3 - Oriole

“Open your eyes, all at Naihabi Ridge! It’s a new morn and a new day, a new chance to be taken away!”

I started up in my bed, my breaths fast and panicked. I closed my eyes again, realizing it was only a dream. I felt a cold layer of sweat on my back, and I sighed. It was only a dream.

It was my third broiling hot day at Naihabi Ridge, and I’d been having nightmares every night when I laid down on my bunk in the cabins where we kept what little belongings we had. Beside my bunk, there was my set of nightclothes from home and my new set of clothes they gave me for Naihabi Ridge. They were ragged. Not dirty, but definitely not new in any way. They were faded, loose, gray and brown fabric. But it was better than nightclothes, and in the heat of the day, it was better to be wearing loose things anyway.

At Naihabi Ridge, there was a schedule for each and every person for each and every day. First thing in the morning, we could either get up and go take a shower in lukewarm water in the bathhouse, which was crowded and filled with abnormally large bugs, or we could sleep in while everyone else took a shower, and whoever would do that would reek of sweat worse than everyone else all day so that not even they themselves could stand it. Then we would go to eat breakfast, which was normally light and not a fraction as good as Mother’s or even Hannah’s home cooking. Then it was work.

Every person was tried in both physical and mental health all day, every day, as if someone was always expecting something really bad to happen to us. It sickened me. Some would collapse half way through, and others would last longer, but most didn’t make it through the day without giving up or passing out from exhaustion or dehydration. It was like they were testing how long we could go without water.

I shook out my hands and slipped my feet over the side of my bunk, taking a deep breath and then jumping to the floor, making a muffled sound on the wood from my ripped socks. Torin, the guy that slept on the bunk below me, still laid motionless, sprawled on his bunk. He normally got up at the very end of shower time and rushed to the bathhouse and just barely rinsed off after everyone else had left and just before breakfast was called. Over the three mornings I’d been here, he’d missed breakfast twice. He normally passed out just before lunch—which was before everyone else—but if I were to describe him in one word, it wold be boundless. Whenever we weren’t on the field, he was the most energetic person around. He was both of two extremes, so I tried not to associate myself with him too much, but sometimes it was hard not to. He was kind of talkative.

I took my day clothes in a small pile and slipped my sandals on silently, trying not to wake anyone else in the cabin—since I wasn’t getting back to sleep anyway, the nightmare gave me a chance for an early morning shower before it got hot and crowded.

In the rare times that there was silence or stillness, my thoughts would travel to darker, sadder places and I would either get yelled at to keep moving or no one would do anything at all, and I would be stuck in my soundless peril. This was one of those times.

I sighed raggedly, preferring movement of some kind to mental agony, so I walked out into the main yard, still only dimly lit from the early signs of sunrise. I turned left toward the minuscule building that always seemed to take forever to walk to. I remained impressed with myself for being able to walk there every morning so soon after waking up with the aches from the tiring previous day still running through my practically nonexistent muscles. I stepped on the stamped ground and packed dirt of the first shower house. There was a shower house for each of the four sections of the Ridge. The northern buildings had a bathhouse facing north, the southern buildings had theirs facing south, and so on. I was placed in the eastern sector for some reason, and the one thing I noticed was that none of the buildings actually had flooring except the sleeping cabins and the main southern buildings, which I had only ever visited consciously on my trip to the medical ward for the physical examination that I was pretty sure they had already run on me while I was unconscious. I shivered as the lukewarm water filled the bucket at my feet. These people were creeps, if nothing else. The one person other than the ruthless physical or mental trainers that paid me what little attention I’d received so far was Torin and the dubious girl who explained collection to me. I dipped my feet in the water and rubbed them, sighing at how good it felt to release some of the tension etched in my skin. The one thing I didn’t understand, however, was why no one was allowed to leave their section unless escorted there by someone who had permission by the overlords of the Ridge—who I realized I knew nothing about.

I stopped rinsing myself at the sound of voices from another bathhouse. It was at least an hour before everyone normally woke up. And if there was an exception, like myself, then they always came alone... at least that I knew of. I knew I would be too embarrassed to go wake someone up nearly two hours before dawn just for company in the shower. Sleep here was precious. Besides... who would I ask?

I sighed, not coming up with any answers. No friends—or even allies—to speak of.

The conversation being held in one of the neighboring bathhouses stayed consistent, though I couldn’t decipher anything other than the fact that they were female...

I knew I shouldn’t, that it would be preposterous back in my northern village home, but I couldn’t push away the idea of going and listening in on their conversation. What if it were of something important? I didn’t know any girls here other than the dubious one; the sexes were sectioned off before testing—training, so I only got the chance to meet the one girl at the Southern building by coincidence, and I made me a little uncomfortable to have no girls around, having grown up with two sisters. My heart seemed to receive a stern slap from my mind, and I bit my lip to bay my emotions as I walked forward toward the changing rooms. If I were going to go listen to them, then I would need to slip my clothes on first, which I did, then I found the back exit. It was in the very furthermost back corner, almost completely hidden behind one of the lockers, and it took me several minutes of hushed, thorough searching to locate it. I creaked open the door, then locked my gaze through the crack on the interlocking X of grass in between the corners of the four buildings. I focused and heard the conversation continue through the walls of the southern bathhouse, which was the building to my left.

I still couldn’t make out the words.

I let out an aggravated grumble, deciding not to dwell on the inevitable next move... I would have to sneak in the building. But I wasn’t sorted into the southern section, so I didn’t know what all was different there. The buildings looked the same on the outside, but who could tell if the inside were drastically different? I quickly spun around and glared at myself in one of the locker mirrors, grunted irritatedly, then spun back around and headed out the door toward the walls of the southern bathhouse silently, my breaths heavy with dread and annoyance.

I came up to the building, pressed my back to the wall, leaned my head back, took a deep breath, then exhaled and rushed up under the window of the girls’ washroom. I crouched there, pressing my ear up against the wall to hear.

It was muffled, but I could just barely make out the words.

”... difference?” A mature-sounding voice inquired. “There wouldn’t be much of a challenge, and then we would be done.”

“But there must be another way,” a younger, more careful voice replied in a hushed tone that was nearly inaudible through the wall.

“There is not. I can assure you that this is the most efficient way.”

“But Warden—”

“This is not an arguable case. Do you understand?”

Warden? I pressed myself harder against the wall. There was something about the younger voice that struck me as familiar, but I couldn’t pinpoint anything other than the fact that I’d heard that voice somewhere before.

“Warden—”

“Do you understand?”

“... difference?” A mature-sounding voice inquired. “There wouldn’t be much of a challenge, and then we would be done.”

“Good. Now, if that is all, then you are dismissed.”

I heard a slosh of water as one of them moved, but then it stopped again and the younger voice spoke, her unease leaking through the crack in her voice. “Permission to speak freely, Ma’am?”

I heard her surprise. “Granted.”

“Miss Warden, this is a very bad idea. There is certainly a much better alternative we could exploit if only we had the time to find it.”

“But we don’t have the time. If there were anything I could do, believe me, I would do it, but there isn’t. It pains me how much this takes away from my humanity, but it can’t be helped. There is nothing we can do. Leave me, Oriole.”

Something in my mind snapped. The girl that explained collection, the one with the unbearable nonchalance. She was the younger voice, and she was the Oriole the old man mentioned. I heard the sloshing of moving feet in water and I crouched down on the grass to process it all. What was that girl doing with the warden?

“Excuse me, but what is an eastern boy like you doing leaning on the girls’ side of the southern bathhouse?” The voice of the warden rung out from the edge of the building. My head snapped up, meeting her severe brown eyes as they glared down at me. The lie I had on my tongue died at the skepticism in her gaze. I had nothing to say.

+++

“Avi Itoma, would you care to explain why you were found under one of the windows of the girls’ bathhouse just before the fifth bell?” The plump man who oversaw punishments asked irritably, nearly losing his composure every time he opened his mouth. His cheeks were red and raw as an uncooked ham as he glared at me through the little slits that sunk into his chub with ease and only technically counted as eyes. I wondered how he saw clearly—if he even saw at all. “You weren’t even supposed to be awake until the sixth bell.”

I suppressed a sigh and instead cleared my throat. I had no problem lying to this oversized temper tantrum. “I couldn’t sleep, and I saw something near the southern bathhouse through the window in the changing rooms, so I went to see what it was, and then the warden found me.” I saw the look in his eyes and quickly added, “I didn’t do anything else, I swear.”

He murmured something under his breath, taking a piece of paper and a pen out from under his desk to write something. I turned around and glanced at the door where I knew someone stood guard. Why would they need a guard outside an office like this, that belonged to someone like that? My mouth harbored a sour taste, and I turned back around to see the man scribbling something down on the paper with such jerky, irritated motions that I thought he would surely snap his pen if he were to grip it any harder. He sat in a cushioned chair, which I had never seen before. All the seats at home were wooden, so I knew not of such lusciousness. Besides, I thought, wouldn’t he have enough natural cushion for several seats?

I held my snicker and tallied my rude thoughts. Just because he’s unpleasant doesn’t mean I should think of him impolitely. I have to hold my manners.

I couldn’t contain my laughter and I snorted in my throat as a last resort, then the room fell dead silent and I instantly regretted thinking so impertinently. The man’s head snapped up from the paper and he was practically steaming, his face twisted in broiling fury. His eyes bulged and his face turned purple all the way up to his receding hairline. I held my breath, hoping it was just my imagination, but unfortunately I knew that it was not.

“Got something to say, hotshot, or should I just tell the warden what you were really doing by the girls’ bathhouse?!” He roared, tipping his bottle of ink over onto the wood, beginning to soak in the black color instantly.

I backed up a step, thinking of how to word an apology that wouldn’t sound like me mocking him. I decided on another lie. “Sir, I apologize if it came off as rude, but I was just thinking of something my father used to say before... well...” I trailed off, only partially faking awkward sadness and fixing my gaze on the wooden flooring in front of me, hoping he couldn’t see through me.

His face turned a lighter shade of purple, but his anger didn’t quake. A ticking time-bomb ready to explode.

Good grief, I hoped he wouldn’t explode.

“Thirré, come here!” He shrieked, and instantly the door was open and a girl ran through the room until she was next to me, facing the temper tantrum at his worst. This was his worst, right?

“What is it you need assistance with, Master?” The girl squeaked, wringing her hands nervously.

“Take this young man to the yard. I’m done with him.” He ground the words through his yellow teeth and immediately dug his head into his report again, dismissing the servant with a flick of his hand.

The girl touched my arm lightly, looking up at me with no particular emotion other than fear and sheer servitude. “Please come with me,” she whispered quietly.