Steven dos Santos - The Sowing

As Digory’s hand reaches out to adjust his recorder’s lens, I can almost imagine he’s extending it to me, and I catch myself before reaching out to touch the image.

“Not much time left before the Recruitment Ceremony,” he says.

The sound of his voice reignites so many emotions I’ve forced myself to let freeze over. I’d never thought I’d ever hear him again.

“I can’t risk this recording falling into the wrong hands, which is why I’ll destroy it after the ceremony,” he continues. “I’ve just made contact with Lucian Spark. I opened up to him about the rebellion—tried to convince him to join.” He shakes his head and a slight grin appears on his face. “But Lucian’s a stubborn one. I remember the way he used to give instructors a hard time in classes, always pressing them, always questioning the facts.” His face goes serious again. “He really loves his brother. That’s all he has left.” Digory’s eyes seem to pierce right through the image and into mine. “If Lucian gets recruited today, I have no doubt he’d die trying to save Cole.”

Now it’s my turn to smile, although it’s laced with heartache. Even back then, he already knew me so well.

Digory shoots a look behind him, and, when he turns back to the cam, anxiety fills his face. “I’ve got to get to Town Square for the ceremony. Hopefully I can make contact with Lucian again before things start.” He leans closer to the cam, until his entire face fills the image. I can almost feel the warmth of his breath on my face. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get him to join our cause. I just need more time—”

The lights in the dorm flare, cutting through the darkness like a supernova. I quickly shut off the holocam and stuff it under my mattress.

“Rise and shine, maggots!” Renquist blares from the doorway. “Ascension Day has arrived!”

As Leander, Dahlia, Rodrigo, and Arrah scramble to their feet, I pause for a moment, Digory’s face still burned into my vision. When they’ve left to go shower, I retrieve the yellow pills and the retrofitted Fifth Tier pin from under my bunk.

I’ll never give up, Digory.

Today is for you .

That morning during breakfast in the commissary, the five of us are treated to a celebratory Ascension Day feast. Everyone’s so excited by the festivities that it’s easy to slip the powdered residue of the crushed GX07 pills into the orange juice before we toast.

My fellow trainees are all in great spirits. Dahlia actually compliments me on how I look in my uniform, and even Leander and Rodrigo—after all their bullying and verbal abuse—tease me in a brotherly way. I sense something different; a grudging respect that’s never been there before. They see me as someone who’s paid his dues. I’m one of them now.

After we’re done with breakfast and Dahlia pulls out her holocam to snap one final group picture commemorating the event, we march single file from the Citadel into Town Square. The growing sounds of the assembling crowd buzz in my ear like a hornet’s nest. But no matter how loud it gets, it can’t drown out the one thought bombarding my brain over and over again like a strategic military campaign: Cassius is about to die and I am his murderer.

Good thing I was able to reach my contact at the barge last night before sneaking back into the Citadel. The barge operator was so grateful for how I saved his brother that I had to insist he take the money I offered. My plans are set: as soon as the Ascension Ceremony is over, I’ll slip away in the chaos, pick up Cole at the Priory, and board the ship. We’ll head west and disappear for good. Arrah and Cage will never know what happened to me, and it’ll be better that way.

The memory of Digory’s face floods my thoughts. I wish I’d had time to watch the rest of his journal. But I will, soon, when Cole and I are far away from this terrible place. For now, there’s comfort in knowing that not only am I carrying Digory in my heart and memory, but literally, in his ID tag, which is once again intertwined with mine under my uniform. The holocam with the disc is stuffed into a hidden pocket of my uniform. I know it’s risky to have it on me, but if all goes according to plan and we manage to escape after the assassination, I need to have this, the only image of his face and sound of his voice I’ll ever have.

Styles leads Dahlia, Leander, Rodrigo, Arrah, and me through the throng surrounding the dais, Renquist bringing up the rear. I squint against the hazy morning light that’s assaulting my sensitive eyes.

The heat pylons embedded throughout the square hum with activity, keeping the area clear of snow. It melts into clumpy rivulets that slosh through the perimeter before seeping

into the drainage grates. The moaning wind is crisp and bitter cold. At least it’s not snowing. But from the look of the grays and blacks tainting the horizon, it’s obvious that another storm is on the way.

We stride past the grand fountain of Queran Embers that Cage showed me on the diagram, and my eyes can’t help but dart to the onlookers surrounding it. There’s Cage. And Drusilla, Boaz, Crowley, and Preshea. Nearby, the kid Corin is tossing pebbles into the water. Then we’re striding past and they’re behind us.

They’re already in place. Now it’s up to me to deliver.

The throng of spectators surrounds us on either side, glaring. It’s like they know what I’m about to do. In spite of the cold, sweat beads on my neck and trickles down my spine.

I loosen the collar of my uniform.

Focus. Breathe.

When we reach the first row of the cordoned-off seats right in front of the dais at the far end of the square, we file in and sit down.

The last time I saw this platform was during my recruitment for the Trials. Then, I’d been detached, removed from the entire process, watching from Cassius’s balcony and on the jumbotrons surrounding the plaza.

Now it all feels more real. More visceral. It was to this very platform that Digory, Cypress, Gideon, and Ophelia were led when Cassius announced their names on Recruitment Day. It’s fitting that it should all end in this very same place—before a new batch of sixteen-year-olds are chosen during tomorrow’s Recruitment Day ceremony.

Arrah nudges my arm and I turn to follow her gaze. Lurking in the shadows of the turrets and gargoyles of the Citadel, overlooking the dais, are dark figures wielding gleaming weapons. Snipers, armed with assault rifles. Considering that most of the seats behind us are filled with squads of Imposers, this seems like overkill to say the least. I guess that with the Prime Minister making a personal appearance and the recent acts of sabotage against the Establishment, they’re not taking any chances.

Ten Imposers trot up to the dais, each guiding a leashed Canid. The hulking black beasts pad up the stairs, and it’s almost as if they’re the ones leading their masters. They strain against the leashes, burying their large snouts in every nook and cranny of the stage. Searching for weapons, no doubt.

My hand reflexively tugs at my pin, almost as if I’m trying to shield it. Hopefully they haven’t been trained to sniff out BMPs, or this little party will be over before it’s begun.

After a few tense minutes, the beasts settle down and lead their masters off the stage and through the crowd. People scramble to give them a wide berth, despite being so tightly packed together.

I free the breath I’ve been holding.

The spotlights flicker to life and arc through the square. There’s a burst of static from the jumbotrons as all of them fill with live feeds of the stage.

Trumpets blare, heralding the start of the Ascension Ceremony. All my muscles tense. This is it. Whatever happens, there’s no going back now.