No, I have to quit wondering about things to come. I need to know about the present, so I decide to ask my parents about more sensitive things. “Have either of you ever seen a marauder or been there when there was a Taking?”
My father clears his throat and shoves himself out of his seat. “Enough about this, let’s eat.”
So we leave to eat, and I am left with unanswered questions . . . so many unanswered questions.
TEN
It’s a new day with the same schedule. At the end of breakfast, the two medical citizens pass out the Pump. While they make their rounds, I think back to last night. I was so consumed with figuring out how to fool the medical citizens and other trainees into thinking I swallowed the vitamin, that I barely got any rest. However, sitting here now, I realize it was all a wasted effort. Everyone is so accustomed to us eagerly taking the Pump that we’re not even monitored. After all, why would an Exalted not want to take something that will increase their strength?
I place the purple pill in my palm and act like I am tossing it into my mouth. I take a hefty swig of skim milk to wash it down. Then I lean down to scratch my ankle and slip the supposed “capsule of control” into my sock. It was too easy.
Weapons training passes quickly today. We practice long-knife and dagger throws directed toward the hanging dummies. We aim for their heads, necks, and stomachs. My determination and focus increases as I think about the Exalted marauder that surprised me. I am using the experience of his effortless defeat over me to fuel more power into my training sessions. I will never place first if I fall so easily in the Trials.
Garret advances us to a front roll and release. On my first attempt, my blade lands in the dummy’s shin, missing its intended target. Ethan’s precision has decreased with the addition of the roll as well. We practice repeatedly, improving with each throw. Just when we think we are mastering the exercise, Garret launches what he calls “precision motivators” at us while we dodge, jump, and duck. Basically, he’s throwing rocks at us, which greatly increases the difficulty of hitting the specified part of the dummy’s anatomy. While throwing those “precision motivators” at us, Garret shouts the name of the body part he wants us to hit. “Head!” “Throat!” “Stomach!”
I get hit with the rocks more times than I’d like to admit.
Garret drills us for hours until we run out of time. He finally says, “Enough. Cool down . . . I expect better tomorrow.”
Ethan sits next to me on the cool floor. He’s breathing heavily as am I. Between huffs, he says, “You have a little blood on your chin.” He motions to his own chin, demonstrating where I can find the injury he’s speaking about.
Feeling for the spot on my chin, where it unfortunately met with a nasty little stone, I find what I’m searching for. My fingers come away with a smudge of red. I wipe it on my black shorts, and then I pull up the shoulder of my tank to wipe away the rest of the blood.
“Thanks,” I tell Ethan.
“No problem. Tilt your head back so I can see if you’ll need stitches.”
I lean back and look at the metal ceiling that’s lined with rafters and lights. The subtle action makes me strangely dizzy, but I wait for Ethan’s assessment. His warm fingers run along my jaw line as he inspects the wound, but he quickly pulls them back. His touch was familiar and new at the same time.
Garret interrupts the intimate moment by yelling at us. “Quit babying her and cool down!” He slaps Ethan on the back of the head.
My friend hastily scoots away from me to start stretching. When Garret’s out of earshot, he whispers, “Just a scratch. You’ll live.”
I try to relax and let the cool down work its way through my body, but the drumming of my heartbeat takes longer to slow than it normally does. I feel as if my heart will literally race out of my chest. I quickly get into a sitting position, pull my knees to my chest, and tuck my head between my legs, hoping this will help the dizziness subside. What is making me feel like this? I wonder as I take deep breaths.
Our instructor thinks I’m ignoring him and yells at us again. “I said cool down! Now!”
Reluctantly, I lean back over into a stretch to appease Garret. While sitting in a straddle, I reach out, drop my forehead to a knee, and grab my boot. Alarm bells ring in my head as I look up at my foot and remember that I never took the Pump out of my sock. I reach for the other foot now contemplating what to do with it. When I return to the first foot, I pass my fingers over my sock to make sure the pill is still concealed. I have never heard of anyone not taking the Pump or what the punishment would be if they were discovered.
Then it dawns on me. Could not taking the Pump this morning be why I’m feeling strange?
After collecting our knives, Garret, Ethan, and I head for the exit to make the walk back to the cafeteria. I trail behind the two men and utter some excuse about my bootlace coming undone. While crouching next to the center obstacle course, I inch my fingers into my sock to retrieve the tiny object that could change my life forever. I stuff it deep into the soft grains of sand and hope no one finds it.
Lunch is the same. I eat and listen to Val dissect her morning training session. She also divulges everyone else’s progress in whispers. If any of her classmates ever found out she was telling me so much, they would probably take her behind this building and teach her a lesson.
Also on the lunch agenda: avoid Kinah and Az. Luckily, Kinah sits at another table and Val and I are spared her usual barrage of insults. Az, of course, is across the aisle with the boys. He steals glances at me between bites. I try not to look at him.
After Val finishes gossiping, she turns her attention to me. “You have blood on your shoulder and your chin. What happened?” she asks.
I glance down at my shoulder and see a small smudge of dried blood. “Must have rubbed off my shirt,” I say. “Garret was throwing rocks at us today. I took a hit to the chin. No big deal.” But it is definitely a big deal. I don’t want anyone getting the impression that I’m not doing well in weapons training.
I hurriedly dip my napkin in my water glass and wipe away any traces of old blood before the other trainees notice it.
* * *
Today, in combat training, we combine what we’ve learned thus far. We switch partners every 30 minutes to change things up. I learn a lot from this; Kwan has a long reach, Kinah is a wild beast, and Az is as strong as an ox. Az is doing anything he can to make me better prepared. He doesn’t hold back even though I’m a female trainee. He’s so powerful that his sheer strength knocks me back several feet when he makes contact with me, but I’m fast and cunning and am able to evade most of his hits. Ethan is my best match when dealing with speed and agility.
I glance around the room of trainees, all dressed in black. We are battling to be the best, striving to learn and master the drills. It makes me feel as if I’m in the middle of a storming, black sea with the night sky and dark waves thrashing and beating against me as the instructor yells thunderous taunts. I struggle to sway and bob. I’m just trying to keep afloat, when about halfway through the afternoon session, I break out in a sweat. Sweating is to be expected during training, but a chill accompanies this unusual perspiration. I try jumping up and down during breaks to heat up my trembling limbs, but to no avail they remain clammy.
After training, I rush to the dorms, sprint up the stairs to our room, and take over the bathroom before Val can even offer me first shower. I strip down, as quickly as possible, and jump into the shower to warm myself up. The heat only seems to make the uneasy feeling worse. I turn the temperature down and try to calm my ragged breathing, but a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I slide down to the floor of the shower, letting the rush of cool water pound the top of my head.
I stay there, sitting for what seems like only a few minutes, but in no time at all, Val is banging on the bathroom door, demanding her turn. “Are you okay in there? If so, you better hurry up. You’ve been in there for over a half hour, Mena,” she yells.
“Yeah! Sorry, be out in
a minute. Just cut myself shaving,” I lie.
I hurry and pick myself up off the shower floor. I towel off, but sweat continues to bead down my brow and upper lip. I have to dry myself off again before opening the door.
“You don’t look well, Mena.” Taking in my ashen face, Val shows a little concern for me now. “Do you need to see a medical citizen?”
Exalted do get sick like everyone else, but it’s not a common occurrence. I guess along with super-strength we also got a super-immune system.
I try to convince my roommate that I’m fine before she goes to take her shower. I say to her, “No, No. I’m fine. Must have had the shower on too hot, and then I cut myself. Got a little woozy, that’s all. I’m just going to sit for a minute before heading out for the evening meal.”
She studies me for a second and then says, “If you say so. You know I won’t tell any of the others if you are sick . . . ”
“I know. But I’m really not sick,” I assure her. Val is a good friend. Any of the other trainees would never show concern for my well-being, in fact, they would see me being ill as an advantage to them, which is the reason for Val’s previous comment.
Once Val has finished dressing, we walk to the cafeteria together. Dinner proves to be even more uncomfortable for me than training was this afternoon. Some of the boys crowd around our table and talk loudly about the Trials. I don’t want anyone else suspecting something is off with me, so I choke down my food and make an effort to join in the conversation.
Each bite of my chicken is excruciating. I’m pretty sure I’m loosing an ounce of sweat with each mouthful. Finally, everything on my plate is in my rolling stomach. I make a quick excuse to my friends about needing to go somewhere. I hurry for the door, only pausing long enough to turn in my tray and scan my thumb on the identification pad so that I can be released from this hell. When I see no one is in the hall, I run down the corridor, straight for the restroom. I make it to a toilet just in time for my dinner to reappear. Thankfully, my vision is blurred, and I don’t have to be reminded of what it was I ate only moments ago. I flush, slump to the floor, and rest my head on the wall. The tiles are cool and feel good against my cheek. Relief swells through me, as the nausea subsides.
I rinse my mouth out in the sink and splash water on my face. The icy water caresses my skin, and if I could breathe under its cold surface, I would live in it.
As I peer into the mirror, I see a crazed girl staring back at me. Her skin is so white that it’s almost transparent, and her huge green eyes are wild, but not cold and distant like they are normally. I straighten my tousled damp hair and smooth out my wrinkled clothing. I mold my face back into the hard, straight lines that define the Exalted before returning to their world.
Instead of returning to the company of the other trainees, I head outside. The cool air that sweeps across my face, when I leave the building, is like swimming in a sea of silk. My body relaxes. My head clears. I notice the stars sprinkled across the dark sky overhead. They pull me forward and guide me toward the East Gate, calling me to discover what lies beyond.
I have an hour before curfew, which gives me just enough time for a long walk. As I get closer to the wall that surrounds the Republic, I am reminded of the tall boy from the cornfields—a man really. He’s probably a year or two older than me, but no more. His existence confuses me. I’ve never heard of an Exalted being taken before, nor have I heard of an Exalted traitor. I wonder if the Republic knows of such people.
The East Gate comes into view. It’s heavily guarded, both inside and out. I wasn’t planning on leaving; I just wanted to get a glimpse of the outside. Searching for another view of the outside, I head south along the wall and drag my finger in the mortar line like my father did in my dream.
I spot a grouping of magnolia trees that stand just inside the wall. There is one grand beauty among them that is beckoning me into its thick branches. The branches seem to appear in just the right places for my feet and hands to carry me to its highest point. My long hair blows around my face as the wind picks up strength the higher I climb. I find a good branch to perch on, where I can look out to the world beyond the wall. As I study the fields, I can see that breeze is present out there as well. It bends the immature cornstalks this way and that. That’s the only movement though. There are no signs of human life.
I remain hidden in the embrace of the quiet magnolia tree until it’s time to meet the restraints of the “all-protecting” curfew. The descent from the tree is easy enough, and I leave her to keep watch in my stead. I only wish that the magnolia tree would be able to tell me what she sees when I return.
ELEVEN
Two days have passed since the first time I became ill. Extreme nausea and headaches have been beating my body from the inside out for almost 52 hours now.
During training, I caught some of the other trainees looking at me, wondering why my stamina is decreasing. A couple of times I had to excuse myself from training and rush out to the restroom so I could vomit. While being constantly nauseous is a difficult experience, it’s even more difficult putting on a strong mask over my weak one.
Concern grows inside of me, as I think about the Monday morning physical that is happening in a few days. Will my meals change? Will anyone notice? This sickness needs to stop soon.
The worries about the Trials and the Pump have become all consuming. That worry made the occurrence of the dream even more troublesome. I woke when it was still dark outside, my head pounding and my heart racing. The memory of the endless barrier stretched out before me, keeping me safely locked away in the Republic’s boundaries—but last night, the dream was slightly different. Instead of struggling with my father to put me down, I urged him to lift me over the wall. “Let me out!” I shouted at him. He continued to walk on without acknowledging me or responding to my pleas.
Now, as I lay in bed, I’m longing for the day to start so that I may begin to put behind me the nightmare that’s beginning to plague me every morning. I roll over and face the empty gray wall. I trace my finger over the smooth surface, replaying my dream once more. A restless energy surges through my entire body as dawn finally arrives. Ethan and I are scheduled for the afternoon patrol today, but I have to make it through the morning routine first.
Our morning run and breakfast flash by so fast that I almost forget not to take the purple pill the medical citizen hands me. The repetitive action takes over my hand and brain, and I nearly swallow it down. I stop myself at the last second and stuff the Pump in my sock like before. When I get the opportunity, I will flush it down the toilet.
Ethan holds the door open for me to our training building, showing me that some Exalted males actually have the ability to be chivalrous. My mouth curls up on one side as I pass by him. As soon as it happens, I slap my hand over my rebellious face.
“Were you going to say something?” Ethan studies me closely.
My heart races, and for an instant I feel like the little girl in my dream. I’m not confident and strong right now. I’m scared. My mouth feels as dry as the wastelands beyond the Republic’s walls when I go to answer him. “No, sorry. It was just an itch.” I furiously scratch the side of my cheek as if I were inflicted with some kind of deadly rash. “Thanks for holding the door,” I mumble as I evade the situation.
Focus Mena!
I hurry further inside the training facility, desperately seeking out Garret. We need to begin class so Ethan will forget about the suspicious incident. What was that? I ask myself. Before the fear took over, I felt like my chest was lifting and the sun was breathing on my face. I think I liked that a boy opened the door for me. In particular, I think that I liked that Ethan opened the door for me.
Is this what the marauder/Taken/Exalted guy (I don’t even know what to call him) had been warning me about? Am I coming alive?
Garret instructs Ethan and me to practice some of the knife-disarming exercises that we learned in combat training, with the addition of a second attacker. Taking tu
rns as the “first” attacker, we have to advance on each other with a mock blade. The opponent is expected to counter the attack, steal the knife away, and kill the “first” attacker. Finally, the opponent must turn, roll, and release the stolen weapon into the air. The goal is to bury the knife into the “second” attacker, which happens to be one of the lifeless dummies that hang from the ceiling.
My endurance and speed are finally starting to return to me as the side effects of the withdrawals wear off. My headache is nearly gone this morning, and my mind has pretty much come out of that strange fog. It’s been lifting slowly, day-by-day.
Today, I power through Garret’s class and impress even myself.
* * *
After lunch, Ethan jogs with me over to the East Gate for our scheduled patrol. Our platonic relationship has begun to change in hints and whispers of the union that could be. I’m enjoying the change. Everyday I spend with him, he becomes more attractive to me as a mate and less like the childhood friend I’ve been thinking of him as.
Ethan has been consistently joining Val and me for our evening meals. He takes the pressure off me to keep up conversation with Val. She enjoys discussing the Trials and the new moves we learned in combat training. I, however, think it is best to keep such talk to ourselves. Fortunately, Val knows better than to publicly discuss her specialized weapons training class and more specific details about the other trainees. She is patient enough to wait until the other trainees have wandered off, leaving Ethan and I alone with her.
As a group, the three of us have grown closer in a short time. I even spent the past two evenings strategizing with them about ways to beat Kinah and Az. Not surprisingly, Val managed to pry their training progress out of Leen, who is in their weapons class. She tells us Leen revealed to her that his class has spent a lot of time on deflecting attacks from knife throwers and archers. They’ll be well prepared for any onslaught of projectiles we send at them in the Second Trial. This information was valuable for Val to have shared. Ethan and I both thank her.
EXALTED (An Exalted Novel) Page 5
