Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2)

by Janet McNulty

  “I’ve been told that you are interested in joining the palace guard,” Tapiwa says, her voice echoes around me, letting me know that there is no escape.

  Slight movement forces me to snap my attention to a dark spot within the never-ending hallway, and for just a moment, I make out the faint outline of a man, poised and ready to strike should I make a wrong move. I should have known that there would be guards spaced at certain intervals within the presidential palace, even if I could not see them. Tapiwa and Kumi would never leave themselves that exposed.

  “Yes,” I say, when I realize that I have been silent for too long after being asked a question.

  “And you believe yourself to be worthy?”

  This has to be a test. I decide to gamble on the side of humility. Anyone thought of as too ambitious in Arel sometimes disappear, depending on where their ambitions lie. “No, ma’am. Only the strongest, the fittest, and the worthiest are allowed to protect Arel’s most valued treasures.”

  Tapiwa stops in front of a black steel door; I never even saw it and would have run into it if she hadn’t alerted me to its presence. Even in the darkness, her pearled teeth glow, allowing me to see the diamonds within them. “You may be more worthy than you think.”

  She places her hand on the door and it melts away, allowing us to enter. Synchronized shouts pierce my ears as I step into light that seems brighter than the sun and find myself on a balcony, overlooking a courtyard with arbiters in skintight, red uniforms with black stripes running down their sides, stretching from their necks to their feet. They move as one unit, attacking the air with batons, stepping in unison and releasing a chant with each strike.

  “Strength in…” yells a man from above us.

  “…our kind!” shout the arbiters, or I should say palace guards, as one.

  “Strength in…”

  “…numbers!”

  “Strength over…”

  “…weakness!”

  “Weakness is…”

  “…failure!”

  “Failure is…”

  “…death!”

  I place my hands on the rail, marveling at how it feels warm to the touch, as it raised bumps brush against my skin, digging into it just a little, letting me know that this is not a place I want to falter in.

  “I knew there was something different about you the night of the ceremony,” Tapiwa says, walking along the balcony, and I follow her. “That is why I sent you to the mines and the agricultural sector.”

  I remain impassive when she glances in my direction to see if her praise has had any effect on me as I do not want her to believe that her words mean anything to me. I am an arbiter. Praise is appreciated, but not desired; at least, that is supposed to be part of our code of honor, but everyone knows that there are those who do not follow it. Her lips part just a bit, showcasing the pearls she has for teeth, but I am unable to decipher if she is pleased, or not, but I hope for the former. Her shoes clack on the charcoal floor as my boots clomp on it in tune to her steps as I follow her along the balcony to a set of stairs that appear out of nowhere, having blended in with the lighted walls above and stretching all the way down to the amber floor below with its blackened patterns of Arel’s insignia woven together, forming what appears to be a mesh carpet on tile. She steps on the first step and pauses for a second, causing me to halt as well as I wonder what is going through her mind, but know better than to ask, though I can swear that she looks at the instructor on the bottom floor before continuing, with me in tow.

  The instructor yells an animalistic sound—I cannot make out any discernable words—and those around him hurry to the edge of the square floor, forming a perimeter as his bass voice echoes around me, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end as an uneasy feeling overtakes me. Heat rises underneath my collar s Tapiwa leads me downward. The moment my foot touches the amber tile, the lights go out, plunging me into darkness as strong hands seize me around the waist and chuck me to the side as though I am nothing more than a toy. My palms scrape against the smooth tile with a small screeching sound, and a burning pain overwhelms them as I grapple with what has just happened and realize that this is nothing more than one gigantic test.

  I am sick and tired of these tests!

  The same hands flip me over on my back as someone straddles me and wraps their fingers around my throat, squeezing with all their might, forcing me to gasp for air, while being unable to give my lungs what they desire most. Unable to see my opponent, I flop around like a maniac, pulling at the arms, forgetting my training like a six-year recruit, until, out of desperation, I thrust my hand upward with my fingers out and hit something. The weight on me shifts just enough for me to whip myself to the side and throw the person off me. As I try to get to my feet, fumbling in the darkness, unable to see anything, the same hands seize my jacket and yank me back onto the tile with a grunt. My head slams into the floor, stunning me, but I haven’t time dwell on it, as an arm wraps around my throat and squeezes.

  Again, I find myself wanting to panic as my ability to breathe is impaired. I throw my hand back, hoping to catch my opponent in the eye, but he is ready for me, and wrenches it behind my back with his free hand, twisting my shoulder until it screams at me for release. The arm around my throat tightens. I go limp, allowing myself to just hang in midair, supported only by the arm around my throat, hoping that it fools my opponent. His arm loosens. Not wanting to jeopardize my only chance for escape, I remain limp, just hanging on his arm the way a towel hangs on its rack, until he loosens his grip enough for me to make my move.

  I drop to the floor, twisting so that I land on my back, and kick my feet out in the direction that I believe his knees to be. A strangled cry of pain tells me that I struck something, but I haven’t time to rejoice. Before he can retaliate, I roll to the side, jump to my feet, and ram my whole body into the general direction I remember my opponent being in, losing my balance some as I hit his side and not the middle of his back, but he is ready for me. He grabs me by the waist, lifting me into the air and slams me into the tile floor, but I grip his hand, bring my legs up, wrapping them around his arm, and twist, forcing him onto the ground, causing him to let go. Once released, I scramble to my feet and run away, unsure of how to fight an opponent I cannot see, but seems to be able to see me just fine. I look all around, but all I see is darkness. Panicked, I scramble around, hoping to remain free of my attacker, unsure of what to do. I just…

  Mandi’s voice echoes through my head—well, not her voice so much, as a memory from a time when I was still a recruit and she had gathered my class into an arena, of sorts, to teach us how to fight when impaired, in this case, when we can’t see.

  “When in battle, your opponent will do what he can to stop you, to make it where you cannot fight. One of the best ways to achieve that end is to impair your ability to see. Just like you have been taught to fling dirt into your opponent’s eyes, so has he,” Mandi’s strong voice fills my mind, reminding me of her lesson from long ago, one of the few she gave us, and in which Molers was absent.

  I allow the memory to settle over me, hoping for a bit of wisdom, as images of my former recruits from the training facility fill my mind, forcing me back to the time we had all gathered outside in the courtyard, forming a circle. Mandi had positioned herself in the center, while we all stood at attention in our crisp black uniforms, keeping our eyes on her.

  “In the moment of chaos, when you are fighting for your life, you need to learn to keep your wits. This exercise will teach you what to do, should you find yourself unable to see them. Any who fail, will not move on to the next exercise.”

  She waved one of the recruits over and two other instructors placed a bag over his head, while another kicked him in the back, forcing him to crash into the concrete ground. I remember watching as the recruit tried gain his bearings and fight off his attacker, but each time he tried to stand, his was knocked back onto the ground.

  “Block the attack!” Mandi yelled,
her voice echoing off the buildings. “Use your other senses. You cannot always rely on just one!”

  Once again, the recruit tried to block, but received a kick in the chest, causing him to fly backward until he slammed into the pavement and his head hit the unrelenting surface with a sickening crunch, followed by blood pooling around him. Even then, I thought I noticed a flicker of anger from Mandi, not at the recruit, but at her fellow instructor, but it disappeared within milliseconds. One after one, recruits were called to the center. Some managed to block an attack, allowing them to continue at the training facility, while others did not, and I remember watching them being dragged away, screaming for mercy, only to never be seen again.

  “Noni!”

  It was my turn.

  I walked to the center of the circle and stood in front of Mandi, as her hardened face vanished the moment someone rammed a black bag over my head and tied it tight around my neck, making it difficult to breathe. I had brought my hands up to loosen the straps, but someone smacked them away and shoved me forward where I was greeted by a punch to the face. Dazed, and unable to breathe through the thick, coarse material that scratched my skin, I fumbled on the concrete, crawling on all fours as I tried to remember where I was, as the swift succession of movements hit my ears before something else rammed into my back, forcing me onto my stomach. Another kick flipped me over onto my back.

  “Stop stumbling around like an idiot!” yelled Mandi at me. “You have four other senses! Use them! What do you hear? What can you feel? What do you taste? Think!”

  I rolled around on the ground as crippling pain gripped my back, just as a soft thump on the concrete stones of the courtyard hit my ears, alerting me to danger, and I folded my arms in front of me, blocking the attack, allowing me to continue as a recruit.

  The memory of Mandi’s instruction dissipates as I snap back to my present situation, while the soft whistle of a fist flying through the air toward me strikes my ears, and I duck to the side, just as knuckles graze my cheek, causing my to trip and fall over, but before I hit the floor, hands push me away, forcing me into the center of the circle they form around me. My feet flop on the tiles, making too much noise, as I stumble to the other side, only to be greeted by another wall of hands shoving me back into the center of the room. I use this information to form a mental picture of the room, while figuring out where to place my opponent, when the soft padding of feet catch my attention. Of course! He is barefoot, just like the others in the room, which is why I failed to hear him moving around. I step to my left and pause, straining my ears to pick up any measure of audible sounds when I hear it, a soft clap on the tile from a bare foot setting itself down with care, doing its best to make no sound. I take a step back and the same hushed sound follows suit.

  Gotcha!

  Taking another step back, I kneel down with one knee touching the floor, while my other leg stands ready to propel me upward at a moment’s notice and wait, hoping my opponent believes my ruse as I pretend to be giving up. The soft pads of bare soles on tile creep up behind me, drawing closer and closer, as I remain still, just listening to my opponent as his steps quicken from confidence, and the false knowledge that I am no longer a threat. Just as he steps behind me, I jump to my feet and twist around, thrusting my arm out and ramming the heel of my hand into his chest, forcing him backwards, but before he can recover from my surprise, I kick my foot out, catching his ankle, and he topples over, crashing onto his back. Though I still cannot see him in this pitch blackness, I run to where I heard him fall, preparing to strike, but before I can, the lights turn on, illuminating every crevice of the walls and the floor, blinding me for a moment or two as my eyes adjust to the brightness, forcing me to stop cold in my tracks. After blinking several times, I notice that my opponent’s eyes are blue, the same unnatural blue that Grelyn’s are, meaning that he can see in the dark.

  A quick scan around the room reveals more unnatural blue eyes mixed in with the standard brown of Arel. Grelyn isn’t the only one? But it isn’t the eyes that capture my attention, but the vacant expression, as though no individual mind exists behind those faces; they are one, a collective, with one goal, and dissent is not tolerated,—such is the nature of Arel—and their collective stares frost my bones, unnerving me as the desire to run and break free builds to an overwhelming furor. The instructor in the room makes a sound with his throat, and my opponent springs to his feet and takes his place with the other palace guards, while I remain in the center of the room, unsure of what to do as Tapiwa and the instructor approach me.

  “She shows some promise,” the instructor says to Tapiwa. He grabs my arm and looks it up and down. “A bit scrawny. She could use more muscle.”

  I jerk my arm back, insulted by his insinuation that I am not fit to do my duty as an arbiter.

  “That can be remedied,” replies Tapiwa.

  The instructor grabs my face and lifts it toward him so that he can examine me further as he and Tapiwa continue to talk about me as though I am nothing more than a commodity, even though, that is all we are in Arel: people whose purpose is determined by Arel itself, as we are all nothing more than possessions to be used and disposed of at will. “I may be able to do something with her. She has some resourcefulness. Now, if she were to get the surgery…”

  I know what surgery he refers to; it is the same one that Grelyn got, which allows her to see in the dark, but I want none of it. “No, sir,” I say, cutting him off, and earning a disapproving glare from Tapiwa, warning me of how close I am to stepping out of bounds. “I do not wish to have the surgery.”

  “That is your choice,” says the instructor, “but it may be prudent to agree to it.”

  “I must decline. The risks outweigh the benefits, and if it doesn’t take, then I will be of no use to Arel. And, as you can see,” I say, inclining my head toward my opponent from earlier, mindful that my forwardness may be putting me in jeopardy, “I do not need it.”

  The instructor turns toward Tapiwa. “As you know, I do not need another guard. However, I will keep your recommendation in mind, Madam President.”

  “That is all I am asking,” Tapiwa replies with a smile that could curdle milk.

  She turns and heads for the stairs without a word, and I follow after her, not waiting to be told to do so, while the instructor barks orders at the others in the room, and they continue their exercises, surrounding us with their shouts of commitment. As we leave the room, doubts weigh my mind down. Being called to be a palace guard is a great honor, but at what price?

  Chapter 26

  Strings Pulled

  The whine of a railcar fills my ears as its shadow passes over me, creating an uneven stripe on my uniform for just a moment before gliding over the platform I stand on, as though it is waving to the people bustling by in their frantic attempts to catch the next transport to their destination, while my mind ponders the events at the presidential palace. After leaving the room full of palace guards, Tapiwa told me to leave, and Kaleb saw me to the exit, after which, I made my way here, where I now watch those around me while waiting for a railcar. Plebeians follow their masters without question, carrying bundles, or nothing at all, holding their heads down, making certain to stay in their rightful place, or so we have been programmed to believe. My mind wanders to Chase and all the times he helped me, and to Sheila and how she saved me from a severe punishment that would have led to my death. Why are they treated as inferiors whose worth is less than a piece of garbage? How did Arel come to be? I know the official story; it is taught to every child of Arel, and any who question it disappears, and all memory of their existence erased, and so people accept what they are told, lest they cease to be a memory themselves.

  A man walks to the edge of the platform so that he can be the first on the railcar when it arrives, with his plebeian right behind him, carrying a satchel and clutching it close, as though she doesn’t want anyone getting too close to it. When the man stops, she bumps into him by accident, and in a reflexive
manner, he turns and raises his fist to strike her, but stops the moment I stroll between them, turn, and face him.

  “It there a problem?” I ask.

  “No, ma’am,” he responds, and the plebeian hunkers even lower.

  Sweat forms on his brow, and though it is a bit warm, it isn’t that warm. “You’re sweating,” I say.

  “The sun,” he says, “it is warm.”

  My arbiter senses go on full alert. The man is hiding something; his evasiveness gives it away, and now, I want to know what it is. The plebeian bumps my arm, just a little, and her frightened eyes look into mine as she shifts the leather satchel on her, but it is not me she is frightened of, but something else. I snatch the bag out of her hands and open it, revealing architectural drawings of an education center, something that this man should not have; his light gray uniform gives it away.

  “Why do you have these?” I demand, holding them up.

  “I… I…”

  “You are no engineer, nor are you an architect. You should not have these, which means you stole them.”

  “You bitch!” The man lunges past me and reaches for the plebeian, while I seize him, trying to rip him away from her, but in the struggle, she flies over the edge of the platform and her head smashes into one of the rails, and she lays still. The man pushes against me and tries to run, but I tackle him and pin him to the ground, and before he can get up, I seize my baton and smack him in the side of the head with it, rendering him unconscious.

  The whine of an approaching railcar reaches my ears and a few leaves on the platform lift off the ground and circle around one another as a suction is formed while the wind kicks up from the fast-approaching transport. The woman! She’s still on the rails! I jump off the man and race to the edge of the platform, leaping to the rails and landing next to the plebeian. Her still body and the blood around her head causes my heart to sink as death hovers over her, warning me that it will take me as well, if I remain. I reach for, lifting her up, but her head rolls to the side and her eyes open just a little before closing, making her ashen face look more like a corpse than a once living human being. I try to lift her up, despite the wind whipping around me as the train approaches nd rounds a corner with its nose pointed in my direction. Her body refuses to budge. I lift her again, but the realization that I cannot save us both settles in, and I must choose: death, or saving myself. The whine roars to a deafening screech as the railcar approaches and people gather around in the platform to watch my demise, and with one last glance at the woman, I realize that she is dead, so I jump to the platform edge and lift myself up as my heart pounds faster with each passing second, while the knowledge that I am about to be torn to pieces grips me. I have seconds. Strands of hair whip my face as I force my arms to lift me to safety, but the dread of being too late fills me, and like anyone who knows their death is imminent, I face the oncoming railcar with acceptance.