Rebellion (The 100 4)

And thankfully, she knew that Luke was alive. The last thing she remembered was the look of helpless anguish on his face. Wherever these people were taking her, he’d come after her.

Glass fought through her exhaustion and refused to succumb to sleep. She wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to gather crucial information about her captors. There was no knowing what detail would end up meaning the difference between life and death.

But her observations just made her more confused. The ground was “good.” The raiders kissed their fingertips and touched the dirt every time they set foot on it after leaving the wagon. Hard work was good, judging by their constant droning conversation about it. They called themselves “Protectors.” She wasn’t sure where killing people fit in the grand order of good or bad, except that Earth was the best thing of all, the deity they seemed to worship, and that Earth… it… She… was the decider of who lived and who did not.

Hours passed aimlessly, the wagon rocking and the guards staring in silence. Lina sobbed uncontrollably until she eventually seemed to run out of tears. Finally, the young guard opposite Glass leaned forward, his eyes cast up, peering out of the high window.

“We’re in sight,” he said, then turned to the girls with a solemn frown. “Not long now, if Earth wills it.”

“If Earth wills it,” the others repeated.

Glass and Octavia exchanged worried looks.

The wagon made a sharp left and all the girls toppled a little, the stale smell of sweat and warm breath wafting even stronger with the movement. The guards all turned to peer out the narrow front window, past the driver’s high seat. Spurred by a combination of curiosity and apprehension, Glass craned her head to see what they were all looking at.

They were approaching an ivy-covered wall that extended as high and wide as she could see. It just stretched and stretched and stretched.

The young guard saw her watching and smiled tightly at her. “We’ve arrived at our great home.”

“Oh,” Glass said, unsure how to respond.

He seemed encouraged by that. “It was here before the Shattering, when man was wicked and untamed… the greatest fortress in the land. The most powerful men sat there, hoarding their power, but then Earth took their power and She gave it to us.” The chest of his white uniform swelled with pride. “Earth’s magic resides within us. Soren said so.”

“Soren?” Glass asked.

The guard nodded. “Soren is Earth’s mouthpiece.”

Soren’s their leader, then, Glass thought. Another piece of information to add to the pile.

“Our great home is in the shape of a perfect pentagon,” another guard said.

“We call it the Stone,” the younger one cut back in. “The Stone is our new home, and if Earth wills it, it will be the foundation for our great work.”

The wagon grew dark as they approached the shadow of the great gray wall. Then, with a clomping lurch, they stopped. Glass crawled forward as the back doors opened, curious for a better look, but the second her foot hit the ground, the closest guard shoved a blindfold over her face.

Glass didn’t struggle. She was fully in enemy territory and the only way out was to survive long enough for the rescue party to arrive. She kept silent, and in reward, the hand on her elbow kept a gentle grip as it led her forward. To that building, she supposed. To whatever was waiting for them. To whatever she’d force herself to endure as long as necessary.

As they stepped through what felt like a doorway onto hard, flat flooring, Glass’s pulse sped up, goose bumps prickling on her arms. She was inside their fortress.

The air grew warmer, staler, as they led her around one corner, then another. She couldn’t keep track even now that she was trying. Then they stopped walking and pulled her blindfold from her face with a strangely dramatic flourish, as if she was meant to be impressed.

Glass blinked into the shadowy space. It was a cavernous, windowless room with skeletal metal posts holding up the tall ceiling every few yards, each hung with a flickering lantern. Her eyes adjusted, but hardly anything came into focus, because there was hardly anything in here. Just stacked mats spaced at even intervals, some of them with girls sitting on them, unmoving, their feet flat against the cold floor, staring blankly at the new arrivals.

The young guard attempted a painful-looking smile. “The women’s den. Make yourself at home.”

Den? Glass thought, recoiling slightly at the odd choice of words.

They gave strange little bows, leaving their eight bewildered prisoners behind as they backed out of the room, shutting the door behind them.

Glass braced for the sound of a lock, and sure enough, there came the same telltale clank that’d haunted her all those terrible months in Confinement. The cruel irony produced a silent, grim laugh. She’d fled the dropship, scrambled through air ducts as a fugitive, spacewalked, and lost her mother in her struggle to make it down to Earth—and for what? Here she was, locked up again, separated from Luke by a distance much farther than the skybridge.

After the door clanked shut, the girls sitting stiffly on the mats seemed to relax slightly, rolling their ankles and rubbing their shoulders. There were more than two dozen of them in this “den,” all dressed in white dresses, their hair tied back severely in tight braids. The girl nearest her was sitting in an awkward position with her bare feet flat on the ground. And for some reason, she was scowling at Glass.

Glass tried a nervous smile. The girl didn’t return it.

“You should take off your shoes,” the girl snapped. “Our feet must touch Earth while we are in Her service.”

Two cots over, a pretty girl with curly dark hair sighed wearily. “Look down, Bethany. Does this look like Earth to you? We’re inside.”

Glass stared at her, startled. The girl’s accent wasn’t like any of the Earthborns’ or the Protectors’. It almost sounded like… but no, that was impossible…

But Octavia had caught it too. Her head whipped around, and she was staring at the girl, wide-eyed.

The curly-haired girl rested her feet on the mattress, in apparent violation of their “feet on the Earth” rules, and as she leaned back, the lantern light hit her face and Glass was sure she recognized her.

Glass grabbed Octavia’s arm, and they walked toward her quietly. “Are you from the Colony?” Glass whispered.

The girl stood up so fast she nearly knocked Glass over. “Your accent… are you a Phoenician?”