The Sowing

Digging into the rucksack, I pull out the holocam and stare hard at it for what seems like forever before hitting the activation button.

The air in front of the device shimmers and the holo of Digory appears, still wearing that cold grin he had when he was addressing Cassius. “Tycho signing off,” he announces. Then he leans in close to the screen, as if hitting an unseen switch, and the window with Cassius’s image disappears.

The moment that happens, Digory slumps back against his chair and lets out a long sigh. His face loses that hard edge, and once again he’s the Digory I’ve always known.

Except now he looks worried. He leans forward, his face practically pressing against the holocam’s lens. “If I don’t make it back today, I want… I need someone to know—Rafé, Cage, Jeptha, all of you—that I never betrayed you. I’ve been on a rogue mission, making the new Prefect believe I’m a mole within the rebellion. I’m trying to gain his confidence, and gain access to Establishment intelligence in the process.”

So Digory never did betray the rebellion. He never betrayed me. Why couldn’t I have had faith in the love we had for each other?

I never deserved him.

The holo of Digory is talking faster now. “I’ve stumbled on something called the Sowing Protocol. Whatever it is, it’s dangerous. I think it’ll crush the rebellion if we can’t stop it. I’ll try to learn what I can and report back. But I’ve got the feeling Thorn is on to me.” His face softens. “If I’m right, and my cover’s blown, please do me one last favor and look out for Lucian Spark. He’s… he’s a good guy. And I think he and his brother are in some kind of danger from Thorn. Promise me you’ll take them under your protection, keep them safe.”

The holo goes out of focus for a moment, but it has nothing to do with the device.

“If I don’t see any of you again, it’s been an honor to serve the cause with you.” Digory smiles, but I can see how nervous he is. “I’m going to hide this in my quarters when I’m done. Until then, this is Digory Tycho. Down with the Establishment. Protect your families.”

The image flickers, then fades away, replaced by an endless stream of static.

That’s it. Recording over. I shut it off and stuff it back into the rucksack, even as I place the ID tags around my neck once again.

I was so wrong.

The joints in my knees creak and pop as I haul myself to my feet and take a few steps, my bare soles crunching the leaves beneath them.

I cup my hands to my mouth. “Digory! Where are you?”

Trudging deeper into the lush pockets of pink and purple flowers, I hear a sound up ahead. A gurgling sound.

Water.

With both hands, I part a soft curtain of hanging moss.

And there he is.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding, drunk with relief.

Digory is sitting on the remnants of a small stone bridge, bare-chested, his feet dangling in the water and his long damp hair draped over his shoulders. His eyes are intent on the shimmering brook just below him.

Breathing deep, I wade through the tall blades of grass toward him, fighting a limp, drawing strength from his glowing form. I stop just behind him.

Suddenly, I’m afraid, in spite of all the horrors I’ve endured up until now.

He whips around to face me, and it’s like looking at the sun, a sight so brilliant and warm yet painful all at once.

I freeze. I’ve been seeing him in my dreams for so long that it still feels so surreal to be standing just a few feet from him again. Maybe it’s my mind playing tricks on me, but along with the glint of recognition in his eyes, I sense so much more—fear? Suspicion?

Anger?

I turn away, focusing on the rippling stream shimmering beneath us. “Thanks for the bed. And tending to my wounds. I didn’t see you when I woke up. I thought…” My words trail away with the current.

Digory still remains silent and I sit down beside him.

“I tried so hard to get back to you. But I thought that you were dead, that it was too late… and then I saw that holo recording.” I choke back my anguish, needing to get my words out. “I should never have given up on you.”

Pivoting, I sit cross-legged, facing him, and force myself to look directly at him. “You haven’t said a word to me. I understand, Digory. I won’t hold you to anything we might have said in the past.” We gaze into each other’s eyes in silence, the sound of our breaths harmonizing.

Taking a deep breath and steeling my nerves, I touch his warm, dewy skin. My fingertips graze the contours of his biceps, which, even relaxed, feels like granite, and then work their way to the inside of his elbow.

Digory flinches, and I instantly regret letting my feelings get the best of me. He can’t even stand my touch any longer. I feel sick and start to pull away.

But his hand grabs mine and presses it back against the hotness of his skin. I can feel the scabbing in the crook of his elbow. I lean in closer. The entire area is mottled with dark purple bruises, the smooth skin broken by needle marks. I examine his other arm and see the same thing.