by Stacey Nash
There’s a tug at my sleeve and I turn, coming face to face with a frowning Cynnie. The people around us all move, weaving between one another, and the courtyard buzzes with voices. I spin, but can’t see my guide, so turn to face Cynnie once more.
“Where’s Nik?”
She rolls her eyes to the left. “Over there.”
He’s standing with a man a short distance away. His stance is a little awkward, his arms like rods pinned to his sides, chin up, back straight. I glance at Cynnie but something familiar tugs my attention back to Nik. Familiar feels different, good. The man’s tall frame is solid, a chiseled jaw peeking out under the hood, and the shadow of his masculine face is just visible. Taking him in I realize it’s just Nik’s father, the Councilor, hiding under all those purple robes.
“I can’t believe you’re staying with them,” Cynnie says. “They’re like, the most important family in this community. Nik is …” She sighs, ending on a huff. “Unfortunately arrogant.”
I raise a brow.
“Most Councilor’s kids are,” she says and I nod with my best knowing smile. She tilts her head to the side, watching Nik and his father. Nik looks right at us, his eyes pinning me to the spot as he holds his hand up, indicating I should wait.
“You know who he is, right?”
I give her a small smile and I nod at Nik.
“You don’t?”
My fingers twist and twine together. “Of course I do.”
“It’s okay to admit you don’t, your community is a long way from here.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, Anamae,” she says, her voice full of sympathy.
“What?” I meet her eyes.
“You seem a little …”
I raise a brow.
“It’s more than just changing communities, isn’t it?”
I study the ground and continue to twist my fingers in and around themselves.
“That whack to the head has mucked with you, hasn’t it? How hard did Nik hit you?”
I shrug.
“Do you have amnesia?”
I shrug again. “I don’t know. Maybe.” Her eyes fill with soft sympathy and delicate creases line her brow. The warmth in her expression makes up my mind. “I don’t remember Nik or his father. I don’t remember training with him or staying at their house and I don’t really …” Glancing toward my hands, I swallow. “Even know where I am.” The words all rush out and I stop, sucking in a sharp breath. The words are near impossible to push out around an aching lump in my throat.
Cynnie pulls me to her, wrapping her arms around me. Her closeness and kindness are my undoing. They shatter my resolve and I feel less alone. Like now that I’ve said the words aloud it’s true, less confusing, somehow easier to bear. Unlike last night when I told Councilor Manvyke.
“Oh honey,” she says, “you must be so confused.”
I try to say yes, but only a half-strangled sob comes out.
“We’ll work it out. I’ll help you.”
I pull away and she keeps her eyes firmly on mine. I don’t know why I told her, but it feels right. Something about Cynnie echoes ’trust’ through my whole soul. I swallow. “I’m so sorry, but when I saw you yesterday I didn’t remember you either.”
There, it’s out. I’ve said it. I focus on the ground, hoping she’s not offended.
She chuckles. “You poor girl, you’re not supposed to remember me. That was the first time we ever met.”
A small laugh shakes its way out. Thank god I didn’t hurt her feelings. At least something is right. She sure seems like a good listener, maybe I should tell her about the woman’s warning.
Nik walks past us without even looking at Cynnie. “Let’s go.”
I’d rather stay right here with her, but looking after me seems to be Nik’s job, so I should probably do as he says.
I direct a small thankful smile at Cynnie and her face warms. I spin, rushing to catch up with Nik, falling into step beside him.
“What did your father want?”
“Council business.” He looks at me in that eye flicking, examining way. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
Cynnie’s walking in the same direction as us. We exit the courtyard by walking up a few stairs, across a walkway running in the opposite direction and down several more stairs. Our path traces the building’s perimeter until we come out behind it with a large oval spread out before us.
Nik catches my arm. “Are you sure? If you’re still not up to this, I can talk to—”
“I’ll be okay.” As appealing as I find curling up in bed and not waking until everything’s normal, seeking answers is the best way to find them.
We veer toward a handful of people mulling at the edge of the oval by a small stone building. The talking stops when they notice us and it sure feels like they all watch Nik saunter straight to the stone building. Once there, he leans against the wall, his knee bent, looking like he’s above being here. I keep my eyes lowered as I edge through the kids to take my place beside him. I know they watch me because my skin prickles and burns. My fingers find the lace threading in my sleeve as my face heats.
“Ready to train?” Nik says.
“Uh huh.”
“I’ll try not to knock you out again.”
I peek up at him through the corner of my eye and see he’s smirking. “That’d be nice.”
Not far behind us, Cynnie rushes up to the group and she’s immediately included into the conversation. It’s so natural, and boy, it’d be nice to be beside her instead of Nik. He clears his throat and when I swing my attention back to him, he says, “I’m not your keeper. Go, hang with your friend.”
My tense shoulders drop, just a little at his kindness. Cynnie sees me coming and shoots me a smile as she chats with a blond guy, waving her hands through the air in time with her talking. She doesn’t stay with her friends though; she cuts away from the other three people and meets me halfway between them and Nik. “This is elite training,” she says as if she knows I must be confused.
“Training for what?”
“Training to become an Elite Agent.”
“Agent?”
“Wow.” She turns her head to the side and covers her mouth with her hand. “Are you for real?”
I stare at her, deadpan.
“By the Founders, you are.”
Voices stop all at once as if silenced by Nik’s arrival again. Everyone shuffles and scurries all around me as a man wearing the same clothes as us, only black, strides across the oval. The half dozen students all jostle into a straight line, holding the same at-attention stances as earlier. I’m yanked backwards and turn, glaring into Nik’s brooding face.
“In line.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, jumping into place.
The man stops right in front of us, and there’s a loud thud as fists beat chests. “Socrai,” they say as one.
“Welcome to our two new students.” I feel myself flush as his eyes meet mine. “Step forward.”
Glancing to Nik, his eyes widen as he gives a small toss of his head. I take a step out and away from the line, careful to keep my eyes on the man who must be our teacher.
His face is so serious I don’t crack a smile, a frown, or anything. His stern features, all hard lines and flat surfaces, stay set in place. “Class, this is Anamae. She showed tremendous promise in her class, so received a transfer to our school for elite training. She will be a great challenge to some of you.” His eyes flick to Nik.
Heat rises up the back of my neck, burning my face and ears. Everyone must be looking at me but I can’t move, can’t turn, can’t even breathe. He doesn’t dismiss me so, stomach fluttering and churning all at once, I stay where I am.
I have great promise.
He glances along the lineup. “Some of you may remember our other new student as he attended this school some years ago.” A strange edge mars his voice. “Joshua, step forward.”
Murmurs buzz through the small group building
in volume. I turn to my left to catch a glimpse of the boy who’s causing such a stir. Eyes so vibrantly green I can see their color from here meet mine, and I’m instantly lost to the here and now, totally lost in his gaze, and it’s like I’ve come home.
Chapter Six
Mae
A dull buzz sounds while I stand there, out front of the short line, my eyes locked with Joshua’s.
The buzz becomes a mumble, the mumble a murmur, and finally the teacher’s voice swims at the edge of my hearing. “Today we’re practicing close combat. Choose a weapon from the store and return to your place.”
Everyone starts to move, but I can’t take my eyes off Joshua. The lines of his perfectly toned shoulders under his tan training gear, the way his chestnut hair sweeps across his forehead and tickles the tops of his ears, his strong face, so masculine along his jaw and across his cheek bones. Like a string breaking, he snaps his stare away and walks into the store right behind Nik.
“Anamae,” Cynnie whispers, “come on.”
We move into the stone building. The air inside is musty, its scent overpowering another tangy smell I can’t place. With everyone inside it’s pretty crowded as we all grab axes, batons, maces, daggers and blades.
Cynnie leans closer, putting her mouth near my ear. “You know how to spar, right?”
No. I look at her with wide eyes. My stomach twists in a tight knot. Of course she means fight, it’s the only way Nik could knock me out with a blow to the head in training. But why would he aim for my head anyway? Surely blows like that are off limits. Curling my neck down, I try to picture what must have happened. Maybe he had one of those batons and swung it … I moved, blocking him but it was the wrong way … he struck the back of my head. Darn, is this the second chance? Maybe I need to be the best.
“You mean fight?”
“Yeah.” Cynnie thrusts a baton into my hands. It’s like a martial arts bamboo stick, all bits of light-weight wood bound together with string and leather strips. I throw her a small smile and she picks up a similar instrument for herself. There’s a lot of chatter in the room as everyone gathers their weapons. The blond guy Cynnie was talking to earlier weighs a wicked looking long sword in his hands, puts it down, picks up a studded mace, then shakes his head and goes for the sword again. He glances at Cynnie and passes her a grin she returns before she turns to me. “We’re right, let’s go.”
As we exit the store room, I glance at Nik just outside the door. He leans against the chunky stone wall twirling a sword one-handed. He seems so at ease, so confident, it’s a glimpse of why Cynnie called him arrogant. My attention slips to Joshua. A blade, not short or long but somewhere in between, hangs from his hand. He glances my way and I look away, hoping he didn’t catch me staring.
“Okay, team up,” Socrai says.
Cynnie grabs my arm. “Stay with me.”
I nod, grateful for help. Surely this can’t be too hard. But my tummy jitters and my hand rises to the sore on my neck. I push the fear away. There’s no way Cynnie would hurt me. We move onto the oval and she distances us from the other pairs. Good thinking, we’ll be able to talk.
Nik has paired off with a guy whose thick set frame bulges with oversized muscles and Joshua is with the blond boy who’s about his size only a little less toned. They square up, each raising their weapons, and Blondie swings his sword clashing it against Joshua’s. It felt like there were more people but now we’ve grouped up, I can see there are only six of us.
“Anamae,” Cynnie says. She’s looking where I was; at Joshua. “Pay attention. I don’t want to hurt you accidentally.”
“Right.”
The stick feels too light in my hands. Holding it in front of me, I feel a little awkward and unsure of how I’m supposed to use it. While I’m still trying to puzzle it out, Cynnie strikes out with her stick. My hands tighten around mine and I raise it with a grunt, blocking her. Smiling, she lifts her weapon again and swings from the other side. I spin, raising mine into the air, effectively blocking her blow. Wow, maybe I can do this, but how did I—
She strikes again hard, fast, and low to the ground aiming for my knees. I jump and the stick makes a loud whoosh as it slices through the air, barely missing me.
“Nice work, Anamae,” Socrai says, coming up beside us. “Cynisca, keep trying to knock her down.” He crosses his arms over his chest as his gaze bounces back and forward between us.
Cynnie brings the stick down aiming higher, right at my waist. I leap out of the way and swing mine around fast. It slices through the air and comes into contact with her hip, making a loud crack.
“Good job, Anamae.” He walks away.
“Sorry,” I say.
“It’s okay, I’m not hurt.” Cynnie strikes out again.
Her stick flies, and I jump out of its path, wondering how on earth I’m doing this. Moving and jumping and hitting just at the right time and in the right way. I feel a grin spread across my face as we continue mock-fighting. This is actually cool and it’s making my heart pump harder, filling my body with energy. Finally the teacher calls, “Time.”
Cynnie stops, straightens up and drops her baton to her side, panting and smiling. I fist my hands on hips, letting my baton fall to the ground and I look up at her, grinning. “That was fun.”
“I don’t think you’ve forgotten everything.” She smiles, her breath coming in loud puffs.
“Is this how I fought before?”
“I guess so.”
“Weren’t you here the day Nik knocked me out?”
“You weren’t training at school.”
“Then where were we training?” Just when I think I remember something, it leads to ten more questions whose answers slip away, leaving me with nothing.
Socrai calls again, “Time.”
Cynnie scoops up her baton, and elite training continues. It seems I’m either pretty good or she’s taking it easy on me, but the sweat trickling down her temple makes me think she’s not holding back. Just as Socrai calls, “That was the last round,” I spot a person under the large hanging shade tree, on the opposite side of the oval. Peering right at us, it looks like a woman, but she’s too far away and wearing one of those robe things like the man at morning assembly, only hers is cream. So I can’t be certain, especially since her face is cowled with a wide flowing hood.
“Who’s that?” I ask Cynnie.
“Just a sensor.”
“Why’s she staring at us?”
“Because they’re weird.”
A sensor, what does that mean? I open my mouth to ask but Nik approaches us, so I clamp it shut again.
“Hard work, eh?” His eyes move over my face and drop to the point of the V on my shirt’s neckline. I swipe away the sweat running down my chest.
“I … ah …”
“She’s good,” Cynnie says.
My cheeks warm.
Nik almost smirks at me. “It’s lunch now. You have Collective history afterwards. I’m not in your class, though.”
“I am,” Cynnie says.
His hazel eyes slide to her.
“I’ll look after her.” Cynnie’s voice cracks slightly, and she swallows.
“Bring her to the transport bay after class.” Nik nods and turns. Cynnie watches him walk off with his swaying gait. When he’s completely out of sight she shakes her head and rolls her eyes upward.
“He makes you nervous, huh?” she asks. I raise my brow and she nods at my hand on her arm. “He’s not worth it.”
I pull it back. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I’d touched you.”
“I don’t mind. He makes me … ah, who cares. Let’s go to lunch.”
After lunch we got to a classroom where Cynnie sits at a polished wooden desk. I sink into the green padded chair beside her, pulling it up to my own desk. I’m not sure what to expect of Collective History, but from this morning’s chant I’m pretty certain Collective is what, or rather who, we are. I glance across at Cynnie and she smiles, easing back into her
seat. The second-to-last row is comfortable, not the back and not too close to the front either. This would’ve been my choice too. I smile back then sweep a quick glance around the room. It’s comforting to see a few familiar faces: the girl we sat with a lunch, the blond kid from training, and sitting in the back row alone, Joshua.
The chatter and scraping of chairs dies down and I pull my attention to the front in time to see a round lady rushing into the room. Her dress swishes around her legs, it’s similar to the ones in my wardrobe only golden. It doesn’t look good on her though, it washes out her pale complexion and hair like a watercolor painting. She drops a stack of books onto the large oak desk at the front of the room.
“Welcome to our two new students,” she says and the whole class turns around. Thankfully most eyes fall on him, not me.
“Right-o. Let’s continue on with Patriarchal History. Now where were we?”
Everyone spins back around and a series of clicks like televisions flicking on sound. I peek across at Cynnie and a blue screen glows on her desk. It’s flat and seems to be a part of the desk itself, embedded in the timber, the screen flat and flush with the desktop. Everyone else has a blue thingy too, and they’re all mumbling something that sounds like … is it … home screen? I examine the desk before me, running my fingertips over its smooth surface. No buttons, no switches, no dials. There’s nothing on it.
“Say the words,” Cynnie coaxes.
“Oh.” I lean close to the desk, my nose almost touching it. “Home screen,” I say just loud enough. A blue screen, the same as all the others, flicks onto my desk. The brightness causes black spots to dance before my eyes and I pull my head back, rubbing them to diffuse the light. Cynnie giggles and I pass her a stern look, but she just covers her mouth with a hand, her laughter still visible by the crinkling of her eyes.
The teacher clears her throat and we both snap our attention to the front of the room. “Right-o class, Leon Theras was a founding patriarch.”
When she says the name a face appears on my screen, a man with a long nose, square jaw and short graying beard. Theras is emblazoned under his image in bold black font.
