The Raising (The Torch Keeper Book 3)

  The remnants of the road ahead shimmers with distortion caused by the intense heat. These were once called…highways. Yes. That’s the word. Not sure how I know that, but I just do.

  Or Queran Embers does.

  I’m about to pop the hatch to go out and investigate, when Digory emerges from the cockpit with a tool kit and pushes past me. “We have almost reached the coordinates you gave me. If repairs cannot be made, we will have to hike the rest of the way.”

  He opens the hatch, letting in a wave of heat and dust, before slamming it behind him.

  At first, Digory, who’s a lot more familiar with the Flesher tech than I am, was able to patch a few holes and run some electrical bypasses to keep the systems functioning. That got us through the first few hundred miles or so. It was actually kind of eerie to watch him sit as still as a statue, eyes opened and far away, as he patched in and communicated with the craft via their shared consciousness. There was something very spiritual about it, at least more so than the hypocrisy at the Priory.

  Eventually, the makeshift repairs began to give, beginning with the cooling systems. As the outside temperatures climbed to the hundred degree mark, it made the environment extremely uncomfortable, at least for Cole and me, who had no choice but to strip down to our tanks and shorts. Even then, we were both slick with sweat, while Digory remained relatively unaffected, except for when I caught him standing in the shadows of the cockpit, his right hand gripping his left, which was twitching uncontrollably.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He quickly stuffed his affected hand out of sight. “It is nothing. Just a little recalibration of the nanotech, that is all.”

  Then he turned back to the exposed circuit board in front of him and ignored me.

  I didn’t buy it then, and I still don’t buy it now.

  Since then, he’s been even more aloof than usual. And practically every night for the past week, I’ve awoken to the sounds of him thrashing in his bunk, muttering mostly unintelligible words.

  Last night, I picked up a distinct fragment.

  They weren’t supposed to be harmed.

  Not sure what it means. But when I try to approach him and broach the subject, he snaps at me, like he did earlier.

  “You should focus your concerns on the welfare of your bother.”

  “Fine. I won’t ask again.”

  “Maybe he’s weirded out about you, too.” Cole’s voice startles me. I turn to face him.

  He’s pale. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes. His skin’s slick and flushed.

  “What are you doing out of bed? You need your rest.”

  “I can’t sleep. It’s too hot.”

  I hunch down and can’t get over how he’s at least a foot taller than he was just a short time ago. “I’m sorry. I saved you an extra replenisher packet. It should cool you down and supply you with a hefty dose of vitamins. You need to keep up your strength.”

  Despite his protests, I retrieve the pack from the melting contents of the cooler, open it, and press it to his chapped lips.

  His thirst betrays his stubbornness, and his throat bobs as he gulps it down without spilling a drop.

  Our situation’s bad. Food we can do without for a while. But our water supply’s seriously depleted.

  When he’s done, he stares at me for a moment before speaking. “Why are we here?”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I could have gotten you back to the Brigade and not exposed you to any of—”

  “No. I mean why are we here? A thousand miles out in the middle of nowhere. I saw what you did back at Haven. How you knew what code to input in the Trundler. What is it you know? Where are you taking us?”

  At last, someone asks the questions we’ve all been avoiding ever since I gave Digory the westerly heading upon our escape.

  The little bastard has no business meddling in affairs that have nothing to do with him. He should be punished. Severely. That’ll make a man out of him…

  The thought shocks me. It feels alien and all too familiar at the same time. But the venom behind it is truly palpable, and it frightens me. I try my best to push it away.

  Concentrating as hard as I can against the unexplainable, nagging impulse to strike him, I gently grip Cole’s shoulders instead. “I’m honestly not sure. Ever since the procedure in the labs, I’ve been remembering things. Fragments. Like some deeply ingrained instinct. I can feel that it’s important that we be here. But I still can’t make sense as to why.”

  Cole’s eyes narrow. “I used to believe all those stories you told me. About the Lady. About her friends. I don’t anymore.”

  A wave of pain rips through my head. I squeeze my eyes closed, hoping it’ll pass quickly. My thoughts are fragmented, scattered. Part of me struggles to stop the tears and wants to get down on my knees and beg Cole for forgiveness, for failing him.

  The other part—

  Ungrateful little shit. After everything I’ve done for him. He’s just like the rest. Well, if he’s not loyal to me, then I’ll just have to—

  Stop.

  My fingertips dig into my temples, massaging. Cold sweat mixes with dried. The pounding finally subsides. I open my eyes, needing a minute for the blur to clear. When I’m finally able to focus again, Cole’s holding out an object in his open palm.

  A battered, round chronometer.

  There’s something familiar about it, but it’s hard to concentrate through the brain fog.

  “Take it,” he says. “I don’t need it anymore.”

  I reach out still trembling fingers and scoop it up, examining the battered casing and the burnt out digital display.

  I know this piece.

  “I gave this to you the day before the Ascension Ceremony, when I came to see you at the Priory.”

  Bitter memories eclipse the alien voices in my brain, and I embrace them, desperate and relieved to cling to something that is so irrevocably tied to me. But the price is pain. Another reminder of my failures.

  “You never came,” Cole says. “I waited for you. But you never came back.”

  He turns away.

  His words sting. But the fact that he’s carried this symbol of my broken promise to him for so long must mean something. There has to be a chance for us.

  Forget him. He’ll only slow you down, make you weak. Cut him loose.

  That searing pain again. I bow my head against the throbbing. It seems to last longer this time.

  “Your…nose…” Cole’s voice sounds like its miles away.

  The pain finally subsides. I swipe at the moisture coating my upper lip.

  Bright red blood.

  I don’t remember ever suffering a nosebleed before.

  “Here.” Cole hands me a rag from his pocket, and I wipe myself clean.

  What’s happening to me?

  The hatch bursts open, letting in searing light and heat, which hurts my eyes to look at. I can barely make out Digory’s dark silhouette.

  “Repairs are a bust,” he announces. “We go on foot now. But there may be a clue as to why you led us here, Lucian. Let us go.”

  I join Digory in gathering supplies into our respective packs.

  Cole grabs his own pack and pushes past me, as if he’s afraid to be in the same room with me.

  Not that I blame him.

  Stuffing the chronometer back into my pocket, I follow suit, ignoring the ache in my head, following Cole and Digory into the scorching wilderness.

  ****

  “This is where it lies,” Digory calls over the moaning wind. “Not much farther.”

  Cole’s perched on his shoulders. He hasn’t said a word in almost an hour, when he protested letting me be the one to carry him. But it wasn’t long before exhaustion overtook him, and Digory volunteered to hoist him the rest of the way.

  Just as well. I’m not sure I trust myself to be alone with him any longer, not with those impulses to hurt him clouding my judgment. And the fact that I would ever even consider doing so tears at me mor
e powerfully than those vultures circling silently overhead could ever hope to.

  My leg muscles tense and tremble with fatigue as I follow them up the incline. We zig zag through the maze of boulders and dirt baking under the relentless sun, until we reach the shadow of a mammoth mountain.

  Nexus Prime.

  The name comes to me naturally, instinctively, and it takes a few seconds for the implications to sink in.

  I’ve been here before. Not as Lucian Spark. In another life.

  Queran Ember’s life.

  “I see it,” I grumble, pushing past them, knowing there’ll be a set of doors camouflaged by a rock formation, even before I spy the glint of sun on steel that Digory must have spotted from the transport.

  Despite my weakness and dehydration, I rush forward, half-running, half-stumbling, until I reach a set of boulders nestled against the mountain’s base.

  Reaching out, I touch the hot stone. A flashflood of memories practically drowns me.

  They’re scared. The atmospheric conditions have grown dangerous. So much death and disease. War’s wiping out the few that remain. Hunger and thirst are overwhelming. But there’s a sense of relief.

  Of hope.

  We can wait here. Wait until the time’s right and reclaim what belongs to us. To me. We can survive death, overcome it.

  I can overcome death.

  Become immortal.

  My hands spring away from the rock, as if the memory itself has seared through my flesh.

  Digory rushes up beside me. “Lucian, what is it? What have you found?”

  For a moment it’s as if I’m looking through two sets of eyes all at once. “This is where we—where they—sought refuge when things fell apart. Nexus Prime. The primary nerve center of the network of survivors, the repositories of civilization who went underground to wait out the Clathrate apocalypse and the Ash Wars.”

  “This is the place where the tech that controls the Hive was designed.” Digory’s gray eyes are wide open. He runs his fingers along the stone grooves.

  “There are other people here, too, aren’t there?” Cole’s voice is barely above a whisper. “The ones that survived? And we’ll be able to track the rest of the shelters from here, too.” He looks up at me. “That’s what Cassius wanted, right? To enslave them?”

  “Yes,” I finally say. “Or to wipe them out.”

  But there’s something much darker here, too. I can almost see it.

  If they try to take what belongs to us, they’ll be destroyed, too.

  Flashes of a huge chamber. Being blinded by gleaming silver. I can’t make out the markings on the room or the cylinders, but a sense of overwhelming death presses into my chest, suffocating me.

  Strangely, the visions fill me with exhilaration instead of fright.

  “Are you remembering something else?” Digory’s question brings me back to the here and now.

  “No.” The lie is out of my mouth like a reflex. And oddly, it feels right. Natural.

  I stare at both my companions. The hulking, bald youth with the pale skin and storm gray eyes. The unkempt child, dark circles under its eyes, weak. Pathetic.

  A wave of revulsion engulfs me. They’re not my equals. Their company disgusts me.

  I bury my face in my hands.

  Get out of my head.

  “What’s wrong?” Cole’s voice this time. Is that an actual hint of concern?

  I open my eyes to meet their stares. “Leave me. I’m okay.”

  The intensity of the feelings dissipates, but the sensation remains, lurking in the corners of my brain, waiting for just the right moment when my guard’s down to strike again.

  The thought chills me, despite the desert heat.

  “So where do we go from here?” Digory asks.

  “Down below,” I reply. “Way down.”

  I stare beyond the opening. Already the light’s dimming and the wind’s moaning, creating swirling particles of dust that obscure the horizon. “We’ve got a ways to go. I suggest we camp here for the night and recoup. There’s a very long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  “As you wish.” Digory opens the packs and removes the sleeping bags.

  Cole busies himself setting up the compact electrolantern. Then he pulls out the receiver from its battered case and turns to me. “Should we give it another try?”

  I take it from him and switch the power on. “Battery’s almost dead. Maybe we’ll finally pick something up out here. Nothing to lose.”

  Ever since our escape from Haven, we’ve attempted to monitor both Thorn and Brigade channels and only succeeded in picking up static.

  The three of us huddle in a semicircle while I try one channel after another.

  I sigh. “Nothing but snow—”

  “Wait.” Digory adjusts some dials. “There is something—”

  “I see it!” Cole fiddles with the antennae.

  A pixelated image fills the small screen.

  I recognize Brigade ships, zooming across the sky, followed by shots of Haven.

  “—Torch Brigade has successfully liberated the internment camps at Haven from Sanctum control,” the narrator of the newsreel explains, his voice cutting in and out. “Unfortunately, with the death of Sebastos Straton, and no one to lead them, the Sanctum forces have agreed to an armistice with the Thorn Republic.”

  “It worked! They were able to track the beacon.” I can barely contain a grin. There’s a rapid fire of images; Resistance ships and troops forming a perimeter around the massive Haven installation, interspersed with shots of medics tending to prisoners, some weeping, others cheering, at finally being liberated at last.

  Cage’s face appears. He looks battle worn, fresh cuts and bruises on his face, but his eyes are glowing with a fire that rivals the torch he thrusts high in the sky like a fiery weapon. “People of the Parish. The time to strike is now. Before the forces of The Thorn Republic and the remnants of Sanctum can regroup and ally against us. The Torch Brigade’s recent victories are the beginning of their end!”

  There’s a montage of clips depicting the battle at the Cape, the rescue of prisoners and firefight at the Gorge, the most recent campaign against Haven, giving the Resistance countless more food and medical resources, plus stockpiles of weapons.

  The camera’s back to Cage’s face. “We’re coming for you, Thorn.” He points straight ahead. “People of the Parish, join the Torch Keeper. Prepare to fight for our lives, for our liberty, against the Thorn Republic. Together, we can defeat tyranny once and for all.”

  A tide of guilt crashes into me. Would any of them really want to join me if they knew who I really was?

  Cage continues his address. The camera slowly zooms out, revealing legions of resistance fighters and rescued citizens, all holding their glowing torches aloft, miniature suns in a sea of defiance.

  My eyes scan the faces. “Is that Arrah? I think I see Dru and Corin.”

  But with so many faces and faulty reception, it’s impossible to be sure.

  There’s a burst of static and the image disappears, replaced by the stark insignia of the Thorn Republic with a character-generated Please Stand By super-imposed on it.

  “Maybe next time your Resistance will be able to broadcast longer before the republic intercepts,” Digory says.

  We switch channels, but there’s nothing else being broadcast, just an endless, static blizzard.

  I jam my thumb against the power button, switching it off. “We’d better get some sleep.”

  In minutes, we’re all bedding down, Digory and I lying on either side of Cole, the three of us giving in to our weariness.

  ****

  It’s one of the most disturbing nights of my life. The dreams bombard my brain like an aerial raid, one explosive memory after another.

  Mother is weak and useless. My father, arrogant and stern. Humiliating me constantly because I failed to live up to his standards. Always paling in comparison to my step brother.

  Where once there was profoun
d love for my brother, I’ve grown to hate the sight of him. Thinking he’s so much better than I am. Stealing my father’s approval.

  But even then, we fought alongside each other in the Ash Wars.

  I can taste the dirt and blood in my mouth. The explosions deafening in my ears. All around us the air itself is burning, scorching my lungs as I gasp for breath.

  I’ve been hit. The pain in my side is intense. Warm blood oozes from the wound.

  I’m so afraid. I don’t want to die. Please don’t let me die.

  My brother swings my arm over his shoulder and pulls me with him through the sickening haze of fire and lethal explosions.

  “I’ve got you, Queran!” he shouts.

  He’s not going to leave me. Relief fills me. The ’copter is just ahead. In a few seconds we’ll be away from this horrible place.

  Just as he shoves me inside, another explosion hits. He loses his grip, hanging from one of the ’copter’s landing struts. The pilot, unaware, takes off and swerves into the infernal sky.

  “Queran, help me,” my step brother pleads, dangling from one of the ’copter’s landing struts by one hand.

  I hesitate an instant. He looks so helpless, so desperate. Not the arrogant war hero that’s eclipsed me my whole life. Not the narcissist who’s stolen my parents’ love and admiration. It would be so easy to let him fall, to come back the victor for once in my life.

  Before I can think it through it’s too late.

  A fireball engulfs him. His scream pierces the air. My eyes bulge as he roasts alive, his skin blackening and peeling away like the shavings of a sharpening pencil. He drops away—

  My father’s fist slams across my face, sending me reeling, toppling over my brother’s casket at the memorial service.

  There are screams.

  “It should have been him that came back. Not you!” My father wails.

  Through the blur of pain and tears, I spot my brother’s hand, burnt to a crisp, reaching out for my own from the lid of his upturned coffin—

  I spring up from my sleeping bag, coated in cold sweat, my heart thrumming.