by Kody Boye
He is much stronger, however, and slams me into the wall with enough force to jar my spine and make stars appear over my vision.
“Little mutt,” he breaths as the sound of marching footsteps sound down the hall. “I’m going to make sure you regret that for the rest of your life.”
“Don’t,” I breathe.
He slams me into the wall again and spins, lunging for the knife.
Within moments Ceyonne is barreling into the room, hurling herself into the man’s side. Her weight, and momentum, is enough to knock him off balance, and he slams into the wall with enough force to stun him just long enough for Ceyonne to take action.
She falls to her knees.
She reaches for the knife.
He kicks her—hard—in the stomach, sending her reeling.
“No,” I say, then cough, struggling to speak. “Leave her alone.”
“I’m gonna kill both of you,” he says. “I’m gonna—”
A SAD officer bursts into the room before he can finish—a shock baton drawn, its countenance glowing with blue electricity.
The Dame stabs him once and fells him instantly.
Two other officers enter the room while I struggle to regain my breath. Panting, breathlessly, I reach up to feel my neck for any signs of struggle and grimace as pain flowers beneath my touch.
I’ll surely bruise. Just in time for my arrival to the city.
The clatter of high-heeled footsteps echoes down the halls before Mother Terra the Gentlewoman shouts, “What’s going on?”
“We have it handled,” the Dame who incapacitated the man replies. She then presses a button on her shoulder and leans into it before saying, “Stop the train.”
They haul the man from the room just as the train begins to brake.
* * *
Ceyonne and I watch from my cabin’s window as the SADs force the Road Runner onto his knees in the desert sands outside the train’s walls.
“What do you think they’re going to do to him?” she asks.
“Interrogate,” I reply. “Make sure that there aren’t any more.”
“You think there are?”
“My mother said when there is one, there are many.”
Ceyonne remains silent. She crosses her arms and watches as the events transpire outside—the man bound, his head bowed. She remains like this for several moments before saying, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a man his age.”
“They’re all off at war,” I replied. “What did you expect? A woman?”
“No. I mean, it’s just… when you get used to not seeing any like him, it’s a bit… jarring… you know?”
I understand—at least, I think I do. The poor girl is still in shock from having had a knife drawn on her. But me? I’m holding a cold compress to my throat in an attempt to stave off bruising, though whether or not it will work I don’t know.
As we watch the scene unfold before us, I wonder, for several long moments, if the SADs will continue to interrogate the man or if they will take him into custody. It would not be unrealistic to take him to the next settlement—to try and determine where his group of fellow Runners are—but that doesn’t appear to be the case. I soon come to the realization that this isn’t going to happen when a Dame pulls her sidearm and aims it at the man’s head.
“No,” Ceyonne whispers.
“Don’t look,” I say.
But we can’t help it.
We watch, half in horror and half in relief, as the man kneeling before us is gunned down.
There is a sort of relief I feel in seeing him dead, but at the same time, I’ve just witnessed a brutal execution. For that reason, I cross my arms about myself and shiver as the SADs walk away—as they leave his body for the animals and insects to pick over in the coming hours and days.
The sliding door to my cabin opens to reveal Mother Terra, whose doe-like features are hardened by the events that have taken place. “Girls,” she says.
“Revered Mother,” we both reply.
“Are you all right?”
“I… think I’m fine,” Ceyonne manages. “Kel’s the one that’s hurt.”
“Let me see,” the Gentlewoman says. I remove the cold compress and bare my neck to her. She examines it only for a moment before saying, “Superficial. Nothing that will cause you lasting harm.”
“Thank you,” I say.
“Now… I don’t mean to be rude, but the two of you should get some sleep. Breakfast will be served at dawn, and if you miss it, you won’t eat again until noontime.”
With that, Mother Terra turns and walks out of the cabin, leaving Ceyonne and I to our own devices.
“I guess we should try and sleep,” Ceyonne says as she backs out of the cabin. “But before I go… I wanted to say thank you. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t distracted him.”
I have an idea, but refuse to give words to my thoughts. “You’re welcome,” I say. “Anything for a friend. Right?”
Ceyonne offers a weak smile before she says, “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” I reply.
Then I am closing the door and breathing for the first time in what feels like ages.
In the moments that follow my friend’s departure, I struggle to grasp how the man could have gotten onboard the train and how he could have avoided detection. Though unsure of his capabilities, I imagine he must have boarded from a rear or roof entrance and as such had not been spotted. The thought does not bode well for my consciousness, and in a few breaths, tears are falling from my eyes.
I allow the moment of weakness to stay only for a moment, though. Afterward, I remind myself I am alive and headed on to a better life—a happier existence—and as such cannot afford to be weighed down by fear.
With that thought firmly implanted within my mind, I turn and crawl back up into bed.
As I settle beneath the covers, I wish to dream of nothing more than the Glittering City.
What I’m sure will follow instead are nightmares.
* * *
I am awoken very early in the morning by several knocks on the door, and though besieged by pain far worse than I could’ve ever have imagined, I manage to roll out of bed and crawl down the ladder just in time to answer the morning’s summons.
“Hello,” a maid says, shuffling a silver cart upon which there is a single platter into the cabin. “Your breakfast, miss. Courtesy of the Countess herself.”
“Thank you,” I say, then watch in silence as the maid disappears out the open door.
I stare at the platter for several long moments, watching the sun strike its silver surface and shimmer gold in the morning’s light, and wonder what delicacies it might hold. Already I can smell the food, which causes my nostrils to flare and my mouth to water, my stomach to churn and my gut to growl.
For a moment I am struck with grief over the fact that my mother is not here to enjoy the meal with me. Then I am selfish and pry the lid from atop its platter.
Beneath is a steaming meal. Browned meats, fried eggs, and mashed potatoes with thick gravy covers the plate’s surface, tempting me with its pleasures and inspiring me to move forward. I quickly grab a fork and sink the pronged tip into the egg, and watch carefully as the yolk splits and spreads across the egg’s surface.
“My God,” I say.
“I was surprised too,” Ceyonne’s voice says from across the hall. She is pushing her serving cart across the hall and toward my cabin. “Do you mind if I eat with you, Kel?”
“No,” I say. “Why would I?”
She doesn’t respond. Rather, Ceyonne pushes the cart inside and then waits for me to move my own before closing the door and seating herself on the plush sectional. She waits several long moments before saying, “Last night.”
I nod, waiting.
“You saved my life,” she says. “I know you did. If you hadn’t have done what you did, I’m sure he—”
“Don’t say it,” I reply. “Just… don’t.”
&nbs
p; The girl nods and closes her eyes.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “He kicked you pretty hard.”
“I’m sorer than I thought I would be, but I’ll live,” the girl says, then laughs. She draws her cart forward and locks the wheels into place with a flip of a single lever along its side. “Let’s eat.”
We dig into the food, gorging ourselves on morsels that we could have only begun to dream of, relishing spices we’ve never tasted, recipes we never could have imagined existing.
We have just finished our meal when a knock comes at the wall outside. “Ah,” Mother Terra says. “You’re awake.”
Ceyonne and I both nod. We are careful to wipe our mouths with the kerchiefs provided before straightening our postures to sit at attention.
“I assume your meal was satisfactory?” she asks.
“It was delicious,” Ceyonne says.
“Thank you,” I add.
“There’s no need to give thanks, girls. The Countess wants her girls taken care of, and understands that they may come from backgrounds where such luxuries are rare.” The Gentlewoman nods at each of us before stepping into the room.
“Mother Terra,” I say. “Can I ask you something?”
“You may ask me anything you like,” she replies.
“That man who attacked us… who tried to hurt Ceyonne… what did he want?”
The Gentlewoman sighs. She reaches up to press a hand to her chin as she considers the two of us, particularly me and the flowering bruise across my neck. When she does speak, it’s to say, “I don’t think we should speak about this.”
“I want to know,” Ceyonne says. “I think I deserve that, after what happened last night.”
With a nod, Mother Terra closes the door behind her and says, “That man was up to no good.”
“How so?” I ask.
“While you may have assumed he came on board simply to assault you,” the Revered Mother begins, “there has always been a risk of transporting Beautiful Ones across the deserts of the west.”
“Why is that?” Ceyonne frowns.
“Because, dear: you are a commodity, and worth your weight in gold. Were the bandits to have captured you, they would likely have tried ransoming you off to the Countess in exchange for your safe return, or worse: to the enemy.”
The thought is dark, the idea even darker—black as night and sinister as a predator sinking its teeth into its unsuspecting prey. Previously, I had thought that I had distracted the man from doing who knew what to Ceyonne. Knowing what his true purpose could have been, however, is enough to chill me to the bone.
I dare to ask, “Has it happened before?”
Mother Terra shakes her head. “No,” she says. “Thankfully, our SAD agents are perfectly capable of defending you girls from whatever harm could possibly befall you. Rarely have our defenses been breached in such a manner.”
“Then why—” I start.
“Someone was sloppy,” Mother Terra says. “Or worse—someone was conspiring with the enemy. If this is the case, we will find out; and when we find out, justice will be served swiftly.
“Now then,” she continues. “If neither of you have any further questions, there comes the matter of your arrival within the Glittering City.”
The two of us wait for her to continue.
“Normally I would speak with each girl privately to give her a chance to ask whatever questions she may have, but since the two of you are already here, I’ll address you together.” Mother Terra turns, takes hold of a handlebar along the wall, and draws a simple chair from its depths. She then seats herself before leaning forward to begin her speech.
“Now,” the Gentlewoman says. “As you are already aware, we will reach the Glittering City in approximately twelve hours, give or take the time required to transfer the remaining Beauties from Gladberry and Thomasberg onto the train. Once we arrive, you will immediately be taken into makeup and wardrobe to ensure that you are presentable for the Countess herself, as well as those who will be waiting in attendance. She, and her husband the Count, will be holding this annual event at the capital building. The arrival of the year’s Beauties is a grand occasion and is expected to be taken seriously. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am,” we both say.
“You will be expected to walk the red carpet—an event that will show your status and significance to the capital’s populace. Your photographs will be taken, and though your stories will not be told at this point, your lives will be on full display, regardless of how you may feel about the events at hand. Understood?”
We both nod.
“Now,” Mother Terra says. “Do you have any questions?”
“What’s a photograph?” Ceyonne asks.
“A still picture taken by an electronic device.”
“Will we be expected to talk about what happened on the train?” I inquire.
“No. Under no circumstance are you to reveal that the train was breached by bandits. You, Kelendra, will seek medical attention before the night’s festivities; and you, Ceyonne, will remain composed and not speak of the hardship you endured on this train. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Ceyonne says. “I do.”
“What will happen after this red carpet event?” I frown. “What then?”
“You will be assigned cabins within the Countess’ Tower—known by most as the Spire—and await further instruction from the Countess’ personal assistant. What happens next will be highly dependent on your skills, your intelligence, and the desires of the Countess herself.”
I frown. The gesture does not go unnoticed by Mother Terra, who narrows her eyes and asks, “Is something wrong, Kelendra?”
“No,” I say.
“You are free to speak your mind here. I will not share any doubts you may have unless they directly interfere with the performance of our government.”
“I just… don’t understand.”
“Understand… what, dear?”
“What our purpose is as Beautiful Ones.”
“Your purpose, dears, will be to ensure the integrity of our genepool.”
I swallow a lump in my throat.
Out my peripheral, I see Ceyonne visibly pale, her features lightening, her eyes faltering. They go to the floor a short moment later.
“You mean,” I start.
“Yes,” Mother Terra says. “You will be expected to find husbands, especially as you mature, but that is a matter for another time.” Mother Terra stands. “I have preparations to make before Mother Chun boards the Beauties from Gladberry. Please do not hesitate to seek and summon the maid should you require anything else.”
And, just like that, she is gone, leaving me to wonder just what she could possibly have meant.
“Are you scared?” Ceyonne asks, before reaching out to touch my trembling arm.
“I’m not sure,” I answer, and honestly at that. “I’m just… confused, I guess you could say.”
“About what? What we’re supposed to do?”
“Yeah.”
“Some have said that Beautiful Ones are ambassadors for the South’s personal gain. Others say that we’re nothing more than, well…”
“What?”
“I don’t want to say the word,” she replies. “It sounds… dirty. Vile. Disgusting.”
“Are you thinking that we’re meant to be… what? Subservient to men?”
“It wouldn’t be unlikely,” Ceyonne replies. “I mean, you heard what she said.”
“She said we’re supposed to find husbands.”
“And ensure the purity of the gene pool,” Ceyonne adds. “You know what that means.”
I close my eyes and nod.
Would that be the price we would pay for being beautiful? The whole goal of the Glittering City is to preserve a genetically-beautiful population for the Great South. If that is the case, then there is a definitive chance that all we may be meant to do is rear children.
I swallow, and turn my attention to the towers of
sandstone rising along the desert outside.
“Hey,” Ceyonne says. “Are you okay?”
I don’t answer—not because I can’t, but because I don’t want to.
The truth is: I’m not okay.
By being beautiful, I may have dedicated myself to a life of servitude—not just to the capital, but to a man.
The idea, while terrifying in itself, is currently unfounded.
All I know, as I watch the world pass by, is that I’m meant to serve a greater purpose. What that purpose is I do not know.
Five
We pass Gladberry and Thomasburg in the hours after we are told that our lives are no longer our own. Girls are boarded, ushered down the hall, situated in the cabins. Then Mother Terra meets with them privately.
I hear the girls cry, even though there is space between us—four walls, a hallway and a door—and am loathe to think of my own feelings on the matter. I’ve wanted this all my life, and feel as though I should respect that former wish regardless of the circumstances that have just been revealed. Yet at the same time, I feel as though it is wrong to negate those emotions. For that reason, I allow them to come, stalwart in my approach to the situation at hand and determined to face whatever happens to me head-on.
The desert passes by effortlessly after we leave Thomasburg, leaving me with a sense of euphoria I understand is caused by the world that is soon to be revealed. I fidget in my seat even after dinner has been brought and eaten, and while seated in the light of the fading sun, I wonder: what will happen? Who will the Countess be? Will she be kind? Caring? Compassionate? And if so, will her husband be the same? It’s not often you hear of the Count, given his position as the Commandant of the military, but I wonder if he is truly as ruthless as they say. The war with the Terrible North has gone on for as long as I can remember. Surely it has affected him? How could it not?
The thoughts, rushing through my mind at the same speed the train is currently speeding, dizzy me, and for this reason I lean back and close my eyes in an effort to clear my mind.
I see my father’s face before my vision even though he has not been home for nearly a year. Tall, handsome, with sunburned skin and dark and quiet eyes, he sits quietly in my vision at our dining room table and whittles away a stick meant to be used for fishing.
