The Raising (The Torch Keeper Book 3)

  At least Digory seems to be faring better. Barely. Together, he and Cole help me to my feet.

  It looks like we’re in some type of souped-up freight elevator, with another set of sealed doors on the opposite side. It reminds me of the lift back in New York City that led from the House of Worship into Sanctum. Makes sense since these facilities are connected. Smooth steel lines the floors, walls, and ceiling of the car. No buttons. No floor indicators.

  I glance at Digory. “We need to figure out a way through that door.”

  He straightens to his full height, but he can’t completely hide the flash of pain. “Let us do it.”

  Joining me, we both try the door, him using one of his accessories, me with one of the makeshift tools. No use. They won’t budge.

  Digory slams a fist against the door, only succeeding in bruising his knuckles.

  Cole sighs. “Now what?”

  There’s high-pitched bleep, and a silver tube emerges from the ceiling with a blinking red nozzle at the end of it.

  Instinctively, I grab Cole and push him behind me, just in case it’s another defense mechanism.

  “Please step forward for ocular scan.” Our friendly computer is back.

  “I’ve got this.” Releasing my breath I move toward the scanner.

  As soon as I’m within range, the red light stops blinking and aims a steady beam into my right eye.

  Good morning, the pre-recorded voice greets us. Welcome back, President Embers.

  TWENTY-ONE

  President?

  I can’t help being amused, despite the circumstances. “Thank you,” is all I can think to say.

  Will the other two occupants require optical scans? the computer asks.

  Cole and Digory exchange looks. Digory moves in front of Cole, his muscles tensing for a fight. They both stare at me.

  If the system doesn’t recognize them—

  “Negative,” I say.

  Regulation number 62378 specifically states unidentified subjects will be classified as intruders, the computer drones on, and must be immediately termin—

  “As the…President, I countermand that order. Proceed with override immediately. Understood?”

  The scanning tube retracts. Yes, of course, Mr. President.

  Is that a hint of humiliation in that artificial voice?

  Digory nods at me. “That was very efficient.”

  I give him and Cole a half-hearted smile. “I guess there are some perks to being a dead guy.”

  Which level do you wish to proceed to? the computer inquires.

  Damn. I don’t even know exactly what the hell this place really is. “The survivors. I want to see the survivors.”

  Excuse me, Mr. President? the computer’s voice modulator goes up an octave. I’m having difficulty interpreting your request.

  “People!” I shout. “The staff. Personnel—”

  Proceeding to personnel level immediately,” the computer snaps.

  In the system’s apparent eagerness to carry out my orders, the car lurches and begins a nauseating, rapid descent.

  As the seconds tick by, Digory catches my eye. “Judging from the speed we are going, this installation must extend even deeper into the earth than Sanctum.”

  “Someone wanted to make sure they were well protected from the Clathrate event and the Ash Wars.” I shrug. “Probably me.”

  “He’s not you.” Cole glares at me and looks away.

  The car slows down and finally stops. The doors opposite the ones we entered grind open with a squeal.

  Cole’s eyes are wide. “Looks like nobody’s been here in a long time.”

  Digory peers out into the shadows beyond the elevator. “We would surmise it has been centuries.”

  “At least.” Joining him, I grip the door frame and glance both ways. “Digory, you bring up the rear and keep Cole between us.”

  “Yes, Sir. Mr. President.”

  I pause to stare at him. He’s stone-faced, so I’m not sure if he’s stating things in that unnerving, logical Hive way, or if he’s simply teasing. As improbable as it is, I much prefer the implications of the latter, so I’m going with it.

  “Let’s go,” I say, moving from the car and into the shadows.

  Dim light flickers on off to the right, probably triggered by our presence, so I decide to head in that direction.

  The walls on either side are covered with metal grids, as is the floor. Sparse lighting penetrates through every other grid, creating distorted shadows, trailing our movement like clinging nightmares. Probably emergency lighting powered by dying batteries.

  I breathe in deep. “Is it just me, or does this air smell…stale?”

  Digory pauses and cocks his head back, taking a whiff of his own. He bursts into a coughing fit, covering his mouth with his fist.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. I move toward him.

  He holds up his palm. “No need. Considering how deep under the surface we are, the air has probably been recycled many times over. There must be an intricate ventilation system filtering oxygen from the surface.”

  That still doesn’t explain why it’s affecting him, with his enhanced organ functions.

  Cole leans against the wall. “If there are people here, why have they stayed hidden all these years?”

  I shake my head. “After the atmosphere settled and the wars were over, you’d think they’d decide to go topside and have a look.” I remember what Digory said about Sanctum severing communications with the Nexus deliberately. “Whatever the reason, we’re about to find out.”

  The corridor opens up into a rotunda, surrounded by glass.

  My next breath’s a sharp intake. Through the clear windows, we can see level after level of the facility. Each of us presses against the glass to take a closer look.

  From my vantage point, I can spot crates of canned food, hundreds—no thousands of them. An entire section looks like an elaborate forest, probably a greenhouse that’s helping to keep this place oxygenated. The levels extend both above and below as far as the eye can see.

  I can make out what appears to be a gymnasium, living quarters, and the sterile, white and steel of a medical wing. Digory’s spotted it, too, and we exchange weary looks tinged with excitement. We’re both in pretty messed up shape. Maybe there’s something in these supplies that can take the edge off.

  Despite the toll carrying around Queran Embers is taking on my overtaxed brain, the one medicine I crave most of all is answers.

  “Over here!” Cole cries. He disappears behind an opaque glass door.

  Digory and I rush over to the opposite end of the spherical chamber where Cole vanished. Inside, there’s a treasure trove of rations strewn throughout the mess hall. Lush looking fruits and vegetables are being cut and placed on a platter by an automated machine, along with piping bowls of the most delicious smelling soup that’s making my mouth water. Another dispenser spews water into frosty mugs.

  As wonderful as it all looks and smells to my exhausted eyes, parched throat, and rumbling stomach, I can’t help be a little creeped out by this ghostly banquet.

  My eyes scan the commissary. “Something’s not right,” I squeeze out through clenched teeth. “A place this huge and no sign of living activity. Where is everybody?”

  Cole eyes are riveted on the frosty mugs. “Maybe they’re sleeping.”

  I cock my head. “This place has been buried here for hundreds of years, and it picks precisely this moment to activate and dispense rations? Kind of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe it was our presence in the installation that triggered this,” Digory volunteers. “This commissary is probably programmed to dispense rations automatically.”

  “Possibly. Or it could mean something else entirely.” That’s what my gut’s telling me, anyway.

  Cole grabs one of the mugs and brings it to his lips.

  I rush forward and grab his arm before he can drink. “Wait up. We don’t know if this stuff is safe.” br />
  Digory picks up one of the mugs and takes a tentative taste. “My taste sensors are only picking up cold, filtered water. Nothing harmful.”

  No sooner has Digory finished his analysis, than Cole pulls away and gulps down the water. Digory and I join him. The icy water soothes my throat, and I practically guzzle down an entire bowl of the warm broth in seconds. Cole’s chin drips with fruit juice. He grins at me as I wipe it with one of the cloth napkins from the dispenser.

  At least we won’t be dying on empty stomachs.

  I haven’t been this hungry since—

  A memory—one of my own, not Queran’s—hits me. My reunion with Cassius in the Prefect’s quarters, when I was starving and gorged on his feast like a wild animal, just before he betrayed and condemned me to the Culling for the very first time. Suddenly, I’m not so hungry anymore.

  When I look up, Digory’s dangling a glistening slice of apple in front of my eyes. “We saved you the last piece.”

  I don’t resist as he gently presses it against my lips. I take a bite, savoring the sweetness. Then quickly look away.

  We eat the rest of our meal in silence.

  When it’s over, I move toward one of the side corridors.

  “We’d better do some more exploring and see if we can find anyone.”

  I can hear their footfalls behind me as they follow me out of the mess hall.

  One by one, we rifle through the adjacent chambers, checking out equipment and supplies, until we come to the very last one. The lights flicker on as we enter. I stop short as if I ran into a force field.

  Embedded into the walls on either side are oblong, glass chambers placed vertically, one after another. Each one contains a body suspended in bluish fluid. A series of tubules that remind me of the tentacles of the Octopoda are attached to a facemask coiled around each figures’ nose and mouth. Probably feeding them oxygen and nutrients.

  Digory traces the glass of the pod nearest him. “Looks like we found our missing survivors.”

  “This facility must somehow be channeling the survivors’ carbon dioxide to keep those plants alive.” I lean in close to take a look at the young woman floating in the tube directly in front of me. She’s probably right around my own age. “They’ve probably been in this suspended state since the Ash Wars. Waiting for some signal to emerge.”

  “A signal that never came,” Cole adds.

  As we walk further into the chamber and pass more and more of the encased survivors, I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something familiar about them.

  “I’ve seen some of these people before,” I finally say. “I’m sure of it.”

  Cole sidles up to me. “You have? Or he has?”

  I dig my fingers into my temples, trying to make sense of the conflicting feelings. “I’m not sure. Both, I think.”

  Digory makes eye contact. “We think we know what you mean.” He appears just as confused as I am.

  My anxiety builds. I race down the aisles, faster and faster. Yes. I recognize these faces. They’re Imps. Or at least some of them are. The others are recruits that never made it through the trials.

  I pause and turn to Cole and Digory. “The recruits. They’re all here. Everyone that’s ever been drafted for the Culling.”

  “That is impossible,” Digory whispers. But his expression lacks conviction.

  Cole gazes up at the tube closest to him. “Why do they all look the same age as you?”

  I shake my head. “They must have all entered cryo when they turned a certain age, just like all the recruits are drafted when they’re sixteen, like Digory and I were.”

  Digory glances my way. “But you and Digory weren’t supposed to be drafted. Were you?”

  “I don’t think you were.” I leave the implication hanging in the decaying air.

  We continue to examine the coffin-like cylinders. A deep cold slithers up my spine. More and more of these faces are becoming recognizable.

  “That looks like Valerian.” My words echo down the shadows. It is her, but it’s not. She looks so young. And peaceful. A stark contrast to the woman with fire burning in her eyes during those last few moments of her life.

  I spot random Imposers from the Parish, including Valerian’s former partner, Arch. Studying the occupants on the opposite wall of this high-tech mausoleum, I start to detect a pattern of some sorts. “It looks like these specimens are grouped together in the same order they were recruited for the Culling.”

  Digory forges ahead of me. “We need to find out by whom and why. Maybe those answers will provide the key to discovering the nanotech that will allow the Hive to become autonomous.”

  When I study the next section of pods, I feel lightheaded, as if all the blood’s been drained from me.

  “What’s wrong?” Cole’s voice barely registers.

  “I’d never forget these faces, no matter how young they are.” I stare at three of the most vile people I’ve met during the course of my life.

  Styles. Renquist. And Sergeant Slade.

  What’s most disturbing is that they seem so normal. Almost innocent. So different than the cruel sadists they became. Is the evil in their hearts even now manifesting while they slumber, a cancer eating away at their morality?

  “I don’t understand,” Cole says. “If they’ve been here all this time, then who are the ones back home?”

  “I don’t know.” I’m shaking—with rage, with bitterness. Whatever the hell this place is, this, this is my future. Slade and the others started out young like I am and became heartless monsters. That’s my destiny, too. Tristin was wrong. There is no such thing as free will. It’s all some bullshit illusion we delude ourselves with.

  I let out the most pitiful laugh, laced with sorrow and hopelessness, a condemned man that’s been told he only has a few days left to live.

  Digory’s cold hand grips my shoulder, trying to steady me. “What is wrong, Lucian?”

  I can’t bear to meet his eyes. “Lucian. That’s what’s wrong. Lucian Spark doesn’t exist. He never did. I’m nothing but a freak. A lab rat. Someone thought it would be a good idea to revive a ruthless dictator and here I am. Ready to turn on everyone and everything I care about as soon as whatever wall’s been blocking my memories comes tumbling down.” I swipe at the blood dripping from my nose.

  How much of others’ blood have I spilled?

  Digory squeezes my shoulders enough to cause pain. “Now is not the time to indulge in self-pity.” He glances at Cole and lowers his voice. “The child needs you. And we—”

  I rip free. “You what?”

  “We do not have time to listen to this. You are supposed to be a leader of your people. The Torch Keeper, they call you. Act like it.”

  Another surge of anger broils me. Tears of rage cloud my vision. “You’re one to be giving advice about being true to yourself. You don’t even know what you are anymore.”

  He gives me his back as he moves toward Cole.

  “You’re not Digory Tycho. Are you even a man?” I call after him. “A machine? What the hell are you?”

  He whips around. “At least we are not afraid to find out.”

  I regret my outburst immediately. “Digory, I’m sorry.”

  Let him go. You don’t need him.

  I press my palms against my temple. “Get out of my head.”

  “Stop it!” Cole shrieks. “Both of you stop it!”

  I try to embrace him. But he pounds me with his fists. “I hate you! I…hate…you.”

  His struggles diminish and his resistance gives way, turning into choked sobs, his hot tears soothing against my cold neck. “I can’t…lose you…again. Please stay. For me. Stay…Lucky…”

  “It’s okay,” I murmur in his ear. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry. For everything. I’m going to try real hard not to go away again.”

  We huddle together for a few minutes. I wipe his tears as he wipes my bloody nose. Patting his back, I stand. Gripping his hand, I pretend for a
moment that things are the way they used to be, even though I know they never will be again.

  I face Digory. “I didn’t mean what I said. I’m just…with everything that’s happening…I lost it there for a minute.” I hold out my hand. “Are we good?”

  He nods and squeezes my hand. “We understand.” He nudges his head down the corridor. “We had better finish our sweep.”

  The three of us trudge down the rest of the chamber.

  My eyes grow wider. One by one, I recognize the members of Flame Squad, floating in cylinders among the recruits they were drafted with. First Dahlia. Then Leander. Then Rodrigo.

  And finally Arrah.

  They may as well be resting comfortably in their bunks after a strenuous day of training.

  Cassius should be here, too. Technically, he should have been Third Tier when I was undergoing Imp training. But for some reason, they skipped his Recruitment Culling and went right to Rodrigo’s.

  Why? And why isn’t there a doppelganger of him here like all the others?

  “They’re exact duplicates.” I say. “All of them. Part of whatever crazy experiment this is.”

  The same experiment that created me.

  I rush ahead to the next section, where the recruits that were drafted with me should be.

  In the shadows up ahead, the floor’s wet. A breathing apparatus lies coiled on the floor like a snake. One of these tubes has recently been opened.

  One of these ghosts is on the loose.

  Something dashes out of the darkness and tackles me.

  I tumble to the ground and hit the back of my head.

  From miles away I can hear Digory’s deep voice and Cole shouting. I struggle to pry my eyes open.

  Above me a figure comes into focus. A figure holding a gun. “Queran Embers? It…can’t be…”

  I recognize that voice— and that face.

  Ophelia Juniper, a former recruit who once tried to murder me.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The shock’s like a hypo oozing with adrenaline, plunged directly into my heart. I push away. Hands hoist me to my feet. Digory and Cole.

  “Are you hurt?”

  I ignore Digory, don’t even look his way. Instead my eyes are riveted on the pale young woman with the blood-red mane of curly hair and the weapon clutched in her hand, aimed directly at me.