EXALTED (An Exalted Novel)

  EXALTED

  TARA ELIZABETH

  EXALTED

  Tara Elizabeth

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright © 2013 Tara Elizabeth

  Edited by Amanda Tarleton-Graves

  c

  razyinlouisiana.wordpress.com

  Cover Art by LMS Designs

  indieebookcoversbylmsdesigns.wordpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  Revised First Edition: May 2013

  Also by Tara Elizabeth:

  Zoo

  Coming Soon: DENOUNCED (EXALTED: Book 2)

  INTRODUCTION

  My heart has always been just an organ. It pumps blood throughout my body by repeated, rhythmic contractions. I have conditioned it in a way that has let me become physically exceptional. And that’s it . . . Or that was it.

  For a short time, my once gray life was an eruption of color, a cacophony of emotions. My heart felt warmth and joy, happiness and love. Sometimes, it seemed to physically ache . . . It should be aching right now, but I was ambushed, and my feelings are once again buried in the gray nothing.

  I followed all their rules. I participated in their Trials. I did everything I was told to do—but not anymore.

  I now stand at a precipice, one that will change my life forever. I glance back at the man I may love, catching one more glimpse of him. I want to turn back, to go with him, but I can’t. I need to seek the answers to the questions I should have been asking from the start.

  ONE

  A string of cold plastic wraps around my waist as a medical citizen takes in my measurements to determine what meals I will be allotted this week. The physicals are always on Monday mornings at 6:00 AM. Citizens must perform the physicals as not to taint the outcome of the yearly United Ceremonies.

  A female citizen with hair the color of wheat wraps the tape measure around my hips. Her expression remains blank as she continues her task. She touches me as little as possible and keeps her distance when she can. I do not know her name or those of any of the citizens for that matter. The Exalted do not mingle with citizens.

  Calipers are removed from a steel drawer and my body fat is measured next. They pinch and squeeze my skin. I gaze at the empty wall behind the citizen, waiting for the examination to be over. The gray sterile room is always the same, as are the tests. Every week has been the same, until now. Things will change today.

  I pull my standard issue black tank top and shorts back on after the last measurement is taken. There is no such thing as modesty here. Our bodies are machines, and we take pride in how well they are running.

  The clicking of computer keys is the only sound in the room until the female citizen finishes entering my information. She dismisses me by saying, “Exit, please.” Every medical citizen gives the same dismissal after they are finished with the physical. It never changes and they never look up from their work. I turn and exit through the room’s second door, directly opposite of the entry door. The next Exalted trainee will enter behind me for his or her measurements to be taken; like prize cattle being inspected one after the other.

  The hallway is bare like the exam room and the bleak grayness seems never ending. The fluorescent lights lining the ceiling hum and my thick-soled black boots strike the tile with confidence. I keep my head up and eyes level because I am Exalted. I do not fear anything.

  Breakfast is next on the schedule. I continue on through the building to the cafeteria. A good bit of our days will now be spent in this sprawling building, which was called a High School before the war. Now this concrete structure is the Exalted’s training facility where I will learn to perfect my skills and protect the people of the United Republic of the Saved. It’s what I was born to do. It’s what all Exalted are born to do.

  I place my thumb on the identification pad at the beginning of the breakfast queue, as all the other trainees have done before me this morning. The computer the medical citizen entered my measurements into has already determined what my meal plan is for the week. The results are sent instantly to the cafeteria for the cook citizens to prepare my carefully measured portions, like the rest of the Exalted.

  My turn at the window has come. A tray slides through with skim milk, an apple and warm oatmeal. I have had the same breakfast for the past two years. They gave me whole milk until I turned 15. I was too skinny then. When I achieved my approved physique, it changed to skim milk.

  Light filters through the paned windows causing me to squint as I turn toward the room of tables and walk toward the third table on the left. Valesca is already there, eating her breakfast of orange juice, eggs and ham. Her meals are always large and ever changing. She still needs to gain weight and requires additional fat and protein.

  Valesca, or Val as I call her, is my roommate and closest friend, but that doesn’t change the fact that we will be competing against one another very soon. Poor Val. She is facing even more pressure than any of the other girls in our year. Val’s parents produced two other high-ranking children for the Republic, so they insist their third child be just as great. Having high-ranking children is an honor for Exalted parents.

  Like me, Val is more feminine in appearance than most of our females with an oval face, plump lips, and doe like eyes. Her skin is the color of the creamy caramel that I saw once on her dessert, while my skin is the color of the vanilla ice cream that melted below it.

  * * *

  “Don’t look now, but Kinah is making her way over here. I’m sure she wants to put you in your place before Trial training starts. Strength be with you.” Val gives me the customary Exalted salutation followed by a little nod. Her brown eyes stay with mine as I slide onto the bench seat across from her, all the while sensing Kinah’s fierce presence behind me as she slowly approaches, like a lioness stalking her prey. She is mistaken if she thinks I am that prey.

  I answer Val’s salute, “And with you as well.” Then I add, “Thanks for the heads up.”

  As warned, Kinah sits at our table, her androgynous shape anchoring next to Val so she can face me and give me the full effect of her condescending glare. The table and attached benches jump from her weight as she sits. Physically, Kinah is everything an Exalted female should be. She is a statuesque 6’1” with a powerful build and her dark ebony skin accentuates every muscle that she has worked hard to attain. She looks down at my tray and comments, “Same measurements again today, Mena?” Although Kinah portrays a mocking attitude about my bland breakfast, I know that she is closely monitoring her competition. We are both at our approved physiques.

  “Yes, as is yours.” I do not have to look at her meal to know that it is the same as yesterday. Kinah achieved that goal four months before I did and has not let me forget it.

  Kinah, having to get the last word in, answers, “Of course, like always.”

  I am the slightest female in our age group at only 5’7” with a slim, but athletic build. My mother’s frame is similar and she scored third in her United Trials. Therefore, my father was third as well. I am well bred, but Kinah’s breeding is superior, with both of her parents being first in their Trials. These are also facts that Kinah feels the need to remind me of frequently.

  Statistically speaking, Kinah should finish first in our Trials, but my head tells me otherwise. That honor belongs to me. Each of us thinks the same. There is no alternative to first place. It’s hardwired into our very existence.

  The half eaten mushy oatmeal in my bowl stares at me mockingly, knowing I must finish it before the medical citizens ente
r. As I swallow one dry lump after another, I look across to the opposite side of the cafeteria where our male trainees eat. They always have larger portions with extra protein. The smell of bacon teases my nose, but only briefly. I know that the extra fat will alter my approved physique.

  I wonder which of those males will rank first? Leen? Az? Kwan? Ethan? The answer is: The Strongest.

  Strength is our way of life, both physically and mentally. We strive to be the strongest. We carry it with us everyday in something as simple as our names. Each and every one of us is given a name that possesses the meaning of strength. My name means: strength and knowledge. I will live up to my name. I will be first in the United Trials. There’s no alternative. The Republic, my parents, and my peers expect the best from me . . . from us all.

  With the Trials approaching soon, the males have recently started looking at the females differently. They are also monitoring and picking their favorites.

  Last week, Az cornered me after our morning five-mile run. We run everyday except Mondays, because of the physicals. After the run, Az caught up with me. How that happened I have no idea. He pulled me behind a tree and pushed me up against it. His eyes were determined, and his was face inches from mine as he loomed over me with his hulking upper body. The Exalted do not feel fear, so I held my ground and looked directly back into his dull brown eyes. A breeze ruffled his short brown hair as he petitioned me. “I will take first place in the male trials and you, Mena, will place first as well.” Az has chosen his favorite female and it is me. He’s definitely not my first choice. He may have a strong body, but his mind is weak. I deserve a better match.

  Everyone says they will place first, and everyone truly believes they will. We can’t think any differently. My answer to Az was no different than any other girl’s would have been. “I will place first.” That’s all I said to him . . . I didn’t add that, like Prometheus, I’d rather be chained to a boulder and have a bird peck my liver out for all eternity than be United with him. That would be a display of weakness. Instead, I chose to hold my tongue, duck under his arm, and head for my awaiting shower.

  Az must have noticed my meal today as well, because he is nodding in my direction as if he approves. Rather than nodding back and acknowledging his advances, I turn back to my breakfast and finish just in time for the medical citizens to pass out our daily vitamins.

  One male and one female citizen, each dressed in a plain white, sterile-looking coverall, push shiny metal carts down the rows of tables and hand out our daily purple vitamin. Over the years, the Exalted started calling it “the Pump”. There is one pill for each of us. I eagerly swallow mine, knowing that it will make me even stronger.

  The first time I took the Pump I was five years old. I had just moved out of my parent’s apartment to the dormitories. At breakfast, everyone was handed a purple vitamin, much like today, and then we all became better, stronger. We grew physically bigger and faster. We went to class and learned about who we were as a race and why our training was so important to the survival of the Republic.

  In our history classes, we were taught that after World War III, the majority of the world was left an uninhabitable, barren wasteland. Atmospheric changes, land lost to the ocean, shifts in the tides, and flash-fire zones were just some of the environmental results of this devastating war. The cities that remained were left in ruins. Not that it mattered, since there was no one left to reside in them. The bombs, radiation, and biological warfare wiped out all of mankind except for a fortunate handful.

  The survivors of our continent banded together in an area left unharmed by the war. A leader was chosen—Dr. Harlan Fredericks. Dr. Fredericks was a brilliant doctor with the ability to rally the people. He developed a rebuilding plan and had innovative ideas about how to salvage and use the resources that remained after the war. He surrounded himself with other doctors, scientists, historians, and technologists that also survived the fallout. He called them “Ambassadors”. Together, they began to organize the people of the newly formed United Republic of the Saved.

  Taking over a mid-sized city in former southern North America, they repurposed the buildings that were left standing and spent many years building a wall to surround the Republic. They used the rubble of destroyed interstates, highways, and buildings to enclose and protect the new nation from terrorists and marauders. During the rebuilding, they noticed some of the citizens were able to accomplish super-human tasks, thus separating those individuals from the “normal” ones. They deemed them saviors and explained that these super-humans were blessed with mutations from the radiation. They were named the Exalted. They were strong, fast and fearless. They were gods.

  The Exalted accepted their new roles with the glorious Republic, vowing to protect the “regular” people against all threats at any cost. And we have been doing so ever since, growing stronger with the Pump, training, and through the yearly United Trials. We now follow Dr. Fredericks’ son, Dr. Fredericks II. He has continued on with his father’s plan, held our nation together, and kept us whole.

  Now that my class and I are in our 17th year of life, we do not need to study things like history, math, or language. We are preparing for the United Trials. They will take place in a few weeks with the United Ceremony at the end of our 17th year.

  Winning the Trials is the biggest honor for our race. There are three in all, which will test our skills in weaponry, combat, and survival. We will be ranked and then matched up male with female. The results will determine our mate for life to which we will be bound in the United Ceremony. The Trials are the best way to produce the strongest offspring so we can continue protecting the citizens.

  Since childhood, we have trained in fitness, weaponry, and combat. Each of us has trained in our general weapons class with multiple weapons, but now we must pick just one to carry with us into our future as a protector. Today is Choosing Day.

  TWO

  We stand against the wall of the gymnasium and wait for our name to be called. The room is much like the rest of the facility. There are bare gray walls, gray floors, and gray ceiling tiles. It’s all gray, except for one wall that hosts a wide selection of weapons. I can see most everything there with the exception of guns. The Exalted believe that a firearm is a weak man’s weapon, so we don’t train with them.

  Swords and knives reflect the sun’s light, casting tiny rainbows across the floor at certain times of the day. This is the most color we see inside this room . . . unless someone bleeds.

  Choosing Day is a small ceremony of sorts. All of the main instructors have come to witness this event. They stand still, like silent statues in the shadowy background, waiting to see which of the most promising trainees will pick their own weapon of choice. Instructors receive great praise for training a first place Exalted.

  Walking to the center of the gymnasium’s floor, Force, one of our regular instructors, begins the ceremony. The tone in his voice is commanding and soothing at the same time. He says, “Strength be with you, on this extremely important day.” I can’t help but sarcastically note to myself that his second place parents chose a very original name for him. Force is just as broad as he is tall . . . and he is very tall. During demonstrations, his bald head always seems to gleam in sync with his axe as he wields it around. I’ve been dazzled by it a few times and have consequently taken several hard blows—mostly to my head.

  “Today, you will all choose the weapon that will carry you into your life as an Exalted. Choose wisely.” He bows and moves off to the side of the room making way for the trainees to cross his path.

  And just like that, it starts. Force begins calling each trainee one-by-one. “Az, choose your weapon,” Force booms while sweeping an arm across the room, inviting Az to pick a weapon off the wall of death.

  Az idolized Force during general weapons training and always favored the axe because of it. Therefore, I am not surprised to watch him walk directly over to the hefty killing tool that hangs on the lower right side of the wall. He re
turns to the line with his head held high and chest puffed out like a bird during mating season. It’s kind of ironic since that’s really what this all boils down to.

  Down the list of names he goes, each trainee choosing, each one exuding confidence.

  Finally, it’s my turn. “Mena, choose your weapon.” I meet Force’s hard gaze as he invites me to begin my journey into the life of an Exalted.

  Choice, something I have never had before. It gives me pause. When I notice Force staring at me, however, I quickly shake off my unusual reaction. I find my confidence once again as I take my turn. I walk across the length of the gymnasium to choose the weapon that will be like a new appendage to my body. My steady hand reaches out and takes a belt loaded with knives of different sizes. Of all the choices, I am most comfortable with these small blades as opposed to a long sword or even a mighty spear. Plus, I get to have one in each hand. I’ll be twice as deadly. I fasten the silver buckle around my slim waist and return to my place in line.

  I did it. I have an identity. This is who I am now; I am a Knife Thrower.

  I pay close attention when Force calls my best friend’s name. “Valesca, choose your weapon.” She hasn’t told me what she will be choosing, but I suspect it will be the same as the rest of her family. They are known for their precision with a bow.

  Val’s thin fingers curl around the smooth arch of a handsome bow, and then she snatches a sheath of arrows nearby, slinging them over her shoulder like she’s ready for battle.

  In the end, Trudi and Kwan chose swords. Az, Leen, Kinah and a few others chose blunt force weapons. Chasin, Cuyler, Val and two other girls chose the bow. Ethan was the only other to choose the knives.

  Ethan is my only male friend and has been since we were late to class once at the age of nine. As punishment, the instructors shaved our heads and locked us in a dark closest for three days without food. I was never late after that day . . . neither was Ethan.