by Heath Pfaff
“Kill him, he’s dead anyway!” Someone yelled. Someone not even involved came forward and kicked the skull tattooed boy in the back which was met with laughter and cheers.
A streak of anger slashed through me and I charged forward, grabbing the boy who was on the deady’s back hammering away at him with his fists. I pulled him as hard as I could and then struck him with my fist. I wasn’t really good at fighting, but he was taken by surprise and the blow caught him in the eye and staggered him a bit, which was enough of a distraction to let me get a second punch in on his face.
I kicked the girl on the downed boy’s legs in the ribs as hard as I could. “Get off of him!” I yelled, not even certain why I was coming to his aid. I had nothing to gain by doing this and everything to lose. I was going to live. This boy was already dead. I was wasting my efforts.
The bigger boy, the one who’d first attacked the deady, stood up letting his first target go to focus on me. I dodged back away from his first punch, but his second one got me in the stomach. Breath exploded out of me and I immediately felt sick.
“What is this?” A cold voice snapped.
The students not in their first year jumped to attention, and those new, like myself, also took notice and went quiet. I recognized the speaker as Emeline, the woman who’d said she was the person in charge of our education.
The larger boy pointed at me. “She’s interfering with the natural order. We voted the deady out, and this deady came to her friend’s aid.”
“Is this true?” Emeline asked, looking at me with her milky blue eyes. “He is dead already. What matter is his life to you? Clearly he hasn’t the Will necessary to survive.”
“His Will is stronger than theirs.” I answered, a snap to my voice that I hadn’t expected. “It took three of them to bring him down. They only voted him out because he’s a deady. They’re cowards, afraid to lose to someone stronger than them.”
Emeline smiled. “It’s true. They are cowards. Everyone is a coward at their core, but all of you more than most.” She looked back at the boy with the skull tattoo. “Get up, child.” She snapped, and he did as he was told, though he was quite badly beaten.
“This other death head has taken your cause. She says you are strong and she wishes to keep you as an opponent because she is brave or stupid. Both, perhaps. What say you, death head?” Emeline asked.
“She can stov off. They all can.” He answered, spitting blood and maybe a fragment of tooth.
Emeline nodded. “Good. You two are now a team.” She looked at the other recruits. “You will select someone else to vote out.” Then she looked back at us. “You will be together until one or both of you die, or until training no longer requires a team. I will arrange for your quarters to be moved together.” With that she turned and walked away.
The boy looked at me, eyes full of a simmering, spiteful rage for a second before they cleared and he laughed darkly. “Great, I guess we’re friends now.” He crossed to me as the onlookers began to disperse. “I’m Zarkov.”
“I’m Lillin.” I said, not sure I was happy about this change of situation. Of course not being on a team with people who were set on killing a deady was probably an advantage.
“Why are you marked?” He asked, pointing at his own tattoo.
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I said quickly, probably too quickly.
He shrugged. “Fine, whatever. I’m marked for rape and murder. The rape wasn’t real. She wanted it, but when she got with child she told her father I’d forced her. So, I killed her. I was angry. Didn’t want to see my life ruined for something that hadn’t been what they said it was. Meant to hurt her, but she died, child died too.” He said it like it didn’t matter to him, but his eyes wouldn't meet mine as he spoke. “I’m a fool. I get angry and do stupid things. Didn’t think and now . . . people died. I’m here.”
I had a hard time feeling sympathetic for him. He probably had raped that girl and then killed her, I thought, though as soon as I thought of that my own situation came to mind. How could I judge him for what he’d done when I’d done something terrible myself? Were his reasons any less valid than mine? I’d killed someone over a dress I wanted. It hadn’t been intentional, but it had happened because I wanted something that didn’t belong to me.
“I . . . I was caught stealing, and there was a struggle when someone tried to catch me. I killed him. He had a family, a wife, children.” I said, sharing with him despite my intention not to. It felt surprisingly good to tell someone, to have someone else hear it.
“Sounds stupid. At least we have that in common.” He said, a half grin on his face that looked more sad than anything else.
My immediate thought was to snap at him and tell him that it was not stupid, but that wasn’t true. Stealing that dress, and much of everything else I’d been doing had been stupid. I’d put a comfortable, easy life on the line for nothing. I wasn’t even sure what I’d really been rebelling against. I’d wanted so badly to be my own person, to not have to rely on others, but in the end I’d just been digging a hole in which to bury myself.
“You’re not wrong.” I said quietly.
I could hear orders being called out and people began to form up into groups. Zarkov and I were already in our group but we moved forward through the crowds to get a better view of what was happening. This was it. This was when deadies who were voted out would be executed and those who’d been cast from their groups who weren’t deadies would be kicked out of the school that they’d all wanted to join so badly.
It turned out that there weren’t any other deadies to kick out. The rest of them hadn’t been on teams with all losses, but there were still a dozen people who were gathered together and marched from the grounds of the training facility. Some of them cried, and others just looked miserable, but a few seemed happy, relieved to be leaving. That would have been me if I’d been allowed to go. I would have been relieved to have this nightmare coming to an end.
Unfortunately that wasn’t an option for me. I would be here until I died.
“That ends today’s events.” Sedth, the trainer who would specialize in honing our bodies said. “If things seemed brutal and hard today that is because they were meant to be. Nothing gets easier, though not every day will be this hard. People died and people were lost. The weakest were trimmed and the strong remain. Tomorrow every person who was on a team that did not achieve total victory will report to training yard Rift.” There was a general groan of agony from the second year students as those of us who knew nothing about what we were in for looked at their faces and tried to make some judgement about what was coming.
Zarkov and I were both new. There was no good way to gauge what we would be facing in the morning, but I guessed it was very unpleasant.
“If you do not know where Rift is, I expect you to find out on your own. There are plenty of others to ask. You’ll be there before sun up. Come dressed for physical activity. The rest of the night is yours.” With that he turned and left. I saw the other trainers go with him, and then it was just us, all of these young adults left on their own. They talked and laughed together, though some simply drifted off towards the area where our bunks were located, which reminded me that I had no idea where I was supposed to sleep now that Trilla was gone.
A young woman with long dark hair and a skull tattoo over half her face approached us. “You’re both bunked with me. Emeline’s orders. We’re not teamed, but my room is empty since I lost my underling.”
“You’re a year two?” I asked, excited to see a deady had gotten so far.
“No, year three.” She said, voice cold and dark. “I’m the last deady from my starting year.”
She led us from the commons and back into the bunk area.
“I’m Zarkov.” My new teammate said, voice surprisingly chipper. “Why are you marked?”
“Ori. Treason.” She answered.
“Treason?!” Zarkov looked shocked. “I’ve never known anyone who was in for treason
. That’s amazing. What’d you do?”
“I threw my lot in against the King.” She answered the question calmly and vaguely, as though discussing the morning meal. There was a hardness to her that I’d never seen in anyone so young before. I wondered if she would make it through training. I felt if she couldn’t, how could anyone else?
“That’s it?” Zarkov asked, looking skeptical.
“I’m Lillin.” I said, feeling a strong desire to ingratiate myself to this much stronger woman. I felt like she could teach me a lot.
She stopped and looked at both of us with dark eyes. “Zarkov, Lillin, we’re not friends. We share a bunk, but nothing else. We can talk sometimes. We can share a meal if we happen to be in the same place when we eat, but you don’t make friends here. Attachments will not keep you alive. They’ll only end up breaking you. This is the most important advice anyone will give you. Don’t trust anyone, and don’t ever call anyone a friend. This is especially true for deadies. Do you understand?”
Zarkov’s jaw had dropped and I saw anger flash through his eyes to be stifled with resignation. “Alright, fine.” He said.
Her impossibly deep and dark eyes fell on me next. “Understand?”
I nodded, unwilling to talk. I felt like I’d just been reprimanded for doing something bad. I realized I’d been hoping that Ori would be a friend. I’d wanted Zarkov and Ori both to be friends. It felt like we could have been strong together but Ori had just cut that off quickly and irrevocably. She was three years into this training. If anyone knew what was necessary to make it the rest of the way, it would be her.
I felt alone again. I wondered if that was what the rest of my life would feel like. Would I be alone until the moment I failed in some training exercise and was killed? That seemed like the truth of it.
We reached the room and I immediately noticed that there were only two beds. Ori pointed to one on the side nearest the door. “That’s yours.” She said.
“Whose?” I asked, since she hadn’t specified me or Zarkov.
“Both of you. There are only two beds and I’m not sharing mine. I need the rest.” She said, and with that she crawled into her bed and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders.
I blushed. “We can’t share a bed. I’m . . . and he’s.”
“Get over it. Sex isn’t going to happen, and if it does you’ll both pay dearly for it This is the only time of the day you get to rest. Use it, and if you’re not going to use it, Stov off so I can.” She snapped from beneath her blankets, and then was silent.
I looked at the tiny cot and then back at Zarkov. He’d been sent to the dungeons for rape. It was impossible not to forget that.
He shook his head. “Don’t look at me like that. I . . . I told you it was a lie.” He snapped, frowning. “I’m just tired. You’re not even pretty, so it’s not like . . . I mean, you look fine, but I’m not interested in you like that. I j . . .”
“Shut up!” Ori snapped, and Zarkov’s jaw snapped shut.
We crawled into the tiny bed together. There was barely enough room for us to lay together back to back. I was constantly aware of his presence there as I tried to find sleep amidst a sea of chaotic thoughts. Ori had been right, though. Despite being in bed next to a boy, sex was the furthest thing from my mind. I kept seeing Trilla dying over and over again, hearing the sound of her spine as it had snapped.
She hadn’t mattered to anyone in the end, and she’d been more important than me. She hadn’t been a deady. I was worth less than nothing. I might have cried if I hadn’t felt so incredibly empty inside.
Chapter 2
Beyond Rift
2.1
The Rift, as it turned out, was located on the furthest side of the training facility from the barracks. Ori woke us, though sleep had been fitful at best anyway, and we got dressed in clothing that had at some point been left outside of our room. There had been a whole bag with things in it. The clothing looked exactly like what Ori was wearing, plain white outfit of sturdy material with reinforced knees and elbows, and a pair of boots that had clasps and buckles on them to adjust the size to a small degree. Strangely enough everything seemed about the right size.
The only difference between my clothing and Zarkov’s was a binding strap provided for my breasts. Changing had been awkward, though Zarkov had again assured me that he had no interest in my body. I was sure there was some part of me that was delighted I wasn’t a sexual object for him, but being constantly reminded that I wasn’t attractive wasn’t exactly brightening my mood. Neither was my mood lifted by the nearly crippling exhaustion that was sinking into me.
We grabbed food on the way to our destination. Food that morning consisted of a bar of something that was tough and tasteless and that didn’t sit nearly heavily enough in the stomach, but it was all we got. Everyone got one bar of this and then we went on to our destination.
The walk to the Rift was a somber one. Ori lead the way, but she was grim faced and unresponsive. Any questions we sent her way about the Rift were met with a noncommittal grunt of indifference. Zarkov kept up a steady stream of dialogue as we traveled along, a somewhat inane discussion of how this place was much worse than he’d thought it would be, and how he’d dreamed of becoming a Warden when he was little.
“Plus they get free healing! Did you see that? I broke my fist in the dust ring and I walked into a tent and some weird guy patched it right up. He was right terse about it, but it felt great afterwards. Hurt like touching the Everburn when it went, but then felt great. Now those guys have power. I should have aimed to be one of them.” He said with a hint of wistfulness. “Though I suppose it didn’t matter where I aimed since I ended up here.”
This finally seemed to catch Ori’s attention. “The Tortured? You want to be one of them?” She asked with a derogatory snort.
“Tortured?” Zarkov replied, eyes fiery for a second in offense. He seemed to have a bad temper, but I could see him actively keeping it in check. “What’s that?”
“It’s what the healers are called.” I said, having heard of them myself. Most people called them Dark Nurses, or Fel Clerics, but sometimes they were called “Tortured,” usually by the older generation. All I knew was that their services were very expensive. Only wealthy nobles and those in service to the King were allowed to use them.
“My oldest sister joined them.” Ori said quietly. “You don’t want to be a part of their order, trust me. Did you see that collar they wear? It cuts into their skin and they drip poison into it every day.” The older girl shivered. “She came back for her last visit when I was young and I walked in on her doing it. She told me it stops the worms inside of her from eating up into her brain. She showed me them crawling under skin, said the pain was incredible.”
Ori shook her head. “I’ll never forget it, or that fevered look of . . . I don’t know, she looked happy about the pain.”
“You’re fucking with me.” Zarkov scoffed, but Ori’s eyes were dead serious.
“Next time you see them look at their collar, and look at their hands closely. Sometimes you’ll see the things moving through them. They’re full of those bugs. They use whatever power they have to keep themselves alive while they’re being eaten. It’s awful. I’d rather be here.” Ori said, and there was no room left in her voice to call her out for being less than honest. She didn’t really seem like the joking type.
My mind recoiled in horror at that. They were infested with bugs, or worms. What could that possibly do for them? Was it intentional? I remembered the one who had dealt with me had been wearing a collar, but I hadn’t bothered to look at her that closely. I’d barely been in my right mind at the time. The thought of constantly being eaten from the inside was more than a little troubling.
I found myself wanting to know more, to understand what it was that would make them do such a thing, but I knew I couldn’t ask Ori. I could try asking one of the Fel Clerics, but the thought of being so close to them again made my skin crawl in horror and sympathy.
This disturbing train of thoughts was cut short as we caught up with a crowd of others who were all standing outside of two massive double doors. The doors were wood and had been coated in tar so that they were a stark black color. Metal cleats had been driven all down their length making them look horrible and twisted. At the center of the doors, which rose nearly three times our height, were two large, circular handles of rusted iron. I wasn’t sure how anyone could reach them and get enough heft on them to open these doors. They must have, I thought, been built for giants.
Sedth, the man who’d said he would be in charge of our physical training, seemingly appeared from out of nowhere. As he did so there was a strange, low vibration in the air that silenced everyone in our group.
“These are the gates of Rift.” He announced. “Your body and your mind are not one as they should be. You may think they are, but they are separate, both tenuous at best. Both must be reforged, and that is what will happen at the Rift. There is nothing complex about this training yard. You will go in, you will take a pack from the ground in front of you, you will put it on your back, and then you will go to the other side of the yard where there is another pack. You will take that pack, put it on with the first pack, and then come back where you will add a stone pouch to your first, and then you will go back across and add a stone pouch to your second. It’s simple. It doesn’t end. You don’t stop unless you die.
“I don’t personally have the time to watch this process so there will be other instructors there for you, though I would recommend you think of them less as instructors, and more as enforcers. Train hard and well and I will see you again at the beginning of physical training.” He said, and then there was a muted pressure, a complex swirl of unseen energy that cut around us and passed into the doors. They swung open, silent and as though propelled by an invisible breeze.
“Wait, he isn't going to teach us anything?” I asked, surprised. I’d thought he was going to be one of our teachers.
