The Sowing (The Torch Keeper) Read Free Page B

Dahlia had shunned her own mother as soon as she was recruited, even going as far as to deny her the privilege of living in the luxury camps at Haven, where all remaining “Incentives” from the Trials are sent for the rest of their lives—top-notch accommodations, plenty of food, fresh air, a virtual paradise. Instead, Dahlia condemned Mrs. Bledsoe to a life of squalor and disease. That’s what ultimately killed her. Not Cassius. Not me.
    Rodrigo, who’s Third Tier, is still straddling the fence between immature bravado and cruel arrogance. He pauses now in mid push-up, backflips onto his feet, and spins to attention.
    But Arrah, she’s … she’s still pliable, a piece of clay that hasn’t hardened yet. I can see it in her eyes, the one ingredient that’s missing from the rest: compassion. In another life, we might have been friends.
    I stand and stretch, trying not to appear too eager as I saunter over to the window to get a look for myself.
    Three transport vehicles are nesting on a landing platform that’s rising from the bottom of the canyon: a drifter-class Terrain Trampler with an exposed bed, a refueling air-escort Squawker, and the much larger Vulture-class transport. It’s this last one that twists the conduits of my nerves together, making them spark. Vultures are usually used for combat assaults on enemies of the state.
    I walk over to Arrah, ignoring the others, who are too busy telling each other what badasses they are. “They wouldn’t have sent an envoy all the way to a trainee encampment in the Fringelands just to escort us back to the Parish, would they?” I ask. “The Ascension Ceremony’s not for another—”
    “No.” She sighs. “Sorry to disappoint you, Sparkles, but I don’t think this has anything to do with a handful of trainees getting rank promotions.” Her voice drops. “Besides, rumor control has it that there was an incident at the pleasure pits last night.”
    “Oh?”
    She’s studying my face as if it were a map. “Not sure what happened, exactly, but one of the sentries let it slip to me that supposedly there were deaths involved.”
    My eyes retreat from hers. “Sounds serious. But what does that have to do with our unit?”
    She shakes her head. “ That , I can’t help you with. I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
    I glance at the ships again. “Shouldn’t they have called an assembly and told us something by now? That’s been standard protocol since we’ve been assigned here. Why are they just sitting there? Something’s not right.”
    “Maybe they’re trying to figure out just what type of classified intel we should be privy to. Who knows?” Her eyes narrow. “By the way, you wander around camp last night?”
    I grab my crumpled tank top from the foot of the cot and pull it over the twilight bruise setting on the ridges of my abdomen. “No. Why do you ask?”
    Her lips purse. “Thought I heard someone come in. Must have dreamt it.”
    Does she somehow suspect me? Did any of them see me? Did I slip up? No. I’m just being paranoid.
    “You should get dressed,” she says. “It’s visitor’s day, remember?”
    I sigh. “Who could forget the one day a month we get to video chat with our surviving Incentives for ten whole minutes?” Although not in my case, since my surviving Incentive—my five-year-old brother Cole—hasn’t been sent to Haven yet. I just get to receive clinical status reports on how he’s holding up, from some stuffed-shirt bureaucrat. But Cole’s scheduled to be sent to Haven this week. So maybe today will be different.
    Arrah knows this, and she grins at me. “Maybe you’ll get a nice surprise this morning.” She marches over to the chair I draped my uniform over last night and grabs my fatigue pants. I can hear the jingle of the two remaining concussion discs from inside one of the pockets.
    I grab the pants from her and slip them on. “Thanks.”
    I’m not sure if she heard the discs or if it’s just my anxiety