The Unspoken: Book One in the Keres Trilogy (40 page)

Doe
’
s eyes go large, but she doesn
’
t move to make an argument. We sit in silence, running the plan backwards and forwards in our minds looking for problems.

“
What
’
s the distraction?
”
I ask Wex.

“
We don
’
t know. I thought it was better if only PG3453 know that and only we know how we are getting out. In case someone finds out, the entire plan won
’
t be compromised,
”
Wex answers.
“
Once we are out of the mines and Merit
’
s group makes it to this point,
”
he indicates the base of the mountain,
“
we will send signals to let each other know we are safely out.
”

“
Won
’
t signals tell The Mothers where we are?
”
I ask.

“
Not these signals,
”
Harc says with relish.
“
I have shooting sparks from the factories. You can fire them from one place and they explode in a spark of color over another place. We trade them to other cities, they use them for celebrations. The only hole I see is PG3453. How do we know they aren
’
t waiting for the crucial moment to turn us over to The Mothers mid-escape?
”

Doe tucks her chin into her chest and Merit shifts his legs around on the floor. Frehn looks at Harc, a dangerous warning in his eyes,
“
I know.
”

“
All we have is idle chatter on the Recreational Fields. We don
’
t know anything about them. They could be spying on us for The Mothers, watching us like cats stalking barn mice just waiting for the right moment to pounce. You are the only one who has talked to any of them about the plan, talked to them about anything of real substance. How do you know they won
’
t turn on us? What makes you so sure?
”

“
Do you think we have been the only ones tortured here? Do you think we are the only ones who suffer? Do you think the five in black were invented just for us? The Amendments Spire was only built for us?
”
Wex asks her harshly.

“
No, I don
’
t. But I think we are the only ones who will risk our lives to get out,
”
Harc spits back.
“
Why do they want out so badly when the rest of the city simply accepts the persecution and The Mothers rule? We
’
ve got Keres, that
’
s reason enough for us to run. What have they got?
”

“
Enough,
”
Frehn says loudly. I blink back stinging tears. It feels like Harc has kicked me in the gut with her words.

“
They feel the same way we do,
”
Wex tells her.
“
They understand we have a better chance at life, a better chance for happiness on the other side of the wall. That
’
s all the reason I need.
”

“
Sotter will not let us down,
”
Frehn says folding his arms across his chest and looking defiantly at Harc.

“
Fine, but I won
’
t help them.
”

“
Oh, Harc,
”
Doe says, reproach reflecting in every corner of her face.
“
Harc, you wouldn
’
t let someone fall behind.
”

Harc doesn
’
t answer. Her expression is hard and her body rigid. Merit stands and takes her by the hand, leaving the common room with her.

“
She can
’
t forget what Sotter did for her, for us.
”
Wex says.
“
And from what Merit
’
s told me, The Mothers remind her every chance they get that she is constantly punished because of Keres, stoking the flames to keep anger alive in her. Harc is struggling.
”

I stare at the map, not seeing anything before me.
“
She blames me,
”
I say.

No one answers. Of course she blames me. I have been the reason for every punishment levied against us. My inability to keep still, my scarcity of obedience, my uncontrollable temper, The Mothers
’
anger against me, against my Unspoken status, maybe even against the knowledge that I am the Catalyst, has manifested in near endless unimaginable pain for PG3456 in their effort to control me. Harc has me to thank for her agony, for Merit
’
s torment. And now she is indebted to Sotter and PG3453 for protecting her over the stolen scissors.

Wex carefully packs up the notebooks and maps. Frehn and Doe whisper together on the sofa. I stand in the center of the room, waves of compassion for Harc, alternating with resentment, crashing over me. My heart aches inside my chest, tears welling in my eyes. Wex stops folding the maps, noticing at my quivering lip. He open his arms to me, and I fall into them sobbing, utterly submerged in grief and regret. Frehn and Doe stop whispering and move to the other side of the room. Wex holds my head in one hand, the other wrapped around me, and lets me cry.

Weak as water. That
’
s what I
’
ve become. Weak, no longer the hot tears of anger, now I cry every time my feelings are hurt. I push off Wex in a quick movement and brush the back of my hand under my nose.

“
I
’
m fine. Long day. I
’
m tired,
”
I make excuses, walking towards my bedroom. We both know the truth is that I
’
m scared. Terrified of losing Harc, of PG3456 breaking, fracturing under the physical and psychological warfare The Mothers are waging against us, the strain of escape and surviving once we are on the outside. Without The Mothers to unite against, what do Harc and I have to hold us together?

I lay down on my round bed and pull the thought magus over my eyes to the back of my head. I picture the crystal box with pewter corners that holds the different colors of rope knotted together in five places sitting on the table. Next to it, is a gray dove in a wire cage. I open the cage door and the dove flies towards me in a fury. Its beating wings whip my face and its feet claw at my eyes before it circles the room as it climbs up the endless ceiling.

* * *

When I finally see Abbot again, it
’
s late afternoon eleven days after PG3456
’
s plan for escape is formed. Wex and Merit will be ready to send the twenty-four hour signal to PG3453 in less than two days. I am mentally exhausted from the constant feeling of tense anticipation. Every movement or word from a Mother makes my heart jump into my throat, choking me momentarily.

The week
’
s training sessions with Loshee and Zink are nothing but an unending stream of catastrophes. Speed is the only tattoo on my lower body I can use with any skill. Loshee even had me run simulations without Zink, thinking that his presence was allowing me to feel protected which would in turn distract my mind from sending the required signals to produce proper shields. No luck. I was killed in the combat simulator no less than nine times this morning alone. I don
’
t even remember going to lunch.

“
Looks like we finally hit the wall,
”
Abbot says as he bangs open my den door.
“
Guess we will just have to hope you kill or contain everything before it has a chance to do any real damage.
”

“
That
’
s a cheerful outlook,
”
I say from under a sofa cushion.

“
Bluebird of happiness, that
’
s me. Now get up,
”
he yanks the cushion away and prods me with his boot.
“
You have more ink now than seventy percent of the people on the hall. Everyone has a specialty. They may have ink outside that specialty, but they can
’
t throw anything of substance with it. So stop whining.
”

I wasn
’
t aware I was whining. I wasn
’
t aware I have the energy to put into whining. Abbot
’
s boot connects with my back and I roll over on the sofa scowling up at him.

“
You should get up when I ask you nicely.
”

“
I
’
m sorry, I missed the nice part.
”

I slide off the sofa and walk to the free weights, assuming I
’
m in for a grueling training session. When I turn towards Abbot for instruction, I see him looking at the Expiscor ink, still untouched in the rack, on the edge of my desk. His face has gone dark, his eyes take on a dull, matte light. His hand hovers over the glass tube for a second, then he picks it up and walks towards me.

“
You know what this is.
”

“
Expiscor, Part A. It is stamped around the left eye.
”
Abbot nods and he turns the tube upside down, sliding it into his stamp.

“
And you know what it does.
”

“
It discovers my enemies.
”

He nods again.
“
And what happens if you falter when pulling from it?
”

“
The ink could read my mistake as the act of someone who would do me harm. And it would work in conjunction with any additional ink used on the Expiscor nerve group, parts b through e for example, and act accordingly.
”
That
’
s verbatim from a book in the Magus Library. I spent hours pouring over it, fascinated by the abilities of the face tattoos.

“
And that means what?
”

“
If a facial or cranial magus is pulled poorly, the thrower risks incredible pain and the veritable possibility of death.