The Believers (The Breeders Series - Book 2) (21 page)

Still it holds me, saying nothing.

“What are you?!” I scream at it. “Say something!” Nothing. Just darkness and panting. Terror courses through me, weakening my legs. How could someone live in this ungodly dark? Is it some sort of…beast?

“Clay! Rayburn!” I scream upwards, hoping someone, anyone will hear me. I can’t think. Can’t breathe.

Something wispy like hair brushes my cheek. My skull scrapes on the concrete as I pull away. Nowhere to go. I start to pray.

Raspy breath pushes against my ear. “Tell
themmm
.” The voice is human, but garbled as if whatever is speaking has lost the ability to work its jaw. “Tell
themmm
.”

I stare into the pitch blackness at the voice, trembling. “Tell who? Tell them what?”

“Tell
themmm
…we’re
sssstill
here.” His voice rattles like his lungs are filled with fluid.

“I…will. I’ll tell them.”

“Tell
themmm
,” the voice says. It moves beside me now. Something brushes my arm and I yelp. There’s a jangling of something metal and then my wrist is tugged sideways. I pull away and my hand is…free?

“Who are you?” I ask.

The thing, the person, moves beside me and yanks on my other cuff. My hand falls free and the chains clank against the concrete. I can’t believe it. It freed me. I shuffle sideways, wanting to run, but not wanting to bump into the thing again. “Who are you? Why are you down here?” I ask again.

“Tell
themmm
,” he says one more time. “We’re
sssstill
here.”

“Who should I tell? The Messiah?” I slide along the concrete wall, my palms gliding over the rock. It doesn’t answer or follow me. When my feet find the slope, I run up the incline as fast as I dare in the dark.

When I reach the top, I crumple into a ball and tremble. Breathe, breathe,
breathe
. The voice scrapes around my head. Does he live down there? Are there more living in darkness?

I pull myself up and glance toward the hole. Why doesn’t he just walk up here himself? Maybe he’s a deformed monster they’ve banished into the darkness. I pull my groaning body up. I need answers and I know where I'll find them.

I stand outside the Messiah’s chamber, the solid doors all that separate me from the madman that runs this asylum. I want to hear what's going on right from the horse's mouth. No more lies. It's time to peel back the mask.

I push through, into the antechamber. The candles flicker on wall ledges, casting wavering shadows. A guard, sitting in one of the hard plastic chairs, pops up when I enter.

“Stop!” His hand goes for his knife and he draws it out of his belt. “You can't go in there!”

“I need to see him.” The Brotherhood guard, Lavan I think his name is, was one of our attackers that morning at the diner. His clouded left eye and missing front teeth remind me that I once hated him. I glare as voices, laughter, and even music spill through the crack behind us. I take another step. “I'm going in. It's urgent.”

Lavan raises the knife.

“Stop!” I yell.

On the other side of the door, the laughter stops. The interior door cracks open, leaking the smell of incense, and the Messiah's face appears. “Lavan, what seems to be the trouble?” His cloudy eyes search the room as if he could spot me.

Lavan shakes his head. “It's the dust. She wants an audience. I was about to escort her bac–”

“Let her in,” the Messiah says, sliding back into his chamber.

Lavan glowers at me, but steps aside.

The Messiah's men lounge on the couch and chairs, drinking, laughing. A few of the prettier women hang off them, tossing their long hair off their delicate, pale shoulders. Drinks and food are stacked on end tables. There's even a spread of fruit on the floor. All this abundance when we're rationing food for everyone else? The Messiah heads toward the back and the mess of papers spread across the table. And Clay's standing by the desk as if guarding it. Clay's face floods with concern when he spots me.

“I need to speak with the Messiah,” I blurt into the stillness.

When he spots me, Andrew stands and the girl on his lap falls to the floor. He eyes me like a ghost.

“What're you doing out...” His eyes slip over to Clay. “This is a private party. I'll take you back.” As he strides at me, the gun in his belt winks in the candlelight.

“Don't touch her!” Clay says, coming after Andrew.

Laying a firm hand on Clay's shoulder, the Messiah draws him back. “I would like to hear what Riley has come to tell me.” As he's pointing to the door, his face tightens as if in pain. His hand presses to his abdomen, but he draws it back quickly. He smoothes the look of pain away and turns to me. “Riley, I'll speak to you in the hall.”

I ignore Clay's concerned looks, swivel on my heel, and push through the doors into the hallway. Outside the chamber, the air feels heavy, like the sand storm is burying us.

The doors swing closed behind the Messiah. As he turns to face me, I take in his sallow complexion and the dark bags circling his eyes. His normally shining hair looks lank and unwashed. He looks terrible.

“What's down in the hole?” I ask when the weight of the silence threatens to choke me.

The Messiah cocks his head, a strand of long hair slipping over his robed shoulder. “The lake. Our source of holy water. Why?”

“
Why?
Because Andrew locked me down there, that's why.” I shoot an accusatory finger toward the doors. The anger I tried to bury breaks the surface.

The Messiah folds his sore-pocked hands into the sleeves of his robe and shakes his head. “I thought he might do something like that.”

“You did? Well, next time when you get an inkling, maybe send someone else to put me up!” I'm nearly shouting, but I know there are ears on the other side of that door. I drop my voice to a dangerous whisper. “He chained me in complete blackness like an animal.”

The Messiah nods sadly. “I apologize for his behavior. He won't hold his position long.”

“Who lives in the hole?” I ask, remembering. His breath on my neck was like cold, unwelcome caress from a corpse.

The Messiah furrows his brow. “No one.”

“You don't need to lie.”

“I do not lie! The leader of the free people and the prophet of the Gods does not lie!” His voice is booming, his face fierce. Either he's a great liar or telling the truth. He doesn't know about whoever's down there?

“Someone in the hole told me to tell you that they're still here.” I watch his face carefully. The look of confusion is still rooted in his features.

“No one lives in the hole.” He runs a hand through his beard, once trim, now scraggly. Then he turns his eyes skyward. “It won't matter soon anyway,” he mumbles.

I lean in close enough to smell the death on him. “Why d'you keep on saying stuff like that? You’re gonna kill everyone, aren’t you?”

His face betrays nothing, not a twitch, not a flicker. “I'm not planning on killing anyone.” He unfolds his arms and his gown flutters. “The Gods, well…” he raises milky eyes to mine. Gooseflesh gathers on my arms. “That's a different story.”

I shake my head. “You're not going to pin this on the Gods. Anything you do,
you
are responsible. These people depend on
you
. They want
you
to protect them.” Frustration throbs through the veins on my forehead. I want to hit something.

Despair darkens the features of his face. He grabs both of my arms. “Don't you think I've tried? Don't you think I've asked them
over and over
to spare us?” He shakes me with his words. “Listen to it outside. They've spoken.” He holds a hand up to where the wind howls like a cyclone. His sleeve falls back, revealing small scars running down his bicep. Has he been cutting himself?

“You have a choice,” I say, pulling my arm from his grasp. “We all have choices.”

The Messiah falls to his knees. “Oh Gods,” he folds his hands beneath his chin and shakes them, “take this cup from me!”

The shouting sends his guard barreling out. Andrew draws his gun. The Messiah grips Andrew's arm and uses it to pull himself up.

“It is time,” he says, straightening his white gown, brushing back his hair. All traces of his despair are gone.

Oh, masked man
, I think,
what game are you playing now?

The Brotherhood peels out in different directions. Clay wraps his arm around me. “I should take her to her room to rest,” he says.

I let myself fold into his warmth.

“No,” the Messiah says. “Bring her. Bring everyone. The time of communion has arrived.”

Drum beats echo down the hallways, a syncopated
boom, boom, boom
copying the beat of our frightened hearts. People shuffle out of their rooms and down the hallways behind us. I walk with Clay's arm around me. Right now being next to him seems like the best idea in the world. With the drums and the sand and the sad-eyed people, I feel it in my bones—we're being marched to our deaths.

We walk through drifts into the food court. The wind above has died down and with it the swirling sand. Above us, the hazy sunset slices through the wood panels. Soon it will be dark.

We should run, but the guards walk behind us like dogs herding sheep. Where's the rest of my family? How can I get them out of here?

The Messiah steps up onto the carousel. Clay and I settle near the front of the crowd. The rest of the men arrive, still banging the drums with a
boom, boom, boom
that cuts through my chest like a blunt chisel. My cheek brushes against Clay's shirt collar and the smell of him fills me with comfort. God, please don't let them kill us. All I want is the open road with Clay and my family. We could mend the brokenness between us.

Andrew joins the Messiah on the carousel steps. He's wearing a white gown similar to the Messiah's although more tattered at the seams. He holds the bronze wine bowl in his palms. Beside him sits a barrel of water.

My heart pounds as my eyes catch the dancing reflection in that bowl. The poison we saw in the warehouse. Is it in that barrel? Is this the end?

I pull away from Clay and shoot him a desperate look. “Clay, it's the poison!” I whisper through my teeth. “We gotta get out of here!”

He frowns and brings his lips to my ear. “What're you talking 'bout? That's the same water we been drinkin'.”

I stare at the barrel. It looks the same as the one I saw in the warehouse and yet this one bears no scrawled warning on top. But then they wouldn't label their poison here for everyone to see, not if they were going to secretly kill us with it.

“It's
not
the same water,” I say, snapping my head back and forth. “He's going to kill us all!”

Clay rolls his eyes. “Don't start that again. He wouldn't do somethin—”

I grip his forearm. “Mage heard him say it. She confirmed it for me.” I step away and whirl around, panicked. Where's Ethan and Ray? We gotta run.

“Mage confirmed what?” Clay asks, but the rest of his words are drowned by the frenzied beat of the drums. The crowd chants. A woman behind us wails like a wounded coyote in a language I don't understand.

I tug Clay with me toward the back, but I'm stopped by a wall of muscle. Several Brotherhood guards stand around the crowd, shoulder to shoulder.

“Let us by.” I try to shove past and a hand cinches around my bicep.

“Hey!” Clay yells, but they grab him. Andrew steps up, his hand on the butt of his gun. Clay's eyes drop to the revolver and his face tightens. “What d'you want?”

Andrew points toward the carousel. “You're being inducted. Time to drink.”

No. No, no, no. I look at the barrel of shimmering liquid. When I swore to participate in his communion ceremony, I didn't think I'd pay with my life.

“I changed my mind.” I shove forward, but one of them grips my shoulders and spins me around. Rayburn, Mama and Ethan are being shoved up onto the carousel, too. Terror blares through my brain. The giant jug of poisoned water jiggles as I step onto the platform.

My heart thumps wildly as I search for a way out. The Brotherhood circles us. The people keep chanting. I can't think. I look into the faces of my loved ones. I won't let them die. I don't care what I have to do. The
boom, boom
cuts through me until I'm sure I'll scream. I scan the crowd looking for Mage. Looking for any help, anything. The crowd is frenzied. One old woman drags fingernails down her face, leaving red welts. One man tears at his shirt. And oh God, the
chanting.
“Sight, sight, sight,” echoes through the space and fills my brain like sludge until my thoughts are mired. Do they know what's coming? I look at women clutching their children on their hips. They can't know. Otherwise they'd all be running for the door. All these innocent faces. He can't be planning to kill them, right? Then I remember the terror on his face when he cried, “Dear Gods, take this cup from me.” He thinks it isn't up to him. It's up to the Gods. And these Gods are vengeful.

The Messiah holds his hands up and the drumming stops. A silence snaps through the crowd, leaving the air empty and vibrating with tension. Beside me, the Messiah has broken out into a sweat. His gown clings to him like wet paper. His golden necklace with its many religious symbols rests on his sharp collarbones. He lowers his trembling hands and clasps them at his waist.

“Children, the time has come to induct these outsiders,” he waves his hand at us, “into the fold. Though they will be leaving us tomorrow, tonight they will perform the rite of passage into our brethren and become one with us. Then we will drink the communion water and pray for another year of the Gods' grace. They will pray for the Sight as will we all. Sight to deliver us from this plague. Tonight, everyone will drink, women, children, babies. All.” He surveys his people, nodding. They nod back, their eyes obedient like cattle.

No. This can't be happening.

He turns to Andrew. “The bowl, please.” Andrew dips it in the barrel of water. I watch in horror as the water fills the silver drinking bowl. The bowl meant for me. I look at Ethan, my mama, and her swollen belly. How can I stop this?