” I run my hand over the missing pieces. Digory leans his forehead into mine. He closes his eyes and his lips mutter something undecipherable.

When he opens his eyes again, he almost has a smile on his face. His eyes question me.

“What did
I
imagine?” I ask. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.” But I can’t help but smile myself. “This way,” I say, pulling him through another clump of trees.

After about fifteen more minutes of forging through the brushwood, we find the remnants of a statue. At first I think it’s a miniature version of the Lady, only without her crown or torch. But this is something different. A beautiful woman with wings—or at least one wing. The other has long since crumpled away. Even so, she retains her dignity, and in spite of her battered condition, she looks like she could still soar through the sky.

An angel.

Maybe she’s a sign that what I imagined is true. That Cole is all right after all, and he, Digory, and I will someday be together forever.

We gaze at her for a few minutes, then trudge on through the thicket.

“There it is, over there.”

Just beyond another tangle of trees, puffs of dark smoke smear the sky.

In spite of the uneven terrain, we pick up our pace until
we’re jogging through the undergrowth and finally burst
through the last of the trees.

The lushness is gone, replaced by an endless horizon
of hollowed-out structures that jut from the sludge of half-flooded streets.

And directly ahead, the mangled carcass of a Vulture craft rests on its side like a felled beast, still smoking and sparking, halfway embedded into the closest of these structures.

Only it’s not just any Vulture.

My fingers dig into Digory’s arm. “Those markings on the tail end—it’s the regal seal. That ship’s carrying high-ranking personnel.”

Before Digory can react, I’m running toward the Vulture, skirting chunks of debris, my hand over my mouth to avoid inhaling the thick smoke that’s already drawing burning tears from my eyes. I peer through the haze and into the Vulture’s belly. There’s a ragged gash there rimmed with twisted, melting metal, as if the craft’s been ripped open and eviscerated.

Careful not to touch the smoking edges, I strain against the haze blanketing the passenger cabin.

A shadow of movement inside. A low groan pierces the crackle and hiss of the flames.

I cough out a lungful of smoke. “We got a live one!”

Digory’s hand clamps on my shoulder and I turn to him.

He points to me, shakes his head, then holds out a palm in a
stop
motion. Then he points to himself and motions in the direction of the moans.

“It’s okay, Digory. I can go. You don’t have to protect me. I can handle myself. Promise.” I barely get the words out before I have to stifle another cough.

The muscles in his jaws clench and he shakes his head again.

I wink. “Trust me. I’ll be fine.” His grip relaxes, but the concern never leaves his face.

I nod and slip from him, gritting my teeth when my skin grazes the steaming hull as I crawl through the opening. Between the gloom and the smog it takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. Then I spot the survivor’s silhouette a few feet away and crawl as fast as I can to the person’s side.

It’s Prime Minister Talon herself.

She’s barely conscious. For a split second I’m tempted to leave her behind to burn. But she might be able to provide me with useful information. Maybe she knows where I can hitch a transport back to the Parish. And she’d be a valuable hostage if we run into any Imps.

The smoke and heat start to get to me. I hoist Talon’s arm around my neck and lift, half-carrying, half-dragging her to the opening where Digory’s waiting to receive my burden.

“Don’t let this one out of your sight,” I tell him.

“Wait,” she rasps into my ear. “There’s someone else … ” She lapses into unconsciousness.

Shoving Talon into Digory’s arms, I spin and rummage through the flotsam and jetsam of twisted safety harnesses and toppled supply containers, slinging an emergency medical backpack over my shoulder before finding the other survivor.

Even before I reach him, the sight of his outline lying still strapped to a seat makes me feel like I’ve been shot by a flare gun. It’s not an Imp.

I kneel by the body, grip it roughly, and flip it over.

“
Cassius
… ” I can barely pull the name from my burning throat.

Blood trickles from a gash just above his eyebrow, past a cheek that’s already swollen and purple. At first I think he’s already dead. But a quick feel of his wrist confirms that there’s still wretched life wriggling through his veins with each weak beat of his pulse.

His eyes flutter open. There’s a few seconds of blankness as he struggles to focus. Then recognition dawns on his face, and his smile turns my stomach.

“Lucky … you came back for me. You saved me … ”

He reaches up for me, and I recoil. It’s so easy to place my hands around his slimy neck …

“Can’t breathe.” Cassius’s fingers claw at my hands, snug around his throat. His eyes widen, sprouting thin red blood vessels like a road map to his fear. “Please … ”

I squeeze his throat tighter.

“Lucky … I know … where there’s … another ship … ”

Cursing myself, I release my stranglehold and lift Cassius into my arms, dragging his dead weight past Digory. Once I’ve exited the Vulture, I hurl him to the ground.

Unslinging the medical backpack from my shoulder, I rifle through it. Aside from basic first-aid supplies, there are also some ration bars and a nav-glove that plots coordinates on a small screen embedded in its palm. That might come in very handy. I set it aside for now and pull out one of the
first-aid kits before tossing the pack to Digory. “Can you
check Talon out? Make sure she’s okay? You remember our Recruit training, right?”

A look flits across his eyes. Sadness? Pain? Then it’s gone, replaced by blue steel. He takes the bag from me and sets to work without so much as a glance my way.

Pushing thoughts from my head, I leave Digory with Talon and kneel beside Cassius.

His eyes flutter open and he tries to sit up. “You couldn’t …
do it … could you?”

H
e’s wrong. I could have finished him off if he didn’t have something I needed. After everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve seen, I’m almost immune to death. Hell, I killed Renquist with these same bare hands.

I shove Cassius back against the ground.

His body spasms as he coughs, his fingers rubbing the welts on his throat, tears streaming from his eyes. “Maybe you still have feelings for me?”

For a split second, the cockiness in his eyes flickers, replaced by something …
else
. Then it’s gone like so much static.

And it’s my turn to laugh, a hollow sound that echoes through the wreckage before it’s strangled by the wind. I lean in close. “The only feelings I have for you are disgust and pity.”

The look on his pale face shows I’ve scored a direct hit.

Digory’s shadow falls over us. He’s staring at Cassius, and the look on his face is one of pure hatred.

Before I can stop him, Digory lunges.

“Wait!”

Cassius tries to pry Digory’s fingers away, but I can tell it’s a lost cause. Digory’s eyes are blank slates. I definitely get his rage. But we still need Cassius.

I sidle up to Digory, touching his cheek, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Please. He can get us back to the Parish. I need to get to Cole. For
me
.”

His eyes shift toward mine and thaw. He nods and releases.

“It’s okay,” I say. “I understand.”

Cassius hawks up a wad of nasty from his throat and spits it on the ground beside us. “I suppose you know he used to work for me.”

Digory takes a step toward him, but I hold him back. “He never worked for you.”

Cassius nods. “Right. A rebel spy. But not a very good one. I found out what he was up to—”

“Which is why you had us both recruited that day,” I finish. “A lot of good it did you.” I grab Digory’s hand. “We’re both still kicking.”

Cassius stares at us. “Yes. I see you two have found your way back to each other.
Touching
.”

I shake my head. “Looks like you’re just not having a great day, Cassius. First you lose your installation. Then you crash in this dump. And finally I find out that Digory isn’t dead like you led me to believe.”

He glances at Digory. “Who says the Digory Tycho you knew isn’t dead?”

His words hang in the air like a heavy cloud.

I turn to Digory. “How’s Talon?”

He shrugs.

“Assuming Cassius is telling the truth about there being a ship that can get us out of here, we can get Talon into a bio-scanner and check for internal injuries. For now, we’ll assume it’s just a concussion.” My eyes probe the bruising horizon. “Time to be on our way.”

Digory rummages through the medical pack and pulls out a pair of restraints, which he tosses over to me.

I smile at him. “Thanks.”

Cassius strains to sit up. “You won’t need—”

“Shut up.”

Ignoring Cassius’s protests, I cuff him before proceeding to give him a basic med exam. In spite of multiple lacerations and a sprained leg, he seems intact. Good.

I pull him up by the collar. “You’re good enough to walk. I’m gonna need you to help carry your fearless leader here.”

With Digory’s help, we use pieces of debris to fashion a crude travois made of two metal struts from the Vulture
wreckage joined by torn fabric from the remnants of a seat’s
upholstery. In no time, Digory’s carried the Prime Minister over and settled her onto the stretcher as I use some torn strips of seat belts to strap her down securely.