The Forsaken (28 page)

“I don’t understand,” I call out, my voice shaking.

“My devotees follow me unquestioningly. They believe in my powers as a messiah, and in the glorious afterlife that awaits them off the wheel. But now I know that even you—the faithless, the infidels—can act as one as well. For the benefit of your group.” His head turns from side to side. “You can put down your weapons.”

“How do we know this isn’t another test?” Gadya challenges.

The Monk’s wooden mask gives only its implacable smile. “You don’t.”

“Then we’re not going to surrender!” Markus tells him.

The Monk swivels his head back and forth lazily again. “You don’t need to. My devotees will surrender to you.”

At his words, the members of his camp begin lowering their weapons and putting them on the ground. Hundreds of them. I glance at my companions, but they’re as puzzled as I am. I want to rip the mask off the Monk’s face and see who’s behind that wooden façade. But all I can see are his eyes. They’re dancing crazily again.
Dancing happily.

We stand there, not sure what to do. The drones are all unarmed now.

“See?” the Monk says. “They do as I ask, because they know I can save their eternal souls. My followers pose no threat to you anymore.” He claps his hands together. His four throne bearers hoist him up even higher. “Disperse, my faithful ones!” he rasps loudly.

The drones begin to shamble away. A few of them drag their injured or dead companions with them. Most of them resume their previous activities like zombies, like nothing happened. Meanwhile I stand there, totally panicked inside. I thought I was about to die.

I watch as drones return to the fire pits, to their feasting and dancing. Other than a few lingering stares, it’s like no one cares about us anymore. Or the fact that we hurt and killed so many of them.

I realize this camp truly is a hive, with the Monk as queen bee. They follow his orders without thinking.
Where is their free will?
Maybe they don’t think free will is important, just like our government back home clearly didn’t.

The Monk stares down at us from his chair. “I will explain how to get through the barrier tomorrow. There’s only one way it can be breached. But tonight you must rest. You must gather strength. The journey beyond the barrier will be . . . challenging.”

None of us can think of anything to say in response. He claps again, and his bearers take him away back into the forest. The trees and the darkness close around him. He’s just a specter. We finally start lowering our weapons. The threat is over for now.

My legs feel shaky.

“He’s insane, isn’t he?” Rika whispers. Her face is ashen. She still hasn’t lowered her spear. Gadya notices.

“It’s okay, Rika. You can put that down now.”

Rika is still staring after the Monk.

Gadya takes Rika’s spear and gently lowers it for her. “If they make us fight again, I’ll protect you.”

“We’ll protect each other,” Sinxen adds. “We just have to live through this.”

Markus nods. “If the Monk is telling the truth, then he’ll help us get through the barrier. But we’re the ones with a map of the gray zone in our heads. He needs us more than we need him. We’ll get our revenge on the other side.”

I don’t know what’s in store for us. But I think of the Monk’s word—“challenging.” It carries an air of menace. On the wheel, “challenging” can mean only “life-threatening.” But it’s too late to turn back.

“Let’s get some food and try to sleep,” I say to the others, shouldering my weapon with aching arms. “It’s going to be a long night.”

THE GRAY ZONE

THE LIGHT OF MORNING
eventually finds us, illuminating our ravaged faces. None of us got more than a couple hours of sleep. Despite the Monk’s promise that we would be safe, two of us kept watch at a time, just in case. We’re all exhausted and chilled to the bone. What little sleep I got was haunted by dreams of Liam being taken.

The Monk’s people don’t have shelters or hammocks. They just sleep outside by the fires in the filthy mud. From what I’ve observed, they don’t care about themselves, or about anyone except the Monk. They only survive because there are so many of them. I’m guessing that when a drone dies in battle, or is taken by the feelers, more flood in to replace him.

I still don’t know why they come to the Monk, why they’re drawn to him like children to the Pied Piper. I suppose they’re seeking meaning and structure, like Gadya said. But anything the Monk has to offer is just an illusion.

There’s still no sign of David. Maybe he’s at another camp, or maybe he fled and lit off on his own. I guess part of me was hoping he’d turn up and help us, but I guess we didn’t treat him too well when he came to our village. Maybe he’s somewhere watching all of this.

In the morning light, Gadya stretches. “I wish we didn’t need these maniacs,” she mutters. “I wish we had more time to figure out a way through the barrier on our own.”

Sinxen brushes dirt off his elbows. “Well, we don’t. So stay cool and don’t piss anyone off.”

Soon a crowd of thirty or more drones comes to get us, some carrying mysterious crates and others carrying weapons. They’re dirty and grubby, stinking of alcohol. Some wear metal masks, presumably to scare us. “This way, heathens,” a haggard drone sneers. Black circles ring his sunken eyes.

The drones surround us, weapons in their hands, although I don’t sense any immediate danger. And if I’m wrong, there are still weapons in our hands too, left over from the night before.

We’re guided down a mud path toward the barrier. I can tell it’s well-traveled because of all the footprints. I wonder whether this is the place that David was talking about.
The place where the drones cross over into the gray zone.
If it is, then at least one good thing came from getting captured by the Monk, because now I’m closer to where I need to be.

When we reach the barrier, it looks exactly like it did before, like a wall of clear jelly. The drones stop moving, and I see that we’re not the first to arrive. The Monk and his bearers are already there, resting under a tree. The bearers hoist the Monk up and move toward us as soon as they see us.

“Greetings, friends,” the Monk says. There’s no mistaking his mocking tone. He knows we’re not his friends, and never will be.

Gadya pulls back her hair. “Enough games. Tell us how to get through this damn wall.”

The Monk pauses and gazes at us, licking the wooden lips of his mask. “I thought you would have already figured it out by now.”

“Enlighten us,” Markus snaps.

The Monk blinks. “This wall is made of synthetic filaments. The substance was developed by the UNA military years ago, as a potential weapon of mass destruction.” He pauses. “Yet they found it was most effective at containing harmful contaminants, like petroleum spills. And also, at containing people. The UNA built this barrier to keep everyone out of the gray zone.”

“How could you even know this stuff?” Sinxen asks.

“Who cares!” Gadya yells. “We just need to get through it.”

The Monk raises one thin arm and points at the wall. His men move him forward. “Watch and learn.”

Some of his drones bend down, opening up the crates they’ve been carrying. I see now that the crates are loaded with fireworks. Massive ones, like miniature rockets on rusty spring-loaded launchers. The drones start taking them out and setting them up.

I have no clue where so many fireworks could come from. As far as I know, the UNA doesn’t drop any provisions onto the wheel, except perhaps for their chemicals. The Monk’s people must have found a gigantic stash of fireworks, perhaps left over from the days before the wheel was a prison island.

“Are you serious? Fireworks?” Rika mutters.

“They contain barium and antimony sulfide. . . . Those heavy metals, plus the heat generated by their powder, break down the synthetic filaments.”

So this is why the Monk’s people are so obsessed with fireworks,
I think.
They’ve been using them to get through the barrier and into the gray zone.
And if they’re so casual about using them in their attacks on us as well, they must have a nearly inexhaustible supply.

The fireworks explain why there were always so many drones inside the gray zone, just like Liam said. For all I know, maybe they destroyed the tunnel themselves, knowing that we didn’t have another way to get in.

“The fireworks stick inside the barrier and begin to burn,” the Monk continues. “They melt the fibers, and the wall becomes fluid. Sticky. Then it’s possible to get through—at least temporarily.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Once holes appear, the barrier tries to close them, like skin growing over an open wound. You must enter the barrier quickly and fight your way to the other side, before the holes seal themselves and the barrier envelops you. This place is where we commonly pass through, so the barrier is weakest here. Easiest to penetrate.”

So I am in the right place to find the rocks.

“Show us what you mean,” Gadya says to the Monk.

He raises a hand again. His drones start lifting the fireworks and begin extracting matches, lighting wicks. I jam my fingers into my ears.

“Begin!” the Monk rasps to his army of drones. “Open the Blessed Wall and show the heathens the beauty within!”

Drones run past us in a dizzying blur up to the barrier. They jam and thrust lit fireworks into the jelly. Then they leave them there and run back to get more.

Meanwhile, other drones use launchers, slings, and even bows to fire more lit fireworks directly into the wall. A few bounce off, but most penetrate and hang inside the gelatinous substance. I can see tiny air bubbles appear around their burning wicks, which remain lit even inside the barrier.

All of us are watching in expectation, and we’re not disappointed by what happens next.

The first firework inside the wall detonates almost soundlessly. There’s an odd, uncanny beauty to the sight. It looks like an exotic red flower unfurling its colored petals in slow motion. Wormlike sparks of light sluggishly explode outward, trapped inside the barrier.

Another firework goes off. Then another. The wall starts rippling. Air bubbles are growing larger. A few burning, buzzing embers reach the surface, where they fizzle and die out in puffs of smoke. Holes are opening up everywhere.

“The barrier is like an ocean. A vertical one with a very slow current,” the Monk calls out in his raspy voice. “Like a pane of glass. Once the holes are large enough, run toward them. Pry them open. Force your way through.”

I stare into the barrier, which is now filled with glittering multicolored lights and rising air bubbles. Beyond is the monochromatic forest. I wonder what it will feel like to enter that icy world. I miss Liam.

“It’s almost time,” the Monk says. I look back at him. One of his men clasps him around the chest while another gets his legs. They carry him off the platform. His head lolls back and his limbs hang weakly. He looks so vulnerable, but holds so much power. “I will lead the way. Don’t bring your weapons. You will not need them in the gray zone, and they will hinder your passage through the barrier. . . . I’m not bringing my devotees, except one to carry me.”

I wonder what would happen if one of us lunged forward right now and struck the Monk down. Would killing him loosen his hold on his followers? Maybe we’d just create a martyr for them to worship even more.

Gadya is at my ear, voicing the thought I just had. “We could take him! Kill the bastard. Rip that mask right off him.”

“I know,” I whisper back. But neither of us move. The risk is too great.

The Monk’s men reach the wall and press him against the pulsing membrane of the barrier. They begin moving him into the holes and air pockets that the fireworks have opened up. The Monk’s mask is forced tightly against his face, but his drones keep pushing. It’s a surreal sight—like watching someone give birth in reverse.

“What happens if he doesn’t make it?” I whisper to Gadya.

“Look. He’s almost out.”

Indeed, I watch as the Monk reaches the other side of the weakened barrier. His outstretched fingers emerge into air. Followed by his hand, and then his forearm.

One of his drones pushes forward violently, accompanying him. The drone explodes out the other side of the barrier like he’s bursting free from an avalanche, just in time to catch the Monk as he tumbles out. He takes hold of his body and places him gently on the ground.

The Monk weakly waves a hand to show his followers that he’s okay. Then his fingers curl into a claw, beckoning us. Other drones are busy pushing our backpacks through the holes, so we’ll have them on the other side.

The barrier is trying to repair itself, the holes quickly closing as the material cools and starts pooling together like syrup. The drones begin assaulting it with fireworks and flares again, trying to open up new passageways.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Rika says, sounding shell-shocked.

“You have to,” I say. My eyes are fixed on the Monk and the gray zone beyond. His drone is putting a thick coat around him, and getting gloves on his hands.