I enter my credentials on the tablet and proceed to write up my report as I eat, hoping to accomplish two tasks in one sitting. My fork stops midbite when a familiar shape stalks into the room, causing a harsh chill to crawl up my back, freezing me and preventing me from moving. Molers sits beside me. Forcing myself to act normal, I shove a forkful of egg into my mouth. Sheila’s head pokes out from behind the doorway leading to the kitchen, but she ducks back into the shadows when she sees Molers.
“I hear that you had quite the day yesterday,” Molers comments, and I wonder where he is going with this statement, and why he is talking to me in the first place.
“It will all be in my report,” I reply, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice, as I continue to type. Molers always made me uneasy, and this moment is no exception.
“Yes, I noticed that you have not written it yet.”
“That was Commander Vye’s decision,” I reply, trying to finish my breakfast and report as fast as I can, so that I can get away from him.
“She seems to make a lot of independent decisions,” Molers says, and I look up from my report.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Of course not. You’ve been away.”
“Is there something I can do for you, Master Arbiter?” I ask, growing annoyed.
“You can tell me what happened in the mines.” Molers leans closer so that I can smell the coffee he had drunk earlier. Arbiters are not supposed to drink coffee, but that does not stop them, and Molers is no exception to this.
“You can read Lieutenant Renal’s report,” I reply as I continue to type and eat at the same time.
“I did…”
Of course, he has. I wonder what Renal left out of his report that has forced Molers to ply me for information.
“…and it appears that he does not remember much after you found him.”
I place my fork in the center of my empty plate and the soft, singular clink echoes around the two of us, sounding louder than it is, as a multitude of reasons, each as wild as the previous, run through my mind as to why Renal would leave so much out of his report. Though injured, he was conscious for most of what has happened, and well-aware of Commandant Gants’ demise.
“If there is something you wish to know,” I say, “quit playing the coward and ask.”
Molers’ nostrils flare from my blatant disregard to his rank and obvious disrespect toward him.
“I think you already know.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“You were there when the uprising took place. I want to know why it happened.”
Why does he care? My heart skips a beat, but I will it to contain itself, to not exhibit any sign of anxiety, to not give credence to any of Molers’ suspicions. “They are workers. Workers always rebel.”
“You never read any of Commandant Gant’s reports, did you?”
Now, I wish I had thought to, though I doubt that I have had the security clearance to gain access to a superior officer’s report.
“He mentioned you several times,” continues Molers, “about how you seemed to have a soft spot for the workers and how you gained their trust.”
“I had nothing to do with the uprising, if that is what you are implying.” Deep down, I wonder if that is true.
“We shall see.”
I finish the last few sentences of my report and stand up, grabbing my empty plate.
“A plebeian can clean that up,” says Molers.
For a split second, I wonder if this is another test of his, but decide that I do not care if it is; I just want to get away from him. “An arbiter’s duty is to maintain order all times. A dirty plate left to gather ants and flies is the opposite of that, or do you not agree?”
“Someday, Noni, you and I will have that one on one.”
“I look forward to it.”
The moment the words exit my mouth, I wish I had not said them, but it is too late; they have been spoken. Maintaining a stern composure, I carry my plate to the kitchen and deposit it in the sink where a plebeian busies herself with washing the dishes. For a moment, she is surprised by my actions, but does not question them as I walk over to a bowl full of green apples and take three of them. Not wanting to walk past Molers, I exit the kitchen through its other doorway and head for the hallway, to the door that leads to the plebeian quarters, hoping to sneak down there and give these apples to Sheila. Making certain that the corridor is empty, I creep over to the door, and just as I place my hand on the cold handle, a hiss reaches my ears, causing me to jerk my head to the right. Sheila, stands behind a corner, waving me over, and I hurry to her, hoping that no one decides to walk by at that moment.
I give her a hug, glad to see that she is okay, and feeling guilty for not taking more time to talk with her yesterday. She buries her face into me as I wrap my protective arms around her, not wanting to leave her here alone all day, but knowing that I have no choice. “Are you all right?” I ask her.
She nods. “I was worried about you. I heard about the uprising in the mines and how you had gotten hurt and…”
“Shh,” I soothe her, doing my best to comfort her. “It’s my job to protect you.”
She looks at me with somber eyes, and I wonder what has happened to her in my absence.
“Here”—I hand her the apples—“take these. One for each of you. Can you…”
“I’ll see that they get them,” Sheila replies, knowing that two of the apples go to Chase and Gwen.
“How is Gwen?” I ask.
“She doesn’t blame you anymore.”
She should. It is my fault that Chase was almost killed and that she was almost left without a brother.
“You must be careful, Noni,” Sheila warns me. “Molers wants Commander Vye’s position here, and… if he gets it…”
The mention of Commander Vye’s name reminds me that I was supposed to meet her on the green this morning. Damn! I forgot all about it. “Don’t worry about it,” I tell her. “Keep your head down. Where will you be this evening?”
“Cleaning the showers.”
“I’ll see you then.”
I give her one last hug before letting her go.
“Be careful.”
“Always,” I tell her before she scampers away. When I turn to head to the double doors leading to the green, I spot Anan. He darts into another room when my eyes meet his, and the uneasy feeling that he might have seen my interaction with Sheila fills me with dread, but I haven’t time to dwell on it: Commander Vye awaits my presence.
I hurry to the green, rushing out of the double glass doors and to the grassy area just in time to spot Commander Vye as she finishes a pushup. Always training. Such is the arbiter way; and her constant display of physical prowess serves as a reminder and an example for the rest of us. I stalk across the grass as its tiny blades leave moist stripes on my boots that reflect the opulent light of the sun as it tries to break free of the clouds’ clutches. She spots me and stands up, brushing the grass from her hands before she grabs her jacket from a bench and puts it on.
“You wished to see me, commander,” I say.
“You filed your report?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Commander Vye nods her head in approval, but her eyes look away as though something troubling plagues her mind, and my vanity wonders if it is about me.
“Is something bothering you, commander?” I ask, breaking the terse silence and wondering why she has asked me out here instead of her office. Does she believe that the walls have ears? What happened while I was gone?
“Tell me what happened at the mines.”
This seems to be the subject of the day. First Molers, and now she wants to know what happened there, making me even more curious as to what took place in my absence. “Commandant Gant was not thrilled about my presence,” I reply.
“Surprising,” she says in a sarcastic tone.
I ignore her and continue. “The mines were pitiful. Starved workers w
ere beaten in an effort to force them to push carts that were too heavy for the strongest of arbiters.”
“And?”
“I was sent there to increase production and that is what I did.”
“How?”
Something tells me that Commander Vye already knows how I succeeded, but I must answer her. She is my commanding officer and trying to keep secrets when she is already aware of the truth will only result in my imprisonment. “I ordered that the workers be given adequate food and water, and that they work in shifts, so that they can get adequate rest.”
“An unusual solution.”
“It was necessary.”
“Explain.”
“If you want the best of people, sometimes you must treat them with kindness.”
Commander Vye eyes me, studying me with that hawk-like gaze of hers as though she can see inside me and see the depths of my tattered soul. “That is not a sentiment that is taught to arbiters.”
“Permission to speak freely,” I say.
“Granted.”
“The workers were skeletons. How can any sane person expect them to work in the mines without adequate food, water, and rest? If you want the people of Arel to perform their duties, they must be given what they need to live, or they will die.”
“More workers could have been sent to the mines,” says Commander Vye.
For what? A lifetime of despair where they choke on ore dust until their lungs turn black and they die, suffocating on the mucus that builds and collects within them? I keep this to myself. I cannot show anger. I cannot show compassion.
“I hadn’t time to wait for a new supply of workers. President Tapiwa was explicit in what she wanted and what the price of failure would be. I was sent to those mines with no knowledge of the situation or what to expect. I did what I had to, to survive.”
“As do we all,” mumbles Commander Vye, and I do not believe I was meant to hear her. “And Commandant Gant’s reaction?” she asks.
“He tried to have me killed my first night there.”
Commander Vye’s jaw clenches as her face tightens in anger, and I watch her struggle to hold it in, to keep from releasing it in front of me. She must always possess an air of control, and she knows it. “How is it you managed to escape this attempt on your life?”
I consider my answer. Should I tell her the truth, or lie? She will see through a lie. One should never underestimate Commander Vye’s intelligence or powers of perception. A half-truth then. That should suffice. “A worker stepped in.”
“You let him take what was meant for you?”
“It was either him or me. Commandant Gant’s goons seemed more entertained by this fool’s actions, so I let them do with him what they willed, and slipped away.”
“Why would a worker help you?”
I look Commander Vye square in the eye, steeling my nerves and my face so that she cannot read it. “I do not know. Perhaps he just wanted to die.”
“After the attack on Renal, what happened?”
“I tried to get him out, but Commandant Gant’s men found us. He called everyone from their beds to witness my execution, but it was stopped by the uprising.”
I leave out Trevors’ part in all of this. I have no idea what Renal put in his report, or what Trevors and Grelyn put in theirs, but there is one thing I am certain of, none of them mentioned stopping Commandant Gant from executing me then and there. It goes against the arbiter way. We are taught to defend Arel, that death is inevitable, and that saving someone else at the expense of Arel’s greatness is weakness. None of them would want to appear weak; appearing weak gets you killed, and judging by the satisfied look on Commander Vye’s face, I have made the correct choice.
“And afterward?” she asks.
“An explosion went off near me, rendering me unconscious,” I reply. “I remember nothing, until I woke up in a medical room.”
Molers appears on the green, taking one look at us, and the tension between him and my commander fills the entire space, suffocating me and making me want to run away, before he stalks off.
“Commander,” I ask, “what is going on? Molers knew about the uprising, details that were in the reports, and he read Commandant Gant’s reports to Arel.”
“How do you know this?”
“He told me.”
“When?”
“Breakfast.”
A flicker of concern fills Commander Vye’s eyes, but it disappears before I have time to register it and to ponder its meaning, replaced by her stern face, the stoicness that she shows the world so that none know what secrets she holds, or the heart that beats within her chest.
“You remember, before you left, how I told you to be careful?” she says.
I nod.
“I am telling you again. Watch yourself, Noni. Things are different here, and you managed to catch the eye of one of our presidents, which puts a target on your back.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Is there anything in your report that I need to know about?”
“No, ma’am. Everything I have just told you is what is in the report.”
“Keep it that way.”
“Is there anything else, ma’am?”
“We are to go to the crematoriums. It was not my idea, but has been ordered by President Tapiwa herself.”
I take a step back. No one goes to the crematoriums, unless they are being sent there to die or be forgotten. There are arbiters assigned there, but they are ones thought of as unfit to serve anywhere else, so they are sent to the crematoriums to rot, until they are thrown into the fires that burn there.
“While we are there, you will keep your tongue silent and only speak when spoken to, understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Commander Vye grabs my shoulder and forces me to look into her worried eyes, and for the first time, I think of her as human, as someone with emotions, hopes, and dreams, and as someone who fears loss. “Do not do anything rash. You leave that to me.”
“Understood.”
“We leave in ten minutes.”
Commander Vye walks off, leaving impressions in the grass that disappear the way a handprint vanishes from a piece of foam, leaving me alone on the green to stew in the portentous feeling that settles in my stomach.
Chapter 18
The Crematoriums
Giant flues loom ahead of us, spewing plumes of putrid smoke into the dismal air, surrounding us with death as the transport we are in eases its way toward the gate guarding the crematoriums. I try to look ahead, but pull back when Commander Vye glares at me, giving me a reprimanding look, and a reminder that I am to behave with the utmost of courtesy. Now is not the time for curiosity or stubbornness. No one comes to the crematoriums unless they have been sentenced here, and the fact that Tapiwa wants me to visit this place fills me with trepidation and questions. The transport lurches to a halt, and I am flung forward just a little as guards approach the vehicle with their weapons raised, ready to fire upon us if we prove to be troublesome. The driver rolls down his window and motions for the rest of us to do the same. The moment a small crack appears in mine, I gag, and my throat seizes from the smell of burning flesh, but this is different from the time I was on the wall and forced to use black fire on those who tried to invade Arel. This smell is constant, never ending, acrid in its makeup, clothed in decay, and accompanied by death itself. I imagine a dark figure cloaked in tattered rags with his face covered, ashamed of being seen, of being known as the reaper, as the bringer of death. Such stories are forbidden in Arel; we tell them anyway. The older recruits would tell the younger ones these forbidden tales, and they would tell those who came after them, and so the stories survived, regardless of the presidential decree.
An armed guard appears at my window, and I look at my reflection within the visor of his helmet, reminding myself to keep my expressions neutral. He raises a scanner, and I know what is expected of me, so I lower my head, exposing the back of my neck and the tattoo that resi
des there. The scanner beeps, and he walks away, satisfied with what comes up on the screen. With a soft jostle, the transport creeps into the compound and parks just a few feet beyond the gate.
Commander Vye gets out, and I do the same, not wanting to be scolded for being too slow. I follow behind her, heading for a giant, steel door that is blacker than my uniform, sneaking a peak behind me, wondering why the driver has not also gotten out, but instead stays within the safety of the transport. My stomach lurches and a deep, never-ending pit builds within it, growing by the second as my heart races and my pulse throbs in my neck. I do not understand why my nerves are spiking, why they are trying to warn me of impending danger. I glance back again at the driver, but Commander Vye clears her throat, forcing me to whip my head back into place so that I face forward, but I cannot help myself; I want to look around, to see where I am being taken, to know more about this ominous place that we all try to avoid, so I glance at the smokestacks and the black essence that spews from them.
Something lands on the edge of my nose. Unable to stop myself, I brush it off and stare at a piece of gray ash on the tip of my middle finger, just sitting there as though it has been invited to stay for a while. Soon, I find myself surrounded by what appears to be soiled snowflakes, but the air is too warm for such a thing and they do not melt when touched. It’s charcoal dust, or so I think. Ash falls from above, coughed into the air by the giant smokestacks, coating my uniform and my hair, and as I look up to study them further, one slips through my parted lips and settles on my tongue. As I taste its chalkiness, a sick realization takes hold of me: the ash surrounding me are the remains of human corpses that have been incinerated in the fires that burn night and day here. I am surrounded by death.
A hand rams into my back, in between my shoulder blades, and shoves me forward, causing me to almost stumble. “Keep going!” yells one of the guards.
I start to turn to challenge him, but Commander Vye places a firm grip on my arm, stopping me. She shakes her head just a little, and I obey her unspoken command. Let her handle it.
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 26