EXALTED (An Exalted Novel) (21 page)

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.

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 you
r 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?”

The trainees nod in understanding. I nod in fear. I can imagine the boys getting a similar lecture by Force or even Garret. I hope Ethan has calmed down and is focusing on the fight.

“This is single-elimination or knockout. There are no second chances. If you get beat, you’re out.” Winding down, Millie moves toward a storage locker and opens. Inside are eight black jumpsuits. “Each of you has a suit here. They were designed using the last measurements taken by the medical citizens. Your name is across the bicep of the suit. Put them on and then come and see me. I
will need to give you your mock weapons. Hurry up!” Millie claps her hands together loudly, spurring us into action.
Why do all the instructors do that?

We all shove our way over to the locker to find our personalized suit. I grab mine after three other girls find theirs. I’m surprised to find how lightweight and flexible the material is. This thin garment won’t hinder my body movements at all. That’s a very good thing since I’ll be relying on my speed and agility.

I remove my black boots and shrug off my dark bottoms. I look carefully at the dark jumpsuit and discover there are no zippers or buttons. There are no openings at all except the face, hand, and foot holes.
Odd.
Leaving my undergarments on, I shove each foot through the face hole first. I pull the suit up until I’m able to push my feet out of the foot holes. Once my feet are in, I have no trouble pulling the stretchy fabric right up my legs and over my backside. It expands and contracts in ways that don’t make sense. I drop my black tank next to my other discarded clothes and finish pulling the suit on with ease. It covers my head last. The only way to tell me apart from the other girls is my name badge and green eyes—that and my height.

I look down at my bare feet. The o
ther girls must be doing the same, because Millie shouts, “Put your boots and socks back on and get over here!”

I cover my cold feet back up, and after I finish lacing my boots, I head over to Millie who sits behind a table filled with dull looking weapons. All the parts that should be shiny metal are now gray. They are hard plastic replicas. As I glance over to my nemesis, I think,
that’s unfortunate
. But Kinah will still feel it when I get her with my blades.

Millie hands me a belt that holds as many knives as my real one does. I buckle it around my waist and check out the contents. There are lots of daggers and two skinning knives. I’m pleased with the selection.

Only now do I realize that I’m hearing the same pounding thunder of the spectators. They are booming overhead, like they did at the First Trial. I was too caught up in Millie’s speech to listen to anything else around me. And very similar to my first experience at the arena, my heart pounds in my chest. It beats right along with each thundering boom from above.

“Line up girls! The announcer will be calling you soon!” Millie commands. She stands by the door that separates us from the male trainees. She knocks three times before the door is opened. We are ushered in and made to stand in an alphabetically ordered line next to the boys. Then, we wait to be called.

My mouth nearly drops when I get a good look at the boys in their skintight suits. Every inch of their muscled bodies is on display. I stand one person back from Ethan in the girls’ line. I can’t deny that I’m enjoying the view. His strong shoulders are supported by his toned back, which curves right around to his perfectly formed . . . I’m blushing now.

* * *

As I sit in my seat next to the arena, I grow somber. The reality of what is about to happen is sinking in, just as the announcer calls the first pairing. The male trainees will compete first in the first round. So, I will have to wait here, a troubled mess, until they’re finished weeding out the weaklings.

“Az will be competing against Garrison. Enter the arena on opposite ends and wait for the alarm. Once it sounds, you may begin. Fight to the death. Strength be with you.” The monotone male announcer
is back, this time representing the boys.

Poor Garrison, I think as I see him standing across from Az in the altered arena. Today the arena resembles our Defender’s Course. There are two trees, five crates, three boulders, and a sandy floor. There are no cacti, ponds, bushes, or walls. The trees look so real that a few birds swoop in the open top arena and test them out. They quickly leave once they figure out the leaves are artificial.

Az lifts his mock ax over his head with both hands. He stretches his arms out to the left and then to the right as he waits for the alarm to sound. He’s being cocky.

Garrison stands with his club in a ready position. His eyes ar
e locked on Az’s every move.

With a loud wail, the alarm sounds, making a few lingering birds squawk and fitfully fly off into the sky. Az strides directly toward Garrison with his ax swung over his shoulder. Garrison side steps to a nearby boulder, putting it between himself and Az. Unfortunately that doesn’t hinder the reach of Az’s ax. Az swings. He grazes Garrison’s club arm as Garrison tries to duck out of the way. The suit must really work because the injured trainee groans in pain while grabbing at the side of his intact arm. Az takes this opportunity to knock him over. He shifts his weight to get better leverage and then swings his ax into Garrison’s midsection.

It’s always tough to go first, and Garrison just experienced that in full force. He was out of the Second Trial in less than three minutes. A citizen had to go into the arena to switch off his suit before he was able to get up—or come back to life, I should say.

“Az wins this fight!” The announcer wastes no time introducing the next pairing. “Up next is Richard and Chasin. Take your places. Strength be with you.”

Richard with his ax loses to Chasin with his bow after Chasin shimmies up a tree and shoots three shots off. They all hit Richard square. He never cried out in pain, he just fell over after the third arrow bounced off his rib cage. It was a pretty uneventful match.

Now Ethan will face off against Leen’s club. My nerves start tumbling around in my stomach again. I scoot to the edge of my seat and squeeze my hands together. I try my best not to look anxious, as the two male trainees stand ready to fight. Suddenly, the alarm rings. It startles me even though I was expecting it.

In the arena, Ethan immediately throws a dagger in Leen’s direction. Leen blocks it with his mighty club. The knife makes a thud as it hits the sandy ground.

Ethan throws another knife, which is blocked again. We were warned that the others had been practicing blocking such attacks. Therefore, I’m not surprised that Ethan catches onto this quickly. He has to change his approach. He cautiously approaches the taller and broader boy with a knife in each hand. They are mere inches apart now. Ethan lunges for Leen’s stomach with his knife, but at the last minute he swipes his knife over the back of Leen’s quickly approaching wrist. Mid-backswing, Leen drops his club to the floor with an even louder thud than the puny knife. I wince as Leen backhands Ethan across the face.

The crowd is stomping around us, calling for some good hand-to-hand action.

Ethan drops down into a squat, feigning injury. As Leen leans over to grab the back of Ethan’s neck, Ethan drags his knife across the tendons on the back of Leen’s knee. Now Leen is on the ground, clutching the back of his leg.

Ethan allows him a moment to stand back up on his good leg, but everyone knows this will end soon. After a quick flick of the wrist, one of Ethan’s knives hits Leen in the abdomen. Leen once again falls to the sandy ground. This time he clutches his stomach. I try not to look away as he curls into the fetal position and takes short, gasping breaths. He’s still crippled with pain when one of the citizens turns his nanosuit off. It takes Leen a minute to realize that he’s okay. He leaves the arena virtually unharmed. Ethan has already left the competitor’s floor and is back to his seat before his victim even stands up.

Watching the pain on Leen’s face, I’m suddenly scared for myself and for Ethan.
What if they’re recovering from their false wounds and temporary deaths because they’re on the Pump? What if it has some kind of psychological effect on us that we can’t recover from? Surely, we can’t expect to get over feeling that kind of pain or thinking that we really died, without the dulling effects the purple drug offers.

Now I’m really scared. Now I can’t lose.

* * *

There is only one more first round fight to go for the male trainees. It’s Cuyler against Kwan. The crowd stomps as the competitors take their positions in the center of the arena’s floor. These two competitors are the most evenly matched so far. Kwan stands ready, though he rests his steady hands at his sides instead of on the hilt of his sword. Cuyler, I can tell is ready to pluck an arrow from his back the second the alarm sounds.

And that’s just what Cuyler does. Kwan rushes to a nearby boulder, sliding behind it for cover when the first arrow sails by. It barely misses him. Cuyler drops his bow. He knows that he will only waste more arrows by shooting at the boulder that’s obstructing his view of his opponent. After looking around, Cuyler sprints over to one of the trees. He shimmies up to a high point, where he will have a better vantage point. Upon seeing this, Kwan rolls behind one of the crates. He kicks off three of the crate’s rickety wooden sides with his heavy boot. He uses it to create a makeshift shield and holds the safeguard out in front of his body. Another one of Cuyler’s arrows sails through the air. It strikes Kwan’s shield, and then falls in the sand at his feet.