8 - Secrets

Avi

I left the tunnel with a trail of thought far different from when I came. I was no longer curious about the voices of the men in the dugout more than I was starving for answers to Grengal’s last sentence before Master Romia came to bid our farewells. Oriole strode behind me and the warden was in front of me. I was stuck in the middle again, with no way of escape.

Why was I thinking of escaping?! I lost myself in my curiosity and forgot that we were just in what may have been the most dangerous place I’d ever been in. I should just forget what that Grengal guy said. How would he know anything about Master Romia?

The end of the tunnel came quicker than I remembered, and then we were in the dark of the eastern breakfast building again. How come I never noticed that trapdoor there before? The answer came to me like sour milk. It was probably because I had never tried searching, especially after Lindo’s summoning that morning.

No one talked as we made our way back to the warden’s office. The air was moist with darkness, and there were several times I heard rustling nearby, but neither of my captors seemed to notice. I followed the warden, and as we crossed the eastern-southern line, things became less familiar. We took an unfamiliar route to the warden’s quarters, and though I tried to remember the twists and turns, I could not, and so I followed blindly all the way up until we arrived in the warden’s sandy courtyard. We went up the steps of the porchway and, with the familiar wooden creak from the door, entered Master Romia’s quarters.

It was tidy above all, and a little typical. There was very little in the room; just her desk, a chair in front of and behind the desk, and a small cabinet in the corner with a vase on top. Tidy and plain. I could imagine her taking to this nicely. But in order to fully meet my expectations, there would have to be a whip on the desk.

“Itoma,” Master Romia addressed me sternly. I jumped, swiveling around to face her. “Don’t expect tonight to go unpunished. You may return immediately and directly to your sleeping cabin.”

I stared at her, stunned. I had almost forgotten that I was still a refugee prisoner here.

“Well? Do you understand?”

I swung my hand up to my shoulder in the respect-superior sign, and she sighed. “Just don’t think you’ll get away with it again. Do you understand?”

“Ye-yes, Master Romia!” I abruptly turned my heels and made for the courtyard.

Sleeping that night went slowly and painfully, and the sleep I did manage to conjure was hollow, only for me to wake up covered in cold sweat from the nightmare it brought me. It felt like an eternity, but soon enough, I saw the tint of the sun on the horizon and flung my covers aside without hesitation, grateful for the excuse to be out of the musky cabin. I rushed to the bathhouse and took my time until others who couldn’t sleep started filing in, then I lingered in the locker room instead. Wherever didn’t have noise and people. I wanted to relish the privacy and silence as much as I could before I’d get stuck with training and the bustling breakfast table.

There was another summoning at breakfast. That seemed to be when they did it, two days in a row. The guy picked was one of the top trainees. His name was Jukkav Brechlevat and he had broad shoulders and a strong, confident voice, and though I didn’t know him very well, I knew his absence would linger in training for a long time.

Throughout the rest of the day on the field, I thought of the summonings. One male each day. What about the females? Were they getting summoned just as much as we were? That would mean two refugees each day, and no one returned. The one question remained: who was next?

Several days passed in this hazy tension. Each minute, I felt my bones and muscles ache, and each minute felt like it lasted forever in the heat with the trainers and my ever-darkening thoughts. Each day, someone was taken away from the table, and the next morning, someone would ultimately be hauled away. And through all of these, there was but one collection and no more. The refugee nearly killed himself fighting against the collectors, and everyone was there to watch. People had been getting edgy, anxious, and I couldn’t blame them, because deep down in my scarred emotions, I felt it too. I was nervous, and after training every day, I would still go to Master Romia to see that even she became the slightest bit unsettled under her thick armor of strength.

What were they going to do with us?

Throughout this time, people started showing sides of themselves that I didn’t see before. Some were agitated, and some even went as far as cowering or staying up at night. I could hear them rustle in their blankets. But no one skipped breakfast. No one dared to, because it would be their last chance to see whoever wouldn’t return, and their last chance to say farewell if they were chosen. Allies became friends, and friends came closer, because no one could brave that era of anxiety alone. I found Torin tugging on my sleeve one night and he asked me a question that I couldn’t have comprehended: “If you don’t like me as a friend, just say it, but would an alliance be that much out of order?”

And so I forged an alliance with many, even if we weren’t friends. The more people who supported each other, the stronger the alliance as a whole—as well as the people included—stood.

“Pay attention!” Master Romia snapped, slicing my knee with a sweep kick. I fell over with a grunt.

It didn’t hurt that bad. Not after what seemed like so many lessons with her, but it still hurt. I got to my feet and resumed my position.

“What is with you today, Itoma? You’re getting weaker.”

“Master Romia,” I braced myself, never quite ready for her response, even though what I had to say had to be said. “A week ago, I went with you to that underground thing in the breakfast building, and I haven’t been back to it since,”

“Good.” She crossed her arms, a little surprised, but kept her wooden sword in her hand all the same. “You shouldn’t wander alone around such joints. I figured I could trust you not to go behind my back.”

“But Master Romia, the man who pulled me away to talk, his name was Grengal, and he said something... that I’d like to confirm with you.” I had to choose my words carefully or she wouldn’t take me seriously. “Grengal said you had... a secret, and...”—she narrowed her eyes and frowned—“and I was told you were studying something that you weren’t telling me about...” I cringed, waiting for her response, then finished and prepared myself for the worst. “Is that true?”

Silence. I heard only the hush of the wind across the desert and the few vultures that dared lay a wing near this place, and there was silence.

“Yes,” She said finally, and I didn’t register her response at all. “I suppose it is. I should have known Grengal wouldn’t keep a secret, the loudmouth.”

I stood there in the sand and waited for her to continue. The hot breeze rustled chestnut hair in my face and it dawned on me that she was finished speaking. She can’t be done yet!

I prompted her. “And—and that would be...?”

“Why, it wouldn’t be a secret if you knew, silly!” She smiled and lunged forward with her sword. She stabbed my ribs hard and I sputtered, falling backwards on the sand. I had pretty much formed a tolerance to the warden’s blows, but the shock of my failure kept me down. How was I suppose to respond to that kind of answer?

But soon enough, I had no choice, because the warden was standing over me with her sword raised. I rolled over in the sand as she struck, and I heard the wood whir past my ear. She wasn’t finished with me yet.

“Get to your feet, Itoma!” She yelled, swinging out a second sword from behind her back. “Or you won’t survive today.”

I yelped as she ran forward again. Some lazy part of me wanted to turn tail and run, but then I really wouldn’t survive the day. I imagined Master Romia chasing after me and shuddered, then dodged another whirring sword slice.

“Hey, how come I don’t get a sword?” I said with a frown, noticing her advantage.

“You won’t always have a weapon, Itoma, so you have to learn to stop needing them.” She sidestepped after a swing and stabbed me from beneath her other sword. It connected and I stumbled to the sand again.

“What are you keeping from me, Master Romia?” I choked from groundpoint.

“Beat me and find out!” She smiled and stopped attacking. Her breathing was excited, but not in the least bit tired.

I thought over the opportunity. I can’t afford any other option. At this rate, I could be summoned tomorrow, but I could never hope to beat her. She’s too... invincible. But...

“Okay, you’re on.”

Her smile faltered. Was she expecting me to decline? She regained her confidence and tossed me her second sword, and I fumbled with the weight. It was surprisingly heavy, considering it was almost literally a wooden rod.

Throughout all of the lessons I’d had with Master Romia, she had never allowed me a weapon before. I wasn’t sure whether to be scared or triumphant. Was I going to be pelted with my inexperience with weapons or were the countless days spent out in the wheat field enough to build up my arms to actually wield this weapon?

Not likely.

“Take position.” Master Romia barked, taking a stance that had the animosity and wildness of a viper. I shivered.

If I want answers, I need to win.

“Okay, the rules are simple: one can only win if their opponent has had their sword taken, has forfeited from further engagement, has been pinned to or stays on the ground for ten seconds, or is otherwise unable to continue the match.” The warden nodded once, then Oriole came from behind the fence, taking me completely by surprise, and stood on the porchway steps gazing somewhere I couldn’t follow, her expression professionally blank.

I frowned. I needed answers, even if it meant beating the incredibly strong, still undefeated Celive Insane-ia.

How was this going to work?

I didn’t have time to figure it out before I heard Oriole calling out, “Draw your weapons, and... begin!”

Within the millisecond, Master Romia was on top of me, bombarding me with strikes and blows that I just barely managed to deflect, though I began to doubt my sword could take it for much longer. I flinched as one connected, and I fell back a few feet, only for her to advance, giving me not a second of rest or preparation before I had to block again. How was I going to land a blow?

I blocked and blocked, looking for an opening, and then it came. A single second of recoil. I took the opportunity to bolt at her and go for a basic but affective stab to the abdomen. My eyes focused on my target, every inch of my being trying to turn my pain and aches into determination as the world around me melted away, leaving only me and my opponent.

It connected.

Master Romia fell to the ground, shocked, as her sword skittered two feet away from her hand. I lost my balance, still too surprised to regain my standing position, and I came crashing down on top of her. Our foreheads hit and my head burst out in a feeling that resembled having an anvil dropped on my skull. I clenched my teeth, closing my eyes, and rolled off of her. I took a few deep breaths, knowing that when I opened my eyes, she would be mid-strike, her fury at full power, and got to my knees, figuring out how to word my surrender. I opened my eyes and gasped, falling back down to a sitting position.

Oriole stood over Master Romia, who was lying motionless on the ground. Oriole raised her eyebrows and glanced up at me matter-of-factly. “You knocked her out.”

What?

“You win.” She said with a tint of surprise.

What in the world just happened?! I stared, my mouth agape, at the warden, then up at Oriole, who then became a light shade of red and turned away. Was she angry?

I shook my head, touching the tender bruise on my forehead. I won.

I had accidentally just beaten the strongest person I’d ever met and for some reason, I was terrified.