Chapter 4
Morning light fills the entrance hall when Talarin opens the cage. I wake instantly and look up at him.
Beyond his shoulder, two heavy shapes pass through the adjoining passage. Mero and Arrek. Neither slows nor turns to look at me. They simply lumber towards the descending staircase, their boots striking heavily against the stone until they disappear below.
Talarin remains crouched before me, his Orb-Blade hanging from his belt and a bandolier of ammunition slung over one shoulder.
“It is going to be very loud today. Do not be frightened. It is only training.”
I nod. “Okay. Do you want me to make you coffee?”
“No. Make some for yourself.”
There is no glimmer in his eyes, nothing but that blank, severe expression. They have all been like this since the vote failed, losing themselves in their training. I have no idea what they are preparing for.
Before rising, Talarin places a small parcel wrapped in paper inside the cage.
“Eat this before you go out today.” It’s an order.
“Yes, sir,” I say, and there’s no flash of enjoyment at hearing me obey, nothing but the hard planes of his face.
He follows his battle-brothers down the passage.
I pick up the parcel and crawl out after him.
Beneath the nearest end of the bench, my normal clothes are waiting in a neatly folded stack, with my boots lined up beside them.
The first time I left them there, I wasn’t sure whether they would let me claim even that little strip of space, but no one moved anything.
I pull on my underwear, trousers, shirt and socks as quickly as I can, the bell marking every movement. My boots remain beneath the bench until I am ready to go outside.
Once I am dressed, I unfold the parcel. Inside is a dense bar filled with nuts, seeds and dried fruit, all held together with honey.
It is delicious, but so heavy with calories that I know exactly what he is doing.
Fattening me up.
And I let him. I nibble, relishing it.
I take the bar into the kitchen, drag the little wooden crate towards the counter and climb onto it.
Talarin always makes certain the hand grinder is full, and I start to turn the handle, the steady grinding sound filling the quiet residence, and I can almost forget the humiliating jingle of the bell.
I’ve gotten better at moving my arm in a way that makes it sound less as I grind my daily beans.
A thunderous crack erupts from somewhere beneath me.
I flinch so hard that the bell rings wildly against my throat. The grinder stops beneath my hand, and I grip the edge of the counter as the floor trembles under the crate.
Another impact follows, deeper this time. The cups rattle upon the shelves, and something enormous slams into stone with a force that seems to sound inside my skull.
It is only training.
I stare towards the passage.
A low command roars from below, one of them barking out an order. I cannot tell which. Another voice answers, followed by a sharp burst of gunfire and the unmistakable crackle of Orb-energy. Something crashes hard enough to make the entire residence shudder.
They do not fight only with their blades.
They know countless ways to kill.
The grinder remains half-full beneath my hand. I could finish. Talarin told me not to be frightened, and I am perfectly safe up here.
Another burst of gunfire tears through the silence.
I climb down from the crate.
The bar is still wrapped upon the counter. I snatch it up, pull on my boots and fasten the knife to my trousers. By the time another impact shakes the floor, I am already crossing the entrance hall.
I reach the archway, then stop, my feet frozen against the floor.
I can’t cross. I want to so badly. I want to get away from the sounds shaking and thundering through the residence, from the rattling hum I feel in my bones.
But he ordered me to eat the bar before I leave.
I look down at it, barely nibbled, and force it into my mouth, biting off huge chunks and trying to swallow as round after round is fired beneath me, each one thundering through the stone.
I cough, nearly choking, and rush back to my cage. I drop to my knees outside its open door and lean through the opening, lowering my mouth to the water as the bell jingles loudly at my throat.
I feel so pathetic. So stupid.
But I finish the last of the bar, and when I finally walk outside, there are tears in my eyes.
Sunlight falls across my face as I step outside. Another crash rolls behind me, and the bell rings with each hurried stride as I reach the front of the estate. The walls open when I wave my hand. I have no idea whether they recognize my DNA or the watch around my wrist.
I start running as soon as I pass through the gates, racing down the hill and trying to put as much distance as possible between myself and the violence sounding behind me. Each distant impact sends birds fluttering from the branches.
When I enter the forest, the bell jingles with every movement.
I used to be able to sneak right up behind a squirrel, getting within a few feet before it noticed me.
I would stalk slowly, each movement smooth and precise.
Now the animals vanish into the undergrowth.
I hear only the sound of movement against branches, and I rarely ever see them.
Even my own movements are sloppy now that they no longer matter for my survival. I feel like a big oaf, lumbering clumsily through the underbrush.
Picking each step with careful focus is no longer worth anything.
I’ve lost my forest sense.
I shake my head, trying to shake off the negativity, and run until my lungs burn, all the way to the pool beneath the waterfall.
When I reach the pool, I slow to a walk and stretch, bending forward to loosen my legs and rolling the tension from my shoulders. Here, I finally feel relaxed. Here, I don’t even mind the stupid jingle around my throat.
The towel with the strip missing from one edge rests upon the same broad rock where I left it. It hasn’t rained since the day Mero cut the timber, so it is still warm and dry beneath my fingers.
I remove my shoes and socks, then strip quickly. My clothes go into the center of the towel as normal, folded around the sheathed knife before I bind everything into a tight bundle. It keeps them dry enough that I can rest inside my little cavern without shivering in wet clothes.
The water bites the instant I step into it. Cold closes around my ankles, then climbs my legs as I wade deeper. It is well into autumn now, and the river is fed by the mountains north of the capital. The water is becoming almost unbearably cold.
By the time it reaches my waist, my muscles are clenched and my breath comes in short gasps. I hold the bundle above my head, push away from the bottom and swim towards the waterfall.
I keep close to the edge, where the falling water is thinnest, and slip behind it. I can never keep the outside of the towel completely dry. When I reach the hidden nook, I open the bundle, wipe myself with the damp fabric and pull on my clothes.
The cold has settled too deeply into me. It feels as though I will never be able to relax.
But the little soapstone teeth wait where I left them, and beside them sit the beginnings of a tiny bird. One of the broad-billed ducks from the guide I have read at least ten times. I know every line of the illustration now.
At first, I think the cold is going to rob the carving of its pleasure. Then I take up the stone and settle into the familiar rhythm. Slowly, the curve of the duck’s body and its fine feathering begin to take shape.
As much as I love this hidden nook, it is getting to the point where I won’t want to make this swim again, especially after it rains.
I set down the half-finished duck and begin preparing myself for the icy journey back. This time, the remaining soapstone and the little bird are coming with me. I leave the curving row of teeth where it is.
Those are for me.
They would only make the Aurelians more nervous.
The distant thump of their training stopped hours ago, and I am growing hungry. I have also started getting used to coffee, and I find myself looking forward to that warm, bitter brew.
I strip again and place my clothes in the center of the towel. The remaining soapstone goes between them, with the unfinished duck carefully wrapped inside my shirt so it cannot break. I fold the towel tightly around everything and lift the bundle above my head.
Even knowing how cold the water will be does not prepare me for it.
My breath catches as I lower myself from the ledge. The current pulls at my legs, and I kick hard, keeping the bundle raised as I pass beneath the thinnest edge of the waterfall. The bell gives a muffled ring before filling with water and falling silent.
When my feet finally find the sloping bottom, I wade onto the bank and set everything upon the nearest dry stone. My fingers are stiff as I open the towel, but the clothes inside are still dry.
I rub myself down quickly, dress and slide the remaining soapstone into one pocket. The half-finished duck fits inside the other, wrapped in the corner of my shirt.
Then I start walking towards the estate.
The backs of my shoes rub against my heels with every step.
At first, it is only irritating. By the time I reach the rising path through the trees, each scrape has begun to burn.
I thought these damned shoes had been broken in, but I sprinted harder than usual today, set on edge by that unending thumping that rattled the estate.
By the time I reach the estate, the backs of both heels feel raw.
I pass through the gates and look around, expecting to see them somewhere upon the grounds, but the training area is empty.
Normally, at this time, they would be beating each other bloody out back, caught in that deadly dance where one lapse in concentration could cost you your head.