Somehow I manage to focus on the competition again…blinking my eyes to clear my head, the target ahead of me sharpening from the blurry image it has been. I breathe deeply. I am still alive. My heart is beating. I am not in prison. I am still alive. I am still alive.
There are five of us lined up in a row like dominoes – and two of us are going to fall. Our red jumpsuits reflect the faded sun that almost shines down, a slight breeze blowing them against our legs like curtains in a window. Faint grayish-black cinders swirl around us, trickling down like smoke from a chimney.
Reese, as luck would have it, is positioned directly to my right – short and stocky with curly hair, a broad forehead and small brownish-black eyes. “Hey, Teak the Freak, nice stunt.” His voice is low as he keeps his eyes focused on his own target. I dart my eyes at him, and he continues. “Destroyers should have killed you a long time ago,” he hisses at me, a trickle of spit flying through the air. By all appearance he is strong, confident – even handsome, but that is all. The years in Weapons have changed him – changed us all. His right hand pulls back on his string, but I notice both of his hands trembling, just the slightest. I struggle to hold back a smirk. I am better than Reese, and he knows it.
Still, my cheeks grow hot, and I know they are turning red, am aware that the terrible mark on my cheek will turn a deep purple color, throbbing for attention. Don’t let him get to you. It is what he wants more than anything.
“Bagger,” I hurl back at him, not taking my eyes away from my own target. If we are caught talking, we will be disqualified – or worse. In Weapons we are taught to follow the rules, and they are fairly simple. Four basic rules. Obedience, of course. Don’t ask questions. Follow instructions. And go it alone. Punishments are swift and painful and merciless.
Once again I wonder how I have escaped punishment…I shot an arrow directly at the Alliance leader, at Lord Gareth himself, yet here I am…still in competition. I glance at my team mates. Two boys and two girls, pure and unmarked. Once again I am cruelly aware that I am the only Light Skin, and I am definitely Marked.
I am in second place – we have already competed in blades, spears, and hand-to-hand combat. This is our final competition – bow and arrows. It is also my best weapon.
“Fire,” the master sergeant booms.
Arrows instantly zing through the air, but for some reason I hesitate. Thoughts swirl through my head, like thunder clouds during a storm. I breathe in and then out, feeling the air rustle in front of my mouth, but that is the only movement I can muster. I have already pushed my limits…have been given a reprieve I don’t understand. But another thought, a new one, enters my mind, like poison seeping in from the ocean mist. What if I don’t shoot? What would happen if I just refuse?
Immobilized, I gawk at the flying arrows of my team mates. Glendon’s arrow swoops in large circles, probably three or four, then dives dangerously close to the ground before it lands in the middle of the target, barely missing the bull’s eye. Bello is probably bursting with pride. Reese floats about three feet off the ground and releases his arrow with flourish, but then a deep scowl emerges on his face as his arrow shoots off toward the edge of the field…not too far from Siv Gareth himself. It lands like a dead fish on the cool green grass. Pride’s arrow circles her body five times and then sails straight to the target. Still, she misses the bull’s eye. The rules are clear…no matter the presentation, the display of Power, only a bull’s eye counts for points.
Bentle, a stout girl with short auburn hair and deep brown skin is the last to shoot. I might have liked her in a different world, maybe even been friends with her. But not here. Not now. I know she has Power, like the others, but she chooses not to use it…to simply shoot. With no emotion on her face, she misses the entire target, her arrow landing flat on the ground.
My eyes travel to Bentle’s arrow…and then to Reese’s. I could do that…purposely miss the target and never have to go to Soldier Academy. It would be easy to do. Just miss, time and again. With my peripheral vision, I take in the silent crowd. The sea of dark faces is becoming restless, waiting for me to shoot. Do I miss on purpose? Or do I hit the target, something I can do so easily I don’t even have to try anymore?
Entho’s pale white face and pure white healing robe stick out of the crowd like a polar bear in a forest. His face is grim, more so than usual. Standing beside him is Bello…my Weapons Instructor. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her blues eyes are slivers of indigo light – slashing through me like a sharp steel knife. They are the only two Light Skins…and the only ones who really care about my performance. Soon I will be disqualified. I bite my lower lip, thinking.
“Five seconds,” the Master Sergeant booms, irritation seeping through his voice.
Suddenly, without further thought, I just let go of the string. I hear the boing and hiss of the arrow as it moves toward the target. My hands are shaking, worse than Reese’s, but for different reasons. I know where the arrow will land, and I am correct. Right in the middle of the circle. A bull’s eye. As always. The only bull’s eye out of the five of us.
The crowd murmurs, and just for a moment I am smug. But I narrow my eyes, focusing on the arrow sticking out of the target as if it were piercing my own chest. Tears threaten to spill out, and I know if I let them, I could probably flood the entire field. Clearly, I have made my choice.
Fifteen more times, while clenching my jaw until the pain is almost unbearable, I hit a bull’s eye. Dead center. Dead…like I should have been for shooting at Siv Gareth. Dead…like my heart.
We stand as one again, the five of us on the line…waiting like mute soldiers for the scores to be tallied. For the last time. A judge, a Red Cloaker, finally raises his hand, the signal that the scores are in. The crowd parts as Siv Gareth strides over to the judges’ table, snatches papers from their hands, and scans them briefly. After a brief moment his unemotional voice carries across the field.
“First place…Teak Frain.” My heart falls into the bottom of my stomach as he says my name. It sounds like thunder rolling off his lips. Teak. Frain. Teak. Frain. Teak. Frain. Soon to be…Killer. Killer. Killer. In a fog, I trudge over to the winner’s circle. At the same time Siv Gareth’s long legs move theatrically over to an ornate purple covered table, and he picks up a golden sword with a ruby colored handle. We meet face to face. Again.
Inches apart, he speaks to me, his voice a monotone that only I can hear. “Your mother would be proud of you.” My mother? What does this have to do with my mother?
He smiles at me, thin pink lips that remind me of a lion about to kill its prey. Deliberately, he places the sword in the sheath of my belt. I am unprepared for it in more ways than one, and the weight of it drags me over. I almost stumble, but I catch myself, a ball of steel forming in the center of my body. I meet his cold black stare, matching it defiantly with my own golden one. Gold. To match the sword.
I say nothing. Siv Gareth’s voice, although barely more than a whisper, roars in my ears as I obediently place a leg up on the winner’s podium. My other leg follows, as if it had a choice in the matter.
“Second Place…Glendon Tuttle.” Glendon is grinning, his white teeth flashing brilliantly as he shakes Siv Gareth’s hand. The Alliance leader places a silver sword in Glendon’s sheath. Glendon stays firm, solid, as he steps confidently onto the silver podium to my left. He smiles into the crowd as they cheer for him.
Siv Gareth continues, “Third Place…Pride Hanch.” She almost jogs up to him, and he places the bronze sword in her sheath. She flushes, a flat smile curving her lips upward ever so slightly. The sword seems to engulf her entire body, but she handles it with grace as she easily stands on a podium to my right, the sword almost dragging the ground with each of her movements. Glendon and Pride…both below me. A Light Skin on the highest podium. It is unheard of.
I am in first place, a coveted position by any measure…but as I look over at Siv Gareth, still alive and standing between the two Destroyers, an intense feeling o
vertakes me. Fresh, angry blood rushes through my veins, and I can’t fight off the foreboding feeling that even though I just won, I have really lost.
Chapter 4