Qualify (37 page)

Nefir glances at her, and his expression relaxes slightly. “What do you think? We are human, after all.”

Snickers travel around the classroom once again, and a few guys clap and say, “Yeah!”

C
lass ends eventually, and we all head downstairs and then outside, toward the Arena Commons building.

I walk in a big crowd of Yellow Quadrant Candidates next to Dawn, and we manage to pick up Laronda and Hasmik along the way, plus Jai and Mateo and a few other guys we know. I look around, squinting from the morning sun, and see Blayne Dubois rolling along in his wheelchair, just a few steps behind us. The muscles of his arms strain as he quickly turns the wheels of his chair and keeps up with the flow of the crowd. Everyone’s tokens are lit up yellow, and everyone’s way more nervous than usual.

As we approach the AC building, blinking in the sunlight, the ranks of Yellow Candidates swell, as two more dorms join the crowd. At the doors, we see an oncoming opposite stream of Candidates with blue tokens, as they exit the building, making room for us. They look sweaty, dejected, and beaten down after a hard workout. Even the tougher guys among them look worn down. That must’ve been one helluva Combat class. . . .

“This is going to be super duper bad, with a cherry on top,” Laronda mutters.

I glance at Hasmik who’s walking next to me, and she looks pained but quietly determined.

Inside, the stadium portion of the building has been cleared of most of the equipment in the middle, to make room for the Candidates.

Already, double rows are forming, facing each other, stretching from one end of the track to the other. When they come to the end, a new iteration of double rows begins, and then a third one—that’s how many Candidates are present.

“Okay, this is huge!” Jai Bhagat exclaims.

We file in place, and stand somewhere in the middle of the second double row.

“I don’t want to spar with you guys, cause I don’t want to hit you,” Laronda says. “So why don’t we all just stand in this row next to each other, instead of across from each other? That way we would be partnered with someone else to beat and kick around.”

“Good idea,” I say.

“I really don’t want to ‘beat and kick around’ anyone,” Dawn says matter-of-factly, looking almost sleepy. “Sparring would be okay, though.”

“Shut up, girl!” Laronda laughs then punches her in the arm.

“Hey, save it for the actual class,” Mateo says, three persons down the line.

As we talk, other people we don’t know line up across from us. I end up facing some skinny blond girl my age with a perky short haircut.

Moments later, a familiar whistle blows, and we turn in that direction.

Far down the line, on the other end of the Arena, four Atlanteans stand, dressed in the usual grey uniforms. First is Oalla Keigeri, and her long metallic gold hair shines sun-bright. Next to her is Keruvat Ruo, his own closely-cropped head a golden halo, in contrast with raven-haired Xelio Vekahat who stands next to them.

The fourth one is Aeson Kass. He stands with his arms folded at his chest, watching us with a seemingly casual demeanor. And yet, everything about his posture whispers danger.

I feel an immediate twinge of nerves at the sight of him. I don’t know what it is precisely, alarm or terror or something else impossible to define. But immediately I am flashing back to that moment two nights ago . . . his stark bloodied face with its chiseled angles . . . lowered eyelids outlined in kohl, pale gold hair stained with soot and more blood . . . a striking profile backlit by the flames . . . the feel of his hard, muscular body against mine, as I desperately drag him down the rung stairs of the shuttle. . . .

“Attention, Yellow Quadrant!”

I am jerked back to reality by the deep booming voice of Keruvat Ruo. It needs no microphone to carry across the Arena.

“Stand up straight! First, we begin with stretching—feet apart, bend at the waist, touch your toes, then back up, lunge with right leg forward, repeat twenty times!”

I exhale, inhale, and begin the warm-up exercise.

A few minutes later we are done with several series of combo reps. I am panting for air, trying to catch my breath, and so is everyone else around me. But one thing is sure—my muscles feel alive. Blood and energy is rushing through my veins. And although the bone-weariness is still there, it has somehow become a secondary ache, retreating to the background.

A
fter all, this is day four of Qualification—could it be that my body is getting used to the daily punishment?

However, there’s no time to ponder, because now Keruvat grows silent and Aeson Kass takes over.

“Candidates!” he says, as he begins to pace before our three double rows, while the other three Atlanteans walk behind him. “Today you will show me what you can do! Show me First Form, Floating Swan!”

The arena erupts in movement. Candidates, myself included, scramble to assume the First Position of rest and balance. Hundreds of feet pound the floor—an almost simultaneous motion—to take the initial side-step that widens the stance. . . . Then, arms and hands float, off to the side and straight ahead, fingers forming the precise curvature and sign.

I stand holding the Floating Swan, while I see with my peripheral vision to the right, Laronda stilled in hers, and beyond her, Dawn, Jai, Mateo. On the other side of me to the left is Hasmik, frozen in her stance that is all clean lines, and no one would ever suspect how much pain she is in right now. . . . To the left of her is Tremaine Walters with his long locks. Directly across from me the blond girl with short hair awkwardly holds her stance, her hand outthrust at me.

Aeson Kass walks the line, still many feet away, and I hear his voice cut like a knife. “Show me Second Form, Striking Snake!”

My extended hand drops away, and I slide into a forward lunge with one foot and at the same time strike forward with the other hand, bringing it around from the side—while all my fingers come together to form the snout of a snake. I feel my thigh muscles quake while my knees wobble. Everyone around me attempts to do the same, and I hear many grunts and shuffles.

Aeson’s voice approaches, sounds closer, somewhere only twenty feet behind me. Its hard rich timbre and power sends echoes through the otherwise silent space of the great stadium hall. “Show me Third Form, Spinning Wind!”

Oh lord, no, I really suck at this one
. . . .

I force my body to move, and I begin the wide rapid half-turn into a 360-degree spin, arms out-flung to the sides, moving my hands clumsily and trying not to hit Laronda and Hasmik on either sides of me. It’s one thing when you’re
supposed
to hit someone, but not when you do it unintentionally because you’re a dork.

This is where it all falls apart. As I stagger to regain my balance on return, apparently so do most of the Candidates in the hall.

“
Halt!”
Aeson Kass roars at us, and it’s like someone shoots me in the chest. I can
feel
his voice, a tangible weight of fierce intensity.

“Stop, and assume Floating Swan!” he says in barely leashed fury, just a few feet away in the other row behind me. “Shame and disgrace! You are not worthy of being called
Candidates
much less
Atlanteans
. You move like a herd of Earth cattle—broken, weak, useless! How badly out of shape are you, considering you are teenagers? An old man on Atlantis can move his dying carcass better than you!”

He approaches, and somewhere past my back I hear his boots striking the floor with angry impact.

I barely dare to breathe, frozen in the Floating Swan, holding my hands and arms in the floating stance, feeling them begin to quake with muscle tension. . . .

And then I hear him make the selections, as he quickens his pace along the rows.

“You! Take one step forward! You! And you! Step forward! You! Step forward! You!
Move!
”

As he returns to the end of one row and now enters our own row, I hear him say, “Those whom I called forward, will now
stand on one foot
until I tell you otherwise. If you set your other foot down, you will have to repeat, for twice the time.
Now, stand on your right foot!
”

As waves of horrified whispers and discontent race through our rows, Aeson continues walking swiftly past us, and makes his selections. “You! And you! Step forward, stand on your right foot!” he points at seemingly random teens who possibly display a less than perfect Floating Swan stance.

I see him approach from the corner of my eye, and he is like a demon. Blazing metallic hair, ruthless closed expression.

Astra daimon
. . . .

“You!” He points at Hasmik. Then he passes me, and for a moment I see the flash of terrible dark-blue that is his eyes, as his gaze sweeps over me, and then continues.

Weirdly it occurs to me, how strange it is to see his eyes being
open
and so alive, as opposed to heavy closed eyelids and soot and blood and smoke. . . .

I blink.

Laronda is safe, and so is Dawn, but Jaideep Bhagat gets to step forward. Poor Jai, he stands on his right foot, awkwardly balancing with his hands.

I glance to my left and suddenly remember—Hasmik, oh no!

Hasmik stands on her one very
hurt
foot, and I see her eyes begin to glaze over with pain, while her hands are forming into fists.

But Aeson Kass has gone far down the line, and more and more Candidates are chosen to step forward in disgrace.

“Now, switch!” he exclaims, having come to the end of our row. “Stand on your left foot!”

I glance at Hasmik with sympathy as she switches to her other foot in major relief. “Hang in there!” I barely mouth the words, while she nods at me. Her expression remains stoic, but a sheen of sweat is starting to cover her face.

But after having made the round of all our rows, Aeson Kass is not done. “Now, Candidates, those of you standing on one foot, continue to do so. The rest of you, resume Forms! Show me Second Form, Striking Snake!”

Again we lunge, forming hands into snakes. And again I hear Aeson’s relentless voice start making the cruel selections. “You! Step forward! And you!”

“At this rate,” I hiss under my breath, to no one in particular, “all of us will be standing on one foot!”

Laronda silently rolls her eyes in pained agreement.

“Show me Third Form, Spinning Wind! Repeat Form until I tell you to stop! The others—switch and stand on your right foot!”

I gasp for air and move into the 360-degree turnabout. Meanwhile next to me Hasmik makes a single whimper of pain and again puts all her weight on the right foot with its badly swollen ankle.

Again the selections happen, and Aeson Kass stalks our rows like a panther.

“
Damn
, here he comes,” someone whispers. “What a prick. . . .”

“You!
Silence
or Disqualification! Step forward!”

I watch, staggering after another turnabout, as the boy who got called out is then told to not only stand on one foot but
jump
up an down
while standing on that one foot
.

Holy lord!

While that’s all happening a few feet away, things are even worse right here. . . .

That’s because, next to me, Hasmik is turning green, and sweat is pouring down her forehead.
The girl is going into shock.

I see her begin to sway, and so I pause my Form. . . .

What am I doing? This is crazy!

I casually step forward, pretending I was also called out, and stand on my right foot. Then I slowly reach out with my left hand, and take hold of her clammy hand closest to me. I feel her desperate slippery grip, then just the tips of her fingers touching mine. . . .

Together we stand, hands just barely touching—just enough to keep us both balanced, and her upright.

But it lasts only for about a minute.

Because next thing I know, Aeson Kass stands before me.

Did I really think he wouldn’t notice?
Yeah, Gwen, you idiot
. . . .

And then comes the sound of his voice. It cuts through me like fire and ice.

Chapter 20

“Y
ou!” Aeson Kass speaks, having stopped directly before me. “What are you doing?”

I continue to stand on one foot—which is starting to acquire a fine muscle tremor—and stare straight ahead, so that his face is just barely out of my line of sight . . . so that I don’t have to make contact with his
eyes
. And in that first terrible instant I say nothing, as my pulse races madly in my temples, threatening to jump out of my head, if that even makes any sense. My fingers continue to touch Hasmik’s hand.

If it’s even possible, but I think
he
is slightly thrown off. Because there is an unusually long pause as he continues to stare at me. Meanwhile I see him indirectly with my peripheral vision, and I think I am about to die. . .