EXALTED (An Exalted Novel) Page 2

  There were many other types of weapons that were left untouched in the Choosing Day ceremony. The unfortunate instructors for those weapons slink off past the others. They will have to go on patrol until a new group of trainees come through next year.

  The class is silent as we wait for further instruction from Force. He clears his throat before addressing us once again. “You have all chosen wisely. Now, split into groups based on your weapons. Your specialized instructor will lead you to your new training space.” He claps his hands together. The impact creates an unusually loud bang, which get us moving.

  Ethan is at my side before I even turn to look for him. He is well built with a strong jaw line, but short for an Exalted male at only 6’1”. We have the height problem in common and have worked hard together to make up for it with our speed.

  “Wise choice in weapons, Ethan.” I complement him as I tie back my long, brown hair. Training with a male will benefit me greatly. I will strive to be stronger than him.

  Ethan’s fair hair is kept short and tidy. He runs his fingers through it, as he looks at me with his piercing blue eyes. He replies, “Thank you, Mena. I hope to give you some competition.”

  I open my mouth to respond with something equally challenging, but I notice Instructor Garret rapidly descending upon us. It causes me to stop short. “Follow me,” he orders, never stopping on his way to the exit. Ethan and I follow him down several corridors. When we exit the main training facility at the far side of the building, we jog a short distance to our destination; a flat-roofed, concrete building with no markings. Garret unlocks and opens the building’s glass door that has been painted black. My eyes go wide as our new training space is revealed.

  We both look around the large space in appreciation. Its size is larger than the gymnasium we were just in. Garret tells us that it was once called a grocery store where food was sold. I believe that it is without question more useful as a training facility.

  Around the perimeter, there are targets, some much like archery targets with a red bulls-eye surrounded by the outer red and white rings. There are also three human-shaped dummies hanging from the ceiling, their lifeless legs dangling inches from the ground. If they could just reach the floor, they would probably sprint out of the building from fear of knowing what their future holds. Near us, in the corner, is a wooden board that’s painted white. It has numerous black circles that are evenly spaced upon its surface. Row upon row. Column after column. At the center of the building, there is something that resembles an obstacle course. Down one side is a 15-foot tall, concrete block wall, resembling what surrounds most of our city. Twelve fake trees of different sizes are spaced randomly around the course. There are also things like shrubs, cacti, crates, boulders and a pond, all surrounded by a sandy floor.

  Garret doesn’t waste any time. He opens with, “This facility is where we will train every morning for the next six weeks to prepare you for the United Trials. Report here directly after breakfast everyday. Mastering your accuracy with the knives will be our first task to prepare you for the First Trial. Once you both have complete control over your weapons, using both hands, then we will move onto training on the Defender’s Course. This will prepare you for the Second and Third Trials.” Garret pauses, looking each of us in the eyes to make sure we understand this next part. He says, “It’s in your best interest to master your weapons as soon as possible. The more time you have on the Defender’s Course, the better prepared you will be for the Final Trial. Understand?” He looks at us expectantly with his brow furrowed and his set jaw.

  “Yes, instructor,” we both answer in unison.

  “Take your position behind the first white line,” Garret instructs us as he gestures toward the most recognizable of all the targets. “Locate your throwing knives on your belt. You should each have six. You will also find two fixed-blade skinning knives and two boot daggers.”

  Ethan and I skirt around the edge of the course toward the red and white ringed targets. Sand crunches under my boots as I pass too close to the Defender’s Course. I wanted to commence training on it now, but for now I listen to my instructor and take my position behind the white line.

  “Let’s see what I’m working with. All six knives. Go!” Garret shouts the last part.

  With my left hand, I grasp my first dagger by the handle. I focus on the center of the target and take one long stride forward, leading with my right foot and release the knife from an overhand pitch. It spins through the air and strikes the target about five-inches to the right of the bulls-eye. Again and again, I throw. I throw until all six daggers are embedded in the wood plank. Two hit the center. Not bad. Not good either.

  Ethan made three out of six.

  We continue this way until it’s time for our lunch break. My arms are aching, but I keep my discomfort to myself.

  THREE

  In the cafeteria, I press my thumb on the identification pad and in response a food tray comes out of a slot in the wall. I don’t even bother to look at it because I know what will be on it. I take a seat at the third table on the left, across from Val, like every mealtime.

  As I look around the lunch tables, I discover that no one is talking. Though Exalted aren’t known to be chatty, this quiet is unusual. I stock it up to the realities of the new training sessions and what they mean. We will soon be competing with one another in the most important events of our lives. The weight of the situation is physically pressing down on our shoulders. We don’t want the others to know how our progression is coming along, so we remain close-lipped. There is a silent code amongst fellow trainees to keep quiet about one another as well. I will never tell another trainee how Ethan is performing, and he will never gossip about me. It’s to be expected that our bond will grow stronger over the weeks to come.

  After eating, we are allowed 30 minutes of free time to let our stomachs digest their contents. Hand-to-hand combat training will then begin.

  Training with our peers in a regulated environment is nothing new. As children, until the specialized United Trials training begins, all Exalted are put through strenuous physical conditioning. Endurance. Speed. Strength Training. Flexibility. Our days are spent in the weight room or on a treadmill along with varying martial arts, kickboxing, and weapons training. Our bodies are conditioned to run like machines.

  The sparring is always monitored and has never ended with major injuries. Minor injuries occur quite frequently though; bloody noses, bruised bodies, black eyes, a cracked rib or two on occasion. When we compete in the Second Trial that will change.

  Suddenly, needing a break, I hurriedly finish my grilled chicken and vegetables. I leave without asking Val how her training went, even though I know she is dying to talk about it. Unlike most reserved Exalted, she likes to discuss the ins and outs of training. I think she secretly does this to get you to eventually open up, thus handing over coveted knowledge she’ll use to beat you with later. I have enough confidence in her to believe that’s not the case with me, but only time will tell.

  I swing my legs over the bench seat and turn to leave all this tension behind. At the door, I show my tray to the cook citizen, but before I can leave, he has to verify that everything has been eaten and then make note of it in the computer. I scan my thumb on the exit identification pad. The citizen, never looking up at me, nods and dismisses me for my break.

  While leaving my peers behind, I search my mind for something. What is it? There was something about the Choosing Day ceremony that felt strange. I try to recall what I experienced when given the freedom to choose something for myself. It’s no use, I feel like I’m in a fog. I feel numb, but then again that’s how I’ve always felt, driven only by the need to be strong and powerful. I shake my head and move on.

  I often take this time to sit and watch the Ambassadors eat lunch. They gather in small groups outside. It is an eight-minute walk from the training facility to the Capitol building. Today, the sky is only blue. There’s not a clouds to be seen. The air is thi
ck with humidity, causing my clothes to become damp with sweat before I’m even half way there.

  The way to the Capitol is clear, so I’m able to take in my surroundings without being distracted by citizens going to great lengths to avoid me. We actually have green grass and manicured trees here. The Republic keeps everything hydrated and lush. They don’t want to be reminded of the world beyond the wall and fields. I have never seen past the Republic’s walls myself, but I’ve learned enough in History class to know that’s not something I want to see. The Republic is all I need.

  Impressive stone steps lead up to four, soaring Corinthian columns. They hold up the Capitol building’s impressive façade that has “United Republic of the Saved” scrolled across the face of it. The words are sand blasted into the stonework with a charcoal color set into the recesses. The building is a reminder to us of our history and how great we have become since the war that devastated the world. It’s a highly secure building, and therefore, no one is allowed in, except for Ambassadors and Dr. Fredericks.

  Most of the Ambassadors eat outside on benches instead of in their private cafeteria. Today, I stand watching them from behind the corner of the Capitol building. I’m always fascinated to see their mouths curl up at the sides and the way their chests heave in and out, expelling strange noises. None of the other Exalted speak about such things. I don’t think any of them have really even noticed. I only noticed after my father pointed it out to me as a child.

  The strangest occurrence involving the Ambassadors happened a few years ago. I saw a heavyset female Ambassador run out of the Capitol building with her face all scrunched up and tears falling down her face. A strand of her hair was stuck in the side her mouth as she uncontrollably gasped for air. She ran into the Ambassador apartments that are to the south of the Capitol building.

  The only time my eyes have ever leaked in a similar manner has been when I’ve been punched in the nose. When I saw the Ambassador, I immediately thought that was what must have happened to her. But there was no evidence of physical violence, no bruising, or blood . . . and besides, it’s unheard of for the Ambassadors to ever experience violence.

  The event had confused me and piqued my interest. That’s why I come back to watch them. What I see on their faces here today, though, I have seen many times before. I don’t know what to call it or why they do it. None of the Exalted or the citizens have the ability to contort their faces in such ways. Sometimes at night when all the girls are sleeping, I go to the bathroom, look in the mirror, and force my face to mimic what I’ve seen here. I still don’t know the reason for such displays, nor have I been able to reproduce the hysterical tears like the plump female Ambassador.

  As I watch the curious Ambassadors, I hear a commotion at the base of the Capitol’s steps, and then a loud siren wails outside the Republic’s walls. No one seems to notice me as I pull my body back into the shadows of the building. I watch from a safe distance, waiting to see how they will react to this alarm; it sounds when someone has been taken. It happens about once or twice a month, but recently it has been sounding more often.

  The Ambassadors that were lounging on the benches and eating lunches now join the newly forming group on the Capitol’s steps. They move in close to one another, waiting to hear the news that’s sure to come. They are all demanding answers, and from the high pitch tones in a few of their voices and their wild eyes, I can tell they are scared and panicked about the taking. I know the reason for these facial expressions all too well.

  I press my face against the gravelly surface of the stone building and lean in closer to hear what they’re saying. I make out a few sentences from an aging man with a soft voice. He says, “Another farm citizen was taken from the fields this morning . . . No . . . No food, just him.”

  I know I should leave. I shouldn’t be spying on the Ambassadors, but my feet feel like they’re stuck in quicksand. I want to know what has happened.

  Someone gasps and rattles on, “We are loosing more and more of them. We need more Exalted there.”

  “There aren’t enough Exalted to go around,” answers a woman. I can’t see her to tell if body is shaking, but I can hear that her voice is trembling.

  Taken? I’ve never understood why the terrorists or marauders would take citizens. Citizens are useless and, surely, a marauder wouldn’t waste his efforts on stealing a person when there is food nearby. It doesn’t make sense.

  The aging man says, “Let’s call a meeting right away.”

  The Ambassadors all nod and whisper their agreements. The group as a whole is nervous and disorderly. It takes them a few minutes to actually move in the direction of the building’s doors, but eventually they all scurry up the steps. They are politely shoving each other through the doors, feeling an urgency to discuss the Taken situation. During the chaos, one of them drops a folded sheet of paper. It floats to the ground and settles on the bottom step of the Capitol building.

  I poke my head out from behind the side of the building. My curiosity it strong, and of course, I need to return the lost Ambassador property as soon as possible. I reach down to pick up paper. It just so happens to flip open as I stand back up. It’s a map of what’s left of North America. The Republic is positioned at the bottom and is represented by a seal with “United Republic of the Saved” in old style scrollwork. There’s another similar seal, but much smaller, a little farther northwest. There are rivers and lakes, mountains and canyons all positioned like the pre-war maps I’ve seen. The only differences here are the coastlines. There’s much less of North America than there used to be.

  Before folding the map back up and climbing the steps to the Capitol building in order to return the fallen paper, I notice one more thing. There are tiny clusters of red and blue dots. They vary in size and are scattered across the lower half of the landscape. What could these represent? Are they settlements? No. That can’t be it. The Republic would never keep such a thing from us. Realizing I’ve been standing here too long with Ambassador property, I hurriedly return the paper to the Exalted that stands guard in an alcove just outside the door to the Capitol.

  FOUR

  Az follows me into the gymnasium and knocks me slightly off course when he brushes up against me. I truly hope he won’t be my United. He’s acting like a pig, and he smells like he’s been rolling around in their mud pit.

  Looking around the room of Exalted, I suppose Ethan would be my first choice. He is strong both physically and mentally, as are his parents. He’s extremely handsome, even if he is a little short. We’ve been friends for so long, we already have a good bond and trust one another. He would be an acceptable match, but he will have to prove he’s my equal. If he is not United with me, I hope Val will place with him.

  There are two instructors here for combat training today. As they stand side-by-side, Garret and Millie resemble brilliant Greek gods from Mount Olympus, with their golden hair and skin and matching blue eyes. They are United.

  We all stand shoulder-to-shoulder in the large, open space, waiting for instructions. “Pair off. Boys with boys. Girls with girls. Spread out.” Millie’s voice is just as graceful and powerful as she is with her bow.

  Val and I immediately pair up. We spend the next three and a half hours throwing and blocking punches with our partners. Punch. Block. Return Punch. Over and over. We also practice roundhouse kicks and blocks. We are all concentrating on the task at hand. There is no chatting or gossiping, but sneaky glances are being cast to check out how the competition is performing.

  Garret and Millie walk around the room, weaving between the pairs of trainees. They try to intimidate us by yelling things at us like, “Hit Harder!”, “Watch your feet!”, “Keep your chin up!” Sometimes they even throw in their own punches or try to trip us. They want us aware of our surroundings at all times. The sessions are grueling, but in the end, we will be stronger for it.

  As I became older and reached physical maturity, I discovered that my height was my weakness. My peers woul
d tower over me. Being a short Exalted is not an easy burden to carry, especially when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. I don’t have the reach that they do, I’m not as strong as they are, and I’m certainly not as intimidating as they are.

  The Republic gives us a pill for strength, why couldn’t they have manufactured something for height as well? Since I have this disadvantage, I compensate by pushing myself harder than the others. My arms and rib cage ache by the end of class. I want to pass out on the floor, right here in front of them all, but I can’t. Stay strong, I tell myself.

  After training, we spend an extra 30 minutes following Millie and Garret through various stretches. Cool down is mandatory after such rigorous practices. My muscles feel appreciative as they lengthen and relax after the strenuous workout. My pulse steadily slows, and I allow myself to look forward to the sleep that is still hours away.

  We are dismissed for showers, a timely dinner, and a conservative bedtime of 9:00 PM. There is always a schedule to follow here and never a choice to be made . . . except for this morning when I chose my knives. The freedom in that decision was unfamiliar, and, unfortunately, it will never happen again. I would like more of my own choices. I know I would only make ones that would make me a better protector for the Republic. However, I can’t lie and say that I don’t like rules and structure.

  “Walk with me,” I plead with Val. “I’m trying to avoid Az and his mating dance.”

  “No problem,” Val says as she accepts my request with a nod. Her ebony pixie cut hair is drenched in sweat. “He’s such a goon. I pity the girl that will be United with him. Hopefully, it’s Kinah.”

  “They would be perfect for each other. Both are strong and dumb.”

  We walk out of the complex and head toward the Exalted’s living quarters. The building was once used as a hospital to care for the sick. The first two floors are still used to treat the sick and injured, but the many floors above it are the Exalted dormitories and apartments. Young Exalted are housed in the lower level student dorms. They sleep two to a room. As we get older, we move up to the trainee dorms, which still sleep two to a room. Each floor always separates males from females. The top floors were remodeled for adults. They combined two rooms to make one apartment for United couples and their children under five years old.