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Chapter fifty-six

Forest

A ll I can see is him.

His light green eyes.

The way his smile was able to brighten even the most dreariest day.

It's a smile Kai carries and one my mother loves.

Even on his worst days, he would come home with a smile, ready to listen to one of Kai’s many rants or question me about my newest painting.

It was a life that I cherished.

A life I took away.

All because I was too weak to safeguard my mind.

The bag over my head makes it impossible to see. Its rough material drags across my skin with each movement. I’d woken up just a few moments ago, the lingering feeling of a sedative still working its way out of my body. At some point after the horrors that unfolded in that office, I was thrown back into a cell by Xavier. My brother eventually joined me in the cell sometime after they’d made a shitty attempt at bandaging the gunshot wound on his leg.

The drugs must have been placed in the meal we’d scarfed down. Unlike Kai, I had managed to keep it down despite my father’s blood caked all over my skin and clothes. Letting the unknown figures drag me along, I hear the door swing, their grasp on my arms growing tighter, as I am moved into a room. A small roaring fire warms my cold skin.

“Leave her,” an unfamiliar female voice commands, the men barely uttering a word, closing the door with a thud.

Blindly raising my hands, I brace myself for what's to come.

“It would be extremely cruel for me to try and attack you masked and sedated now, wouldn't it?” she questions, a slight hint of humor in her voice. “The last thing you need is to be beaten down by an Unfortunate moments before getting thrown into that vile pit,” she continues. The light of the fire grazes over my eyes as she pulls away the bag.

Blinking rapidly as my eyes adjust, I look at the woman in front of me. Her face is sunken in, the lack of nutrition painting her features. She wears a gray robe, her hair streaked with gray that adds to the beauty age has given her. Her eyes are golden brown, her skin is rich with a copper-toned color. Her hair is wound into multiple braids, each of them cascading down her back and to her waist.

“I am here to prepare you for the action. As a contestant in the Lottery, you’ll need to look your best,” she says, her hand reaching to touch my face. “You can call me the Teller.”

She looks over me, assessing the stains on my clothes, and the faint wounds that had mostly healed with the aid of my father’s blood but were still faintly noticeable. "Is all of this blood yours?” she questions.

I draw shaky breaths, feeling the collar move with each swallow.

“My father’s,” I whisper, clenching my hands together.

She stays silent, her face expressionless. In many ways, I think she’s sparing my feelings. Then again, who knows how many horrific tales she’d heard over the years in her position.

“Well, we can't have you looking like that if you’re going to remind them why they should have never put you down here in the first place,” she says, moving closer to a small sink filled with steaming hot water. Dropping a rag in, she soaks it entirely, ringing it out with her weathered hands.

“There's no way I can fight, they've taken all of my energy-”

“Excuses are the last thing you should be feeding yourself. There are a lot of people betting on your success,” she says. Moving closer, her hand drags the rag across my face. When she pulls it away, it’s coated in blood, not a single spot of clean material left.

“Why the hell would anyone do that?” I question. Her wise eyes watch me close.

“Do you know how many Marked I've seen over the years? How many helpless Unfortunates and Untouchables with the very same mark on your belly?” I shake my head, knowing from her tone that it's more than I can think to estimate.

“Enough that the faces have become blurs,” she starts. The warmth of the rag brings a sense of comfort as she brings it to my face again. “Before the blonde, there was another, just as cruel as the one before that. Each time they throw a Marked in, they never return, each one manipulated by someone far stronger, someone using up their life force like a personal battery,” she says, working the rag into to my hands. “For every Marked, there is an ability,” she says. “Some may even be lucky enough to have two or three.”

“Only three?” I question, her head nodding.

“Never has a Marked carried more than four abilities at a time.”

“How many are there?” I question. The depth of what I am is still such a mystery.

“Five. Five gifts, each one more powerful than the next.”

“Xavier-”

“Carries three. Three of the deadliest. His ability to grasp one's mind is remarkable, as is his Winnowing, but the true danger lies in his ability to do the very thing that the Shifters are murdered for. You may think you're speaking to a lifelong friend, but it is a devil in disguise. The only thing that separates him from the monsters is that he can return to his normal form,” she pushes, my throat dry.

“There's no way for me to beat him,” I whisper, her hands pausing their work.

“You don't need to beat him, child,” she says, her hands grasping my own. “You need to trick him and get yourself past that ward.”

“There is nothing beyond the war, but the ash lands.”

“Really?” she questions, her eyes playful, “And where do you think Xavier came from?” she asks, my head shaking.

“How could you possibly know this much?” I question, her shoulders shrugging.

“Stay silent enough, be around long enough, and you hear more than a conversation could ever give you,” she says, my hands finally clean. “Our Commander is a miserable man, and sometimes misery craves company, even if it's speaking to a worthless Unfortunate like me,” she whispers, a slight frown encasing her face.

I grab her hand, giving her a soft smile.

“You're not worthless.”

“And you're not wearing that,” she says lightheartedly, looking over at the small box resting on the table closest to us.

“He never has custom clothing made for any of the contestants. You must be special,” she says, prying away the top of the box.

“You said people were betting on my success? Putting their faith in me?” I begin, her body pausing. “How does anyone even know who I am? Why put any faith in me?” I question. Her body is still.

“I have been a slave to this society for years, bent at the will of mindless Commanders for just as many of those years. Xavier may look young, but his reign in this sector is not recent. Even when he wasn't in the light, he was around. In all my years, I have seen many try and cross him, each one grasping for life by the end of their time here, but not a hair on his head out of place in the process,” she says, pointing to me. “Just one day with you, and I saw him clutching his chest in pain. He rubs his throat every time you are near him, barely able to breathe. You've hurt him in more ways than one,” she finishes, pulling away the gear from the box. She unfolds a sleek, form-fitting combat suit made of black leather. I reach out to touch it and find that its lightweight material is protective and flexible.

“You're special to him,” she starts. “And that is a weapon,” she continues, holding out the gear to me.

“So put this on and make him regret dragging any of us down here."

The pit is sullen, a deep pocket in the ground. The walls are so high that even a ladder would struggle to get you to the balconies that overlook this deathtrap. Glass surrounds each observation point. Men and women, all dressed in their best clothing, watch from above, their faces covered in golden masks.

I lean patiently against the wall, my hair wound in a tight braid that falls down the length of my back. The combat suit hugs my body securely. A singular blade is positioned in the middle of the pit. I imagine how many lotteries it's seen, how much blood it's spilled. Staying shackled to the wall, I sit still, looking for some sign of my friends anywhere, praying they aren’t down here with me. I look up and see Xavier’s blonde curls as he works through the crowd. His eyes look down at me, and his movement pauses.

Holding my gaze on him, I spit on the ground, pointing my fingers toward him, pretending to hold a gun as I point toward his head. All he can do is smile. The screens behind him have images of me, Kai, and our Unfortunate friends on a continuous loop, the text scrolling on the bottom of the screens is hard to make out but seems to be a list of our crimes against New Haven, and a warning to stay away from us.

Deviant citizens, charged with first-degree manslaughter of Andrew Blackburn- if seen, contact nearest Official immediately.

My stomach churns at what this means.

“It doesn't matter if we get out of here. He's ensured we are hunted,” It whispers, a wave of relief passing over me at Its presence.

“I thought you were gone.”

“Not gone,” It starts. “B een testing the waters,” It says, a small smile curling along my mouth.

“I don't know how much longer we can remain separated.”

I look up at Xavier, his canines flashing as he forces that devious smirk across his face.

“Then let’s not be,” I say, my resolve for vengeance fueling my next words with abandon. “I want all of you, no matter the cost.”

“You're going to make us kill him.”

“Give me one good reason not to!” I snap out loud. The Officials guarding the way we came from look at me with confusion.

“I can't answer that…. Not yet,” It says. The loud creak of the gate across the way from me breaks my concentration.

It gradually rises from its still position, its metal scraping up the sides of the wall. Bagged and bound like me, more people are forced into the small pit, each wearing white robes. The people look frail, begging for mercy beneath the hoods. Even from here, I can see the marks on some, others bearing the scars undoubtedly of Unfortunates who’ve had one too many interactions with Officials.

Confused, I look up to find Xavier again. I find his gaze, an amused expression on his face.

"You look at me with such confusion,” his voice echoes in my mind. My body jolts at the unexpected invasion.

“So it was you were lingering in the back of my mind all those times?” I question, narrowing my eyes.

“This is my first time stepping in…. Or should I say, your first time allowing me in,” he clarifies, my head shaking.

“You forget to mention the part where you made me kill my father-”

“As much as I'd like to take credit for that wicked display of power, beautiful, that wasn't me,” he seethes, clenching his glass of champagne. “Trust me, I’m aggravated by the fact that I can’t sort it out. I didn't particularly like seeing you forced into that position,” he says, the irony in where I stand now almost comical.

“Right, but watching me die now is the kind of position you don’t mind me being in,” I mutter, his head cocking.

“I've told you I will never let anyone harm you,” he whispers back to me, looking to all of the elites watching us in the pit with gawking eyes. “Remind them all why our kind should never be backed into a corner.”

More mind games. All he does is manipulate. Forcing up my mental walls, I reach out to Fallan but can’t sense my connection to him anywhere close.

As Officials remove the bags away from the other contestant’s heads, no one's face sticks out to me. They look young, some even adolescent, and my heart begins to ache. Kai and I had been tasked with babysitting children their age for our scorecards a few years back. They cower to the Officials, some trying to return to the closing gate. The Officials leave the area, our shackles falling to the ground once every entrance is sealed.

Each person in the pit wears a number, three digits painted on any area of our skin exposed to the watchers above.

I look at my numbers.

“565,” I whisper angrily, smudging away the paint from my forearm, flipping off those who watch in amusement.

Xavier smiles, his head tilted in observance, motioning across the room.

Shoved against the glass, their heads are forced forward. My friends. My very alive friends. Each of them regards me with fear, their scraps for clothes replaced with elegant ware. Their arms are forced behind their backs, their faces bruised, some still bloody. My eyes meet Fallan’s, a slight sense of relief moving through me at the realization he is safe. Valerie and Kai are yelling, my heart racing at the new figure that has joined the group. Hunter screams for the men to let go of Kai, only receiving a blow to his face when he grows too loud to be ignored. Fallan required three men to hold him steady, his face the most beaten out of the group. Looking at me, I hold his gaze, but his head instantly snaps down. I see Xavier’s hand waving, forcing us to break our eye contact.

A loud rumble shakes the ground, and my head snaps to my right, watching the last gate rise. The others back away, no one daring to try and make a break down the dark tunnel. No Officials linger in this tunnel. Some above even take a step back from the glass.

Looking at the blade in the center of the room, I touch my collar, making a break for the weapon. My fingers collide with the hilt as the others disperse.

Raising the blade, I hold my footing, watching as everyone’s collars fall to the dirty floor.

The tunnel is no longer empty.

Three sets of eyes watch us, their faces hungry for blood.

Their clawed hands come first, each one of the creatures scraping the ground, dragging their nails along the dirt. Sniffing the air, their putrid faces move around the room. Their hollow eye sockets seem to look directly at the contestants around the pit. Drooling from the mouth, their focus narrows on every Marked stuck down here.

I hear the stifled sobs of everyone here, their thoughts a rampant mess of death and despair. Backed against the wall, every person put up for the Lottery cowers, some sinking to their knees. Holding my ground, I listen to the banging on the glass. The bidders hold envelopes filled with money, angrily yelling at the people they put their bets on to get up and fight. My friends continue observing. Fallan attempts to break the hold of the men surrounding him, only to be forced further into the glass. The creatures emit clicking sounds from their throats as they move through the pit. Their heads cock to the side as they sense movement, using some sort of echolocating ability. I watch the Shifter's focus move to me.

“Forest Blackburn,” It hisses, its grin wide. “I was wondering when I'd finally get the chance to taste that rich blood of yours,” It says, its voice something out of nightmares.

Giving Xavier one last look, I feel my energy return. The weight of the collar is gone, freeing me from its oppressive hold on my power. Swinging the blade, I lower my eyes, feeling the comforting embrace of that other, bloodthirsty side of me, our words and thoughts as one once more.

“Go ahead and try,” I hiss, bracing myself for what's to come.

Lunging toward me, it swipes the air, its companions tearing into whatever humans they can get to first. I drown out the cries of the other contestants, dodging away from its attack. I roll beneath its legs, dragging the blade across the tender tendons of its calves.

It screeches in pain, cursing under its breath. My knees slide across the ground, my focus dead set on a Shifter ready to tear into a younger Marked. He holds up his hands, but his abilities are weak.

“Your blood will be savored,” the Shifter mutters with malice.

Forcing my arms behind my head, I launch the blade toward the creature, watching it hit the base of its neck, its body retracting up and away from the boy. Doing my best to try and pry away the weapon, I raise my hand, twisting my wrist, pushing further with my force until the metal collides with the creature's brain stem. With a clean slice out the other side of the creature's neck, I force my hand down, watching the Shifter meet the ground. Its body becomes a pile of ash.

Sensing a presence behind me, I brace myself for another attack, but my blade is too far away. Turning on my heels, I collect the energy into my palms readying to use my power, pausing at the sight in front of me.

My father's green eyes meet mine, his mouth down turned into a look of sadness. Keeping my distance, I can barely control the emotions threatening to break me where I stand.

“Honey?” he questions, his shirt still soaked with blood. “What’s going on?” he asks, my head shoving away every guilty thought.

The third Shifter continues working through the crowd, picking off everyone it can. Its focus is away from me.

“You're not real,” I beckon, my hands raised in front of me.

“They threw me down here; the creature made a run down the tunnel-”

I force my hand up, finding and connecting with my power, watching my father's figure grasp his throat. All the elites turn from their social conversations and look into the pit, now entirely focused on what’s happening in front of them. Xavier’s arms are crossed. My companions scream against the foggy glass.

“You're not real!” I yell, the space around me that much tighter. “I killed you!” I begin, my feet drawing me closer to the apparition. “I killed you because I was too weak to protect myself!” I continue, my eyes glancing up at my companions. “But they're still here,” I mutter, a swell of emotion consuming my chest.

I feel the embrace of that other side of me, Its arms around me in a comforting grasp.

“Honey-” he gasps.

“My name is Forest Blackburn,” I say, my eyes snapping to the ones so similar to my father’s. “Remember the name of the woman who took your last breath from you,” I whisper, clutching the man's throat with all the energy I have.

I watch him grab my wrist, doing his best to pry away the hand I have around his throat. Feeling his windpipe closing, his stifled pleas reach my ears. My eyes glance down to the metal of my gear. The reflection of what lies in front of me paints nothing but the true picture.

Where I see my father, the metal sees the creature, its eyes frantic, praying for mercy.

“You're running from an evil that will always find you,” It hisses, my father's face slowly slipping away.

“I don't have to run,” I seethe, leaning in closer. “It's looking back at me in your dying eyes.” I smile, a new feeling coming over me, something entirely foreign.

The strength from my other side courses through me, Its life force supporting my own.

Slumping to the ground, the Shifter’s form returns, its body disintegrating into the ash.

Glancing at the final Shifter, I move closer to the group, reaching down to grab the blade. It patiently waits to meet my hand once more. I shove a few of the younger contestants behind me. I twirl the weapon, watching the Shifter drop a woman once as it becomes aware of my presence.

“So, you're the woman he-”

My blade collides with its mouth, skewering its head to the nearest concrete wall behind it. I drive the weapon deeper into its skull, my energy a forest fire I can hardly contain. Letting go of the hilt, I take a step back. Seven bodies litter the ground of the twenty of us here. Three of them were lifeless Shifters.

Looking up at the glass, I see the gaping mouths of all that watch. I raise my hands, ready to take this place down; the others down here with me shake in fear.

“Make them afraid, beautiful, and the world is yours to take,” Xavier whispers, his grin wide.

A deafening noise breaks out in the arena, my knees meet my chest as I hunch over, unable to stop myself from covering my ears. I yell loudly, feeling a great sense of fear at the realization my companions no longer overlook the pit. Doing my best to navigate the space, I see the flood of figures as Officials step back into the pit, collaring every person they can, looming closer to me with each passing minute.

Getting to my feet, I ready myself to take on as many of them as possible.

“That won't be necessary,” Xavier whispers in my ear, his arm wrapping around my front, his presence next to me instant. Hadn’t he just been at the top of the pit behind the glass? “You’re mine for now.”

The sound of the collar snapping around my neck fills my ears.

My energy reserves are instantly depleted, but I try and use what I can to get away.

“As much as I like you putting up a fight,” he says, a sharp needle meeting my neck. “It would seem our presence is needed elsewhere.”