The Forsaken (26 page)

“You took his life for no reason!” Gadya begins, but the others hush her. I sense her barely repressed hatred for the Monk bubbling underneath the surface. Like me, Gadya is a mass of churning emotions: grief, fear, and fury.

“We need to talk about this among ourselves,” Sinxen says. I know he’s stalling for time. “Just us villagers.”

“No,” the Monk says bluntly. “If you don’t obey me, my men will torture you until you do.” He pauses. “We will make our assault on the barrier in the morning. But tonight you will be my guests.”

I exchange glances with the others.
Guests?

“My devotees have a camp half a mile north of here,” the Monk continues, “farther along the barrier. You will accompany us there at once.”

The Monk raises his hand again and signals to his followers. The four drones step forward and pick up his platform.

His mask looks down at us. “Shoulder your weapons. There will be no more fighting today. And no more deaths. Unless you demand them.”

Obviously, if we take a stand and resist, we risk getting killed like the others. There are five of us, and fifty of them.

All of a sudden, I feel like I’m ten years old again and back in my bedroom with the old man in the suit. I didn’t take a stand when my parents were snatched, and I’ve regretted it ever since.

Here is another chance!

I glance around. There’s no time to slot an arrow, but I could grab a spear. Throw it at this monstrosity. But what would that accomplish? I’d probably miss, and then I’d be dead, and all for nothing. I feel thwarted. Powerless. And I hate it.

“We can’t leave our people’s bodies here,” Gadya says loudly. “Not like animals in the dirt.”

“My men will bring the bodies of your fallen. We will bury them for you, in a sacred place at our camp.”

I think about Meira. Who’s going to tell her about Veidman’s death? Then I realize that most likely none of us will make it back to the village. She’ll never know what became of him.

I wonder how long the Monk can survive in his condition. The Suffering makes him dangerous—and desperate. He never would have shown himself to us if his need for a cure weren’t urgent. But I’m afraid he’ll just use us to lead him to his destination, and then tell his drones to kill us. Still, we have to play along.
For now.

“Fine,” Markus says. “We’ll go with you.”

Gadya stares at the Monk defiantly, but she doesn’t disagree with Markus.

The Monk doesn’t say a word. Just nods. Then his four men bear him away back into the forest. As soon as he’s gone, his army of drones converges on our group, screaming angrily:

“Drop your spears and bows!”

“Don’t speak! Don’t move!”

“On your knees!”

We do what they say. They make us kneel with our hands behind our heads as they confiscate our bows, arrows, knives, spears, and packs. I burn with anger and frustration. We’ve been whittled down to just a motley crew of misfits and hunters, at the mercy of the most evil force on the island.

Soon our weapons are gone, and our provisions stowed. We’re finally allowed to stand up again.

“Our Monk considers you his guests,” a long-haired drone with a scarred face intones, “but I consider you our prisoners. I wish I could kill the rest of you right here and now.”

Another drone steps up. His face is painted with a psychedelic rainbow of colors, distorting his features. “You will walk single file! You will remain silent! You will do as you’re told!” His violent, brusque tone reminds me of the police back home in the UNA. “You are in this predicament because you are godless heathens who believe in nothing!”

“What’s your name?” I hear a timid voice ask. I realize that it’s Rika.

At first I don’t realize why she’s asking him that question, because what does this ugly, insane drone’s name even matter? Then I realize she’s trying to reach out to him, to establish some kind of human connection.

It doesn’t work. “Call me Master!” the drone screeches at her. “We are your betters! You’re just faithless infidels from the corrupt blue sector! Call all of us Master, and you can’t go wrong.”

Rika looks like she’s been slapped.

“One day I’ll make them pay for this,” I hear Gadya whisper under her breath.

“What’d you just say?” the long-haired drone asks ominously.

“Nothing,
Master,
” Gadya replies, her voice dripping with sarcasm. The drone is either too stupid or too power-drunk to detect it.

“Follow me, heathens!” he bellows, as the rough hands of anonymous drones force us into line. “You belong to the Monk now. Freedom is a thing of the past!”

We start hiking as he leads the way. There are drones in front of us, behind us, and some to the sides, moving noisily through the trees. They have enough weapons trained on our group to defeat an army ten times our size. The drones are taking every precaution so that we don’t run or fight back. Not that we would, after watching them casually slaughter our friends and companions.

I walk with my head down, trying to look docile and complacent. But my mind is racing as I start recovering from the shock of the ambush. I’m planning how I can escape from these drones—because nothing is going to stop me from accomplishing my mission and learning the fate of my parents.

FAITHLESS

WE STUMBLE INTO THE
Monk’s makeshift camp twenty minutes later. I’m scared, tired, and thirsty. The drones have berated us the entire way. I’ve noticed that there aren’t any female warriors in this group. Maybe the Monk doesn’t believe that girls can make effective hunters, unless they’re nearly mutants like the big girl who attacked me and Gadya.

The orange sun is low in the sky when we arrive at the camp. I instantly see how different it is from our village. Multiple ragged fire pits burn everywhere. Garbage is strewn all over the ground—old food, plastic chemical wrappers, broken furniture, and unidentifiable charred remnants. It looks worse than the New Providence city dump.

Here at the camp, I finally see the girls. Most of them are half naked, tending to boys, and a lot of them look drunk. Their skin is grimy with ingrained dirt, like they’ve forgotten how to bathe. Some dance together by the fires, bruised and cackling. A few have shaved heads. I see girls in the shadows, bent over boys, seductively writhing against them. They arch their necks and backs as filthy male hands grope them.

So much for the Monk being holy.
Or maybe this is a different kind of holiness—the holiness of despair, filth, and depravity. I don’t know why anyone would follow the Monk. But I guess he offers freedom from rules and civilization. Freedom from the pressures of being human.

The drones sneer at us openly. Most of their teeth are filed down into points, girls and boys alike. Many look like they have the Suffering themselves, but they’re not separated from the others. The camp is just a festering pit of disease, like some plague-riddled village from the Middle Ages that we studied about in New History class.

Our group is led to a small dirt clearing under a thicket of trees, near one of the larger fire pits. Drones are roasting hunks of hoofer meat on long sticks nearby. The air is filled with smoke and the odor of burning flesh and animal hair. There are no spices or cooking pots here. Just people living like savages.

I think about David. It doesn’t seem possible that he could come from this world, or even bear to live in it. I search around for him in vain, wishing I could find him.

Then I look at Gadya. Her mouth is set in a tight line of revulsion like she’s trying to block out the entire world. I wish she and I hadn’t argued so fiercely earlier about Liam. I really need my friend back.

“This is insane,” Rika whispers to me, her voice trembling. I clasp her hand in mine.

A tall drone carrying an ax passes by, and we fall silent. Eventually we sit down on rocks and dirt in the clearing.

Has Operation Tiger Strike been worth it so far?

We’ve lost Liam. And Veidman. And so many others. And now we’ve been taken prisoner by the Cannibal Monk himself. I wonder again if what David said to me about my parents was a lie. I cling to any shred of hope I have left.

“Hey there!” a squat, hairy drone yells as he approaches us, sneering. He’s wearing a necklace made from hoofer teeth. We all look over at him. “You thirsty? Hungry?”

None of us want to admit that we are. Markus finally speaks. “What do you think?”

“Personally, I don’t think you deserve anything to eat or drink. But I do the bidding of the Monk. My brain is a vessel of his greater good.” I see a glazed, zealous look in his eyes. “Bring these heathens water and meat!” he calls out to a nearby group of girls.

“I’m not eating anything of yours,” Gadya snarls.

“Then don’t. I hope you starve. But the Monk told me to take care of you. So that’s what I’m doing.” He turns away for a second. Then he turns back. “The Monk also wanted me to tell you about tonight’s
entertainment.
”

None of us say anything. The horror we see before us doesn’t leave much room for entertainment.

“Tonight’s death battle, that is.” His pink tongue flicks between his blackened, pointed teeth. “Don’t worry about getting a good seat—’cause you’re gonna be center stage. Nothing beats a death battle.”

“Death battle?” Sinxen asks. “The Monk said no more fighting. That if we came here, we’d work together with him.”

“A battle isn’t a fight. A battle is a challenge of wills and strength.”

I don’t like the sound of this. It’s clear the Monk’s followers are even more bloodthirsty than he is. I dare to speak up. “Can we talk to the Monk?”

“You’re talking to him now. Like I said, we are all his vessels.”

“If he breaks his word about fighting us—” Markus starts to bluster.

“You’ll do what?” the drone asks. Markus looks away. We have no weapons. We’re just a handful of stragglers in the heart of this enemy camp. The drone turns from us in contempt.

For the next several hours we sit and watch the camp around us. It’s impossible for us to talk and strategize among ourselves, because drones stand guard, silently listening to everything we say. Girls bring us cold lumps of meat and a couple bowls of brackish water.

The more I see of the camp, the more disgusted I get. For all their supposed devotion to the Monk, these kids act like they have no morals whatsoever. The larger boys dominate everything ruthlessly, running around, acting wild, throwing their ubiquitous fireworks into the sky as they shove and kick the smaller boys.

Girls are second-class citizens for the most part. I see a few pregnant ones, and some tending to small, dirty children. Many have scars and brands marring their cheeks and arms. Some nearly topless girls gyrate wildly by the fire pits, trying to attract boys.

I’ve never seen anything like this. Not on the wheel, and definitely not in the UNA. I’m lucky that Gadya found me, or I might have ended up here and not known there was any alternative.

Would I have become one of these desperate girls? This camp is exactly what I expected the island to be like—a violent, depraved colony of Unanchored Souls.
Maybe the GPPT works after all, and the other villagers and I are just statistical anomalies.

As we sit and wait, I see a few girls watching us curiously, like they want to approach. The few kids that do get near us spit and heckle us angrily. Some recite incomprehensible prayers that sound like exorcisms. Maybe they think we’re demons from the forest, instead of fellow exiles on the wheel.

Finally, once the sky has been dark for at least an hour, the long-haired drone in the hoofer skin vest reappears, clutching a spear. “Heathens!” he shrieks at us, striding into the clearing. “It’s time for you to amuse us! Time for your death battle!”

“Screw off, loser,” Gadya snaps.

Unexpectedly, he laughs. He’s drunk. “Look at you. You’re feisty. A hellion. Look at your hair.” He gestures at her wild blue-streaked mane. “That’s the hair of a heathen, all right!”

He leans in closer. For a moment, I think he’s going to stroke her hair. Gadya does too, and she recoils. Then his hand lashes out and grabs a fistful, yanking hard.

“Ow!”

The drone cuffs Gadya’s ear as he pulls her to her feet. She is snapping and flailing, and I know she wants to fight back and kick his face in. And she’s on the verge of doing so. But the drones guarding us have at least three sets of arrows aimed directly at her heart.

“I was gonna ask for a volunteer,” the long-haired drone tells Gadya. “But your hair just volunteered you!”

He finally releases his grip and steps back, grinning. Gadya swipes at her hair where he touched her.

“Your turn now, girlie. Your turn to chose,” the drone tells her.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Our entertainment is to watch you battle someone else.”

“The Monk didn’t say anything about this!” Markus calls out angrily.

“He’s right,” I second. “If he makes us fight, how can we help him tomorrow?”

“This isn’t for the Monk. It’s for us, although he permits it. Watching heathens do battle brightens our day.”