The Raising (The Torch Keeper Book 3)

  I shake my head. “Great. I’ll have to thank him or her personally.”

  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You see, ever since your arrival, you’ve been under quarantine.” Messenger looks extremely uncomfortable. “Not only for your own protection, but to prevent…unrest in the general populace as well. The researcher has never had any actual contact with you.”

  I shake my head. “This can’t be real. This is some sort of trick.”

  She ignores me and checks my file. “You’ll be pleased to know that your friend, Arrah Creed, has spent years serving in the rebuilding of the nation and is now the President of the Reunified Statehood. She and her wife will be flying in to see you tomorrow night before the inaugural ceremony at York City.”

  “Twenty years,” I finally say. “I’ve been asleep for twenty years…”

  An entire lifetime gone.

  ****

  As relieved as I am to know that the horrors of the Establishment and the Thorn Republic are no more, there’s a part of me that’s in deep mourning, a sadness clinging to me like a winter’s chill you can’t shake no matter how close to the hearth you huddle. I’ve been asleep over half of my existence. Hearing the story of what happened after those dark days of the rebellion is not the same as living it. Everyone I care about—the entire world—has left me behind. I’m an oddity now, a relic of a dark past. I can see it in the curious faces of the doctors, nurses, and orderlies who cater to me, especially the younger ones.

  That’s him? That’s the Torch Keeper?

  He’s just a kid.

  Watching the television news reports, the updates on all the upcoming preparations for the inaugural ceremony, I’m overwhelmed by how different everything is. At one point, there’s a news clip of an interview with Arrah from the Presidential suite. She’s at once instantly recognizable and a total stranger. The three-dimensional definition on her face is so clear, I can make out the gray hairs, the fine lines etched into her once creamy smooth skin. Even her eyes aren’t the same. Where once they shared the same story as mine, it’s obvious they’ve witnessed so much more, and she’s had to make much tougher decisions as the leader of this new country than she ever had before, even during the Trials.

  It’s me who’s the stranger.

  I don’t belong here.

  I never will.

  Dusk approaches. Everyone around me is so consumed by excitement with tonight’s event, they don’t even notice when I open the locker containing my personal effects. Not much really, except the old battered chron I gave Cole, and the opticom.

  I slip on the clothes I was wearing when I first went into deep sleep. It’s like slipping on my old life, snug and familiar, despite the wrinkles and rips.

  I’m just about to leave when Messenger enters the room. It only takes her a split-second to assess the situation. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go, Lucian.”

  “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But it’s not really your choice.”

  She taps her ear. “We have a Code Seventeen situation in med lab eight. Proceeding to administer stabilizing dosage,” she says to whoever’s listening on the other end of her communication device.

  Lab? The image of another place floods my burdened brain cells. The laboratories in that place—Asclepius Valley—where the Establishment experimented with biological warfare.

  Whoever’s in charge here is experimenting on me as if I were a lab rat. Who knows? Maybe they’re planning on using the agent I’ve been infected with to hurt more innocent people.

  Without looking me directly in the eyes, Messenger pulls out a small, clear, cube, filled with a glowing green liquid, and approaches me. “Nothing to worry about. This injection will help you to sleep.”

  I nod. As soon as she’s close enough, I grab the cube from her hand, and jam it against her own throat instead.

  Her eyes blossom with shock and horror as the liquid is absorbed into her system. “Patient has broken…quarantine…,” she manages to sputter into her com before collapsing.

  Catching her and setting her on the bed, I grab her small, silver valise, and stuff the mini-projector containing my medical files, as well as my personal belongings, inside.

  Sirens blare. The room’s bathed in the dizzying amber glow of emergency lights. All my muscles are sore and feel like they’ve rusted shut. Standing on my feet is an ordeal. But I can’t stay here. I stumble toward the exit.

  Adrenaline pushes me forward. I barrel down the corridor to the right. One sign reads Croakley Memorial Hospital. A blur of grey glad figures heads in my direction. I swerve to my left, running faster, crashing through carts of medical instruments, shoving personnel emerging from other rooms out of my way.

  All I can think about is escaping this strange place—getting back to my friends.

  Getting back to my brother.

  This is all some crazy lie.

  I reach another intersection. Personnel lunge at me from either side, cornering me. There’s only one way left to go. Bounding into a stairwell, I head up as far as I can go and burst through the rooftop doors, a dozen of the medical personnel pursuing me.

  I turn to face them.

  “I know you must need me alive for something or I’d be dead already. Stay away from me or I’ll jump.”

  Am I bluffing? I’m not so sure. If I’m carrying a biological weapon of some kind inside my blood, maybe it’s best if I do jump. I back against the wall, feeling the wind beating at me. There’s nowhere to go except down.

  A tall man emerges from the crowd. Early forties? Dark hair streaked with gray, wearing glasses. His eyes are filled with fear, but also…compassion?

  “It’s all right,” he says. “We understand your confusion. We’re here to help you. I promise.”

  He takes a step forward and I scramble up the ledge, clutching the valise. “I mean it,” I croak.

  I turn away and glance at the vista below me.

  My breath catches in my throat.

  The building I’m perched on overlooks an immense body of water. But it’s not the rippling waves shimmering in the brilliant morning skies that take my breath away. It’s the sight of the Lady herself, rising once again over the crystal blue waters.

  The last time I saw her erect, she was canting noticeably, her body pocked with holes and cracks, covered with moss and algae like varicose veins, her crown of stars broken and jagged. Even in that condition, she managed to maintain her dignity, holding her torch high.

  Then she was obliterated by Cassius’s forces, nothing left but a smoldering pile of rubble.

  But now, her body’s been reborn, all smooth, gleaming copper, sparkling in the sunshine, standing straight as an arrow. Around her, construction crews hover about her in tiny, sleek craft like fireflies, removing the scaffolding surrounding her newly built facade. With most of the skeletal framework gone, it appears like the Lady’s broken free of her prison at last, defying all those who fought to contain and destroy her.

  “You can trust me. Please, Lucian.”

  The man with the glasses and compassionate eyes holds out his hand.

  It’s Cephas Decatur. Twenty years older.

  It’s all true.

  I wipe my face and stare into his eyes. “You should have let me go.”

  Then I let myself drop into the sea.

  ****

  That must be it up ahead. I stay hidden among the trees as I approach the small, brick house.

  I’m on running on pure adrenaline now. Somehow, despite my weak muscles, I managed to swim to one of the small, nearby islands surrounding the Lady. Apparently, it houses researchers and their families, according to Messenger’s files. Those keeping me hostage might think that I drowned, but it’s only a matter of time before they discover that’s not the case.

  It must be an hour or two before I see him come out to the backyard. Using the opticom to zoom in, I recognize him instantly, the wavy dark hair, brown eyes the color of sweet chocolate. Only he’s a man n
ow.

  My little Cole, all grown up.

  The researcher who, according to the files, was responsible for finding the cure to my condition.

  Laughter. A child’s.

  A little girl comes skipping out of the house, her dark hair in pig-tails. She must be the same age Cole was the last time I saw him.

  She tugs his hand. “C’mon. I wanna play the swings. Push me, Daddy.”

  Cole chuckles. He lifts and spins her, then boosts her into the seat. “Okay, Sweetheart. Just for a little while. Then we have to help Mommy with dinner. It’s a special night tonight. Grandpa Cage is coming for a visit.”

  I can’t hold it in any longer. I weep silently, slumping into a sitting position on the grass, thinking of all the years I’ve missed, watching him become a husband and father, a man that’s selflessly dedicated his life’s work to go into medicine and help save countless lives, judging from his bio in those files.

  I’m not sure how long I hide there watching him push her on that swing, hot tears streaming at the sound of their joy and laughter.

  What can I possibly have to offer him now, except a connection to the tainted legacy of Queran Embers?

  Besides. He probably forgot me long ago.

  Cole scoops his daughter into his arms. “Time to get ready, Lucy.”

  A hint of a smile touches my lips. I wait until they go inside, then dart into the backyard and leave the small object on the swing.

  There’s movement, and I scramble away before I can be seen, hiding once again in the trees.

  Cole comes back out. “I don’t think you left your doll out here, but I’ll check, honey. You go take your bath.”

  He walks over to the swing set. The seat is still swaying slightly from when I brushed it getting away. Cole stares at the sky. There’s no breeze.

  I tense as he picks up the small object I’ve left behind.

  The battered chron I once gave him so many years ago.

  He studies it, eyes moist, searching the tree line. “Lucky?”

  Then I leave my brother for the final time.

  ****

  I pull the hood of my cloak over my head to obscure my face. I can’t take any chances of being recognized before I can get away.

  The crowded streets feel like a maze. Everyone’s boarding the shuttles to make it across the harbor to the new city’s dedication ceremony tonight. I push my way through. The further I go, the more overwhelmed and disoriented I become: the strange architecture, the unfamiliar styles of clothes, music that I’ve never heard before, the throngs of people talking and laughing, so connected to everyone else. Unlike me. I can’t breathe. Panic sets in. I feel like a little child who’s lost his parents in the crowd. Only it’s not just my parents that I’ve lost.

  Rounding a corner, I brace myself against the side of a building, looking up at the twilight sky. All those stars up there, thousands—and one in particular that catches my eye, burning brighter than the others, a twinkling beacon in a vast ocean.

  Memories of a night long ago on an observation tower staring out to sea surface in my mind.

  I need to get out of here and there’s only one place left I can think to go.

  Running on raw energy, I make my way to the harbor and one of the sea glider rental vendors along the docks. The proprietor, a pudgy, middle-aged man wears a name tag that says Charlton. He’s surrounded by three black, miniature Canids that stare at me with gleaming eyes.

  Charlon chuckles. “Don’t worry. My dogs don’t bite.”

  “Dogs?” I guess these must be a new, tamer breed than what I’m used to.

  “Hop in. We’ll have you at the city in no time.”

  “That’s not where I’m headed.” I point to the monument overlooking the river. “Can you please take me to her?”

  When Charlton attempts to collect payment, I slip the Torch Keeper ring my friends gave me on that long ago birthday from my finger and hand it to him.

  His eyes flame. “Hey! This is a real collector’s item!”

  “Keep it. I won’t need it anymore.”

  Then I’m gliding over the waves until I reach the small island and my one familiar friend.

  The Lady.

  I look up at her towering face. “Hello, old friend.”

  Sure, most of her is new. But according to the enormous plaque at her base, some of her original parts were salvaged from the rubble and mixed in with the new. Like myself, the battered and worn queen has been resurrected and raised in this strange, new place.

  There must be thousands of names engraved on the plaque. The heroes of the resistance. I don’t stop searching until I find four particular ones.

  Corin Lignier.

  Drusilla Ryland.

  Dahlia Bledsoe.

  Tristin Argus.

  My fingers trace each of their names. It’s so unfair that I’m standing here, and they’re not.

  Once inside, I forgo the lift, opting instead to climb the spiral staircase, rising from the darkness.

  I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s following me. Have Cephas and the others realized I didn’t drown? Are they tracking me now, hoping to take me back and lock me away, or even silence me, before the entire population discovers that their most hated enemy, Queran Embers, has returned?

  I emerge into the bright light of the Lady’s torch.

  “I knew you’d come here,” a voice says behind me.

  I turn and watch as the dark, hooded silhouette comes into focus.

  My muscles tense. Ready to fight til the end.

  “Who are you?” I ask.

  “Just one of a million stars.”

  No matter how many years it’s been, I recognize that voice.

  I approach him tentatively, reach out, and pull his hood back.

  Digory Tycho smiles at me, looking every bit as young and handsome as he did when he tackled me in that alley back in the Parish, a literal lifetime ago. Gone are the ravages of the nanotech that transformed his body. The pale skin is back to its familiar, smooth bronze. The shaved head is now resplendent with shimmering golden locks. But it’s the eyes that take my breath away. The dark gray turbulent storm that plagued them for so long is over, replaced with the brilliant blue of the first day of springtime.

  Now I’m the one who can’t blink.

  “Did you miss me, Lucky?”

  I can’t breathe. “Is this really happening?”

  His smile is brilliant. “What do you think?”

  We fall into each other’s arms, our hot tears intermingling. For the first time since my resurrection, I feel truly connected.

  Truly alive, like I finally belong somewhere.

  I force myself to pull away and look into those beautiful eyes. “How did you…?”

  He blinks the tears away. “I seem to have this problem not fitting in. First as a member of the Elite. Then as a member of the Resistance. Then as a Flesher. There was one thought, one emotion, I could never quite purge from my consciousness in the Hive. A thought so powerful, it was disrupting the entire collective. You. Lucian Spark. The Hive gave me the choice to stay with them or return to my other life.” He grips my hands. “I chose to come back. For almost twenty years I’ve been in stasis while my body was regrown, dreaming of my past. Dreaming of you. Once I was free, I began searching for you, using all the tech I’d learned from the Hive. I knew they were hiding you. When you activated that opticom, I traced it right to you.”

  I wipe fresh tears from Digory’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

  He presses his forehead next to mine. “This body…this flesh…they’re not the same. Yes, it’s my genetic material, but these hands aren’t the same ones that held you before. These lips aren’t the same that kissed you. In some ways, I’m a stranger.”

  “We’re both strangers in this place.”

  “Then we’ll just have to be strangers together.”

  I grip him harder. “I don’t give a damn about your hands or your lips.” I press my hand against h
is heart. “Only what’s in here.”

  He kisses me, long and sweet, as if it were the first time. In some ways, it is. “The one thing that hasn’t changed is how much I love you. That will never change.”

  “I love you, too. I have no choice.”

  Digory reaches into his cloak and pulls out two familiar silver objects in his cupped hand.

  My eyes grow wide. “Our old I.D. tags. I haven’t seen these since we were captive in Sanctum.”

  “The Hive returned them when I chose to leave. They’re a little worse for wear, but I guess we all are.”

  He carefully places the chain with his name tag on it around me. It feels cool and comfortable. I return the gesture by taking the one with my name and fitting it over his broad neck.

  We hold each other for a long time, not saying a word.

  “Do you still remember?” he finally asks.

  “I guess I always will, for as long as I live. It’s a wound that will never completely heal. And maybe that’s a good thing. A reminder to keep me focused. But his memories have faded, just fragments in the occasional nightmare.” We both stare across the glittering waters at the brand new city before us. “Even still, I can never be a part of all that, Digory. You understand, don’t you?”

  He pulls me closer. “We’ll head West. There’s a whole new world out there for both of us to discover.”

  I turn back to take in the skyline. “So where does our tale go from here?”

  Digory kisses me again, softly. “Someone once told me not every story has a happy ending. But some of them do. And those are the stories that need to be told.”

  As we hold each other tight, the cityscape before us erupts in a gleaming display of colorful lights. The inauguration is underway. The dawn of a new hope for the future. Fireworks crisscross the sky like flaming comets, intermingling with the dazzling canvas of stars above, until the horizon is a blazing glow that engulfs us in its warm brilliance, growing brighter and more intense by the second, until it’s blinding.

  It feels like the first bright day of a brand new life.

  “Do you think humanity will ever learn from its mistakes?” Digory asks.

  My hand melts into his. “I want to believe.”