The Raging Ones

by Krista Ritchie

  2: Listing a card from a candidate who has already been expelled.

  3: Listing a card that does not exist.

  And lastly, if you shared your card with many others, here is your disadvantage: the candidates whose words are most frequently written will be expelled.

  I mutter, “‘After writing your three words and your name at the top of the paper, slip your answers into the slit of the box.’”

  My pulse races as I uncap the pen and procure one sheet of paper. I wish we could’ve discussed this with one another beforehand, but I guess that’s the point.

  I scribble Wilafran Elcastle at the top and then list the two words that I’m sure are true.

  Tree.

  Icicle.

  Tapping my pen, I worry a little that if all three of us write Zimmer’s word, he’ll be gone. We have no way of gauging what frequent means. Frequent could be as much as a word appearing ten times to as little as two.

  I have to leave icicle because I won’t risk writing Court or Mykal’s word. I add my own at the bottom.

  Bear.

  Folding the paper and depositing it into the box, I’m about to return to the hallway, but Amelda appears at the kitchen door.

  “This way,” she calls.

  She ushers me through StarDust’s kitchen, out another hallway, and then into the main classroom auditorium. Eight other candidates already wait here. Winded from my nerves, I thud onto a front-row velveteen seat and turn my head.

  Several chairs from mine, Kinden sits poised and confident, arm stretched, heel kicked up leisurely on his thigh. He checks his wristwatch.

  His nonchalance could be a front, but then again, on the night of the vandalized statues, Kinden never hid his frustrations. He shut down whispers and side-glances left and right. Candidates theorized that Kinden and Tauris were being targeted for Etian’s wrongdoings, but only we know the truth.

  Too curious, I have to ask Court’s brother about the exam. “You aren’t worried at all?”

  “No.” Before I question why not, he adds, “Because I never shared my indigo card with anyone.”

  I sink in my seat and wonder just how many other candidates sheltered their own cards.

  * * *

  “Listen closely,” Tauris says, paper in hand. The rest of the StarDust directors line the auditorium stage beside him. Beaming, Amelda clutches a glass bowl with triangular emblem pins.

  What I’ve deduced: every candidate believes they’ve made the final thirty. It worries me. I’m somewhat comfortable knowing that Court, Mykal, and I each jotted down icicle, tree, and our own words. But I don’t like how candidates smile. They’re elated, happy before the results are even announced.

  Twenty candidates are about to leave StarDust stunned. If I could speak to the gods now, I’d tell them that I may botch everything in time—and I may not be the worthiest or most deserving—but I’ll put my whole heart into my future. Just guide all three of us through StarDust so we’ll have the chance to be free.

  Tauris continues, “If we expel you, please exit. If you’ve made the final thirty, remain seated. These cuts will be quick.” He unfurls his paper. “No one listed a card that was stolen or a card from a candidate that has previously been expelled. However, eighteen candidates listed a card that does not exist. All eighteen will be leaving—”

  Chatter explodes, drowning out Tauris.

  My face starts contorting. Court goes rigid and Mykal cranes his neck over his shoulder, searching furiously for Zimmer.

  I bristle at the thought of being betrayed by him. I’m all right with looking like a chump, but I trusted him above Mykal and Court. I vouched for Zimmer.

  Now I’m questioning everything.

  I question his glimpse of my journal. Zimmer mentioned that he lacks my kind of remorse, so maybe he could ruin our chances without batting an eye. Too sick to my stomach to even search for him in the auditorium, I cross my arms and listen to the StarDust directors quiet the flustered candidates.

  “This is as hard for us as it is for you,” Tauris says loudly and sincerely, no microphone needed. All fifty of us congregate in the front rows. “We can’t alter the exam, so the results stand. If you’re expelled, please be courteous and respectful.” With another deep breath he begins reading the names of all eighteen candidates who must leave.

  Bodies pop up from chairs, fuming. Crying. Some shuffle out without another word, but the majority stay standing.

  Tauris reaches the end, “Gef Zucastle, and lastly, Trix Nortacastle.”

  We’re safe for now. I let out an even larger breath. Zimmer showed us his real card after all. In the group, I spot him biting his thumbnail. He’s nervous about his own chances.

  After the results settle, the air thins.

  Trix, the girl who tried to bribe Court with jewels, speaks out. “My words were not fake.” Her voice is rushed and upset. “I would’ve known. I had everyone show me a card.”

  Amelda takes a step forward. “I apologize, but the word goat does not exist.”

  Every standing candidate casts a scathing glare at someone seated. I pop up slightly to see their hatred directed straight toward Padgett Soarcastle. Dressed in the prettiest raspberry-colored gown, collar made of tawny fur, she sits casually, fingers to her lips.

  Gem glows in satisfaction beside her older sister, chin upward. Smile expanding. Proud.

  They’re both so proud of their achievements.

  “What card did you show me then?” Trix accuses.

  Padgett unclasps a velvet purse and flashes an indigo card. From my view, the goat with gray and white paint splatters definitely looks real.

  “I made this card,” Padgett tells the candidates. “Gem did the lettering.”

  “I did.” Gem crosses her ankles.

  Groans of defeat ring out, followed by incensed shouting. Tauris has to usher two lingering candidates through the exit.

  Amelda addresses us, “Only two more candidates will be expelled. The first candidate that I call had their word written twenty-two times.”

  Most mutter, “Gods.”

  “The second and last candidate sadly leaving us had their word written four times.”

  Zimmer. We lock eyes and he shrugs at me like What happens will happen. Most would say that it was impossible for a Fast-Tracker to reach this far. If others could see and hold and feel the truth, they’d realize our perceptions are not the entire sum of a person.

  That we are all more than a word.

  He’s a smart Fast-Tracker. As brilliant as any Influential. If this is our last time together, I’m glad to have known him.

  Tauris exchanges the paper for the bowl of pins that Amelda is holding.

  “Oh and the rest of you…,” Amelda says. “Your words were written three times or less. So you’re the thirty that will be hired for a position at StarDust and you’ll be eligible for the Saga 5 Mission. But I’m jumping ahead.” With a big breath, Amelda pulls back her shoulders. “Raina Nearfall, I apologize, but you’re no longer with us.”

  Raina shoots up from her seat, cheeks blotchy red. “I hope you know,” she fumes to all the directors on stage, “that Wilafran Elcastle can’t be trusted. She did this to me.” Raina jabs a finger my way and I don’t shrink.

  I glower and sit straighter.

  “Oh please,” Gem says. “You’re just upset that she outsmarted you.”

  Raina lets out a high-pitched noise, and her father, a StarDust director, leads her out of the auditorium. I bet he hates me as much as she does.

  Mykal mutters under his breath, something about defeating a mountain lion. Court breathes a little easier. I guess we made the final thirty already and I should celebrate now. A lump sticks to my throat. I can’t smile yet.

  Amelda waves the paper. “Last candidate to be expelled.”

  Zimmer clutches his armrests like he’s ready to push himself to his feet.

  And Amelda announces, “Zori Daycastle.” While the young woman retreats, Zimmer fall
s into his chair and laughs once, surprised.

  “We made it.” Mykal elbows my arm.

  I elbow back. “We did.” My lips rise with his, but Court is still grim. Right as candidates begin to cheer, Tauris raises his hand.

  Shushing us.

  “The thirty of you,” Tauris says, “will carry the secrets of StarDust. What we are about to say, very few in this world will ever know. While you have achieved what a thousand before you could not, this isn’t a time to celebrate.”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  Mykal

  There is no true ceremony or banquet or any sort of lavish Influential ball. No one places crowns of river reeds or gold upon our heads. They pin an itty-bitty StarDust emblem to our collars and tell us to follow them down the hall.

  No celebrations, they say.

  I’ve been complying all right, but I’d like to cheer.

  I, Mykal Kickfall—the no good, useless Babe—have been hired by StarDust. I want to imagine a river wreath nestled in my hair. Rugged winter wind stroking my cheeks.

  Smiling because I never ruined Court or Franny’s chances. Then I’d like to take a pause and thank the gods. To sing songs of valor and victory. To feel wholeheartedly proud for one final moment.

  But I have no time for fantasies. The Saga 5 Mission is in arm’s reach now and Court would be the first to say that’s all that matters.

  StarDust directors guide us through a narrow hallway I’ve never walked. Then to a door I’ve never seen. We slip inside a pitch-black room that shadows everyone in pure darkness.

  The door bangs closed and Franny twitches, fear of death like needles pricking my neck.

  Sensing her presence nearby, I grab hold of her hand and squeeze. She squeezes more fiercely. Court is behind me. I’m sure of it. Before I reach, he plants his firm hands on my shoulders.

  Candidates murmur about the “spookiness” of the room and their chills. In Grenpale, children are teased for being frightened of the dark. But I understand the fear all right. Anything can attack, and if you’re not alert, it’ll be injuring you before you injure it.

  In our case, it could kill us.

  Suddenly and noiselessly, an orblike device glows in the very center of the dark room. A luminous white light bathes Tauris. His hand skimming the iridescent surface.

  In a sharp blast, the orb projects tiny flashing lights against the walls. Even the air. And they touch the faces of the candidates, their bodies …

  I glance at my palms and then jerk back into Court’s chest. These fluttering lights blink midair and on my skin like a living pest. I scrub at my arms.

  Court seizes my wrist. He holds the back of my head to whisper, “It’s an illusion.” An illusion?

  Franny must understand that too. She stands awed, not fearful. As I calm, I start to recognize these shining twinkles from textbooks.

  They’re stars. The kind only seen in space.

  Candidates gasp in wonder as the stars spin and dance and float. I question whether we’ve been transported to another galaxy.

  “What sort of illusion?” I whisper to Court.

  “A hologram.”

  Thinking I heard him wrong, I ask again, but he repeats the same word. “I thought you said they were gone.” Extinct. Along with phones and other technologies.

  “They are … were…” His mouth turns down, the beauty of the stars blanketing his grave face. “StarDust has more tech than any other place. It’s not a surprise.”

  I dunno. “Tell that to everyone else,” I mutter. Candidates start pointing at the hologram, whispering eagerly, and Gem crouches near the orb like she yearns to discover its mechanisms.

  Franny has lost a bit of the glimmer, brows bunched, thinking hard.

  “Our history is remarkable.” Tauris’s voice silences the chatter. “It is also fraught.” Tauris skims his palm over the orb. The hologram stars recede into the device.

  Another hand motion and a spherical globe appears, airborne and engulfing the room.

  Translucent light shimmers to form iced rivulets, jagged mountains, and woolen clouds over thick lilac smoke. Snow white and purple.

  “This is our world,” Tauris says. “Saltare-3.” The globe rotates and then shrinks as the universe expands. “And these are our sister planets.” Sun glowing in the farthermost left corner, planets scatter in a descending diagonal. Our Saltare-3 lies low, near the right floorboards.

  I squint more. Textbooks are gray, no colored pictures, so surprise strikes me at the sight of our sister planets shaded in different colors: yellows, greens, blues, oranges, and Saltare-5 is deep red.

  “You must be wondering,” Tauris continues, “how did StarDust acquire the starcraft and all of this advanced technology?”

  No one nods vigorously but me. So I stop myself, neck roasting. I’m sure they share my feelings, but they’re just too proud to display that emotion.

  Tauris places a hand on the orb. The hologram zooms to the largest planet of the five, robust greens and blues melding together.

  “Saltare-1,” Kinden says aloud, but he shifts his weight, questions riddling his features. I suppose his father never muttered these secrets to him. He’s as unaware as us.

  “Yes.” Tauris gazes at the hologram. “When our people landed on Saltare-3, StarDust has had one purpose: maintain contact with our sister planets. This hologram is a gift from Saltare-1.”

  A few candidates groan. More than several start fuming. Chatting angrily.

  I have no ill will toward a planet I know nothing about. I never even heard of Saltare-1 until StarDust.

  “We don’t need or want their gifts,” someone says.

  “Saltare-3 has thrived on its own.”

  “Return the hologram,” Kinden declares.

  “Yes!” a huge number of people advocate.

  Court is watching the StarDust directors who line the wall. All of them appear uneasy, throats bobbing, wiping sweat off their brows.

  Tauris raises a hand to silence the commotion. “After we were wrongfully cast out of Andola, Saltarians made a commitment to remain unified, especially while we’re separated on five different planets. We cannot uphold that commitment by shutting ourselves off from Saltare-1, despite all of your opinions.”

  Candidates huff, but no one raises their voice.

  Tauris takes a heavy breath. “Now, everyone is here for a reason. StarDust hasn’t considered space travel in centuries, but that has all recently changed. We were contacted by Saltare-1 to aid them.”

  “Has a natural disaster hit their planet?” Kinden asks, heat in his stance. “I recall our history well, and they never came to our aid during the Great Freeze of 2501.”

  Now everyone starts nodding. I don’t understand people, but I’m trying to follow their logic as best I’m able.

  Tauris speaks mostly to his son. “You can despise Saltare-1 for as long as you want, but your hate will not change the facts, Kinden.”

  “What are the facts?” he asks. “Tell me.”

  “Saltare-1 is planning to start a war with Andola. To reclaim what we once lost—what is ours. All our sister planets, not just Saltare-1, have asked us to send an army to fight in the war.”

  My jaw unhinges. Chatter immediately reigniting, loud enough to drown Tauris’s pleas for silence. Padgett curses and Gem looks disappointed.

  I feel Franny touching her parted lips, and she mumbles beneath her breath, “How are we supposed to fight?”

  Body rigid, Court’s hands drop off my shoulders. Sickness burns his throat, and I wrap a rough arm around him, but he’s unbending.

  “It’s all right,” I tell them both. Is it? We’re supposed to find safety after we leave Saltare-3, not fly into a war.

  Franny angles toward us, her voice hushed. “They never taught us to punch or … shoot anything.”

  “This doesn’t sit right,” I agree and Court nods dazedly.

  Tauris slams the orb, and stars burst around us. “Be calm. You’re all representatives of S
altare-3 now, and you need to act with grace and refinement.”

  “How?” Kinden points at his father. “You’re asking us to lose arms and legs for them. There is no grace in war.”

  “Kinden—”

  He angers forward, a foot from Tauris. “We shouldn’t even be in communication with Saltare-1, let alone flying their starcrafts and using their radios. Don’t you see, Father? They’re clutching Saltare-3 by the neck for their purpose alone.”

  “As hard as this is to hear,” Tauris says pointedly, “we were never meant to stay on Saltare-3. Our goal—as a people—has been to strengthen our numbers and resources so we can reclaim our home on Andola.”

  The orb swirls so fast. Dizzying almost everyone. I rub at my eyes.

  “Our sister planets asked for a quarter of our population, but after the Great Freeze, we can’t afford to lose that many.”

  Padgett slips into the conversation. “What about sending the entire population of Saltare-3 to space? You said the goal was to reclaim Andola, which means that in time, we’ll all desert this planet anyway.”

  Tauris nearly smiles. “StarDust and the four presidents of Saltare-3 had a similar idea. We asked our sister planets for more resources to send the entire population to space—they said no.” He speaks over the complaints. “We’re not asking all of you to physically fight. None of you are trained in combat for a reason.”

  The room quiets wholly.

  “Our sister planets asked too much of us. If we send a quarter of the population, our theorists and mystics estimate a disastrous future. One where newborns on Saltare-3 will have earlier and earlier deathdays. We’ll produce more Babes instead of Influentials. Lineages will die out, and the planet will soon follow. We will not risk the peace and harmony of our planet.”

  Then what do they want us to do about this war?

  “Which means … what?” Kinden questions.

  “Which means that the Saga 5 Mission is extraordinarily important. Out of the thirty of you, we’re choosing the five boldest and brightest.” Tauris strolls around the orb. “Convince our sister planets that Saltare-3—your home—needs to remain out of the war. We’ll join them at Andola after it’s been won, but not a minute before.”