The Sowing (The Torch Keeper)

  Each Recruit will be subjected to jolts of pain that will be inflicted in increasingly potent increments via the conductors attached to them. When the Recruit reaches the limit of their endurance, they will issue an indication for the exercise to terminate—usually in the form of a verbal plea, either spoken or screamed. Thus eliminated, they will either choose between their Incentives, or choose the form of termination of their remaining Incentive. In the event that the Recruit is unable to make their wishes known due to their own death—the holo pans across the Recruits—any living Incentive associated with said deceased Recruit shall immediately be shelved.

  But don’t be alarmed, Cassius goes on. Undoubtedly, some of you are feeling that this trial is unfairly skewed, that the ability of some of the Recruits to endure pain has been severely compromised, as in the case of Recruit Crowley.

  Even though I can no longer see Cassius, I can feel his eyes crawling all over me as he says this, as if it’s for my benefit alone. The holo shifts to a close-up of Crowley.

  We have taken this factor into account when designing this challenge. That is why the Incentives will serve as a deciding factor that will affect the outcome.

  At this, my throat runs dry. I turn to the others and we exchange a look that conveys more than words ever could.

  There’s a hum from above, followed by the grinding and squeaking of under-oiled gears lowering devices in front of each of us.

  I force myself to look at the shiny black box that’s hovering before me like a deadly arachnid dangling from its web. The names of the remaining three Recruits are embossed on its surface. Beside each name are two buttons, one green, the other red. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re for.

  Before you are remotes that control the sensory outputs to each of the Recruits. Your task is simple. Once the commencement signal is given, you are free to select a Recruit of your choosing and provide them with a dose of either pleasure stimulation, via the green button, or pain, via the red button. If you pause for more than five seconds between each selection, or do not make any selection at all—as some of you may be tempted to do—then the particular Recruit representing you will receive a double-dose of the pain option, making him or her more susceptible to failing the challenge and therefore putting yourself at risk of being shelved.

  Cassius pauses before continuing. Just one other caveat. If you decide to simply flood each Recruit with pleasure stimuli and forgo using the pain option, be cautioned that if there is no clear endurance winner after ten minutes, every single Recruit will be automatically eliminated, along with their remaining Incentives, and these Trials will come to a close.

  I can tell from the crushed expressions around me that I wasn’t the only one planning to use this strategy.

  I urge you to choose strategically and wish you the best of luck. Begin!

  Instinctively, my finger jams against Boaz’s red pain selector. I cringe when his body spasms and his face contorts; it’s as if I’m also hooked up to the neurostims. I can’t inflict more pain on Crowley; Cage’s fate is tied to Tristin and my survival; and poor Drusilla and Arrah have been through so much, what with Mr. Ryland’s death.

  Boaz is strong, he can take it—

  Then it hits me. Boaz’s fate is tied to Corin’s, who in spite of being part of the rebellion is still a kid.

  This is impossible.

  I’ve wasted too much time. I have to choose another—

  A buzzer pierces the room and Cage’s body convulses like a fish wriggling on a hook.

  “Cage!” Tristin wails. “Stop hurting him! ”

  Out of the four Recruits, it seems like Cage is the one being bombarded with the most pain. Arrah, Dahlia, and even Corin must be gunning for him as their only viable option, since every hit Crowley and Boaz take brings Dahlia and Corin closer to death.

  “Tristin!” I call without turning. “Concentrate every other move on delivering healing impulses to your brother. I’ll take care of the rest.” I don’t care that the others can hear me. I’m sure they have strategies of their own, and I don’t blame them.

  Each jab of my finger against Drusilla’s red button fills me with self-loathing. Over and over again I strike, watching as her body buckles violently against her straps even as Cage’s begins to relax.

  My eyes flit to my periphery. Arrah’s eyes are wide and overflowing with tears. She seems so desperate. I can’t even imagine what I’d be feeling if it were someone I loved strapped to that slab.

  Then her eyes connect with mine, burning with molten accusation. She knows it’s me. She knows I’m hurting the girl that she loves more than anything in this world—

  And she has no choice but to try and stop me.

  “Dahlia!” she shrieks. “I need your help. Concentrate all your blasts on Cage.”

  Tristin turns on her. “No! You can’t do that! My brother can’t take much more of this, please … ”

  Arrah shakes her head. “I’m sorry … Dru’s in too much pain … ” She whirls. “Do it, Dahlia! I’m begging you!” she half-sobs, half-screeches.

  Dahlia glances at her, then at me. Not too long ago, she would have glazed me with contempt. But now I can see the conflict on her face, the guilt. The shame. She looks away, as if the very sight of me is a slap across her face. Her eyes lower to her remote unit. Her fingers work the keys.

  I’m not sure what she’s decided.

  “Lucian!” The panic in Tristin’s voice courses through me like a live wire.

  I look up from my remote. Cage is going into seizure mode again, his body thrashing back and forth, froth pooling at his lips and spraying from his mouth.

  However much Dahlia has softened toward me, she’s made her choice.

  While Cage has the benefit of receiving healing stimuli from Tristin, it’s no match for the combined punishment being inflicted upon him from Arrah, Dahlia, and Corin. As strong as Cage is, he’s going to break any second—unless he dies first, in which case I’ll be dead moments later, and so will Tristin.

  There’s only one thing left to do.

  And I hate myself for it.

  My finger hovers over Drusilla’s button a split second—before jamming down on a different button, the only other option I have, the only other person who is in a weakened-enough state to succumb to his injuries before Cage does.

  Crowley.

  “Forgive me … ” I whisper over and over again. The pain button on the remote blurs until it’s nothing but a blotch of red, consuming my vision, devouring everything in its path. My temples throb, my heart pounds like a mallet, each beat a reverberating gong that drowns out the sounds around me until all I can hear are my own breaths, chugging and hissing like a steam engine.

  They’ve won. They’ve turned me into the kind of monster that would torture a dying man.

  I release the button, flinging the remote across the room. It slams against the wall, smashing into a million pieces.

  Just like my chances of getting out of here alive and rescuing my brother.

  The machinery buzzing around Cage sparks. The hum dies out. Cage has reached his limit and bowed out.

  It’s over.

  It appears that this Trial has now ended. Cassius’s voice is as cold and emotionless as ever. Recruit Cage’s participation has been terminated. He must now make his choice.

  Styles and Echoes appear out of the darkness and grab Tristin and me. The others’ faces are a blur of stunned expressions as we’re hustled away.

  “Lucian,” Arrah sobs. “I’m sorry.” She rushes forward but is intercepted by a couple of other Imps who block her and Dahlia from following us. “Let go of him! ” Her shouts sound like they’re so far away.

  Styles and Echoes shove Tristin and me into our cell and strap us in. Styles’s lips graze my ear. “Looks like it’s finally the end of the line for you, pretty. Shame we
never got the chance to get better acquainted.”

  The doors clang shut and the entire cell begins to rise up the dark shaft. I crane my neck. Above, there’s a light shining in the distance, growing brighter and brighter.

  I turn to Tristin. She’s sobbing quietly. I wish I could reach out to touch her hand. “It’s okay. You’re going to be fine. Promise me you’ll help the others get the hell away from this place.”

  She squeezes my fingers. “Don’t worry. We’re going to stop them from doing this to anyone else. I promise.”

  We share a smile as the grinding gears reach their apex. Light floods into the cell as it lurches to a halt.

  We’re here.

  Just outside our cell, the backrests on the silver slabs rise, elevating the Recruits, including Crowley, to a sitting position. They all look haggard, exhausted. Cage is pale as snow, his lips torn from where he bit into them. A thin red stream flows from them, glistening as it trickles down onto the bobbing nub of his throat.

  All my struggles—the separation from Cole, losing Digory and then finding out that he was using me, my vigilante attacks against the Establishment, my involvement with the rebels—every struggle and setback now comes down to this one last moment.

  The moment of my death.

  Recruit Cage. You must now make your choice.

  Cage opens his eyes. They glisten with moisture as he stares at us long and hard. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this. But I can only make one choice,” he says.

  I nod. “It’s okay.” I almost break out into a chuckle. Nothing has ever been so not okay in my whole life. “Do what needs to be done, Cage.”

  “I swear it, mate.”

  Your time has expired. Make your selection now.

  His eyes fix on me. “I choose … ” His voice chokes. “I choose Lucian Spark.”

  I hear my name as if from the fragments of a dream. Everything feels so disconnected, as if I’m no longer in my own body, but a puff of vapor caught in a swirling eddy that’s slowly tearing me apart until everything that’s me will fade into nothingness.

  The metal grapplers around my arms and legs screech to life, tugging my arms until they’re opened wide and my legs are spread-eagled. I look up, staring at the gleaming hydraulic cables coiled like a beast poised to spring at any moment. Drops of oil trickle from the mechanism like dark blood, mixing with my sweat as it oozes down my neck, over my heaving chest.

  They’re going to rip me apart like a rag doll, tear me limb from limb while the others watch me bleed out right before their eyes.

  I struggle against the clamps holding me in place, but it’s no use. Every second is an excruciating blur, waiting, wondering when it’s going to happen, what it’ll feel like when my tendons and ligaments snap like rubber bands, when my muscles are torn to tattered shreds, when my bones pop free from their sockets, gouging out chunks of flesh …

  I’m so sorry I failed you Cole.

  I look up and face my unseen audience. “Do it! ” The words singe my throat.

  The hydraulics rattle. My limbs grow taught as the tension in my restraints builds … any moment now …

  The hydraulics whine to a halt.

  The pressure in my joints relaxes as the restraints go slack.

  Why are the lights going dim? What’s happening?

  A crazed thought boomerangs through my brain. Am I already dead?

  With a crackle, the speakers come to life once more.

  We regret to inform you that Recruit Crowley has succumbed to his injuries. It would appear that the sensory overload of this last trial has proven too much of a challenge to his weakened system, and he has expired.

  Crowley dead? Of course he is. And I did it. I pushed him over the edge because of my own selfishness. And it was all for nothing.

  “Not Crowley, too.” Drusilla whispers. Boaz looks stunned. Cage buries his face in his hands.

  Of course. Before any of this, Crowley was their friend, their comrade. They were going to change the world together, make it a better place—until I came along.

  “It’s not your fault,” Tristin whispers.

  But I won’t look at her—can’t look at her. At anyone. Why couldn’t the Establishment have killed me before making this announcement?

  Because it’s all about making us suffer to the bitter end. My body tenses.

  And because—

  As Recruit Crowley’s participation in these Trials has been concluded, his one remaining Incentive shall now be shelved alongside Lucian Spark.

  They’re going to murder Dahlia, too.

  In seconds, Tristin is released from her confines beside mine and hustled out of view. She’s screaming and turning, trying to get a look at me before she disappears.

  The next few minutes are the longest, as Dahlia is brought in to take Tristin’s place. The sound of each of her restraints being clamped into place shatters through the fog in my brain.

  “Dahlia. I didn’t mean for it to be like this … I tried so hard … ” My voice breaks off. Going to my grave with two more deaths burdening my conscience is too much. It’s overload.

  She shakes her head. “And just when I thought I might want to live again.” She smiles, but her face contorts as she chokes back tears. “Don’t blame yourself, Spark. You’ve done so much for everyone. So much for me. My mother loved you very much. I guess I started resenting you when I was taken away from her. You had something so precious, time with her that I only dreamed of having. I’m sorry.”

  “This one’s ready!” Styles barks. He turns and gives us a smirk before slinking out of the chamber after the other Imposers.

  Leaving Dahlia and me alone … for the last time.

  “Just think of your mother,” I say to her.

  She lowers her voice to a whisper. “My jealousy of you wasn’t why I shunned my mother after the Trials. I didn’t want her to go to Haven like the other surviving Incentives.” She fights a sob. “It’s not the paradise that everyone’s been led to believe. It’s—”

  The hydraulics grind to life again.

  “—Must stop this at once!” a familiar voice commands, out of my field of vision.

  Cassius has left the control room he’s been hiding in and is here in the flesh, barreling in with a squadron of Imposers that includes Valerian and Sergeant Slade. His cloak whips behind him as he pushes his way toward us.

  When our eyes meet, his face flinches for a moment, but he turns to address the nearest soldier, jabbing a finger in our direction. “We cannot shelve them before we extract useful information from them. Get them down at once!”

  “Yes, Sir!” the officer responds, nearly toppling over his companion as they come forward to unlock Dahlia and me from our bonds.

  We exchange confused looks as we’re released and dragged down to join the other Incentives. This time, Cassius doesn’t make any eye contact with me.

  But Slade does. She reaches out a leather-gloved hand and grips my jaw, her cold fingers digging into my flesh. Stalactite eyes pierce right through me. “Don’t worry, Spark. This is only a brief reprieve. Once you’ve answered our questions, you’ll be shelved.” She leans in until our noses are practically touching. “As a matter of fact, I’ll be pulling the switch myself.”

  She shoves me aside.

  Styles comes bustling to the forefront with the rest of his squad. He salutes Cassius, Slade, and Valerian. “What’s going on, Sir?”

  Cassius turns to him, still avoiding eye contact with me. “It appears we’ve located your companion, Renquist—dead. In one of the vent shafts. Along with a cache of weapons.”

  “Renquist … is dead ?” Styles’s stance falters. He looks confused.

  But he can’t possibly be as confused as I am.

  “I’m afraid it’s true, Styles.” Cassius pats him on the shoulder. “It would appear
these Incentives have been busy, possibly working in tandem with the Recruits and a traitor in our midst, right under your noses, in fact.”

  He finally turns to me, his eyes bitter with frost.

  “And they’re going to provide us with some answers, before they are all executed.”

  twenty-four

  My aching lungs revolt against the cold water flooding them, cutting off the air. My nails scrape against the metal armrests, cracking, tearing. Can’t take it in. Can’t spit it out. I flail in the chair I’m strapped to. My body convulses as if jolts of electricity are ripping through it. Drowning, struggling for a single breath … nothing but a big blur. Colors. Shapes. A dozen times already and the fear’s worse each time. It’s not going to stop this time—oh, shit. Fuck. No … .

  Swoosh!

  The water filling the face mask that covers my head is sucked out once again by the vacuum tube.

  Dark shapes move into view, blocking out the hot glare of the floodlights trained on me.

  Sergeant Slade and Captain Valerian.

  Valerian rips the mask from my head, her nose wrinkling from the stench of my throw-up. But other than that, she seems just as bored as she did when this whole interrogation began.

  The same can’t be said for Slade. Her eyes are twinkling like fireflies. Her thin lips pull back to her ears in a half-moon grin. She’s relishing every moment of my degradation and suffering.

  She leans in conspiratorially. “I am going to ask you for the last time, Spark. Who were your accomplices in the murder of Officer Renquist?”

  I clear my throat of the lingering mixture of acid and puke. I lift the burden of my eyes until I’m staring her dead on. “I’ve already told you at least a dozen times, you stupid bitch.” My voice sounds ragged, hoarse. Every syllable hurts. “It was only me. Get it? Me.”

  I’m going to die anyway. No sense dragging anyone else down with me if there’s even the remotest of chances—

  Smack!

  The force of her blow snaps my head back. In seconds, the side of my face is throbbing. My tongue scrapes against my gums, tasting metal. My back molar rattles in its socket.