“Evers Zucastle, Gem Soarcastle…”
After squeezing through candidates, Gem approaches the ice, her swimsuit too small for her round shape. More than anyone else, the fabric cuts into her wide hips, shoulder straps digging into her soft flesh. If the swimsuit hurts, she never lets on. Confidence radiates off Gem as though she’s already victorious.
“Seifried Newcastle, Joi Plycastle.” My father lists the last two in quick succession. “Court Idlecastle and Wilafran Elcastle.”
* * *
All nine candidates and I clip metal bands around our ankles, chained in a circle to the ice. Feet numb the longer we stand. Everyone quakes and trembles but Mykal.
My breath smokes the air.
Suddenly, glassed walls rise and rise from the edges of the pool. I crane my neck, watching the glass meet the ceiling. Confining us like we’re in a room. The directors and other candidates observe us outside the enclosure.
Beside me, Mykal kicks a frozen strawberry, skidding across the surface. We were already informed that once the exam begins, the atmosphere will change. Low oxygen, higher levels of nitrogen, and zero gravity.
We’re told to hold our breath for as long as possible. In minutes, maybe even seconds, we could pass out.
Between all ten of us lies a single purple mask. One that will continuously supply oxygen. There’s only one other way to obtain oxygen. By our feet, each candidate has a box, bolted into the ice. As soon as you unclip the ankle bands, an oxygen mask will pop out.
The exam seems simple: First five candidates to unclip themselves will be expelled.
Once the atmosphere changes, there’s no incentive to share the purple oxygen mask. In my mind, whoever grabs it first will put everyone else at risk.
Franny mutters, “Gods be with us.”
“We have to rely on ourselves,” I remind her.
She shoots me a glare that fizzles into fear. She mumbles, “A hundred and thirteen.”
While the other candidates are frightened of being expelled, Franny is afraid she’ll die from nitrogen asphyxiation. A fact that I now regret pointing out to her.
They cannot die today, but we can. It’s just the harshest parts of our reality.
Franny chokes down acidic panic.
I must be caging breath again because Mykal grunts at me. Irritations spiking. Measured breaths, I tell myself. Measured breaths. And then our numb feet begin to lift off the ice. Zero gravity takes hold, our bodies weightless in the air like we’ve begun to fly.
Our chained ankles restrain some movement, but Evers laughs and somersaults. I fixate on the purple oxygen mask that floats with us along with the frozen fruit. A crystallized apple bumps into Franny’s ribs.
I wince, the cold like a knife.
Franny winces more and swats the apple away. The fruit sails toward Odell.
“Heya!” Odell swims in the air, dodging the apple.
Joi, the youngest candidate, flails and starts crying, auburn hair drifting wildly around her. Winrock pushes out his chest and makes a concerted effort not to rotate midair. Staying motionless like a statue.
Zimmer swings his head to each candidate, sizing us all up.
Ten of us are here and five will be expelled. I know all their names. I’ve seen their faces during seminars, classes, and simulations: Seifried, Odell, Gem, Joi, Zimmer, Winrock, and Evers. Then there’s the three of us.
“Candidates,” my father says. I can barely hear him from outside the glassed walls. “Hold your breath in three…”
I start to flip upside down, but I kick out to right myself.
“… two…”
“Don’t panic,” I tell Franny, her widened eyes darting every which way. “You’re fine. You’re fine.” But this is something that can’t be willed away by repeating one hundred and thirteen. This isn’t fear from a creaking ceiling or a violent winter storm. We are about to be deprived of oxygen.
“… one—”
I suck in a deep breath before closing my mouth. My lungs constrict and Franny squeezes her eyes shut. Black hair whirls around her face, freckled cheeks puffed out.
Joi’s big, frantic eyes aim for her box. She opens her mouth, inhaling nitrogen, and she clutches her throat before fumbling with the band on her ankle—beeeeeep.
A scarlet oxygen mask pops out of her box. The little girl swims through the air and catches the mask. In seconds, she fits it over her mouth and breathes deeply. Tears of regret spill from her eyes, the droplets sailing off.
Nine of us are left.
Mykal flips backward, coping with the lack of oxygen better than Franny—and even me. My throat is tight and what air remains in my lungs feels infinitesimal. Like it will disappear at any moment. Struggling, my heart beats violently in my chest.
Hurry. I reach for the purple oxygen mask, but it drifts much closer to Seifried. With the easiest stretch, he grasps it.
Frozen blueberries brush and prick my skin like bullets. Hold your breath.
After Seifried takes a breath from the mask, he passes it to the candidate on his left. Odell. I narrow my eyes, watching her devious expression take shape. How do I win? How do I end this quickly?
On the other side of Odell, Zimmer frantically extends his hand for the mask. Veins protrude in his neck as he loses oxygen. He starts to spin backward, the zero gravity disorienting him.
Odell yanks the mask out of his reach. Shaking her head, she returns the mask to her mouth.
Gods be damned.
Zimmer screams at the little girl, openmouthed and furious. He jerks forward, but Odell again leans back. I watch him lose air during his bout of rage. He wavers between Odell and his ankle cuff, seconds from quitting.
I thought I’d be relieved by him leaving StarDust. But all I envision is a future where Zimmer has lost incentive to keep Franny’s secret. He could easily and spitefully tell the StarDust directors that she’s a Fast-Tracker. She may trust him.
But I don’t.
I have no more time to think.
I just act.
Crouching down to my ankle, I unclip myself from the ice. Beeeeep. Lights flash around the enclosure, indicating that I’ve quit.
I haven’t. Not yet. I convince myself of these lies. And I don’t touch my scarlet mask that floats out of my box.
I swim through the air toward Odell as she clutches the mask to her mouth. She shrieks at me, eyes widened in horror as I near.
Woozy, I fight my eyelids that try to drop, my head that tries to be heavy. I curl my fingers around the mask, stronger than this little girl of ten years. I forcefully tug and rip the mask off Odell.
Instantly, in her hysteria, she gasps and gasps, lungfuls of nitrogen. Aching for air. She feverishly reaches for her ankle. And Odell unclips herself, greedily placing her scarlet emergency mask to her lips.
My body protests, maddeningly dizzy, all air gone, and I try desperately not to take nitrogen into my lungs. But I see Zimmer’s fingers descend to his ankle chain, and I veer toward him quickly, tossing the mask in a soaring arc.
He catches it and confusion morphs his face. But he doesn’t hesitate. Zimmer takes a long deep breath before he returns it to me.
I press the purple mask to my face, and I inhale strongly, my splitting lungs grateful for each breath. It doesn’t calm my panic, which I begin to realize belongs to Franny.
Eyes still tightened closed, she doesn’t see what’s happening, but her fear remains. Suffocating. Dying. Here.
I slice through air to reach Franny, and I place my hand to her cheek. As the link heightens by the touch—her sense in clear focus—my stomach knots and coils, frightened to the bone. Tears leak from the tightened corners of her eyes. Droplets drifting midair.
I rest the mask against her mouth. Franny instinctively breathes and then I hand the mask to Mykal. He fits it over his mouth with trembling hands. His face reddened, neck muscles taut.
So quickly, one of us could hyperventilate and pass out. Die. Both of them struggle. I st
ruggle. This isn’t simple or easy with the link. Their panic is mine. Mine theirs.
All I can think is, This needs to end now.
Evers and Winrock fight for oxygen, but they both have begun pinching their nostrils closed, determination gripping their faces. They know they won’t die here and so their resolve is unparalleled.
I make a decision that ices over the last warmth inside me.
I remain unchained, and with a kick against the glass wall, I propel myself toward Evers. His distrust mounts higher and higher the closer I near. Then I aim for his ankle.
He doesn’t process what I’ve done until my fingers unclip him. Lights flash around us.
Evers screams, face paling and eyes heaving. Focus lost and desperate for air, he seizes his scarlet emergency mask and sucks in oxygen.
Zimmer, Seifried, Winrock, and Gem are left. Two have to go.
End this.
I will.
My lungs tighten with each stroke toward the blond girl, my energy being used on swimming through zero gravity rather than caging oxygen. Despite the pain and the incoming cherries and rare peaches that scald my skin, I’m hollowed out like a bottomless pool.
I grab Gem’s ankle cuff. She tries to shove me while concentrating on breathing. Weak effort. The second I’m about to unclip Gem, she rams her knee into my chin.
My teeth batter together and Franny’s eyes snap open.
I force my lips shut, but my brain rattles, lightened. I need air. Mykal and Franny ingest enough from the mask, but they can’t physically give me oxygen.
The moment my fingers skim Gem’s ankle cuff again, my insides light up in panic. I feel Franny fully. She jerks against her chain, trying to slice through the air, like she means to come toward me. The metal band digs at her ankle, restraining her body.
Alarm mounts and mounts and mounts until I have to back away. Franny eases for a second, her body going still.
I don’t question her emotions. I float away from Gem and unclip Winrock, his face painfully reddened. I expect him to fight me. I expect him to grab my shoulders and try to knock my head against the glass wall.
But his bloodshot eyes just rip into me like serrated knives, full of unbridled hatred. Even as he grabs his scarlet mask and gulps air.
Last one.
I swerve to the freckled boy. Seifried.
His little hands try desperately to shove me away, but he’s small and young and fragile. And I’m too numb to care.
I can’t even think of an apology. I do what needs to be done.
It has to be this way. I unclip Seifried. He fights me for a second, grabbing at my arms. I push him with the flat of my palm, and before he ingests nitrogen, he finds his emergency mask and pushes it against his mouth.
Beeeeeep.
Suddenly, gravity returns and gently lowers all of us to the ice. Oxygen filters into the enclosure and I’m on my knees. I choke for air. Coughing hoarsely while the glassed walls groan on their descent.
My ears ring, candidates shout over one another. I rub the frost residue off my face and brows. My eyelashes crystallized.
The walls disappear completely. I just stare at the ice beneath my knees.
“He should be disqualified!” Evers yells to the StarDust directors.
Winrock chimes in, “I was forcibly unclipped by a madman!”
“Shhh,” someone chastises.
I breathe so heavily that my ribs jut in and out.
“This is undignified and unfair!” Winrock exclaims.
I turn my head to meet Franny’s darkened scowl and Mykal’s hostility. For a moment, I believe they’re meant for me, but they direct their riled emotions at the candidates.
“Disqualify him!”
I flinch.
“Please, be calm. We need time to review what happened,” Amelda says hurriedly. “We’ll have a decision later today. Thank you for your patience.”
Slowly, I pick my inked and scarred body off the ice. The remaining candidates gape at me, shock and horror emblazoned in every wide eye.
TWENTY-NINE
Mykal
Hours ago, Tauris announced that Court showed an uncharacteristic amount of selflessness by saving Zimmer, but also a heaping dose of ambition by unclipping other candidates.
Two qualities StarDust apparently admires for a team.
More than that, he never used his emergency mask. Meaning he never disqualified himself like the others wished he had.
Tauris ended the speech with, “The remaining fifty of you may relax in the city tonight. Remember secrecy and do not mention StarDust or your affiliation with the Saga 5 Mission.”
So we did just that.
Fortmont Tavern is louder than three hells. Court said he had special “criteria” for our hangout spot, and the dank, boisterous tavern fit his three standards.
One: filled to the brim.
Two: housing Influentials and Fast-Trackers alike.
Three: playing iceling on the lone, fuzzy television. (Though he won’t admit that one, but his attention wanders to the aired game nearby.)
I wait for the bartender to slide over three mugs of ale. And I grunt at a damned Fast-Tracker that pokes my arm for no other reason than to feel my muscle. “If you pester me once more, I’ll be launching my boot up your ass.”
The boy snorts. Then jabs a finger again.
Gods bless. I hate everyone.
Thankfully I collect the mugs before my temper boils over and I return to a rickety corner table where Court and Franny sit.
“I swear to the gods I heard the ceiling crack,” Franny says to Court, not very hushed, but commotion from rowdy Fast-Trackers and talkative Influentials grants enough privacy.
I look up. The ceiling is a bit stained, but our flat in Bartholo appeared much worse, and the tavern’s leafy green wallpaper is in perfect condition.
“You heard the ceiling?” Court is disbelieving. “I can barely hear my own voice.”
True. I plop in a chair between them and dish out the mugs.
“Maybe my hearing is greater than yours?” Franny recoils at nothing in particular, eyes pinging to the wall. A pang of nauseous fear roils in her stomach. “I hate this.”
“You’re safe,” I say. Ever since we left the iced pool, Franny has been jumpy, and her little “one hundred and thirteen” trick is working less than usual.
I strain my ears to catch her muttered words. “I don’t feel safe.”
My bones hurt to hear that, but more so to feel the truth of her statement. I sense how badly she wishes this world didn’t scare every bit of her. I have no answers to give, so I elbow her side and nod to her ale.
With a tight breath, Franny cups her hands around the mug.
Court is gripping his ale so firmly that my own knuckles ache. He’s been as unbending and rigid as ever.
I cut our thickening silence. “Should I be calling you Court Idlefall from now on?” He rolls his eyes while I add, “You’re the luckiest gods-damn person in all of Altia, you realize.” With so many candidates hollering for Court’s expulsion, Tauris could’ve easily sided with them.
“It wasn’t luck.” Court’s grim grays look humorless tonight.
Franny raises her brows and teases, “Is succeeding considered bad luck in your eyes?”
“That sounds just like our Court.” I clink mugs with Franny and she flinches a bit but takes a swig to wash away the trepidation.
Court groans out, “Shut up.” But his lip tries painfully to tic upward. I scoot closer to Court and tap his cheek twice.
His lips twitch.
Almost a smile, little crook.
I can’t stifle a bright grin that nearly overtakes my mouth. I hold his jaw for a long beat before dropping my hand to his knee.
His heart skips. “It was coincidence,” Court tells us, clearing his throat. “Nothing more.”
I follow his gaze to the television again. At first I was surprised by a television in a tavern, but Yamafort’s electricity has o
utshined Bartholo. Lights remain lit in buildings much longer here. Sometimes I wait for a power outage like the Bartholo shops endure, but none ever arrive in Yamafort.
Most Fast-Trackers play table games toward the farthest back corner, and Influentials flock around the high-top wooden tables, drinking wine and ale. Some Influentials and FTs chat together by the iceling game.
“Is that girl waving at you?” Franny asks Court.
By the bar, a lady most surely waves at Court. Glittering sapphire jewels weigh down her ears and cover her whole collar.
I squint and tilt my head. “Maybe she’s confused.”
“No,” Court says, “she’s familiar.”
“How so?”
“The black curls,” Franny says with a sip of ale. “I remember her too. I think she’s from … you-know-where.” StarDust.
My chair creaks as I lean back. “How’d someone find us?”
Court releases his grip on his mug. “We’re only five blocks from you-know-where. She could’ve checked multiple restaurants or parlors before stumbling on this one.”
A fleeting smile from Franny touches my lips. Court used her phrase without hesitation, even if it’s not proper sounding. We all latch our focus on the StarDust candidate.
After the lady snatches a goblet of wine, she sidles up to our table. I rest my feet on the free chair. Not letting her grow comfortable.
She frowns at my unwelcome but remains standing. “Heya,” she greets to Court only. “I’m Trix Nortacastle.” Stretching out a hand to Court, he reluctantly shakes it.
Trix gloats as though he invited her to a grand ball. “I know that you know me. I know you, and I think it’s best if I join your alliance.” A what? “My family owns Maranil’s Jewel Emporium and all the jewels in Altia are outsourced from us.” Her rouge-painted nails skim her necklace. “A strand of sapphires is worth over twenty thousand bills.”
Even I can see that she’s bribing him with jewels. For something called an alliance—I don’t like the sound of that word. Alliance. All I imagine is a baby alligator.
“Why do you want an alliance with me?” Court asks, deepening my confusion.
The Raging Ones Page 27
