EXALTED (An Exalted Novel) (9 page)

I focus on the door, on the way out.
Evade
, I think. It’s the easiest thing to do, but it’s not the right thing to do. I do it anyway . . . The Pump is securely hidden in my sock when I stand to leave both the cafeteria and my curious friends.

Ethan jumps up from his seat and follows me out of the room, trailing several feet behind me. Finally, I turn and stop. “Come on then,” I wave my hand in a reluctant invitation for him to join me.

“I know what you’re doing.” He leans over and whispers, his sweet breath filling the air between us.

What’s he talking about?
As I push the door open to the building, I casually say, “You mean walking to the East Gate?”

Ethan grabs my arm and detours me around the back of our weapons training building. My heart starts to pound.
He knows.
I cringe when he pushes me up against the hard surface of the building’s concrete wall. He blocks me in by putting his hands against the wall, one on each side of me. Then he brings his face close to mine.
Wait. What’s happening?
I’m momentarily excited by the closeness, thinking he is going to kiss me. Then I notice the sweat dripping from his forehead and upper lip.

Ethan haggardly tells me, “I know about the Pump. I know you stopped taking it. I saw you in weapons training. You put something in the sand. Before the next class, when no one was looking, I dug it out.” He takes a deep breath and then continues by saying, “I’ve been watching you since then. Every morning, you hide your pill in your sock.”

I’m surprised when Ethan bends his head down, closer toward me. I once again think he may kiss me, but instead he wipes the side of his face on his shirt sleeve. It leaves a damp spot on the black fabric.

My face flushes when he looks back up at me. He wants answers not a kiss. He asks, “I want to know why you stopped . . . and I want to know why I feel so sick.”

“You stopped taking it?
Why?
” Suddenly feeling frantic, I push his chest away with my hands to put some distance between us.

“I noticed you changing ever since that first patrol,” he says. “At first you seemed weak, but now . . . now you seem stronger and faster. You’re more accurate in training. You’re more aggressive in hand-to-hand combat. It’s like something else is fueling you.” He comes back toward me, getting close again. He softens his tone, “You even seem different around Val and me. It was like you wanted to sit and talk. That’s not like you . . . so I tried it.”

Admitting all of this to me seems to have relieved him of some heavy burden. He turns away from me, putting his back against the building, and then he slides down the wall. He sits on the ground next to my feet.

Without looking up, he admits with great determination, “I have to finish first, Mena. I have to. My parents are putting a lot of pressure on me. They want the recognition so they can get better patrols.” Ethan confides in me something that is pretty common among Exalted. I can’t help but feel bad for him though. He’s cracking now that he’s stopped taking the Pump.

“I…”
What do I say? Think, Mena, think.
I decide to tell him the truth . . . well, part of the truth. “Someone told me that we’re being controlled by the Pump, and that I would be stronger without it. They told me to quit taking it, but I couldn’t let anyone see me change. And I
have
changed. I feel things now that I didn’t feel before. My face does strange things like the Ambassadors’ faces do sometimes . . . ” I trail off, looking around to make sure no one is eavesdropping.

Ethan finally looks up at me as I explain some of the things that have happened to me since taking my last vitamin. I tell him about how sick I was and how the sun makes me warm. I tell him many things that have happened since I stopped taking the Pump. When I finish, the first thing he asks is, “Who told you to stop taking the Pump?”

I know Ethan well enough to know that he would go after the marauder. He would tell someone the second I told him. “I can’t tell you that. I’m sorry,” I state emphatically. I keep the man from the cornfield a secret for now. I want to protect him from my friend, at least until I get some answers.

Ethan doesn’t say anything when I deny his request. He just sits with a blank stare on his face. I reach out and offer him my hand. After a slight hesitation, he accepts, and I pull him to his feet.

Before letting go of his sweaty palm, I tell him, “You can’t let anyone see you behave differently. You have to pretend that you don’t feel anything like before, and you can’t let them see you become sick. They’ll send you to the medical citizens. If they run blood work, I’m sure they’ll be able to tell . . . I’ll try to cover for you as much as possible until you feel better.”

He nods in understanding. I release his hand and we reluctantly continue on our path to the East Gate. We have to hurry so that we aren’t late.

Before we separate to make rounds in each of our areas, Ethan says, “I think we should tell Val. She already suspects something’s going on with you. We talked about you when you left dinner early the other night. She says you’ve been acting funny and having fits in your sleep. Exalted don’t have nightmares, Mena.”

“I’ll think about it,” is my only reply.

Not having the words to describe how I feel is frustrating. I’m definitely feeling frustrated and something more heated toward Val right now for divulging that information to Ethan. She shouldn’t have told him about the nightmares. Maybe I’m justified in my decision not to tell her about the Pump. She is the closest female friend I have, but will that be good enough for her not to expose me? She could tell someone. She could tell the
wrong
someone.

However, I suppose I should be grateful she hasn’t reported the nightmares to the Republic . . . yet.

With burdensome thoughts, I absently make my way through the rows of green and gold. Thoughts of the marauder plague me, thoughts of my new, intense reactions worry me, and thoughts of Val and her suspicions won’t go away. Ethan, I decided back behind the building, could be trusted with half the truth, because he had broken the rules and quit taking the Pump on his own. He’d be in just as much trouble as I would if anyone found out. I’ll have to be extra cautious and cover for him in class while he’s sick or it could bring both of us down.

A warm hand reaches out to grasp mine. It pulls me into the shelter of the corn. A new feeling bubbles up inside me, almost overwhelming me when I see the Exalted marauder’s masculine face. He has full lips and sleepy brown eyes. When I look at him, I can feel light filling my face. It radiates through me even though the stalks that surround us block the sun.

“You’re smiling,” he says. He smiles back at me.

I touch my mouth hesitantly and ask, “Is that what this is called?”

I turn the corners of my mouth down and ask, “And this?”

“A frown. You smile when you’re happy and you frown when you’re sad. Have you been feeling those things?” he asks me. Then he runs his finger from my brow to the top of my ear, tucking some loose hair behind my ear.

“I have,” I smile, but then I remember that he should be dead. My mouth goes taut. I don’t know what this feeling is—confusion definitely—mixed with something else—something hot. I feel as if everything I’m experiencing is at an extreme, but then again I don’t have anything to compare it to.

“You’re not dead!” I blurt out. “I thought you were dead!”

“No.” He shakes his head. “It must have been someone scavenging for food. They weren’t one of ours.” He laughs. “Were you worried about me?”

“No, of course not! I don’t even know you.” All the questions I have for him flood into my head as I say that. “Who are you? Where did you come from?” I demand an answer. I keep my mouth expressionless, and I boldly hold his stare. My Exalted ways come back to me.

He drops my hand. I hadn’t realized he was still holding it. Since they belong to me again, I rest my hands on my knives. He notices, but doesn’t seem to be concerned. He answers, “My name is Ryker. I was born in the Republic. Now I help people escape to a place where they are free to make their own decisions and determine their own lives.” He points to somewhere beyond the fields.

“I knew you were Exalted!” An excited whisper escapes my mouth. “But why did you leave? Were you Taken?”

“No. I left on my own. I noticed the way the Ambassadors moved their faces. They talked with varying tones and pitches, not like the Exalted. I noticed the guards posted inside the gates. Why did we need guards posted inside
and
outside the gates? I noticed a great deal, but the fog in my mind didn’t allow me to question it. One day, I got sick after the evening meal. The medical citizens just thought it was food poisoning. They let me stay in my dorm room instead of the infirmary.”

He looks at his hands as he remembers the time when his life drastically changed. He lowers his voice. “I had to skip breakfast the next morning. I didn’t get to take the Pump, and no one noticed. The sweats started that afternoon. The next day I knew the food poisoning should have run its course, so I forced myself go to breakfast even though I still felt ill. I ate and took the pill, but right after, I vomited in the nearest bathroom. That was my second day without the Pump. The fog had already started to lift, and I knew something was different. The questions that were tickling my mind were finally able to take form, and I began to feel things I had never felt before.” He turns inward now, reflecting on the past.

When I’m sure Ryker is finished with his story, I probe him for more information. He didn’t tell me how he escaped the Republic or when, so I ask, “How long ago was that? You don’t look very much older than me.”

“Two years ago,” he answers. That puts him at nineteen or twenty.

I consider the possibilities of how he escaped. Only one comes to mind, but it’s impossible since he’s standing right in front of me.

Death.

Every year, two or three Exalted don’t return from the Third Trial. Their names become taboo and are eventually forgotten. We do not mourn the losers or the weak. We are told that they failed, that either marauders or the elements killed them. But there are whispers that some don’t return after running into fellow trainees along the way. There’s a rule against killing your competition, but that’s the only rule. I suspect running into another trainee during the Third Trial is the worst thing one of us could encounter while we’re out there on our own.

“The Third Trial. Is that how you got out?” The volume of my voice lowers, as I reach this conclusion.
Is this how Ryker left the Republic?
He should feel ashamed. Not completing the Trials is so dishonorable. It’s unthinkable.

As if reading my mind, he carefully answers, “It is. But I chose to leave. I didn’t fail. I finished first in the other two Trials . . . not that it matters.” The Exalted mindset must still linger within him somewhere; otherwise he wouldn’t have given such an answer.

The disappointment must be apparent on my fallen face. I can’t fathom how someone could choose to leave, especially when they finished first in the first two trials. I’m baffled.

I look at Ryker’s tan ring finger for the symbolic black tattoo that all United wear once they have been through their United Ceremony. It marks their lifelong partnership with their equal. His finger is bare. For some unknown reason, I’m reacting to him in a way that is different from other men. My new emotions are confusing me. As I glance at the man that is virtually a stranger to me, I fantasize about him as a potential partner. Of course, I know that we could never actually be together, because I will complete my Trials and be United here in the Republic like I am meant to.

“You’re not United. You never finished the ceremonies.” I say this as a statement, not a question. I already know he never came back from the Third Trial. It’s just so strange to be in the company of an Exalted his age that’s not United.

“No. I’m not United.” He rubs the light stubble on his jaw, and then runs his hand up and over the back of his head where the hair is also kept at the same close cut length. The simple action leaves me wanting to feel that scratchy, tingling sensation against my face one more time.

I lose myself in his welcoming gaze. He somehow puts me at ease. I know I should be guarded around him, and truthfully, I should turn him over to the Republic, but I can’t. There are too many things he knows, that I want to find out. And he’s not bad. I can tell this from only two brief encounters. It wouldn’t be right to send an innocent person to their death.

As I continue to look at him, the world around us falls away. An intense silence hangs in the air, filling the space that separates him from me. Besides the need for his knowledge, I inexplicably feel drawn to the stranger . . . This isn’t like me . . . While I’m in Ryker’s presence, I completely forget about Ethan. I forget about pretty much everything, until the wind whips a cornstalk against my back. It reminds me of my duties. I say with great reluctance, “I have to make a circuit along the perimeter of the fields. Will you stay and talk to me? I have so much to ask you. You can walk just inside the rows. They won’t see you.”

Ryker agrees and at first we walk in silence. I can see him sneaking glances at me through the corn. I did say I wanted to talk. I need to take advantage of this opportunity before my shift is over, and he is once again ripped from my new world. “Why did you tell me about the Pump?” I ask him.