Chapter 4 #2
“Glad to see everyone in such high spirits.” Theia’s voice echoes around us, picked up from an unseen microphone and amplified through speakers hanging on the walls, a rare, blatant display of electricity.
“Welcome, welcome. Quite a lot of people here today. Not too long ago I would be speaking to only the first few rows. I looked out at them, these idealistic warriors who wanted to change the world, and I wondered how we would ever get this rebellion off the ground.” Behind her, a wide white screen rolls down with a loud whir and a map of the Five Regions flickers on it from a projector behind us.
The Southeast is colored in red. “Those brave soldiers who came before you, they are liberating towns and cities from the chokehold of the Rangers in the Southeast. Region Leader Silas McGovern has been removed from power.”
Theia pauses for a round of applause. Clapping for the slaughter of children. How easy death is when it’s faceless. The image of Prometheus handing a torch to a collection of distressed humans flickers on screen.
“Many of you are probably wondering where the name ‘Order of Prometheus’ comes from. Kind of a funny name for a rebellion, isn’t it?
Pretentious at best. But it is simple. In the myths, Prometheus defied the gods and gave humans fire.
He was a champion for the common man. Here, we humbly seek to do the same.
To elevate the common man, to give each and every one of you back the power that is yours by birthright.
To bring back democracy and freedom, our legacy, which was stolen from us. ”
A picture comes up on the screen of a disjointed snake, the words “Join or Die” written on the bottom. It looks familiar, something I’ve seen in my mother’s library, perhaps.
“We will have freedom and equality again, from border to border, I am sure of it. But we need your help.”
The name of each leader appears on the map. My eyes are glued to my own last name, projected in a gold stamp font: PICCOLO. The others blare at me—THORNE, REED, WOLFSHIELD—an elite squad of people tenuously holding all the power in the regions. A group I was supposed to join. The crowd boos.
Names disappear from the map and the regions turn bright orange like a rising sun. “This country—the land, the sky, the soil—it is not theirs. It belongs to you. You are not here by accident. Each and every one of you is committed to this cause and integral to its success.”
People rise to their feet and clap enthusiastically.
Both Taylor and Mason remain unmoved, surely no strangers to this mass indoctrination.
Once the audience calms down, Theia continues, “This rebellion is not for the lazy, nor for the content. Make no mistake, it is time to work. It will be hard work. It will be grueling. It may kill you. But your blood, your sweat, your tears will be sown into the soil of this once great nation, and you will leave a legacy better than any before you: the enduring fire of freedom.”
Her enraptured crowd erupts in unison. “No compromise! No surrender! Freedom or death!”
A big to-do is made of her saying goodbye, and then people’s names are called and they file into separate groups near the stage. We leave against the current of recruits anxiously awaiting their orders. Outside the auditorium, an absurdly tall young man steps into our way. =
Taylor eyes him up and down. “Yes, Private Dabrowski?”
“Pardon me, Eos.” His dark eyes flit to me, and a flash of recognition lights them up.
Then, as expected, he narrows them in thinly veiled contempt.
Yeah, maybe I don’t like you either, buddy.
He straightens his posture. “Captain Pollitt needs you to take over his training station, the unarmed, hand-to-hand combat. Theia approved the change.”
Taylor expels an annoyed sigh. “Great.” She looks to me. “You may have the rest of the day off.”
Like I can be shaken off that easily. She had the impertinence to snatch me from my home; I will saddle myself to her in a way that is as inconvenient as possible. “Nope. I’m coming with you. Lead the way, Eos.”
“Fine. Dismissed, Dabrowski.” She nods her head to the left. “Let’s go.”
We venture to an area similar to the place I’ve been training, but there’s much more here than rotting wood obstacles and rope swings.
Teams belay each other from the tops of gargantuan trees.
Others are scaling trees as fast as they can, grabbing colored ribbons from different branches and relaying them back down to a partner.
In the distance, soldiers vault through complicated obstacle courses, and beyond them, another range for firing weapons.
Taylor walks over to a circular area of hard, packed dirt. On the edge of the circle stand about seven recruits, ages ranging from teens to late thirties by my estimation. Each dressed in khaki pants and tucked-in olive-green Henleys, hands bound in white gauze.
“Good afternoon, soldiers. I will be your captain for this exercise today. I assume you have each completed the necessary training which precedes this?” She waits for a round of nodding heads. “Good. Who would like to begin?”
A timid young woman steps forward. “Captain?” She radiates uneasiness like a faint glow, eyes never focusing and extremities twitching. “Um, well, my name is—”
“I know who you are,” Taylor says. “What is the problem, Private Carlson?”
“Uh, so, Captain Pollitt is good, but he’s not, you know…you.”
Taylor sighs. “Do you have a point?”
Private Carlson squirms under the scrutiny. “We watched you do the ten-man challenge. Three times. In a row. How can we learn if you knock us down in a minute?”
Taylor’s presence is intimidating enough for the recruits, and the way she postures herself and glares at them isn’t helping. “Then do not get knocked down it a minute.”
With an eye roll, I step quietly behind her and lean into her ear. “What is this exercise?”
“Hand-to-hand combat. No weapons. Similar to the sparring I did with you, except these soldiers will try to take me down for real.”
Glancing up at this pitiful display of recruits, I can’t see any of them posing a real challenge, other than one rather sturdy blond fellow at the end of the line with huge shoulders, wide jaw, and a head like a toaster. “They’re gonna beat the crap out of you?”
Taylor scoffs. “I said try.”
“Shouldn’t you have some kind of protection, then? Wrap your hands? Use a mouth guard? A shin guard? A helmet?”
“I am not a child riding a bicycle, Miss Piccolo. The hand-wrapping is to protect the bones of the hand if a punch lands incorrectly.” Her eyes meet mine. “I do not land punches incorrectly. I could do this with my eyes closed.”
“Aha. Hold that thought.” I jog to the belaying tree and nab a free handkerchief from one of the stations. Taylor consents to my covering her eyes with the blindfold and I cinch it behind her head. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Fair enough, Private?” Taylor rolls her shoulders and steps into the ring.
“One at a time. Once I hear you yield, clear the ring. The next opponent will clap their hands once to begin the next fight.” First to step forward is Private Carlson, bless her heart.
Once she finds the courage, she claps her hands.
No recruit stands a chance. I don’t know how she’s doing it without vision, but no one lays a hand on her.
It doesn’t matter where they start or if they strike first, Taylor anticipates every move.
She dances around her opponents, a swirling vortex of autumn air waltzing with dried leaves.
At one point she dodges a punch by bending completely backward, then flips her legs up to kick her opponent in the face.
It truly is a martial art, beautiful and scary, like a nightmare Francisco Goya could put to canvas.
Despite my aversion to violence, something about her pugilistic display of grace is unexpectedly provocative.
A diminutive girl who looks like a miniature, pale version of Taylor excitedly takes her place. “Before we start, I—I want to say it is an honor to spar with you, Eos.”
Taylor puts one hand on her hip, and though the blindfold remains over her eyes, she is most certainly glaring at her opponent. The disapproval is palpable. “You are not old enough for this training, Private Frank.”
Private Frank scuffs the ground with her toe.
“But I—I’ll be sixteen in a month. Can I try this one time, please?
I’ve been practicing since I was young, like you.
I swear, I’m good. I’m ahead in my classes.
I may never get this chance again and—and we aren’t supposed to waste opportunities.
That’s what Theia says. You don’t have to go easy on me or anything. ”
Though I can’t see it on her face, this earnest display of zealotry cracks my hardened captor. “Fine. At the ready, Private Frank.”
Private Frank claps and advances in a charge. Taylor easily dodges her, planting two hands on the private’s back as she runs by her, pushing and sending her struggling to keep herself upright. If she hits the ground, it’s over.
Taylor circles her like a hawk. “Pay attention! Distraction means death.”
The young girl sucks in a deep breath and advances again, more sure-footed.
They spar for a few minutes and it’s obvious to me Taylor is taking it easy on her, until she lands a solid punch on Private Frank’s face, hard enough I hear the snap from outside the circle.
Private Frank stumbles back but doesn’t fall.
Taylor swings and Private Frank drops to her butt to dodge it, landing with a thud on the dirt.
“Yield.”
Taylor nearly loses her balance, skidding in the dirt before finding her center and righting herself. Then, surprisingly, she laughs. “Well played, Private Frank.”
She pulls the recruit to her feet and pats her on the shoulder. The girl squeals softly and hops up and down as she retreats to the edge of the circle.