“Bring him forth!” says Commander Vye, her hardened voice ensnaring us in its vicelike grip, causing a chill to coarse through me, making me shiver, despite the warmth in the air.
I move my eyes so that I can see who has earned this sort of admonishment and almost gasp when I see Molers marching to the front between Renal and another arbiter, his head held high in defiance of Commander Vye’s attempts to humiliate him. With each step he takes, thunder rumbles, growing closer, warning us of a storm that none shall escape. Memories of my own lashing flood my mind, but I push them away, willing myself to remain focused and to not give in to their terror. He stops between the poles and allows arbiters to tie each arm to one and rip his shirt off, exposing his back, and the marks that already litter it, forming crisscross patterns from previous punishments. For a brief moment, I feel sorry for him, realizing that, like most arbiters in Arel, he has received his share of chastisement, and bear the scars of such harshness, just like me, but that pity ceases the moment I see the smile on his face, as though he is enjoying this moment, relishing its teachings and how it helps one build strength.
“Arbiter Noni!”
Commander Vye’s voice stabs me, jerking me from my internal conflict. Unsure of the reason for my name being called, I step out of the line of arbiters and face her. She motions for me to approach. I do, all the while, my heart jumping around in my chest, desperate to break free and to run away from this moment, not wanting to be a part of it, but knowing that there is no escape. More thunder rumbles overhead, and I feel its vibrations in my chest as I inhale, until I am in front of my commander. She stares at me, her cold eyes making me feel like an ant underneath a boot, knowing that its end is near, and I wish I could run away. She hands me a whip just as a crack of thunder reverberates above us. My hand shaking, I reach for it, not wanting to take it, unsure of her reasons for forcing me into this situation. The moment I grasp the smooth leather, a great weight forces my hand to drop downward, pinning me to the ground as the remainder of the whip smacks into the grass with its metal tips clinking against one another.
“Master Arbiter Molers,” says Commander Vye, her cold voice ringing out, mixing in with the growing thunder above us, “you have been found negligent in your duties, having allowed a terrorist to almost commit irreparable harm to the citizens of Arel. For such an act, you have been sentenced to twenty lashes.”
“I’ll wear them with pride,” Molers says, loud enough for everyone present to hear him.
Commander Vye steps back and looks at me as I continue to hold the whip in my hand. I know what is expected of me, what is always expected of me: to obey, to show my commitment to Arel. Minacious grumbling moves above me, filling the clouds with its sounds as though it is a harbinger of what is to come. Commander Vye clears her throat as a silent warning to me. Squeezing the handle of the lash, I step behind Molers as small flashes of lightning illuminate his muscular frame, and swing my arm backward, preparing to strike. In one swift motion, I bring my arm up overhead, swinging it as hard as I can, and strike Molers’ already scarred back just as a streak of lightning stretches across the night sky, lighting the entire quad, followed by an ear-splitting crack of thunder that rattles the glass in the windows on the manor.
“One!” Commander Vye counts.
A drop of rain strikes my boot as I swing my arm back before snapping the whip again, wrapping it around his shoulders, and I watch as the metal bits on the end rip into his skin, tearing bits of it away, spraying droplets of blood. Again, Commander Vye counts the number Molers has received. As I fling the lash at him again and again, thinking of how he had tried to choke the life out of me, of all the horrors he had put me through while at the training facility, of the man he had executed in cold blood, and of the place he had taken me to earlier filled with children too young to understand what was being done for them, but old enough to know that their lives were forever changed. The more I focus on what he has done, the harder I snap the whip, willing it to massacre him, to tear into him, and to cause as much pain as possible so that he will feel what I feel, understand what he has done. With each strike, lightening fills the sky above us, demonstrating its displeasure and its fury. I ignore it. Again, I bring the lash down upon him, not flinching as it digs into his skin, leaving a gorge where smooth flesh had once been. Again, and again, I strike him with the whip, losing myself to its power, and the dangers it holds until…
Lightning stretches from the sky and strikes the wall surrounding Arel, sending sparks and debris in every direction, warning me of my slippage into depravity, of what I risk turning into. I stop, allowing my arm to go limp by my side as the lash snakes around me, forming a leathery coil with metallic teeth, ready for its next victim. I am becoming Molers. While I stand underneath the stormy sky, ashamed of the pleasure I took in torturing him, Molers laughs, not a whimper or a soft chortle, but a baleful laugh, deep from within, as though he senses my shame and knows that once again, he has won.
“Noni,” says Commander Vye, “there is still one more to go.”
Setting my mouth in a firm line, as I grip the whip once more, feeling the raised nobs of the handle press into my skin, I swing my arm back, and bring it forward, allowing the lash to sail through the air and find its mark, delivering the final count of Molers’ punishment. Once it hits its mark, I hold the whip out and drop it, allowing it to land in the grass with a plunk, before turning and taking my place back in formation with the other arbiters, feeling Commander Vye’s gaze upon me the entire time. She motions for a couple of arbiters to come forward and take Molers down. They hasten to do so and carry him away from the quad and into the manor.
“Dismissed!” yells Commander Vye.
Following orders, the two lines of arbiters break up as everyone files back inside, but without me: I remain rooted to the ground underneath the grumbling thunder and flashes of lightening, and for reasons I do not understand, no one says anything, not even my commander, but instead, they leave me with a turmoil of thoughts and emotions that I do not understand for company.
Wind whips around me, as I remain outside, not caring about the storm raging around me. I felt pleasure about inflicting pain on my former instructor. I wanted revenge. I just did as I was told. I didn’t even question it. Is this who I am? A robot, a drone, programmed to follow orders until my dying day? I think of the people I have helped escape Arel, of how I had helped Luther when his home was searched, and of the boy Chase if with now. No. I am so much more. I am Noni. Molers will get what he deserves someday, but not tied up; it will be a fair fight when it happens.
Footsteps sound behind me, causing me to whip around, ready to defend myself from whomever had decided to sneak up behind me, but I put my hands down the moment I see who it is.
“You should go inside,” says Renal.
“I know,” I reply in a low voice.
“Commander Vye never should have made you do that.”
“Why did she?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure she had her reasons.”
A thought plagues my mind, and I do not want to think the worst of Renal, but he has been here longer than me, and I need to know. “Did you…” I begin allowing my voice to trail off before starting over. “Did you know about that place? A house of pleasure provided by the young?”
“Yes.”
Surprised by his answer, I glare at him as ill thoughts roam through my mind and my perception of him changes. “How...” I begin, but he cuts me off.
“Such places are all over Arel. Each sector has one or two, providing services for the despicable, allowed by the council and the presidents.”
A part of me cannot believe what I am hearing, but another part knows it to be true. A stain, buried deep beneath shiny glass and steel for none but the partakers to know about, or those unfortunate enough to discover the truth.
“That place deserves to burn,” says Renal, but, judging by the way he says it, I don’t think he meant for me to hear it.
“You never should have been sent on patrol with him,” Renal continues, referring to Molers. “You need to watch your back around him.”
“Sir?” I say, wondering where all this is coming from.
“Don’t you think it is strange, that the only punishment he received for allowing a suicide bomber to almost take out an entire railcar platform is twenty lashes, while you were sent to the detention center for stopping another arbiter from abusing their power? And don’t you think it is equally strange that you have received no commendation for stopping the bomber?”
I hadn’t thought about it, but Renal is correct. Many arbiters receive far worse punishments for the most minor of infractions, but not Molers. Things have been amiss ever since Molers was assigned to the eastern sector.
“Watch yourself, Noni.” Renal gets up and heads for the back door leading into the manor, motioning for me to follow. As I take a step toward him, I notice movement out of the corner of my eye and glance at it, thrilled to see Chase standing behind some bushes, but manage to keep my face unreadable, in case I alert Renal to his presence. Chase and I look into each other’s eyes and somehow, I do not know how, but, somehow, I just know that he succeeded in getting the boy to safety, and in coming back to me.
Chapter 25
An Invitation
The massive wall stretches outside my window texturizing the reflection of my walnut-colored face in the glass as I stare out at its ever-present reminder of how we are all locked inside the city, never allowed to leave. I understand the need to keep the barbarians from being able to invade us, and they have been silent of late, making me wonder what is happening that no one within Arel knows about, or if they are planning something. I fear the latter. The reflection of my brown eyes in the glass is level with the top of the wall as dark, miniscule shapes trace back and forth along the top, making me believe, just for a moment, that I can see over it and the field of grass beyond just before it melts into the tangled mesh of trees as vines and branches twist around one another, forming an impenetrable wall itself, as though it wants to separate the wild from civilization. My eyes trace the line of the wall as it stretches around Arel, curving just so, in order to form the perfect barrier, preventing anything from getting in, but its primary function is to stop anyone from leaving. Opposing feelings battle one another as I observe the magnificent structure, each trying to triumph over the other, and as they tear my mind apart, a soft knock sounds on my door.
I say nothing as my mind dwells upon the night Molers received a flogging for disobedience, for forcing me to go to that despicable place full of children who are nothing more than objects meant to appease the desires of certain members of Arelian society. My face flushes with anger at the thought of that place, and though it has been three weeks, I still smell the musty odor of the mildew that seeped into the porous bricks of its walls and the wooden stench of the lumber beams that had warped from the humid air and never dried out. Renal’s sentiments that that horrid place should burn mirror my own; I just wish I could do it without consequence. But if it did burn down, what would become of its residents? The knowledge that they would just be sent to another place just like it tears away at me.
You can’t save them all.
Luther’s voice plays in my mind, reminding me of the sad truth of my world: I can’t save them all.
The soft knock sounds again, a little more forceful than before, jolting me from my sullen reverie, as once again I grapple with the reality of my world.
“Enter,” I say in a flat tone, devoid of any emotion or warmth.
Sheila stands in the doorway when it slides open, and I turn away from the window as pangs of guilt gnaw at me for being so cold toward her. “Sheila,” I say, “is anything wrong?”
“No, mistress,” she says.
“You don’t need to call me that,” I tell her.
A door down the hall slides shut and Amal strolls past, glancing at me for a moment, but my eyes narrow as I stare back at him, daring him to try something, and wishing he would, just so I would have an excuse to beat my fists into someone in a vain attempt to alleviate my anger. As he waltzes past, his sleeve rises up on his arm just enough to expose his wrist, and the missing band. Once again, he has forgotten to wear his wristband. I wonder how he manages to get away with such an infraction, but the more I think about it, the more I remember that I have not seen him eat at any of the eateries in the eastern sector. He only eats at the manor. Maybe I should report him, just to put another mark on his record and earn favor with the powers that be, and perhaps get the mark on mine removed, or changed to a less severe one.
No. I have a better plan.
“There is a message for you,” says Sheila, ripping me from my never ending thoughts, once again.
A message? From whom?
“Thank you,” I tell her, and she steps back into the hallway, knowing that the message for me is private.
I take two steps from the window to the wall monitor and turn it on, taking a step back when I see Faya’s face appear, filling it from edge to edge, having not expected her to call me, nor have I thought about her since the day I had been taken to detainment.
“Noni!”
“Faya,” I say with surprise. “Is everything okay?”
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine,” I say, trying to relieve her fears, and wondering why she hadn’t called me earlier if she is this concerned about my wellbeing, before scolding myself that arbiters are discouraged from having friendships, and her very call puts her at risk, unless she can make it seem like an official communication.
She glances around before leaning in closer to the monitor on her end, lowering her voice just a little. “Noni, what were you thinking? Attacking another arbiter like that!”
“He was going to kill someone,” I reply, aghast that she would even ask me such a question.
“You should have let him,” Faya says.
I cannot believe my ears. Never has Faya told me to leave another to their fate, to die a senseless death. I have never left her to hers in all the times her life was in danger while we were recruits.
“We are tasked with upholding the law, and the law states that arbiters are not to attack citizens of Arel without just cause. They must have—”
“Noni, we aren’t at the training facility anymore! Your idealistic ways worked there, but here in Arel—you need to keep your head down.”
“But we all swore an oath to protect Arel and uphold its laws.”
I sound like little more than a first year recruit that has just learned to speak, but the last bit gnaws at me, chastising me, reminding me that I had been breaking one of Arel’s most sacred laws by helping people to escape the city and her long arm of tyranny. In a way, I am as bad as Amal and some other arbiters, choosing which laws I will uphold and which ones I won’t, but I fail to see how stopping a man from beating a girl to death is equatable to helping people leave who chose to leave.
“Don’t be so naïve.”
Faya’s words strike me, stabbing me where it hurts most, and memories of all the times I had helped her, of all the times I had sacrificed for her, flood my mind as her words cut deeper than any knife ever could.
“I shouldn’t even be talking to you.”
“What are you saying?” I ask, confused.
“You were sent to detainment. You have a black mark on your record. Talking to you could be putting myself in jeopardy.”
“So…”
“You put Joel in a terrible position!”
This explains the call. I never considered the position I would put her and Joel in when I stopped Amal, and she is worried about him, about how my actions will reflect on him, since he had put a good word in for me with the palace guards. “I’m sorry,” I say in a low voice. “I never meant…”
“You never do, but you never think about the consequences of your actions either.”
&nbs
p; This new side of Faya unnerves me, and a strong desire to end the call propels me to raise my hand and tap the button on the screen, but I pause for a moment, rethinking my actions and how it will look. But this… this is not the Faya I remember.
“Noni, please, be careful. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t do anything dangerous.”
Her face says that she is concerned for my welfare, but her voice betrays her, revealing the fact that she is more concerned about how my actions may reflect upon her, which cuts through me, considering we were friends while at the training facility. A part of me always knew that we might go our separate ways after being commissioned, but I had hoped… Faya, is right; I am naïve. As I stare at her on the wall monitor, with a wroth expression poking through the façade of concern, an anger rises up within me, threatening, once again, to overtake me, as I realize that Faya called me more for her own benefit instead of mine, and before I can stop it, my mouth speaks the words on the forefront of my mind.
“Dangerous for whom? Me? Or you?”
Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 39