Luminary (28 page)

“Ah, Dr. Jordan.” Dr. Loudin is looking at Carey as if through a microscope. I have seen that look on his face before, when he was examining me. When I was his project. “Nice to see you again.”

Kristie steps forward and Dr. Loudin’s eyes soften, just for a moment. “Kristie.”

Kristie meets Loudin’s gaze and clears her throat. “Joseph.”

“I mean no harm to any of you.” Dr. Loudin spreads his arms. “I applaud your obvious ingenuity. You have created beauty from ashes. I would like to do the same.”

I look around. The people are staring at the transport, their eyes wide. They are fearful, but they are also in awe.

“May I speak to you?” Dr. Loudin looks from Kristie to Carey. “Privately?”

Carey is reluctant, but Kristie motions Dr. Loudin into her house. As soon as the door is shut, Alex touches my arm. “What does he want?”

I assumed Dr. Loudin came for us, to return us to the State and annihilate us. But he barely glanced at Berk, Rhen, and me. His eyes hardly left Kristie. He knew she would be here. And he wanted to speak to her—and Carey—alone. “I don’t know what he wants. But I am sure it is not good.”

Berk is on the other side of me, silent. Rhen is quiet as well. The transport looms beside us, a terrifying reminder that our escape failed. I feel the same way I felt in the annihilation chamber and again in the dark cell in Athens: trapped. The longer the three Scientists remain inside, the more my fears increase.

The people around us are talking but quietly. They are afraid, but they are also impressed. They walk around the transport. It is larger than anything Athens has, far more advanced than anything in New Hope. I cannot speak. My throat is tight, my stomach aches. Something bad is happening. I know it. But I cannot stop it.

The door opens—over thirty minutes after the three went in. Kristie’s eyes are red. Carey’s face is hard, angry.

“People of New Hope.” Dr. Loudin addresses the people as if he were an Announcer on a wall screen discussing the news of the day. “I am happy to report that your village and our State will be working together. We will help each other to be better than we are alone. Kristie has agreed to come with me, just for a time, to the State. She recommended Alex join us, as a representative of Athens.”

I gasp, grabbing Alex’s arm. I do not know what Loudin has
planned, but it is not good. And if Kristie and Alex go, they will not return.

“And Thalli, of course.” Dr. Loudin’s gaze burns into me. “I have heard of her bravery. She will join us as well. We will make a wonderful team, won’t we, Carey?”

Carey doesn’t speak. His lips are shut tight. He gives a slight nod, eyes hard. He turns to me and says something with his gaze that I cannot quite grasp. I know, however, I must go. That much is clear.

Dr. Loudin smiles and steps aside. I follow Kristie into the transport. Alex is beside me. I turn to say good-bye to Berk, to Rhen, to my friends in New Hope, but the ramp is lifting, shutting me off from this village.

Berk is yelling for me to stop, demanding to be allowed on board. But the ramp silences his pleas.

We are encased in the transport. Artificial light replaces the sunlight. A door in the side of the cylinder opens and Dr. Williams exits, a needle in her hand. The transport lifts off the ground. Assistants follow Dr. Williams.

I want to run, but there is nowhere to go. I feel my hands pulled behind me. I see Dr. Williams raising the needle, aiming for my neck. I twist and turn. I hear Alex calling my name, but he cannot stop her. I cannot stop her. I see a drop of liquid escape the needle . . . I feel it dig into my skin.

Then my world goes black.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. Thalli begins this journey upset at being rescued. Why do you think she feels this way? Do you think she is justified in those feelings?

2. What do you think Rhen and Berk were talking about while they were on the transport? Do you think Thalli ever had any reason to be jealous?

3. Imagine you are John—what would it be like to see grass, trees, dogs, and ponds for the first time in forty years? If you were John, what would you have missed the most?

4. Thalli is shocked to discover The Ten were actually Fifteen. What other secrets do you think have been kept from the citizens of the State?

5. In what ways is New Hope different from the State? Which difference do you suppose is the most difficult for the State-born to adjust to?

6. Do you agree with Thalli’s decision to go to Athens? Why or why not?

7. John challenges Thalli to trust in the Designer, even in the valley. Have you ever walked through “the valley of the shadow of death”? How did you handle that difficult time? What did you learn from it?

8. What do you think Alex’s childhood was like?

9. Discuss the deaths in this story—which were the most difficult to read? How was each one different than the others?

10. Thalli does not get to answer the question Alex posed at the end of
Luminary
. What do you think her response will be?

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I
am incredibly grateful for the team at Thomas Nelson Fiction. They believed I could write this book even before I did. I am humbled by your faith in me.

My amazing agent, Jenni Burke, helped me create and tweak the proposal that outlined this trilogy. Throughout the process, my editor, Becky Monds, has been part sounding board, part cheerleader, and all friend—thanks for challenging me not to be so easy on my characters! Julee Schwartzburg, as always, saw through my messes into the possibilities and helped me see those possibilities as well. Kristen Vasgaard created the fabulous cover. Laura Dickerson and the whole marketing and sales team worked so hard to make sure this story got into the hands of readers all over the world. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

A special thanks to my friends and proofreaders/previewers: Lauren Webb, Rebekah Kelly, Tammy Norwood, and Kristie
Wheetley. Thanks also to my amazing Sunday school class for praying me through the writing of this novel.

My family, as always, is my greatest inspiration and my biggest fans. My husband, Dave, is one of the best men ever to walk the face of the earth. Our kids, Emma, Ellie, and Thomas, are the most wonderful gifts God has given me.

A huge thanks to you, my readers. Thank you for your e-mails of encouragement, for “liking” me and “following” me. I am so grateful for you.

The reason that I write, that I live and breathe, is because of my wonderful Savior, Jesus Christ. He has made each one of us beautiful anomalies. I pray that every person reading this knows how very special you are to the Designer, how unique and precious and valuable you are to him.

AN EXCERPT FROM
ANGEL EYES
BY SHANNON DITTEMORE

Dothan, Israel—2,500 years ago

T
he boy trembles. Fear wraps him tight, rattling his callow frame.

He sees an army arrived in the dead of night. He sees soldiers flooding the canyon floor, flanking them on every side. Cursing, spitting soldiers, here for his master. The boy sees horses fogging the morning air and chariots pulling men with bows. He sees spears with bronze tips and swords of iron glinting in the predawn light.

And he imagines.

He imagines his master hauled away in chains. He imagines his own blood glazing one of those swords. He imagines death.

Fear does that to the imagination.

“Master,” he asks, “what shall we do?”

The prophet wrestles silently with a truth. He knows things the boy does not. Sees things the boy can’t see.

He sees the enemy. Oh yes, he sees them. But he sees their forces surrounded. He sees an angelic army. Great winged men with swords of light and halos of gold. He sees them lining the mountains that hem together this canyon. He sees horses emerging from fiery skies and chariots with wheels of sunset cloud. He sees riders with bows drawn and arrows of flame fixed on their adversaries.

And he knows. He knows they’re here to protect him. To protect the boy.

Truth does that to the heart.

And the prophet knows this: There’s no room here for fear. Only truth.

The boy needs to know it. He needs to know there are things unseen, forces for good and for evil. He needs to know there are more fighting for them than for their enemies.

Day breaks over the horizon, and the prophet lifts up his voice. With a cry to rival the snorting horses and the irreverent soldiers, he prays for his servant.

“Lord, give him eyes that he might see.”

And God answers the prophet. By the hand of an angel and a halo of gold, he answers him.

And for the first time in his young life, the boy sees.

1

Brielle

T
he knot in my throat is constant. An aching thing. Shallow breaths whisper around it, sting my chapped lips, and leave white smoke monsters in the air.

It takes them nine seconds to disappear. Nine seconds for the phantoms I’ve created to dissolve into nothingness.

How long till the one haunting my dreams does the same?

The absence of an answer makes my hands shake, so I slide the lambskin gloves out of my book bag and put them on.

If only it were that easy.

Like glacial masses shoving along, ice travels my veins, chilling my skin and numbing my insides. Three weeks of this biting cold outstrips the severity of my nightmares, but I haven’t suffered enough and I know it.

“Miss, isn’t this your stop?” The man’s voice skates atop the frozen air.

I want to answer him, but the words don’t come. A single tear thaws, escapes the confines of my lashes, and races triumphantly down my cheek. It soaks into my knit scarf—an invisible trail marking its life.

“Miss?” he tries again. “We’re here. We’ve reached Stratus.”

My legs are stiff, refusing to stand. I just need a minute. I should say something at least—answer him—but the knot in my throat refuses to budge. I raise a gloved hand to wrestle it away.

“I’m sorry, dear, but the conductor is impatient today. If you don’t exit the train, you’ll have to ride back to Portland with us.”

I turn toward the aisle and look at the poor man. He’s sixty at least, with a tuft of gray hair and an oversized bow tie. The kind you only see in the movies. He, too, is wearing gloves, and it’s a small comfort to know I’m not the only one chilled. His face wrinkles into a million lines, and the corners of his mouth lift.

“Of course, if you’d like to return with the train, you’re more than welcome. I could use the company.” He gestures to row after row of empty seats.

“No,” I murmur, standing quickly. I cannot return with this train. Not now. Not to the place where it happened. “You’re right. This is my stop.” I gather my bags and sink deep into my parka before stepping onto the platform.

Why is everything so cold?

I wrap my scarf around my neck once more and think of Hank, a coworker of my dad’s, who climbs Mount Hood every year. He’s lost all the toes on his right foot to frostbite, and one year a companion fell on the south side of the peak and slid into a crevasse, sacrificed to the god of adrenaline. After losing so much, how can such a journey be worth it?

The train pulls away from the station. It’s empty now, but I stare after the steel snake as the heaviness of
good-bye
squirms
inside my chest, locked away in a cage of frozen bones and tissue. Will I ever thaw enough to say the word?