EXALTED (An Exalted Novel) (20 page)

“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.

The night before the Second Trial is t
he 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 o
f 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 mara
uder, 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 bu
rn 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.