Chapter 9
Kallister waits for me in the elevator bank near the landing hangar. He greets me with a warm smile, reaching out to squeeze my arm.
“How are you acclimating?” he asks.
I don’t bother lying. “Not everyone has been friendly this morning.”
His gaze softens. “Ah, I’m sorry. But you grew up with Julian, so you of all people should know that Mods don’t always take kindly to strangers. They’ll warm up to you.”
“Probably had a better chance of that happening before Fiona decided to tell everyone I’m an inciter.”
Kallister’s eyes flash. “I wasn’t aware she’d done that.”
“I don’t know for sure. But Gray seems to think so.”
“I’ll speak to her,” he says tightly.
He presses a button on the panel, and I’m surprised to realize this elevator has more than three options. 1, 2, 3, and ll. Lower level would be my guess.
“I thought the Dagger was only three floors,” I say as he hits the ll button.
“It is.”
And yet we ride the elevator down another level. The doors open to reveal a hallway illuminated by eerie blue light.
It takes a second to realize it’s neither a hallway nor a light.
We’re in a daggerstone cave.
Swallowing a gasp, I step out of the elevator and take in our surroundings. A long, narrow passageway with uneven stone walls stretches out before us, and above our heads the entire ceiling is covered with daggerstone.
Blue daggerstone.
Now the name of this mountain makes even more sense.
Blue Dagger base. I can hardly contain my amazement.
I’ve only ever seen white daggerstone. I was told that a blue variation existed, but it’s more dazzling than I ever imagined.
Twisted, gnarled spears of the gemstone hang from the ceiling like glowing, winking icicles, bright enough to illuminate our path.
The rare dark-blue gems catch the light, shifting and dancing across cave walls that seem to hum and pulse as we walk past them.
There’s energy flowing down here. A massive amount of it.
It makes the hairs on my body stand on end.
I’m suddenly transported back to the cave that Cross showed me in the wards.
Full of white daggerstone and an endless sea of vibrant flowers growing from every crack and crevice in the walls, thriving in the darkness.
Every inch of that cave had vibrated with energy, as if the earth itself possessed a throbbing, pulsing heartbeat.
The memory brings a deep ache. He should be here, damn it.
And yes, I realize how selfish it is of me to even think that, because it means asking him to abandon his mother, who’s fragile and defenseless with her mind corrupted.
Cross will do anything to protect her, I know that.
But I can’t stop myself from wanting him to be with me.
“What is this place?”
Kallister smiles at my reaction. “We call it the Temple.”
The floor is uneven, but only until we enter the main chamber. There I’m greeted with another shock.
“Whoa,” I breathe.
We’re standing inside a perfect circle, on a smooth floor surrounded by thick white columns and bearing strange markings etched into the stone. The colors of the symbols might have been bright at one point, but they’re faded now. Muted shades of blues, reds, purples.
“Is this marble?” I exclaim.
“It is,” Kallister confirms.
It’s rare to see such an expensive building material on the Continent.
Only the elites can afford to build with marble.
The capitalists who work closely with the Company reap the rewards that come with their collusion.
I’ve heard there’s a hotel in Sanctum Point that boasts miles of marble.
But to find it here, this deep underground, is incredible.
The chamber’s walls are covered with more daggerstone, and between each set of columns I glimpse what appear to be natural rock alcoves bathed in blue light. I realize we’re not alone in here when I notice two shadowy figures in one of the alcoves, sitting cross-legged and facing each other.
“Did the Uprising build this?” I ask Kallister.
“No, this is how we found it. I assume whoever designed the facility discovered this daggerstone cave when they were digging and decided to use it as a religious space.” He steps forward, pointing to the center of the floor. “See this symbol in the middle?”
I study the marking, which looks like a lowercase t.
“It’s a crucifix,” he explains. “A symbol of the old religion. And if you think this floor is impressive, look up.”
I tip my head back, and a gasp flies out.
The ceiling is carved into a dome and covered with a breathtaking mural that certainly doesn’t require an explanation.
I see angels everywhere. Graceful females, sinuous males, round cherubs.
Their outstretched arms are all pointing toward the center of the dome, the highest point of the ceiling.
Angels are on the Company’s list of forbidden images, so their overwhelming presence in this cave feels like a satisfying fuck you to our oppressors.
“It’s meant to draw your eye upward,” Kallister says. “Toward heaven.”
I glance over at him. “Do you believe in heaven?”
“No.”
“Neither do I,” I admit, though whether I share the religious beliefs of the painter doesn’t take away from this extraordinary feat of artistry and craftsmanship. “Does anyone practice religion down here?”
He chuckles. “No, that nonsense doesn’t interest us. We’re only here for the daggerstone. We’ve found that it sharpens our abilities. When you use your gifts in the Temple, everything is amplified. Shields are stronger. Projections more vivid. Thoughts clearer.”
“Why?”
“If I could answer the why behind half the mysteries surrounding Mods, I’d be the smartest man on earth.”
I catch a flicker of movement across the room. The two figures from the alcove step into the marble circle. The older woman is one I haven’t met yet, but I recognize the blond girl at her side. Poppy. The teenager who delivered my dinner last night.
They murmur their hellos as they leave the cavern. I study their retreating backs. “Is everyone at the Dagger expected to come down here to train?”
“It’s not mandatory for everyone, no. A lot of people choose to, though. Some just come here to meditate because they find the daggerstone soothing. But anyone with a bloodmark is required to train.”
“Do you have a bloodmark?” I ask curiously.
Kallister rolls up his left sleeve to show me the red circle on his forearm.
“Jim didn’t have one,” I remark.
“No, but he should’ve. Julian was a powerful mind reader. Not to mention a master at decoying his mind.” The pride in Kallister’s voice makes me feel more connected to him, knowing that we both loved Jim.
Kallister guides me into one of the small alcoves. The ceiling is low, but there’s enough room for him to stand at his full height without having to duck. He gestures toward the two flat cushions on the ground. “Sit,” he encourages.
As we sit facing each other, cross-legged, a spooky sensation washes over me. This reminds me of training with Uncle Jim in the Blacklands, his gruff voice ordering me to focus, try harder. I can’t look at Kallister’s face without seeing Jim.
“I’d like you to try to get past my shield,” he says, his posture relaxed as he rests both palms on his thighs.
“Okay.” I wipe my hands on my pants and clasp them in my lap, then close my eyes, inhaling slowly.
The second I open a path into his mind, I feel it—the pressure.
Normally it’s just a faint buildup of it, but in Kallister’s mind, the pressure is suffocating.
His shield is impossibly strong and determined to repel me.
The sensation is like being stuck in a crowded room, pressed in by bodies from all sides as I try to make my way forward.
Finally, I’m able to see the shield. It’s impressive.
Not a single crack, not even a sliver. I imagine myself standing in front of it, running my hands along the smooth surface.
Jim called this process sweeping. You dance your fingertips over the shield, explore it inch by inch, until eventually you find it: that one soft spot.
Kallister doesn’t have a soft spot.
No weakness.
At all.
I drag a fingernail over the shield. Sometimes the faintest scratch will appear, and if it does, you can slowly massage it with your finger.
Push into it. Dig your nail into it until it forms a bigger crack, then push your way inside.
But not this time. Kallister Ash is a wall of mental discipline, his mind completely elusive to me.
My temples begin to throb, the back of my neck aching with discomfort. Trying to infiltrate his shield is expending a lot of energy. I don’t remember Uncle Jim’s being this impenetrable.
“All right, enough,” he commands.
I blink, a ragged breath leaving my lips. I realize I’m sweating. If I peered into a mirror right now, I suspect my face would be totally devoid of color. I feel the same way I felt the morning I incited the firing squad. Weak. Dizzy.
“We can try again another time,” Kallister says.
“No,” I protest. “Let me try again now.”
“I can’t allow you to do that. We require a mandatory rest period after mental strain lasting more than an hour.”
We’ve been sitting here for more than an hour? I had no idea. Time slowed to a complete crawl when I was sweeping.
“You just sat there for an hour in total silence?”
“I’m used to it.” Smiling, he gets to his feet. I notice that his veins are rippling, indicating he’s using his powers, and then he says, “Wait here. There’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.”
As he steps out, I stand and smooth the front of my shirt.
I hear footsteps echoing through the main chamber, and then Kallister returns with a lanky young man who looks about my age.
He would probably be cute if not for the pinched features that lend him a birdlike air. The deep scowl doesn’t help, either.
“Wren, I’d like you to meet Hawkins Jost. The only other known inciter on the Continent.”