Untamed

Chapter 8

chapter

eight

Haven

Ender returns two weeks later.

He’s wearing a utility jacket that settles over his broad shoulders. A lock of his raven hair falls into his crystal-blue eyes. He has the faintest indent on his left cheek. I reckon he has a dimple there, one that I’d witness if he ever deigned to smile.

Irritation spikes down my chest. It is unfair that he was blessed with such good looks when he is rotten on the inside.

I can see the recruit’s eyes widen in fear, and in the case of some girls, desire.

Their cheeks turn rosy, and they cup their hands to their mouth, no doubt whispering about his pretty face.

“Oh no,” Sora whispers. “Not again.”

My back stiffens.

He stops before me and stares at Sora until she scurries away.

“Good morning, Mercy.”

There is a sarcastic edge to his words. One that I cannot pinpoint the source of.

“You’re here,” I say bitterly. “There is nothing good about this morning anymore.”

“I agree with the sentiment,” he says.

He looks me up and down, from my head to my toes. His nose wrinkles, as if he is displeased with the sight of me. At least this time, he keeps his comments to himself. I still remember him mentioning that I looked like shit the other day.

He is the worst.

I fold my arms across my chest, ignoring the stab of uncertainty that cuts through my gut. I had to deal with years of not measuring up to my own father. The man who was supposed to love and take care of me. The last thing I need is for Ender Vale’s scrutiny to affect me.

“What do you want, Vale?” I ask warily.

“Respect, Warrick,” Ender says. “You know what that is, right?”

“I don’t respect men who take orders from their father,” I say, raising my chin. “I prefer men who lead.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asks with a cold smile. That dimple I suspected appears on one side of his cheek. And it is just as charming as I feared. “Is that why you got on your knees for me? Usually, I have to take a woman out to dinner for her to drop that quick.”

I give him my fakest smile, resisting the urge to pull out my gun and shoot him.

“Did your father pay for these women like he did my sister?” I ask. “Seems like nobody wants to spend time with you if there is no significant financial gain involved.”

“Are you calling your sister a prostitute?” Ender asks. “That is a rather cruel thing to say, even for you, Warrick.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” I warn. “You know exactly what I mean.”

He is playing dense. Everyone knows that prostitution and sex work are illegal. Everything in this damn continent is illegal.

“No, I don’t,” he says. He folds his arms across his broad chest. “Please clarify your point.”

I know I am supposed to be demure and soft-spoken like my sister, but I reckon he can’t be too surprised that the Forge has changed me after a week and a half, when it is built to carve out one’s softness.

“I mean that you are so mind-numbingly dull and straight-laced that even this.” I wave at his face. “Can’t save you. No person in their right mind would ever willingly choose to be with you.”

“You think my face is pretty?” he says, with a pleased smile. That dimple appears again for a fleeting second before it drops. What an arrogant bastard. It’s like he didn’t hear a single word I said.

I open my mouth to insult him, before he cuts me off.

“Never mind, I don’t care for your little crush,” Ender says dismissively. “Your sister wishes to see you, and I think it would do you well to spend some time in her presence. Perhaps, her good behavior will rub off on you.”

“I am allowed to visit her?” I ask suspiciously.

It seems too good to be true. I don’t know why he would allow it after I insulted him, but I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Do you mean it?” I ask.

“That depends on you,” he says.

My shoulders drop. Of course, he wouldn’t be so gracious; this is just another one of his games.

He nods to the training floor, already walking ahead. We’re in the indoor training hall today. It rained last night, and the mud was too thick and mucky to train outdoors.

Steel beams crisscross along the ceiling, where the light fixtures dangle, crawling down like spiders on cobwebs. The floors are rusty and scarred from years of boots and blades, and the air is stale with the smell of sweat.

“Beat me, and you can see her tonight.”

“I can?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

I get to see Mercy and kick his ass. Sounds like a dream to me.

“Yes.”

The concrete is smooth beneath my boots. Every eye in the room tracks our move.

It has been a full week since Ender last challenged me. It’s quite easy to see that he has it out for me, and I’m not certain why. At first, I assumed it was because he and my sister weren’t getting along, but now I wonder if he is just a sadist who enjoys tormenting people.

The doors are open, and a few sergeants trickle inside, curious about his arrival.

They’ve heard of Ender Vale, but few have ever seen him in action. From what Sora says, he is too high up to spend time with the Gifted, let alone indulge the Commons, which means he’s breaking routine to come mess with me.

He studies me with a predator’s gaze: calm, measured, almost bored.

He slips off his jacket, peeling the fabric off his broad shoulders.

He wears a black t-shirt that molds around his muscular torso like a second skin.

His arm is branded with tattoos that don’t exactly befit his station.

Markings are often worn by the lower class. Not the future Supreme Director.

My pulse spikes as he prepares himself. I have to win. No matter what.

I go to the weapons area and grab the baton again.

When I look back, I can tell he is judging me for being predictable, but if I can get this thing to strike his head, I might be able to kill him, or at the very least, concuss him.

And how satisfying will it be to watch his big frame be carted away on a stretcher? I almost smile at the picture.

I approach him, fingers gripping the baton like a lifeline.

“Begin,” he says.

“Aren’t you going to pick a weapon?” I ask.

He smiles thinly. “I don’t need one.”

Cocky bastard.

I advance first, baton in hand, anticipating his moves.

I learned a lot about him from that one day we fought together.

He is fast and alert, and if I’m being completely honest, he is better-trained than me.

As quick as his reflexes are, without a weapon, I outpower him, which means he’ll have to either disarm me early on or remain on the defensive.

So long as I keep this baton glued to my fingers, I have a fighting chance.

I lunge for him, expecting him to retreat, but all he does is lazily raise his hand, and the world shifts around us.

The air begins to warp, rippling like a wind-swept curtain.

I blink and find myself standing on a pencil-thin stone path, high above a roaring river.

Rocks crumble beneath my boots, and a frightened squeal escapes my lips.

I can feel the wind slapping my cheeks and hear the rush of water below.

This isn’t real. It’s just one of his illusions.

“Afraid?” he murmurs.

“This is not fair,” I call out.

I can’t move. I am paralyzed with fear. Despite the knowledge that this is all fake, I still can’t bring myself to move forward in fear that I lose my footing and plummet to my death. The mind is a powerful weapon. One that Ender now controls.

“What happens if you come across an Untamed?” Ender asks. “Will you tuck tail and hide because they possess powers you don’t?”

I swallow back my fear. The ground is beneath me. I will not fall.

I rush towards him, baton raised to strike. Every blow I throw, he evades perfectly, unafraid of the drop. I’m struggling to remain on the solid block under my feet. I know it’s a lie, but I don’t want to feel the sensation of my heart galloping when I assume I’ve fallen.

He’s everywhere at once. There is a second Ender behind me. His hands wrap around my neck, choking me while the one in front of me simply smiles.

It feels real. It feels so damn real that for a moment, I can’t breathe. My nails dig into his flesh, but his grip doesn’t loosen.

“Stop.” I gasp.

“You rely on your instincts,” he says, circling me, watching this version of himself torture me. “But instincts only matter if reality is constant. How do you fight an opponent when the game is rigged against you?”

The crushing weight of his palm feels real. Each finger digs in with painful precision.

I force my mind to clear. I remember who I am, where I am, and the cost of failing. And then I step forward, pushing against the weight, ignoring the pain, because it isn’t true.

Ender grins. A quick, menacing curl of his lips.

“You’re learning.”

I respond with a feint, a low sweep that would confuse most opponents while I raise my weapon to batter his ribs. But he escapes, again.

His shadow separates, creating another version of him.

I’m starting to despise this stupid trick.

Two Ender’s stare at me with identical expressions. Both of them are grinning at my misery.

My strike meets empty air.

I stare at them, struggling to determine which is real.

“This is how you feel, isn’t it?” the one on the left says.

“You and your sister, playing mind games with everyone,” the one on the right says. “Tricking your betters with your silly schemes.”

I stiffen.

There is no way he knows about the switch. He doesn’t know Mercy and me well enough to tell us apart.

I shake the thought away. He’s just trying to rattle me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply.

“You’re just a silly girl,” one says.

“And you’re going to lose,” the other adds.

I swallow and steady my stance. Every sense I have, sight, touch, instinct, searches for the true Ender.

The one on the left twitches like a glitching projection. I strike the one on the right. My baton lands against flesh. He staggers back, brows lifting in surprise.

The illusion fades, and we’re back in the hall. The recruits and the sergeants are watching our battle with matching expressions of horror.

“Good,” Ender says between clenched teeth. “But not good enough.”

He waves a hand. The ground shudders and rises beneath me, tilting to one side. I stumble, my feet nearly slipping out from under me. He doesn’t move. His balance is perfect while he lets me fight against our surroundings.

I’m struggling to keep my footing. Fear grips me, but I know the secret to winning: ignore the world around us, and focus on Ender alone.

I lunge even with the ground collapsing beneath me. He sidesteps again, and I catch his hand. I twist, using my momentum to knock him off his feet, but it’s an illusion. His arm vanishes like smoke, slipping from my grasp.

A spark of fury ignites in me. I’ve had enough of this stupid lesson. Whatever wisdom he wishes to impart is swallowed by his arrogance and posturing.

“You’re a coward,” I snarl. “Using petty tricks to win.”

“I am a Gifted,” he says evenly. “And you are not.”

He steps closer to me, and I can tell it’s another illusion. His breath is cold against my forehead. He towers over me, forcing me to crane my neck.

“You are smaller, weaker,” he says. “Breakable.”

I fling my baton, and it slides through the projection as I knew it would and hits him in the ribs. He grunts.

The ground steadies once his attention fractures, and the crowd exhales collectively.

The recruits begin to whisper. Their eyes are wide with fear, as if at any moment Ender will summon them forward for a second lesson. Even the sergeants are uneasy.

Ender’s smile fades, replaced by annoyance.

“You’re clever,” he admits, almost reluctantly. “But you can’t win against me.”

For a long moment, we circle each other, the world no longer distorted. It’s just us.

Finally, he steps back, lowering his hands, as if he’s grown bored with this game.

“Enough,” he says.

My chest heaves. Sweat drips down my back, and my baton trembles in my hands.

“No,” I say. “I haven’t won.”

“And you won’t,” he replies. “Not against me. But you are not the worst opponent I’ve ever fought.”

My mouth opens to demand we finish this fight, when he says.

“Your lesson is over, Warrick,” he says. “We’ll see if you can best me next time.”

“What about my sister?”

“As I said, win.”

A hushed silence follows him as he walks out of the room. My hand tightens into a fist. And I swallow back the urge to scream in frustration.

I lost my chance to see Mercy.

I failed.

“Are you okay?” Sora whispers.

“Did you see what he did?”

“No, but we assumed he was showing you something,” she says. “You were frozen in fear a few times.”

“It wasn’t a fair fight,” I say bitterly. “He is a coward.”

Sora glances around nervously.

“You have to be careful,” she says. “He is dangerous.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” I lie.

His powers terrify me. Each time he created a new illusion, I fell for it.

“Why is he so interested in you?” she asks.

I hate that I am lying to her when she is my only friend here, but I am not ready to reveal the truth.

I’ve gone this far without mentioning my ties to the High General or that my sister is engaged to the Commandant of the Forge.

Even if the truth grants me protection, I refuse to rely on the reputation of Ender and Warrick to keep me safe.

Those men have more in common than I realized.

“He is a cruel, heartless man,” I say. “Just like the other Gifted.”

Sora tenses. But I don’t give a damn who overhears. I’ll repeat the words to his face. I’ll scream it from the damn rooftops. He came here to humiliate me, to dangle my sister like a prize when he had no intention of finishing the fight.

Ender will burn for this one day.

And I will be in the distance, smiling when the flames swallow him whole.