EXALTED (An Exalted Novel)

by Elizabeth, Tara

  Val uses this time to ask me about some of the other girls. “So what do you think about Trudi as competition?”

  “Well she uses that shin kick with a hook too much. It’s so predictable, but you never know what will happen in the real match.” I bet that red head has plenty of secrets. She’s a pleasant girl, but let’s be real, these are the Trials we’re talking about.

  “I think the same thing. I’m not really worried about Bria and Adira—that much I can agree with Kinah about. What about Neima and Etana?” Val asks. If these Trials were purely psychological, Val would win hands down.

  “From what I’ve seen in practice, Neima is a lot like Kinah, but slightly less powerful. Etana, on the other hand, is more graceful. She doesn’t have the shear force that Kinah and Neima possess. I’d look out for Etana’s fluidity between movements. She won’t give you a break to take advantage of her. She’s smart that way,” I respond.

  “Maybe, but she didn’t score as well as Neima did on the First Trial,” Val counters.

  I consider this, but I still believe what I said to be true. I tell her so. “I know, but even though she missed the exact target a few times . . . Did you see her flow? And have you watched her in combat training. She seems more agile.” The dissection of all our competitors is beginning to give me a headache. I rub my temples and call first shower.

  THIRTY-TWO

  The night before the Second Trial is the only night of the year that Exalted families are allowed to have an unmonitored dinner inside their private apartment. I suppose it’s because our beautiful faces may never be beautiful again; that they are graciously allowing our parents to get one last good look at us. That’s not entirely true. Actually, I have no idea why we are allowed this special alone time. I’ve never thought about the reason behind it. I don’t spend much time dwelling on it because I’m too excited to care.

  Val and I head up the stairwell. We split up once I reach my parent’s floor. Val’s parents are one floor above mine. I nod a goodbye and enter the long corridor. We must have set off for their rooms early, because the halls are empty and quiet. The hum of the overhead lights cause me look to up. I squint at the brightness, and spots invade my vision. They float and bounce around before me. I stop in front on my mother and father’s door to take a second and massage my eyelids. I’m trying to get the dancing specks to go away, before I alert them of my arrival.

  I pull my hand away from my face, and as I lift it to knock on the door, I hear the rise and fall of a feminine laugh. A laugh? I place my ear on the surface of the door. I shut my eyes, hoping it will help me to hear a little better. I hear it again. My mother is laughing. Then, my father joins in, but only for a brief moment before he quickly shushes her. I can imagine him resting his hand affectionately on her arm as they share a joke on the sofa.

  What are my parents doing laughing?

  I don’t bother with knocking. I throw open the door and slam it shut behind me. My porcelain skin is now crimson with anger. The look of alarm on their faces says it all. I blurt out, “You’re not on the Pump? Why didn’t you ever tell me? How long have you been off of it? How long have you known?” Questions tumble out of my mouth like water spilling over a fall. I can’t stop them.

  It’s my father that answers. “Sit down, Mena. Let’s talk,” he says calmly. He and my mother are already sitting. I’m so mad that I refuse to join them. I don’t want to do anything they say right now.

  “No,” I bluntly answer.

  A tear runs down my mother’s rosy cheek. She glances over to my father and whispers, “I told you we should have said something sooner.”

  “I’m right here! I can hear you!” I stand there with my hands on my hips feeling incredulous. Looking past them, I glance around the small apartment, wanting to look anywhere but at them. My eyes land on the bright yellow lemons in the kitchenette. Suddenly it clicks. My mother steals those from the Republic’s fruit trees. Those under the influence of the Pump could never commit such an act. How did I not realize this before? “The lemons,” I sigh.

  I flop down into one of the empty chairs, resigned. I feel angry, sad, betrayed, heartbroken—so many feelings all at once, it’s too much. I begin to weep openly for the first time.

  “Listen, Mena,” my father leans forward in his seat, “we’ve been off the Pump since you were about four.”

  “That’s 13 years!”

  “Keep your voice down,” my mother warns. Then she hands me a tissue to dry my tears.

  My father reassuringly strokes her arm and continues, “We couldn’t tell you then because you were too young, you wouldn’t have understood. I took you by the Gate and talked to you about the Taken a few times, right after we quit taking the Pump. Every time I said the word Taken, you would quote something back to me that your teachers taught you. I was worried you wouldn’t have been able to keep it secret. It was too dangerous for you and too dangerous for us. We couldn’t keep an eye on you while you were in school.” Fine I’ll give them that. I grudgingly agree with his logic. And I now understand where the reoccurring dream comes from. It must be a memory.

  His face starts to look weary as he rubs his chin in thought. “Then you started training, and we still felt we couldn’t risk it. With all the physical training you were doing, one of your instructors would have surely noticed something was off—that you were ill for too long. Something,” my father says with regret. He shakes his head, scoots to the edge of the sofa, and rests his elbows on his knees. “Your mother and I couldn’t just walk you out of one of the gates, and we couldn’t leave the Republic without you. We didn’t find out about the Pump until well after you were born. It was too late for us by then. You know how the system works here Mena. Once you go through the United Ceremony it’s impossible to leave. The Republic expects children right away. Once that happens, you’re stuck here.”

  He’s rambling now, searching for more excuses. My mother takes over the conversation. “One day when I was on duty—about six months ago—a man jumped out of a tree. He nearly landed on top of me. I was stealing lemons again, and he caught me. I thought he was a marauder, so I dropped my lemons in the dirt and attacked him. He quickly overpowered me, pinned my arms behind my back, and whispered in my ear. He said, ‘I know your secret. I can help you.’ The man’s name is Ryker.”

  “Ryker?” I ask in disbelief. “He’s the one who told me about the Pump.” I look at them expectantly.

  My mother answers, “Yes dear, we know. We asked him to find you. Well, I asked him to.” She absently scratches at the hem of her pant leg. “After I told your father about Ryker, we decided that he would be a good way for you to find out about the Pump. We didn’t know how you would take it coming from us. More than likely you wouldn’t have believed us. We worried that you might report us. It’s what any good Exalted would do . . . You had to see it—to see him for yourself. We wanted you to know that there are people outside the wall and another life you could lead, if you chose that life. Time was running out for you to find out and still be able to do something about it—if you wanted to.” She pleads with me, “Please forgive us, Mena!”

  How do they know I wouldn’t have believed them? I try to convince myself that, before coming off the Pump, I was different from all the other Exalted. But, I wasn’t. Maybe they were right in their decision.

  Val. I’m doing this to Val. I can’t hold this against them. I’d be a hypocrite if I did.

  I move on with another question. “Why didn’t you leave with Ryker? What’s keeping you here, now that I know?”

  Now my father speaks to me. “We couldn’t leave you here alone. That was never an option. And we can’t leave now for the same reason you haven’t left yet. They would come looking for us, and we can’t risk anyone’s lives over our selfish need to escape. We also wanted this decision to be yours—without our opinions swaying you one way or another. He’s offered to take you during the Third Trial, right?”

  “Yes, he has. And no, I haven’t
decided yet. It’s complicated. I’d be leaving everything I know, including the two of you. And I still have this built in desire to want to finish the Trials in first place. I can’t shake that feeling.” They nod their heads in understanding. The Exalted creed runs deep in our blood, with or without the Pump. “A few days ago, when we had that big rain storm, Ryker tried to get me to leave with him right then. Did you have something to do with that as well?” I ask.

  “No, of course not!” My father’s demeanor suddenly changes from calm to agitated. “The plan has always been for you to go, should you choose, during the Third Trial—when it’s safe. Why would he ask you to leave early? What did he say?” my father demands.

  My face starts to burn with embarrassment. “He said he didn’t want me to go through with the Second Trial. He doesn’t want me to get hurt.” I look away from them and stare at the forbidden lemons.

  “What?” My father yells.

  My mother looks worried by his sudden outburst. She shushes him. “Shh, Fergus! Someone will hear us.” It’s so strange to hear them use their first names in front of me. They usually refer to one another as mother and father in my company. It’s the respected titles of Exalted who have reared protectors for the Republic.

  “Sorry, Bridgette. But what is that boy thinking? How could he risk such a thing?” My father searches my mother’s face.

  A light flashes through my mother’s eyes and she smiles at me. “Did he kiss you?” she asks me.

  “Mother!” I’m appalled at the extremely personal question. This is definitely not a subject that anyone speaks about openly.

  “Well, did he?” she asks again as she smiles at me.

  Suddenly fearful that I’m missing a piece of the puzzle, I concede. “Yes, he did. But what does that have to do with anything?”

  What a sly little smirk she’s wearing. It makes me uncomfortable. Intimacy is not something to poke fun at. I sink further into my chair, trying to hide from them. My mother then looks knowingly at my father who shakes his head.

  My father angrily says to my mother, “I didn’t tell that boy to fall in love with her. I just wanted him to get her out of here.” My father once again acts like I’m not in the room when he confers with my mother.

  “Again, I’m right here. Quit talking like I’m not in the room with you,” I demand. And love. That’s ridiculous. We barely know each other, just like he said. I admit that there’s a strong mutual attraction, but I hardly know what love is. “He doesn’t love me. Maybe he likes me, but it’s not love. He’s just concerned about me. I’m going to get pounded, you know? You’ve been to those things. Look how small I am!”

  My father uses the topic of the Second Trial to steer the subject away from Ryker. “Your mother was the same size as you are now. She finished second. You will do just fine. After all, you placed first at the First Trial,” he reminds me.

  “We are so proud of you. You can do it again. We know you can,” my mother interjects.

  “We’ll see,” is all I have to say about my parents’ utter denial of my inferior stature’s effect on my upcoming performance.

  I want to know more about how they feel about the Republic, the Pump, and all the possibilities the future holds. “Don’t the two of you want to do something about the Pump? It isn’t right what Dr. Fredericks and the Republic are doing to us.”

  My mother lets my father answer again. “Of course we do. It’s hard living in secret, and it’s hard watching our friends around us not get to experience what life is really supposed to be like. But . . . if we tell the wrong person, they could turn us in. We’d be executed. They’d probably send us off on some patrol, never to return. We need to build the Exalted ranks in the outside villages. They have plenty of citizens, but what good are they in a fight? We’re supposed to protect them. Citizens can’t be expected to fight against Exalted; none of them would survive it. The Exalted would follow the Republic’s orders and kill every last one of them without ever questioning it.” He pauses to gather his thoughts. “We’ve been trying to come up with a plan. You being here with us would work, but having you on the outside would be beneficial as well. There are people out there that need to be trained. We have to come up with another way to get more Exalted out there—a way other than having to wait for the yearly Trials. The training, having Exalted on the outside, all of these things are important. That being said, we don’t want you to leave if you don’t want to. You have to decide what’s right for you. It’s your life in the end, and regardless of your choice, there’s no guarantee that we can actually do anything about what’s happening here.”

  “I’ll think about it. Well, I have been thinking about it, but this gives me something else to consider.” It upsets me that I even have to consider these things. My life should be simpler. A life in the Republic is the same for all Exalted, generation after generation. I know what to expect from that life.

  My thoughts return to Ryker. “Why didn’t Ryker tell me you sent him?” I ask.

  “We asked him not to until you made the decision on your own. We didn’t want to push our ideas on you.” The sweet reassuring voice of my mother helps to calm my emotions. Then she does something that surprises me. She walks over to me, pulls me up from my seat, and wraps her arms around me.

  I start to cry all over again, and my mother joins in with her own tears. We cry for things that should have been. This embrace is something that the two of us have never shared. I tightly wrap my arms around and hold firm. I breathe her in. She smells like lemons and soap. As she strokes my messy hair away from my face, I fear I will never let her go. All children should be able to experience the love of their mothers. Sobs rock my body when my father joins us.

  We stand huddled together, in the tiny living room, as true family for the first time.

  I make myself a promise; I am going to rip the Republic and Dr. Fredericks apart—one way or another.

  THIRTY-THREE

  I slept like a baby last night. Worries about Ryker, Ethan, the Trials, the United Ceremony, and my indecision disappeared. The high that I got from a simple gesture of affection, what should have been a familiar, simple gesture, from my family was incomprehensible.

  It’s not until after the early breakfast—when Val, Ethan, and I start heading to the arena—that my nerves start to creep back into my body. I’m finding it hard to pretend that I don’t feel sick to my stomach, that my palms aren’t sweating, and my legs aren’t trembling. They shake more and more with each step I take toward the Second Trial.

  I stop to tie my shoelace. While no one is looking, I bury my morning dose of the Pump into the dirt beside my boot. The Exalted walking around me are all in a trance like state. They are eager to watch the competitions. Val continues on ahead, not waiting for me. Her absence doesn’t bother me. Ethan notices what I’m doing though and stoops beside me, pretending like he’s offering his help. He shoves his pill into the earth as well.

  “How are you?” he asks me in hushed tones.

  “Fantastic. You?” I know he’s trying to be nice, but I can’t control the sarcasm that rolls off my tongue. I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants as I stand back up. The black fabric hides the wet spots that my hands left behind.

  Ethan drops his head and admittedly whispers, “I’m nervous too. I almost wish I was still on the Pump so I could get through this without puking on someone.”

  “It won’t be that bad. At least it’s single-elimination. We won’t have to fight all seven of them. That’s good right?” I try to point out the good in this situation. Though I’m telling this to Ethan, I’m really doing it for myself. I need to reassure and convince myself that I won’t die in the Republic’s arena.

  “You’re right,” Ethan agrees with reservation. “Strength be with you today, Mena,” His sincerity touches me. It pains me to think I might leave him. But just as quickly, I wonder how I could ever leave those beautiful blue eyes?

  “You too, Ethan.”

  We enter the same
small holding room as we did for the First Trial, but this time, a door in the back corner is open. The female trainees are being directed through that door. Millie is waving us through. “Girls, please come this way,” she instructs. “Boys, you will stay in here.” Her long golden hair shines like gold in the middle of this horrible dungeon like space.

  The eight of us enter the room and wait for further instructions from Millie. I stand in between Neima and Val, who are both looking confident. I mimic them and stand a little taller. I try to appear a little less shaky. It’s hard work.

  Once we are all still, Millie guides us through what to expect from the Second Trial. “Listen up! As you all know, you will be physically competing against each other today. You will show your skills with your weapons and in hand-to-hand combat. Of course, you will not be using real weapons. You will be provided with mock weapons that mimic the weapons you chose at the Choosing Ceremony. You will each be wearing a head-to-toe suit that will allow you to feel any and all injuries. You will feel the pain a real weapon or hit would cause you to feel. Your suits were developed with nanotechnology. They will send signals to your brain to help you feel the true nature of this competition. It will make you believe that you are really injured. So, if you get a fatal blow by one of the weapons, the suit will cause you to feel it. You’ll be unable to continue. If you get a scratch from a rock or tree branch, you will feel it, but you will be able to continue.” She looks at each of us as if to gauge our reactions. This thought is absurd since none of us should have an emotional reaction.

  I swallow hard. My throat is dry from my anxiousness. I didn’t know about the suits. I don’t think any of us did. We knew we’d be fighting each other, but not like this.

  “The suit does not protect against actual physical contact,” Millie continues with her briefing of the Second Trial. “If somebody punches you in the eye, you’re going to have a black eye tomorrow. If someone hits you with the butt of their sword or the broad side their club, you’ll probably feel it later. Understand?”