EXALTED (An Exalted Novel) (7 page)

I glance around the room of trainees, all dressed in black. We are battling to be the best, striving to learn and master the drills. It makes me feel as if I’m in the middle of a storming, black sea with the night sky and dark waves thrashing and beating against me as the instructor yells thunderous taunts. I struggle to sway and bob. I’m just trying to keep afloat, when about halfway through the afternoon session, I break out in a sweat. Sweating is to be expected during training, but a chill accompanies this unusual perspiration. I try jumping up and down during breaks to heat up my trembling limbs, but to no avail they remain clammy.

After training, I rush to the dorms, sprint up the stairs to our room, and take over the bathroom before Val can even offer me first shower. I strip down, as quickly as possible, and jump into the shower to warm myself up. The heat only seems to make the uneasy feeling worse. I turn the temperature down and try to calm my ragged breathing, but a wave of nausea sweeps over me. I slide down to the floor of the shower, letting the rush of cool water pound the top of my head.

I stay there, sitting for what seems like only a few minutes, but in no time at all, Val is banging on the bathroom door, demanding her turn. “Are you okay in there? If so, you better hurry up. You’ve been in there for over a half hour, Mena,” she yells.

“Yeah! Sorry, be out in a minute. Just cut myself shaving,” I lie.

I hurry and pick myself up off the shower floor. I towel off, but sweat continues to bead down my brow and upper lip. I have to dry myself off again before opening the door.

“You don’t look well, Mena.” Taking in my ashen face, Val shows a little concern for me now. “Do you need to see a medical citizen?”

Exalted do get sick like everyone else, but it’s not a common occurrence. I guess along with super-strength we also got a super-immune system.

I try to convince my roommate that I’m fine before she goes to take her shower.  I say to her, “No, No. I’m fine. Must have had the shower on too hot, and then I cut myself. Got a little woozy, that’s all. I’m just going to sit for a minute before heading out for the evening meal.”

She studies me for a second and then says, “If you say so. You know I won’t tell any of the others if you are sick . . . ”

“I know. But I’m really not sick,” I assure her. Val is a good friend. Any of the other trainees would never show concern for my well-being, in fact, they would see me being ill as an advantage to them, which is the reason for Val’s previous comment.

Once Val has finished dressing, we walk to the cafeteria together. Dinner proves to be even more uncomfortable for me than training was this afternoon. Some of the boys crowd around our table and talk loudly about the Trials. I don’t want anyone else suspecting something is off with me, so I choke down my food and make an effort to join in the conversation.

Each bite of my chicken is excruciating. I’m pretty sure I’m loosing an ounce of sweat with each mouthful. Finally, everything on my plate is in my rolling stomach. I make a quick excuse to my friends about needing to go somewhere. I hurry for the door, only pausing long enough to turn in my tray and scan my thumb on the identification pad so that I can be released from this hell. When I see no one is in the hall, I run down the corridor, straight for the restroom. I make it to a toilet just in time for my dinner to reappear. Thankfully, my vision is blurred, and I don’t have to be reminded of what it was I ate only moments ago. I flush, slump to the floor, and rest my head on the wall. The tiles are cool and feel good against my cheek. Relief swells through me, as the nausea subsides.

I rinse my mouth out in the sink and splash water on my face. The icy water caresses my skin, and if I could breathe under its cold surface, I would live in it.

As I peer into the mirror, I see a crazed girl staring back at me. Her skin is so white that it’s almost transparent, and her huge green eyes are wild, but not cold and distant like they are normally. I straighten my tousled damp hair and smooth out my wrinkled clothing. I mold my face back into the hard, straight lines that define the Exalted before returning to their world.

Instead of returning to the company of the other trainees, I head outside. The cool air that sweeps across my face, when I leave the building, is like swimming in a sea of silk. My body relaxes. My head clears. I notice the stars sprinkled across the dark sky overhead. They pull me forward and guide me toward the East Gate, calling me to discover what lies beyond.

I have an hour before curfew, which gives me just enough time for a long walk. As I get closer to the wall that surrounds the Republic, I am reminded of the tall boy from the cornfields—a man really. He’s probably a year or two older than me, but no more. His existence confuses me. I’ve never heard of an Exalted being taken before, nor have I heard of an Exalted traitor. I wonder if the Republic knows of such people.

The East Gate comes into view. It’s heavily guarded, both inside and out. I wasn’t planning on leaving; I just wanted to get a glimpse of the outside. Searching for another view of the outside, I head south along the wall and drag my finger in the mortar line like my father did in my dream.

I spot a grouping of magnolia trees that stand just inside the wall. There is one grand beauty among them that is beckoning me into its thick branches. The branches seem to appear in just the right places for my feet and hands to carry me to its highest point. My long hair blows around my face as the wind picks up strength the higher I climb. I find a good branch to perch on, where I can look out to the world beyond the wall. As I study the fields, I can see that breeze is present out there as well. It bends the immature cornstalks this way and that. That’s the only movement though. There are no signs of human life.

I remain hidden in the embrace of the quiet magnolia tree until it’s time to meet the restraints of the “all-protecting” curfew. The descent from the tree is easy enough, and I leave her to keep watch in my stead. I only wish that the magnolia tree would be able to tell me what she sees when I return.

Two days have passed since the first time I became ill. Extreme nausea and headaches have been beating my body from the inside out for almost 52 hours now.

During training, I caught some of the other trainees looking at me, wondering why my stamina is decreasing. A couple of times I had to excuse myself from training and rush out to the restroom so I could vomit. While being constantly nauseous is a difficult experience, it’s even more difficult putting on a strong mask over my weak one.

Concern grows inside of me, as I think about the Monday morning physical that is happening in a few days.
Will my meals change? Will anyone notice?
This sickness needs to stop soon.

The worries about the Trials and the Pump have become all consuming. That worry made the occurrence of the dream even more troublesome. I woke when it was still dark outside, my head pounding and my heart racing. The memory of the endless barrier stretched out before me, keeping me safely locked away in the Republic’s boundaries—but last night, the dream was slightly different. Instead of struggling with my father to put me down, I urged him to lift me over the wall. “Let me out!” I shouted at him. He continued to walk on without acknowledging me or responding to my pleas.

Now, as I lay in bed, I’m longing for the day to start so that I may begin to put behind me the nightmare that’s beginning to plague me every morning. I roll over and face the empty gray wall. I trace my finger over the smooth surface, replaying my dream once more. A restless energy surges through my entire body as dawn finally arrives. Ethan and I are scheduled for the afternoon patrol today, but I have to make it through the morning routine first.

Our morning run and breakfast flash by so fast that I almost forget not to take the purple pill the medical citizen hands me. The repetitive action takes over my hand and brain, and I nearly swallow it down. I stop myself at the last second and stuff the Pump in my sock like before. When I get the opportunity, I will flush it down the toilet.

Ethan holds the door open for me to our training building, showing me that some Exalted males actually have the ability to be chivalrous. My mouth curls up on one side as I pass by him. As soon as it happens, I slap my hand over my rebellious face.

“Were you going to say something?” Ethan studies me closely.

My heart races, and for an instant I feel like the little girl in my dream. I’m not confident and strong right now. I’m scared. My mouth feels as dry as the wastelands beyond the Republic’s walls when I go to answer him. “No, sorry. It was just an itch.” I furiously scratch the side of my cheek as if I were inflicted with some kind of deadly rash. “Thanks for holding the door,” I mumble as I evade the situation.

Focus Mena!

I hurry further inside the training facility, desperately seeking out Garret. We need to begin class so Ethan will forget about the suspicious incident.
What was that?
I ask myself. Before the fear took over, I felt like my chest was lifting and the sun was breathing on my face. I think I liked that a boy opened the door for me. In particular, I think that I liked that Ethan opened the door for me.

Is this what the marauder/Taken/Exalted guy
(
I don’t even know what to call him) had been warning me about? Am I coming alive?

Garret instructs Ethan and me to practice some of the knife-disarming exercises that we learned in combat training, with the addition of a second attacker. Taking turns as the “first” attacker, we have to advance on each other with a mock blade. The opponent is expected to counter the attack, steal the knife away, and kill the “first” attacker. Finally, the opponent must turn, roll, and release the stolen weapon into the air. The goal is to bury the knife into the “second” attacker, which happens to be one of the lifeless dummies that hang from the ceiling.

My endurance and speed are finally starting to return to me as the side effects of the withdrawals wear off. My headache is nearly gone this morning, and my mind has pretty much come out of that strange fog. It’s been lifting slowly, day-by-day.

Today, I power through Garret’s class and impress even myself.

* * *

After lunch, Ethan jogs with me over to the East Gate for our scheduled patrol. Our platonic relationship has begun to change in hints and whispers of the union that could be. I’m enjoying the change. Everyday I spend with him, he becomes more attractive to me as a mate and less like the childhood friend I’ve been thinking of him as.

Ethan has been consistently joining Val and me for our evening meals. He takes the pressure off me to keep up conversation with Val. She enjoys discussing the Trials and the new moves we learned in combat training. I, however, think it is best to keep such talk to ourselves. Fortunately, Val knows better than to publicly discuss her specialized weapons training class and more specific details about the other trainees. She is patient enough to wait until the other trainees have wandered off, leaving Ethan and I alone with her.

As a group, the three of us have grown closer in a short time. I even spent the past two evenings strategizing with them about ways to beat Kinah and Az. Not surprisingly, Val managed to pry their training progress out of Leen, who is in their weapons class. She tells us Leen revealed to her that his class has spent a lot of time on deflecting attacks from knife throwers and archers. They’ll be well prepared for any onslaught of projectiles we send at them in the Second Trial. This information was valuable for Val to have shared.  Ethan and I both thank her.

Besides my personal gain in strategy, I am enjoying spending quality time with my friends. Something in me has shifted, and I feel the need to make real connections and real friends. My new, unobstructed mind is telling me this is important.

On our way to the East Gate, Ethan and I pass my magnolia tree. It’s been watching the fields alone while I’ve been enjoying my time with my friends. I notice that its branches stretch out wide toward the barrier that keeps her prisoner from the world beyond.
Is that what we are? Prisoners?
No, I don’t believe that. The wall is here for protection from what’s out there—protection for the citizens.
I believe in what we do here, and I want to serve the Republic to the best of my abilities
.
This belief in the Republic is why I made the decision to stop taking the Pump. The Republic trusted me enough to choose my own weapon; they should trust me enough to find a way to become stronger for them.

I hope to see the Exalted marauder on my rounds today. I have so many questions. I want to know if I’ll really become stronger and how long it will take. I want to know how not taking the Pump opened the door to my emotions. I’m still waiting for my body to take off in flight, but it has definitely begun flapping its tiny wings.

I want to find out more about the stranger. Why is he not serving the Republic? I also hope to find out his name so I can stop calling him the “Exalted marauder”.

Basav is waiting for us. His face is dark as if we’re about to be scolded for being late for duty. In actuality we are six minutes early. “Finally,” he grunts. Then he nods his head toward the fields, sending us straight into patrolling.

Geez, he’s strict
, I think to myself,
and scary as hell.