Chapter 4 #2
“Well.” He whistles. “We didn’t reach the Forge yet, darling. No need to dress for battle so soon.”
I open my mouth, ready to respond with a sarcastic retort, but I stop myself. Mercy wouldn’t rise to the bait.
“Where’s that… idiot?” Mercy asks, pitching her voice just slightly too high.
I resist the urge to remind her that our voices are identical, and she doesn’t need to change her cadence.
“Watch your mouth,” Ender barks.
He steps out from beneath the archway, moving like a shadow. His gaze fixes on Mercy first. I watch her cheeks flush, and her eyes drop instinctively.
That is not good. I would never turn away first. But Ender just met us, so he might not have picked up on the nuances of our personalities.
Ender’s brow lifts, just a fraction, before his eyes jerk to me.
I do as Mercy did and lower my gaze. We may as well both play at being coy.
“No weapons unless I permit it,” he says.
I stiffen at his demand.
His hand is open, palm facing up. “Gun. Now.”
Every instinct in me screams to resist. Instead, I slide the weapon free and place it in his large hand.
Mercy and I exchange a glance. Her eyes flick to the holster, then to my face. That gun was a gift from Sullivan after I passed my first obstacle course, and Mercy knows it. Ender seems like the type to not return the objects he confiscates.
I smile at her softly, assuring her it’s fine. I’ll find my way back to my gun even if I have to steal it myself.
“What are you both saying?” Ender asks firmly. “Speak aloud.”
“Nothing,” Mercy says quickly.
“Nothing,” I echo.
“Kinda wish I had a twin,” Knox comments. “Seems like a lot of fun.”
Just before we step outside, Ender’s hand clamps around Mercy’s elbow.
“You,” he says. “Front seat.”
He turns to Knox. “Take the back.”
“Yes, sir,” Knox replies easily.
Ender’s jaw tightens as he looks at us. He knows something is amiss, but he can’t tell what. He’s going to be keeping a close eye on us. And we can’t let him suspect our deception.
Ender’s house rises from the mist like a specter.
Dark stone walls reach towards the plum sky, and charcoal bars cover the windows.
A balcony juts over the entrance door, supported by a row of black beams. Symmetrical hedges line the path to the doorway, their vibrant green shade marking them as artificial.
The tires roll over the wet cobblestone, drawing us into a looping driveway, as the gates grind shut ominously behind us.
Ender cuts the engine and faces my sister.
“You’ll live here,” he says, in a disinterested tone. “My staff will escort you inside and see to your accommodations.”
Sympathy pricks at me when I look at my twin.
Her eyes are filled with dread, and her fingers are tangled in a despairing knot.
I wouldn’t subject my worst enemy to Ender Vale’s sour personality, and now my sister will be forced to co-exist with him.
He is about as fascinating as a wet brick and about as kind as our father.
“And you,” he adds, turning to me, “Knox will take you to the Forge.”
Mercy and I will be separated for the first time in our lives.
The air rushes from my lungs. I’m not ready to say goodbye to her. My sister’s eyes meet mine, and I can tell she’s just as reluctant as I am to be parted. She is frightened, and I can’t comfort her with so many eyes on us.
“I’ll miss you,” she whispers.
“Everything will be okay,” I say softly. “I promise.”
Mercy nods shakily and opens her door.
A woman in a pristine white uniform waits by the entrance. Her posture is stiff, her expression unreadable. She takes Mercy’s arm without preamble and guides her toward the house.
Mercy glances back, her eyes wide with fear, and I give her a reassuring smile. At least, I hope it looks that way.
Ender steps out of the car and vanishes down the side of the building.
Knox gestures toward a second truck. A standard military-issue vehicle with blacked-out windows. He loads my travel case in the back.
Once the door clicks shut, I turn to face him. I have a few questions, and Knox seems like an open-book. Or at least more friendly than the Commandant.
“How long have you known Ender?” I ask curiously.
“Oh, so you do speak.” He raises a brow. “Did Ender just make you nervous?”
“A little,” I lie. “Haven usually talks enough for both of us.”
“Ender will have his hands full with that one,” Knox says with a smirk. “Is it bad that I kind of like that she’s busting his balls?”
A small laugh escapes me. “He is insufferable.”
“He’s an acquired taste,” Knox says.
“You didn’t answer my question,” I say.
“We were assigned as roommates when we enlisted,” Knox says. “Of course, now the spoiled Gifted cadets get their own private quarters, but at the time, it was normal to share.”
“That beast was your roommate?”
“He isn’t that bad,” Knox says. “He’s intelligent and insanely loyal. If one is lucky enough to fall under the short list of people Ender Vale cares about, no force in this world will ever dare to hurt you.”
I glance out the window, tired of hearing about what a virtuous person Ender is. I’ve already made up my mind about him, and no amount of praise will alter my opinion.
“Any advice when I go in there?” I ask.
The Forge looms in the distance. It is a twenty-minute drive from Ender’s residence, which gives me hope that perhaps I’ll be permitted to visit my sister during my days off. I can see the watchtowers in the distance and the silhouettes of the enforcers.
“Don’t fail,” he says. “The Common soldiers are treated as replaceable assets. There are casualties often during their one-year conditioning circuit. It is intimidating at first, but once you get your footing under you, it’s not so bad.”
A shudder slides down my back. I cannot imagine leaving Mercy here. It would be like abandoning her in the woods right by a pack of wolves.
“But you will be protected,” Knox adds, to ease the tension. “You’re the High General’s daughter, and your sister is engaged to the Supreme Director’s son. That gives you some leverage.”
The iron gates groan open, and we roll into the grounds.
The Forge looks like a prison. Smoke-stained towers are sparsely laid around a barren ash-green field.
Floodlights line the perimeter where enforcers make their rounds in their slate-gray uniforms while their hawk-like eyes scan for intruders.
Enforcers are low-level military officers tasked with guarding key facilities and maintaining security. All of them are Commons except for the capital enforcers.
I step off the truck, boots sinking into the gravel.
“Let’s get you to the Intake Hall for registration,” Knox says.
He leads me through a series of walkways and corridors.
We pass the barracks, mess halls, training yards, dormitories, and shooting ranges, which are all arranged in a strict, regimented layout.
It is suffocating here. The constant surveillance will drive me insane.
I thought Warrick had me on a tight leash, but this is a whole other level.
The Intake Hall is a bare, clinical room. There is a single service counter where a woman sits behind the plexiglass window. Her bored eyes gaze at the row of recruits lined up.
The Commons faces are hollow and dirt-streaked.
Unlike the Gifted, who serve for glory and the military benefits, the Commons are conscripted.
They are pulled from the factories and farmlands and forced to survive because they were unlucky enough to be born without powers.
In return, they are provided with accommodations during their stay and a paltry credit is uploaded directly to their Smart Card.
Knox ignores the line and leads me to the front. Every head turns at his presence. I feel the weight of their curiosity, as their dull eyes trace my every step.
“State your name,” the woman asks in a nasally voice.
“Mercy Warrick,” I say.
Keys click as she enters it into the system, her fingers precise and mechanical.
She slides a package across the desk.
“Uniform,” she says. “You will wear it at all times.”
I glance inside the package. Brown pants and a second-hand matching coat.
It smells like old sweat and cheap detergent.
It most likely belonged to the conscript before me.
There is a tablet inside. I slip it out and tinker with it for a bit.
My schedule is programmed already, along with a map of the facility.
The call function has been disabled, which is unfortunate.
I had been hoping to use it to speak with my sister.
Knox gives me a small nod. “Everything you need is here. Let’s get you settled in.”
I look back at the other recruits. Some glance at us openly, but most look down, resigned. They are curious about Knox, whose uniform marks him as one of them. The Gifted. They don’t understand why he is bothering to help me out.
Knox leads me to an angular building that hosts the Common dormitories. He explains that the Gifted dormitory is on the opposite side.
Inside, the hallways are long and slender, the walls painted a stone-blue.
Knox cracks open the door at the end of the corridor, revealing a row of six metal-frame bunks, each identical and covered with a thin, scraggy mattress. A coarse wool blanket is folded at the base, and a locker is planted at the foot.
“Pick one,” Knox murmurs.
I chose a bunk in the middle. It gives me a good view of the door, and it’s near enough that I can dash out if any issue arises.
“I’ll have your belongings brought in shortly. Let me know if you need anything,” Knox says. “Good luck, Mercy.”
“Thanks, Knox.”
He retreats, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
It takes a few minutes for an enforcer to climb up with my travel case.
Once it’s settled on the ground, I begin arranging my uniform and gear in the locker.
Footsteps sound, and I glance up to see a girl around my age.
Her mousy-brown hair is braided into two pigtails, and she clutches a small black tablet.
“You’re new,” she says, studying me with curious eyes.
A few of the beds have jackets draped on the rail. The second batch of conscripts was signing up at the Intake Hall today. This girl and a few of the others must have been part of the first batch.
“I just got here,” I say.
“You look like you’ve been here longer,” she says. “Most people are trembling or gagging over the thought of what training holds.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m too cool to tremble or gag.”
“That is obvious,” she says, sitting up on her bunk. “My name’s Sora. What division are you from?”
“Division Eight.”
I don’t want to be known as the High General’s daughter or reveal that, unlike all the other conscripts, I grew up in Division One. In these halls, it will sow resentment rather than admiration. And, besides, I am more than just that monster’s spawn. I am my mother’s daughter.
“I’m from Division Five,” she says. “The Flatlands.”
Division Five is nothing but mines and back-breaking labor. They dug deep shafts into the earth and dragged coal from it, much like squeezing water from a rag. Prisoners are sent there often to serve a few years of hard labor.
Everyone from those parts has a dull, lifeless sheen to their eyes. I can tell from Sora’s hard, bony face and thick brows that she didn’t come from a pampered life.
Her nails are caked with dirt, which most likely can’t be scrubbed clean no matter how hard she tries, and her stringy hair is lank and thin. A wheezing sound escapes her crooked teeth every few minutes. Bad lungs, I assume.
Most of the Continent struggles to stay afloat except for Divisions One through Three.
Division One is a glittering sanctuary, where the rich lounge in comfort, oblivious to the consequences that keep the rest of the Continent in line.
Division Two forms the military backbone, home to the Forge and the regime’s elite forces, while Division Three acts as the center of knowledge.
Its streets are lined with research labs, libraries, and universities.
The remaining areas are dedicated to production and labor.
“My name is Mercy,” I say.
It feels strange to claim my sister’s name.
“Well, Mercy, let’s make a pact,” Sora says, offering her hand. “Let’s keep our heads down, help each other, and not trust the others too fast. The Forge chews people up.”
I glance around the room. Recruits are moving in. Some avoid eye contact, while others whisper in corners.
“Deal,” I say, shaking her hand quickly.
As Sora starts jotting down notes in her tablet with a white-pointed pen, I feel a wash of relief.
Even in the Forge, even as an Untamed pretending to be a Common and impersonating my sister, maybe I won’t be entirely alone.
I never had any friends besides Grayson and maybe Sullivan, but he was always more of a parent rather than an age-mate.
Once I settle in, I can learn exactly what the regime is hiding. Whatever my mother had discovered, it had been enough to make her run from Division Three.
Most nights, I am haunted by the fact that I could have saved her if I had known how to properly control my powers and hadn’t been so burdened by my emotions.
I can control time. I could have helped her escape.
If only I had learned to hone my skills, I wouldn’t have failed her.
It is a regret that weighs heavily on me.
One that I don’t plan to repeat.