“When are you going to tell me why you are here?”
Tapiwa chuckles, showcasing her pearled teeth. “I knew I liked you. So quick to embark on the next task. You are right, of course. I am here for a reason.” She stands and looks out the window. “We have been having trouble in our mines. They are not producing like they should. Their quotas are down. Considering your actions on the wall during our last attack, and how you handled yourself during the terrorist attacks, I think you are best suited to deal with this crisis.”
“You want me to go to the mines.”
“Temporarily, of course. I would not ask you to take a permanent assignment there.”
“Why me?” I ask. Something about this doesn’t add up. “I am not a ranking arbiter. Perhaps someone with more experience, someone with…”
“You have received one of the highest honors that Arel can bestow upon a citizen. You have something that the current commander there does not.”
“What about the other recipients? They must be more…”
“They are needed here, for the moment.”
Needed. This explains why Tapiwa was at my hearing. She wanted to know how I would react and if I would do what was demanded of me. I must have passed on both counts. I am not needed at the mines; this is just another test, another way to measure my resolve, and if I do manage to help increase production, that will just be an added bonus.
“I know I am asking much of you, Noni,”—Tapiwa faces me with affection, the sort a mother would display to her child—“but I need your help. If we do not meet our quotas, we could lose power and be left defenseless against our enemies. I’m not asking you to leave right now. You need a chance to heal first.” She glances at the sling that holds my left arm and the feeling of having been setup wafts over me.
“Whatever you wish of me, Madam President,” I say, my voice hollow, devoid of the very essence that makes us human, “I will do it.”
“I have complete faith in you. I will need to okay this with your commander as she has the final say, but I’m sure she will agree that this experience will be good for you. A chance to prove yourself. We will discuss this in more detail at a later date.”
Yes, another chance to prove myself.
A commotion rises just outside the door and both Tapiwa and I rush out into the hallway to find Anan hovering over Gwen, squeezing her thin wrist, as she cowers on the floor, pleading with him to let her go.
“What is the meaning of all this!” demands Commander Vye, storming onto the scene, her face contorted in anger, ready to lash out an any who dare disturb the order within her home.
“I caught this wretch stealing from me,” replies Anan.
“I didn’t…” Gwen protests, but her pleas are cut short when Anan backhands her. I start for her, but a firm grip seizes my good arm, holding me back, and when I look behind me, Renal’s stern face moves side to side, warning me to not get involved.
“Stop!” commands Commander Vye and Anan steps away. She glares at Gwen, aware that Tapiwa watches with interest. “What did you steal?”
“I didn’t steal anything!” whines Gwen.
“You lying little…” Anan begins, but Commander Vye seizes him by the throat and slams him into the wall.
“Do not disobey me again,” she growls at him.
While everyone watches the exchange between the commander and Anan, Gwen reaches in her pocket, pulling out a small vial of cologne—arbiters are not supposed to have such luxuries or be worried about their body odor, but some allowances are made, and there are always a few who sneak in contraband—but before she can show it to those gathered around her, Chase appears from behind and snatches it from her, saying “I took it!”
Commander Vye faces him, her dark eyes ready to set fire to the entire building, but her gaze is not what attracts my attention; Tapiwa’s appears mystified before morphing into pleasure. “You took it?” demands the commander.
“Yes,” says Chase, and I wish he would stop talking, though I know why he takes the blame.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“Why would Anan say she had it?” Commander Vye points at Gwen.
“Because Anan is a known liar,” says Chase.
“You little—” Anan lunges for Chase, but Commander Vye whips out her baton and hits him in the face with it.
“I told you that disobedience will not be tolerated,” she says. She takes the bottle of cologne from Chase and turns it over in her hand examining it as the creases within her forehead deepen with each second. “What were you doing with this?”
Anan clamps his mouth shut, not liking that everyone’s focus is now on him. “He says he stole it. Ask him.”
“I thought you accused the girl of stealing.”
Beads of sweat dot Anan’s brow as his lies unravel around him, ensnaring him within his own trap while Commander Vye’s words hang in the air. “Maybe they both stole it.”
“A plebeian”—Commander Vye holds out the half-used bottle of cologne—“would not have the means to procure such an item, but an arbiter, wishing to attract company would.”
Anan quivers under Commander Vye’s stare.
“This sort of item is not allowed here and I do not like being lied to.”
“But…” begins Anan.
“Get down to the basement and clean the sewer lines. You will scrub them by hand and not show your face until you are done.” When he starts to protest, Commander Vye adds, “Or, perhaps you would like to spend the night with the president’s guards. I’m sure they can make you more compliant.”
“They wouldn’t mind entertaining a guest,” Tapiwa says, enjoying the spectacle.
Anan rises to his feet, salutes, and stalks away without a word.
“As for your punishment”—Commander Vye turns toward Chase—“you shall…”
“I think Arbiter Noni should decide,” interrupts Tapiwa. “This is a perfect opportunity for her to learn another part of an arbiter’s duties.”
“As you wish.” Commander Vye looks at me and Renal releases my arm. “What is your verdict?”
I share a look with Chase, not wanting to decide his fate; the plebeian girl’s face haunts me and I see her within his determined face and within Gwen’s terrified one. I hesitate, wanting to be anywhere but here, wishing this had not been thrust upon me, while the notion that all of this had been orchestrated from the beginning gnaws at me, churning my stomach into knots, until I almost think I will vomit.
“Noni!”
Commander Vye’s harsh tone jerks me into action. “Theft is forbidden in Arel for both plebeians and citizens. Assuming this is his first offense…” my voice trails off as I try to think, desperate for a punishment that won’t result in Chase’s death (a first offense when it comes to stealing results in spending a week in a detention facility, while a second offense results in a broken hand, and execution for the third), but the crushing atmosphere enveloping me warns me that this will end only one way. “For a first offense,” I begin again, “and considering his station, he should be sent to one of the agricultural sectors for a period of one month.”
Arel has three agricultural sectors, none of which are in the main part of the city, where some of the most troublesome residents go. From sun up to sun down they labor underneath the hot sun, tilling the land, pulling the weeds, or harvesting. Many never survive their sentence there, but Chase will have a better chance in such a place than at the mines, which is another place undesirables are sent, adding to my own trepidation at being asked to go there.
“A suitable punishment,” says Tapiwa, and arbiters lead Chase away, brushing past us and out the door, while Gwen remains frozen on the floor, glaring at me; the loathing in her eyes ignites a fire that burns my skin as heat rises around my collar under her gaze. I have just taken her brother away from her.
“You all are dismissed!” says Commander Vye, and the arbiters gathered around us disperse.
Heavy boots pound th
e wooden floors as those gathered leave as fast as they can, not wanting to be in the receiving end of our commander’s anger, but amidst the ordered commotion, I do not move as a tumultuous sea of conflicting emotions rage within me, only to be stopped when I notice Tapiwa leaving and glimpse her vainglorious grin in the mirror as she walks past, telling me that none of this was an accident.
Chapter 3
Six Weeks Later
Six weeks have passed since the explosions, since the fire, since I helped Sigal escape with his family, and since my hearing; six weeks since Chase was sent to the agricultural areas, and his continued absence puzzles me as he should have returned two weeks ago when his month-long sentence had ended. A line of glowing red fills the space above the wall, casting a warm glow on a wall within my room, making the interior glow with its ostentatious color, turning my walnut-colored skin a rosy shade. I glance out my window at the wall, at our protection and prison, watching the humanoid shapes stroll across the top, keeping watch for anything suspicious, for any activity outside that might mean another attack. Puppets, that is what they look like, parading around as their strings are pulled by their master, doing what they are told to do, with no thought of their own, no will to do otherwise.
As the orange orb of the sun peeks over the wall, causing the glow in my room to transform to a burnt orange before morphing into a bright yellow, like that of calla lilies, attempting to cast away the shadow of the wall, but its gloomy presence remains, strengthened by the sun’s light, ever present, ever watching, I think about Chase forced to live in the outside world. The agricultural areas are not within the heart of Arel, but outside the main wall, though they are not far and have their own defenses, protected by arbiters assigned there to keep our food reserves safe from predators. I remember a story told to me once while I was still a recruit. A band of outsiders had attacked one of the three agricultural areas that Arel has. They were starving and had been rewarded with bullets.
I stare beyond the wall at the grass beyond and the trees that lie even further away, wondering where Sigal is. Did he and his family find a safe place to live? Where have they gone? Did they join the outsiders, preferring their way of life over ours? Did they find the fabled city, one that is supposed to be a paradise? I hope they are safe, that they find what they are searching for.
I snatch my towel, glad that my arm is no longer confined by a sling, since my shoulder has healed, and head for the bathroom where the showers are. It isn’t a large area: four toilettes, four showers, and four sinks separated by dividers; if you aren’t there early, you have to wait your turn, just like at the training facility. I stroll through the dim hallway and the door to the bathroom slides open upon my approach, allowing me to step into its plain and musty interior, lit by the fluorescent lights that spark to life the moment they sense my movement. Hanging my towel on one of the hooks next to an empty shower, I step into the moist interior, ignoring the speck of mildew growing in the seams, and turn on the water, allowing its chilled essence to wash over me. The manor has two water heaters, one for the showers and the other for everything else, but Commander Vye refuses to allow the heater for the showers to be turned on—sometimes she makes an exception in the winter—stating that she wants her arbiters to remain rigid, not softened by a few niceties. I prefer cold showers. Sometimes, they are the only way for me to prove that I am alive.
As I snatch a bar of soap—shared, just like at the training facility—my mind drifts back to the plebeian girl at the tribunal and the woman who insisted I dispose of her to prove myself. A plethora of emotions, ones I am not used to acknowledging, boil to the surface and bombard me with their accusations, repeating over and over that I should have done more to save the girl. I slam the bar of soap into the side of the shower stall, breaking it in half and watch as bits of it crumble away, falling away from my palm and into the drain beneath my feet, disappearing as water rushes over them the way a river drowns the rocks within its sandy bed. I shut off the water and snatch my towel, gray, like everything else around here, and wrap it around myself as I braid my long hair so as to keep it out of my face.
Voices enter the room. Not wanting to speak to anyone, I hide in one of the shower stalls, thankful that the ones here have a curtain, unlike at the training facility. They grow louder and bounce off the tile walls, allowing me to overhear them.
“How do you know?” asks one.
“I overheard the commander,” replies the other, and I recognize it as Anan’s voice, my loathing for him simmering just below the surface. I never did think much of him, but when Sheila told me what he did to her, such dislike turned to abject hatred, and it’s not just the female plebeians he harasses, but the female arbiters as well.
“And?”
“We’re going to hit someplace tonight.”
“Are you sure you overheard correctly?”
“You doubting me?” Anan’s dark tone sends shivers down my spine while I squeeze myself against the shower wall, staying as silent as I can.
“No, it’s… You haven’t been on the commander’s list of favorites lately.”
“It’s that dumb Noni. That bitch is going to get what’s coming to her someday.”
He hates me. The feeling is mutual.
“So tonight? Where?” asks the first.
“Some old guy’s place,” replies Anan. “His daughter, Mora, I think—”
Mora! I know that name!
“—was executed not long ago for smuggling people out of the city. Sounds like she was a plebeian lover. The arbiter council doesn’t fully believe that he knew nothing, so they’re searching the place tonight.”
“Why not just execute him?”
I know why. After the bombings, things have been fragile within Arel. People are on edge, looking for any reason to blame those in authority for what happened, and despite the investigation, arbiters are no closer to learning who orchestrated the attacks, despite Kumi’s speeches of how we will bring the perpetrators to justice. The people of Arel want answers, and there is talk that these bombings have rekindled a rebellious spirit, and the threat of another uprising permeates everything, overshadowing the façade of contentment.
“Who cares? At least we get to crack some skulls tonight.”
“And you get to get away from the sewers,” jokes the other, and I imagine Anan’s irate scowl at such a statement. “I need to go,” says the man, and he speeds out of the bathroom before Anan can retaliate.
A curtain closes, rattling the rings that hold it to the rod as the water turns on, and I slip out of my stall, glad that my bare feet make no noise as I creep to the door. Something glinting on a bench snatches my attention: Anan’s wristband. I never wear mine in the shower and leave it in my room, just like most of us, but here is Anan’s laying out in the open, and a devious thought enters my mind. I snatch the wristband and hurry out of the shower room, my feet padding on the floor as I rush to Anan’s room at the end of the hall, my towel flapping open as I trot, threatening to fall off me. I reach his quarters and the door slides open, allowing me to slip inside. I don’t have much time. I scan his wristband against the wall monitor and it flashes to life, greeting Anan and asking what he would like to do. Thinking fast, I give Mora’s name and the day I first heard it, amazed at all the text and images that scroll across the screen. Arbiters can always access information, at least what hasn’t been deemed classified or above our rank, but such inquiries are tracked, a thought that rolls through my mind as I clutch Anan’s wristband.
I tap a video and it enlarges, showing a woman’s battered face, her left eye swollen to the point of closing it, while her enlarged lip makes it impossible for her to speak with any clarity, and something deep within me tells me that this is Mora, the daughter of the man who spared me from being captured the night I had snuck out with Chase. He didn’t have to, and yet, he did it anyway, refusing to turn me in when he had a chance. I close the video and tap another folder. Orders to search the place spring up, and I
scan through it, looking for the time. Midnight.
I close the file and turn off the wall monitor. Time has gotten away from me and Anan will be done with his shower soon as arbiters are expected to be quick, since showers are for good hygiene, not lingering in. I hurry from Anan’s room to the bathroom, hoping that no one enters the hallway while I do, having no idea how I would explain my presence and the fact that the wristband in my possession is not mine. The sounds of water spilling from a showerhead fill my ears, the most pleasant of music, as I step inside the room and head for the bench where Anan has placed his things. I put the wristband back, but it falls to the tile floor with a thump just as the water shuts off, and I dash behind a corner to the area where the toilets are, holding my breath, forcing myself not to gasp or utter a sound. I peek around the corner, watching as Anan wraps a gray towel, standard issue like mine, around his waist, and if I hadn’t already known him, I might have thought his chiseled muscles, accentuated by the light reflecting off the water dripping down his black, smooth, hairless skin, pleasing to look at. My heart pounds against my chest as he picks up his wristband and studies it, wondering how it had fallen to the floor, but he shrugs his shoulders and slips it on, before leaving.
A slow, steady stream of air escapes my mouth as I slow my heartrate and calm myself before I rush to my room, after making certain that Anan is nowhere to be seen, and snatch my uniform, not caring if I wrinkle it or cause a few creases to form. There is something I must do and there isn’t much time. I may not have been able to help that girl, but I can try to spare Mora’s father from the wrath of Arel. Once dressed, I rush out of my room and stomp down the stairs, taking two at a time, ignoring the hollow sounds that fill the enclosed area around me as I hurry to the main floor. My right foot lands on the bottom step, and I stop, noticing Gwen in the foyer, sweeping the solid wood floor, reminding me of Shelia when I entered the manor for the first time. My heart sinks as sympathy festers within it, filling it, until it overflows with the knowledge that she is alone because of me.
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 5