“Where do you figure they went?” Darius asks, looking out the window.
Just then, the train begins to move, but we go only a short distance before we stop again. I join Darius at the window, peering out through a gray film to search for a station. All I see is blowing sand.
A minute or so later, the door opens and our host returns, accompanied by a woman and a man. Neither of them is familiar. The man is maybe mid-twenties, dressed in a sleeveless tunic, and one glance tells me he likes to lift weights. A lot. I can’t help but wonder if he’s been brought in to discourage me from trying to fight my way out of here.
The woman is older, probably in her forties. Her dark brown hair, tightly pulled back from her face, is sleek and smooth. She has not been outside in the wind, that’s for certain.
The woman calls me by my name, but it doesn’t sound friendly. It sounds intimidating. “I’m Michaela. Please come with me,” she says. “Darius, you can stay here with Joseph.”
Joseph must be the name of the muscle. It’s not our host, because he leads me and Michaela through the car, unlocking the door and showing us into a wood-paneled passenger compartment filled with rows of empty seats. Then our host goes out without a word.
“So what’s this about?” I ask. I can sense curiosity in this woman. Curiosity and protectiveness.
“Please,” she says. “Sit.”
“I’d rather stand. I’m in a hurry.”
“That’s quite obvious,” the woman says, and I think she’s laughing at me.
“I’m in a race,” I snap. “I don’t have time to sit around and chat.”
“Humor me,” she says, leaning toward me and speaking quietly, like she’s my confidante. Her makeup is discreet and perfectly applied. I’m suddenly keenly aware of the patches of oil on my face and the circles of sweat under my arms. “I want to help you, I do. But first I need you to answer some questions for me. I . . . like you . . . have Cientia. It’s my job to determine if you can be trusted. Joseph is interviewing the other racer. When you pass—assuming you do pass—I’ll answer your questions.”
“You’ll help me get to Falling Leaf?”
“If that’s still what you want.”
“Then let’s get started,” I say.
She smiles. “So, you have Cientia?” she says, when I finally drop down onto the closest padded bench. “You can feel other people’s feelings? Anticipate their intentions?”
I surprise myself. I tell the truth. “Yes,” I say.
Her smile broadens, but then she turns her back to me. For a moment I think she’s going to leave, but she starts pacing up and down the aisle between the rows of seats, asking questions quickly while she walks.
How do you feel about the Enchanted?
Do you believe all Outsiders should have full citizenship?
Do you believe Outsiders should live separately from the Enchanted?
This last one takes me off guard. “Separately? Like if part of Lanoria could be set apart just for Outsiders?”
“Yes.”
“It seems to me like equality and full citizenship alongside the Enchanted would make the most sense.” I pause. “But that’s a first impression, really.”
“How long have you had Cientia?”
“I’ve no idea.”
“And that’s because you’re a competitor in the Race of Oblivion?”
She stops pacing right in front of me.
“Yes.”
“And what do you remember from your life before the race? Anything?”
“Just that my name is Astrid, but I only know that because it was written on the map to the first clue. I don’t even know my last name, though today I learned that it might be Jael.”
“Jael? Like Jayden Jael?”
“What?” The face of the boy who gave me the canteen leaps to my mind, and I can taste the poison in my mouth. Like his, this woman’s face is well fed. She’s even an Enchanted. I’ve trusted her with too much. “Why do you ask that? Who is Jayden Jael?”
“Never mind. It’s a complicated answer.”
“So you get to ask me questions, but I can’t ask you any?”
“You can ask questions. Just not that one.”
I hesitate a moment. “All right, how’s this one. Does your Cientia perceive emotions as scents?”
“What?”
“I . . . Maybe that’s a strange question, but I just wondered if that’s how it works for everyone. For me, sometimes it’s a scent. Sometimes a change in temperature.”
I feel her relax a bit . . . a warming. “I can’t speak for everyone, but that’s how it works for me, too. Scents. Sometimes a taste in my mouth.”
I laugh before I can stifle it. “Taste? That must be awful.”
“Sometimes.” Her comm buzzes. She gives it the briefest of glances. “They’re ready for us,” she says.
“One quick question more,” I blurt, but she’s already leading me toward the door. “If someone has one, or even two, of the Three Unities, does that mean they might have all three?”
She slows her steps and looks me hard in the eyes. “Cientia is common, as you know. Projectura and Pontium, not so much. So if you can use two”—she holds my gaze, but she doesn’t ask the obvious question—“you may very well be able to use all—”
The door opens from the other side. It’s our host. “Ready?” he asks.
Michaela smiles and nods, but she cuts off her answer to me. We follow him back to the regally decorated train car where we’d left Darius and Joseph, but only Darius remains.
“Where’s Joseph?” Michaela asks.
“He had to go back,” says our host. “Hearts and Hands match, he said.”
My gaze shifts from one to the other, and then I squint out the window. Where is there to go? What Hearts and Hands match is held in the middle of the Black Desert? “He wanted me to tell you Darius passed with flying colors.”
“Excellent. So did Astrid,” Michaela says. She grins at me, and if she was laughing at me before, she isn’t anymore. “Congratulations,” she says, and I feel her sincerity. It’s strangely charming.
“Does that mean you’ll take us to Falling Leaf now?” I ask.
“It means you’ve qualified for an invitation into the Third Way.”
“The Third Way?” Darius says, and his voice tells me he’s as surprised as I am. “Is that what this is?” He looks around, as if he is just seeing the room around him for the first time.
“This train, you mean? Oh no, my dear. This train is nothing compared to the Third Way. You’ll see.”
She leads us back into the engineer’s compartment, our host right behind us. The floor behind the controls has been pulled up like a trapdoor. Beneath it, a ladder drops down into a hole in the ground.
“No way,” I say, as Michaela steps aside as if to let me climb down.
“Just because we’ve earned your trust, that doesn’t mean you’ve earned ours,” says Darius, and I realize that as much as I don’t trust him, I trust him way more than I trust these two.
“You haven’t even told us your name,” I say to our host. “I’m not crawling into a hole in the ground just because you tell me to. I need to continue the race.” I hear a whine of frustration in my own voice, but I honestly don’t care. I’m done with this. “If you won’t take me to Falling Leaf, then let me off the train,” I say, hoping I don’t live to regret this. “I’m not interested in joining the Third Way. I’m interested in winning the Race of Oblivion. And I’m going to win—”
“You are just as delusional as ever, Astrid,” snaps our host. “You think having Cientia makes you so special. So much better than everyone else. Well, prove it. There’s a Hearts and Hands tournament going on right now in the Heart of the Desert. Show me that you can beat one Enchanted at Hearts and Hands—just one—and I’ll take this train right to Falling Leaf. But you have to win.”
I am far from certain I can beat an Enchanted at Hearts and Hands. I’m far from certain I can
get through a match without a serious injury that could jeopardize my chances in the race. But I nod. The truth is, I’ve been feeling ready to fight, and if this is what I have to do to get a train ride to the next checkpoint, then it has to be done.
I shoot a glance at Darius, but he doesn’t see it. He’s staring at our host, who has just made me an offer I’m sure he envies.
“When’s the earliest this match can happen?” I ask. “Because I’m in a hurry to get on my way.”
Our nameless host crosses in front of me to the ladder and gestures for me to start climbing. “Now is as good a time as any,” he says.
Twenty-Two
At the bottom of the ladder, I find myself in a dimly lit hallway. It looks deserted, but I hear voices coming from far away. Once all four of us are down, Michaela leads us toward the source of the sound. The quality of the light changes. The walls brighten. I hear laughter and music and children shouting. Finally, the ceiling comes to an end and we are outside. The passageway opens on a town square. A waterway runs through it—a canal with a path on each side. A footbridge covered in a fresh coat of forest-green paint leads to the far bank, where a narrow street is lined with shops and cafés.
Looking up, I see the open sky.
“It’s not what you think,” Michaela says. “We’ve managed to duplicate the outdoors quite convincingly. It’s difficult to live underground year-round, so we make it look and feel as much like the world above as possible.”
I can’t drag my eyes from the false clouds, moving across the false sky. “Unbelievable,” I say.
“If we’re underground, how can there be a stream like this?” Darius asks.
“A buried aqueduct runs beneath the railroad tracks, carrying water directly from an underground source to the water supply of the King’s City. We’ve tapped into it and we siphon off what we need. It’s the source of all the water for this compound.”
“This compound?” Darius echoes.
“We call this place the Heart of the Desert. It’s a safe haven where Outsiders can escape persecution from the Enchanted Authority. In the Heart of the Desert, an Enchanted has no power over an Outsider. We’re a fully integrated society.”
I turn in place. The square is bustling, crowded with mothers and toddlers, teenagers hanging out in sidewalk cafés, people walking their dogs. It doesn’t seem possible that this is the notorious Third Way.
“But the Third Way was eradicated—”
“Many of us died when our original settlement was attacked by the Authority. But not all of us. Those who survived . . . well, we literally went underground.”
Michaela smiles, and I’m reminded of all the questions she grilled me with on the train, all about my attitudes. These people lost everything once. They would lose everything again if this place were to be discovered by the wrong people.
Our host meets my eye, and I begin to understand the reason I felt so much protectiveness in him and the others on the train.
Michaela leads us off the square down a passageway lined with doors, and the illusion of being outside is broken. “These are living units. Apartments.” We turn another corner and the passageway widens and brightens. The walls of this hallway—hardly a hallway, really, it’s as wide as a city block—are covered in murals, painted to look like a park. On either side we’re flanked by images of shade trees, a garden in full bloom, a playground overrun by children. “We’re coming up on the entertainment hub,” Michaela says. “The Hearts and Hands tournament is being held at the community gym.”
I can hear the sounds of a match in full swing—cheers and shouts and groans. Then more cheers again. The gym can’t be far.
“We saw part of a tournament at a roadhouse, just yesterday,” I say.
“Hearts and Hands is just as popular here as it is on the surface,” says our host from the train. “Maybe more so.”
“But only among the Enchanted, right?” I start, knowing I have to get my question out while I have time. “What I mean is . . . have you ever met an Outsider with magic before? Other than me?”
Michaela purses her lips before she says, “No. I’ve heard rumors of others, children who weren’t inoculated, but as I say, those are rumors—”
“What happened to them?”
“Again . . . it’s only rumors. I’ve heard of the Enchanted Authority learning of such children. . . .”
“And?”
“And taking them away.”
There’s a doorway up ahead. It’s clogged with people watching what’s happening inside. Two young boys are trying to see between them, but the grown-ups won’t yield an inch.
“Taking them where? What happened to these children?”
“No one knows.” Michaela stops walking, and I stop, too. She turns and looks at me, and she wears an expression like she’s a doctor who’s just told me I’m dying. “But like I said. Those are only rumors.”
I think she expects her words to scare me, but I’m no more scared than I’ve ever been. If anything, I’m more angry.
More impatient to fight this match and get on with this race.
We’ve reached the open door to the gym, and Michaela must have some authority around here, because people slide out of the way to let us pass. The main stage is surrounded by spectators—Outsiders and Enchanteds, men and women, young and old. They are as excited as fleas awaiting a fat dog. “They must be expecting a popular fighter,” Michaela whispers to me and Darius. I think of Joseph from the train. I hope I’m not going to be expected to battle him. Our host steps past us and climbs right up onto the stage, and the rowdy crowd calms. All eyes turn to him.
“Welcome! Friends . . . and visitors,” he says. His gaze alights on my face. I am reminded of one of my earliest assessments of him: that he has too much swagger. “We have a few guests with us today. Racers, in fact.” He’s a good talker, this nameless man who knows me from before the race. I wish I’d learned more about what he remembers of me before I had to step onto that stage. I wish I knew more of my own strengths and weaknesses. “Ah, friends! Believe me—what an excellent fighter this young Outsider is. But alas, she’s in the race. I doubt she will live long enough to continue her fighting career.”
The onlookers jostle each other, everyone trying to get a look at me, and I feel like a racehorse being paraded in front of investors. A buzz spreads through the crowd.
“I propose . . .” The crowd quiets. In the sudden silence I can hear my heart beating. A cloud of anticipation billows toward the stage. “That you, young racer, fight a real contender. Someone with skill. At stake . . .” His eyes sweep the faces of the people gathered at his feet.
“Enough drama,” I shout over their heads. This is all for the crowd, since I already know what’s at stake. “Just spit it out.”
His eyes—cold and black—bore into me from beneath his heavy brows. “Patience.” He steps toward me. His emotions are dark—I’ve angered him. He’s putting on a show, and he does not like to be upstaged. “I will offer you passage to the next checkpoint aboard my private train, if you can defeat the Heart of the Desert’s champion fighter.”
The champion? We never agreed that I would fight the champion, just one fighter. But looking up at him on the stage—his cunning grin, like he’s outsmarted me—I see what he’s done. He’s found a way to ensure I can’t win. Maybe to ensure I don’t fight at all.
But I won’t have it. I’m not backing down. I said I would fight, and I will. My future in the Race of Oblivion is at stake, and I won’t be beaten without even trying. I turn to Michaela. “You’ll stop it if it gets too bad, right?” I ask her. “I need to be able to walk out of here. Even if I lose, I’m continuing the race.”
The sound of the crowd is a low simmer, just waiting to boil over. Everyone’s watching me. Waiting for me to respond. “You don’t have to do this, Astrid,” Michaela murmurs to me. “You can just stay here. Drop out of the race—”
“I’m not a quitter,” I say, though I’m not sure where
this comes from. I think of the scabs on my back. The older scars underneath. “I’m strong,” I say, and I know this is true. After all, I entered this brutal race. “I’m much stronger than I look.” I hand my coat and bag to Darius and climb onto the stage.
The crowd erupts. Everyone has an opinion, it seems, and everyone needs to place a bet. If the fans at the roadhouse were hungry for a fight, these are just as voracious. The people of the Third Way may be more peaceful, but they clearly still love blood sport.
I swallow. My throat is tight. I’m sure I’ve made a mistake.
Darius looks up at me but then his eyes change focus, and I am gripped by the sickening realization that he’s seeing me as I was in his memory. It feels violating, like he’s rifling through my pockets. But then he steps close to the stage. “You’ve got this!” he calls out loud enough to be heard. “This champion doesn’t have a chance.”
Then I’m moving, because Michaela is onstage now. She has my arm and she’s gently leading me to the center of a painted circle. I’m suddenly acutely aware of my clothing. A short dress and sandals are not the best choice for fighting. “Would I be allowed to fight barefoot?” I ask.
“Of course,” Michaela answers.
“You can fight naked if you like,” a man’s voice says from the opposite side of the stage. “It won’t make a difference to me.”
I spin to face this heckler, ready to explode into a speech about respect. But then I realize the voice is that of my opponent, and he wasn’t speaking sarcastically.
He was speaking literally.
My gaze goes right to the empty sockets where his eyes should be. Judging by the scars that remain, I’d guess that he was born with eyes and they were taken from him violently. Still, even without vision, he strides toward me as if he is staring right at me, stopping in just the right place.
“Frightened? You should be.” He’s broad and tall, and I need not wonder about his build—perhaps he doesn’t care if I fight naked because he’s halfway there himself. From the waist down, he wears only a pair of pants cut off at the thighs. From the waist up, a sleeveless tunic that’s so tight I can see the taut muscles of his stomach.
Crown of Oblivion Page 17
