[Atlantis Grail 01.0] Qualify

by Vera Nazarian

  “Attention, Yellow Quadrant!”

  I am jerked back to reality by the deep booming voice of Keruvat Ruo. It needs no microphone to carry across the Arena.

  “Stand up straight! First, we begin with stretching—feet apart, bend at the waist, touch your toes, then back up, lunge with right leg forward, repeat twenty times!”

  I exhale, inhale, and begin the warm-up exercise.

  A few minutes later we are done with several series of combo reps. I am panting for air, trying to catch my breath, and so is everyone else around me. But one thing is sure—my muscles feel alive. Blood and energy is rushing through my veins. And although the bone-weariness is still there, it has somehow become a secondary ache, retreating to the background.

  After all, this is day four of Qualification—could it be that my body is getting used to the daily punishment?

  However, there’s no time to ponder, because now Keruvat grows silent and Aeson Kass takes over.

  “Candidates!” he says, as he begins to pace before our three double rows, while the other three Atlanteans walk behind him. “Today you will show me what you can do! Show me First Form, Floating Swan!”

  The arena erupts in movement. Candidates, myself included, scramble to assume the First Position of rest and balance. Hundreds of feet pound the floor—an almost simultaneous motion—to take the initial side-step that widens the stance. . . . Then, arms and hands float, off to the side and straight ahead, fingers forming the precise curvature and sign.

  I stand holding the Floating Swan, while I see with my peripheral vision to the right, Laronda stilled in hers, and beyond her, Dawn, Jai, Mateo. On the other side of me to the left is Hasmik, frozen in her stance that is all clean lines, and no one would ever suspect how much pain she is in right now. . . . To the left of her is Tremaine Walters with his long locks. Directly across from me the blond girl with short hair awkwardly holds her stance, her hand outthrust at me.

  Aeson Kass walks the line, still many feet away, and I hear his voice cut like a knife. “Show me Second Form, Striking Snake!”

  My extended hand drops away, and I slide into a forward lunge with one foot and at the same time strike forward with the other hand, bringing it around from the side—while all my fingers come together to form the snout of a snake. I feel my thigh muscles quake while my knees wobble. Everyone around me attempts to do the same, and I hear many grunts and shuffles.

  Aeson’s voice approaches, sounds closer, somewhere only twenty feet behind me. Its hard rich timbre and power sends echoes through the otherwise silent space of the great stadium hall. “Show me Third Form, Spinning Wind!”

  Oh lord, no, I really suck at this one. . . .

  I force my body to move, and I begin the wide rapid half-turn into a 360-degree spin, arms out-flung to the sides, moving my hands clumsily and trying not to hit Laronda and Hasmik on either sides of me. It’s one thing when you’re supposed to hit someone, but not when you do it unintentionally because you’re a dork.

  This is where it all falls apart. As I stagger to regain my balance on return, apparently so do most of the Candidates in the hall.

  “Halt!” Aeson Kass roars at us, and it’s like someone shoots me in the chest. I can feel his voice, a tangible weight of fierce intensity.

  “Stop, and assume Floating Swan!” he says in barely leashed fury, just a few feet away in the other row behind me. “Shame and disgrace! You are not worthy of being called Candidates much less Atlanteans. You move like a herd of Earth cattle—broken, weak, useless! How badly out of shape are you, considering you are teenagers? An old man on Atlantis can move his dying carcass better than you!”

  He approaches, and somewhere past my back I hear his boots striking the floor with angry impact.

  I barely dare to breathe, frozen in the Floating Swan, holding my hands and arms in the floating stance, feeling them begin to quake with muscle tension. . . .

  And then I hear him make the selections, as he quickens his pace along the rows.

  “You! Take one step forward! You! And you! Step forward! You! Step forward! You! Move!”

  As he returns to the end of one row and now enters our own row, I hear him say, “Those whom I called forward, will now stand on one foot until I tell you otherwise. If you set your other foot down, you will have to repeat, for twice the time. Now, stand on your right foot!”

  As waves of horrified whispers and discontent race through our rows, Aeson continues walking swiftly past us, and makes his selections. “You! And you! Step forward, stand on your right foot!” he points at seemingly random teens who possibly display a less than perfect Floating Swan stance.

  I see him approach from the corner of my eye, and he is like a demon. Blazing metallic hair, ruthless closed expression.

  Astra daimon. . . .

  “You!” He points at Hasmik. Then he passes me, and for a moment I see the flash of terrible dark-blue that is his eyes, as his gaze sweeps over me, and then continues.

  Weirdly it occurs to me, how strange it is to see his eyes being open and so alive, as opposed to heavy closed eyelids and soot and blood and smoke. . . .

  I blink.

  Laronda is safe, and so is Dawn, but Jaideep Bhagat gets to step forward. Poor Jai, he stands on his right foot, awkwardly balancing with his hands.

  I glance to my left and suddenly remember—Hasmik, oh no!

  Hasmik stands on her one very hurt foot, and I see her eyes begin to glaze over with pain, while her hands are forming into fists.

  But Aeson Kass has gone far down the line, and more and more Candidates are chosen to step forward in disgrace.

  “Now, switch!” he exclaims, having come to the end of our row. “Stand on your left foot!”

  I glance at Hasmik with sympathy as she switches to her other foot in major relief. “Hang in there!” I barely mouth the words, while she nods at me. Her expression remains stoic, but a sheen of sweat is starting to cover her face.

  But after having made the round of all our rows, Aeson Kass is not done. “Now, Candidates, those of you standing on one foot, continue to do so. The rest of you, resume Forms! Show me Second Form, Striking Snake!”

  Again we lunge, forming hands into snakes. And again I hear Aeson’s relentless voice start making the cruel selections. “You! Step forward! And you!”

  “At this rate,” I hiss under my breath, to no one in particular, “all of us will be standing on one foot!”

  Laronda silently rolls her eyes in pained agreement.

  “Show me Third Form, Spinning Wind! Repeat Form until I tell you to stop! The others—switch and stand on your right foot!”

  I gasp for air and move into the 360-degree turnabout. Meanwhile next to me Hasmik makes a single whimper of pain and again puts all her weight on the right foot with its badly swollen ankle.

  Again the selections happen, and Aeson Kass stalks our rows like a panther.

  “Damn, here he comes,” someone whispers. “What a prick. . . .”

  “You! Silence or Disqualification! Step forward!”

  I watch, staggering after another turnabout, as the boy who got called out is then told to not only stand on one foot but jump up and down while standing on that one foot.

  Holy lord!

  While that’s all happening a few feet away, things are even worse right here. . . .

  That’s because, next to me, Hasmik is turning green, and sweat is pouring down her forehead. The girl is going into shock.

  I see her begin to sway, and so I pause my Form. . . .

  What am I doing? This is crazy!

  I casually step forward, pretending I was also called out, and stand on my right foot. Then I slowly reach out with my left hand, and take hold of her clammy hand closest to me. I feel her desperate slippery grip, then just the tips of her fingers touching mine. . . .

  Together we stand, hands just barely touching—just enough to keep us both balanced, and her upright.

  But it lasts only for about a minute.<
br />
  Because next thing I know, Aeson Kass stands before me.

  Did I really think he wouldn’t notice? Yeah, Gwen, you idiot. . . .

  And then comes the sound of his voice. It cuts through me like fire and ice.

  Chapter 20

  “You!” Aeson Kass speaks, having stopped directly before me. “What are you doing?”

  I continue to stand on one foot—which is starting to acquire a fine muscle tremor—and stare straight ahead, so that his face is just barely out of my line of sight . . . so that I don’t have to make contact with his eyes. And in that first terrible instant I say nothing, as my pulse races madly in my temples, threatening to jump out of my head, if that even makes any sense. My fingers continue to touch Hasmik’s hand.

  If it’s even possible, but I think he is slightly thrown off. Because there is an unusually long pause as he continues to stare at me. Meanwhile I see him indirectly with my peripheral vision, and I think I am about to die. . .

  . . . or about to be Disqualified.

  “Look at me . . .” he says, seemingly gathering himself after that inexplicable pause. “I said, what are you doing?”

  Slowly I turn my head a miniscule bit to face him—to face his eyes.

  “I . . . don’t know . . .” I whisper.

  The intensity of his gaze is impossible to describe.

  “You what? You don’t know?”

  “I am sorry, I don’t—”

  “I did not tell you to step forward and stand on one foot. So, what are you doing?”

  “I—must’ve misunderstood.”

  If I’m correct, I think his fury is now white-hot. But oh, he keeps it under such perfect control. . . .

  He takes a step closer and slowly looks me up and down. And he looks at Hasmik, who is just about to pass out.

  There is perfect silence in the arena, except for a few shufflings of feet and the lonely sound of one boy jumping up and down, his foot laboriously striking the floor.

  If I weren’t in the middle of such utter hell right now, I might even find it kind of funny, in a sick, remote, ten-years-later kind of way.

  “Your name, Candidate.”

  “Gwen Lark.”

  He watches me—for what seems to be another extended moment during which his dark blue eyes bore through me and I am rendered into nothing.

  “Do you make it a habit to willfully misunderstand instructions?”

  My heart is racing so fast it feels like I am going into cardiac arrest.

  “No . . . only sometimes.”

  “And is there a reason you are holding hands with the Candidate next to you?”

  I take a deep breath and glance at Hasmik who watches me through narrowed fluttering eyelids, while rivulets of sweat pour down her temples. “She is hurt,” I say. “She cannot stand like that on her right leg. . . . At least not for much longer.”

  “I see. So you think you are helping her?”

  “I am—helping her.”

  There is a pause.

  “You are cheating. The consequence for such action is Disqualification. For both of you—”

  “No!” I exclaim, and let go of Hasmik’s fingers as if burned, while a sudden lump forms in the back of my throat, and I realize helplessly I am about to cry. “No, she had nothing to do with it! It was all my idea! Please, she really is hurt!”

  “—and punishment for disobeying direct orders is also Disqualification,” Aeson Kass continues, ignoring my outburst. His voice has grown deceptively soft—it is the silence of a coiling serpent—and for some reason it makes it even more terrible.

  I stand, still balancing on one foot, breathing in shallow rapid gasps, while the gathering pressure of tears is overwhelming my eyes.

  Well, this is it, I think.

  In that exact moment, Hasmik creates a timely interruption by quietly collapsing next to me. One instant she stands upright on one foot, and the next she seems to buckle downward, passing out softly, and lies on the floor at my feet.

  I gasp, then immediately move. I crouch before her, reach out to feel her head.

  “Candidates, halt!” Aeson’s hard impassive voice resounds above my head. “All of you, stop and you may put both feet down.”

  Someone blows a whistle—I am guessing it’s Oalla. It is followed by the shuffle of many feet.

  I continue holding Hasmik’s forehead, and she is breathing faintly. A few seconds and her eyes flutter open. Her skin is cold and clammy to the touch, and I see Keruvat Ruo approach and squat down next to me. His large hands examine her, feeling her pulse, then come around her from the back as we raise her up into a sitting position on the floor.

  “Please . . .” I whisper to the dark Atlantean. “She really needs a doctor!”

  “No . . . I am all right,” Hasmik barely whispers, as she gets up slowly with our assistance and stands upright in a daze.

  Incredibly, she then attempts to once again stand on one leg. She must have missed hearing the halt command when she was passed out on the floor.

  “You,” Aeson Kass tells her coldly. “For the rest of this class, you are excused. You are also excused from today’s Agility Training. Go back to your dorm and see the doctor.”

  “Am I—Disqualified?” she whispers.

  “No. Not today.”

  I take a shuddering breath. “What about me?”

  Aeson Kass turns back to me, and again I am seared by the overwhelming intensity of his gaze. It makes me unable to breathe.

  “You—I still have not decided.”

  The rows of Candidates around me have fallen into perfect silence, watching in fear and suspense.

  I notice Keruvat glancing at Aeson, and even Oalla has a subdued expression on her chiseled face.

  In that moment Xelio Vekahat moves in closer and speaks softly to Aeson.

  Aeson Kass breaks away his gaze from me and turns slightly, listens to what Xelio has to say. I watch their heads together, a contrast of metallic gold and midnight black, hear the lilting sounds of their Atlantean language. . . .

  I wait and stare helplessly, and at one point notice how they both glance down at my feet—at my sneakers.

  Oh, no! Has Xelio just told him about the shoelace incident?

  I am so screwed now.

  I feel a wave of numbing cold pass through me, as despair settles around my mind.

  But Aeson Kass turns back to me, and his hard gaze has become a peculiar neutral thing. It’s as if his anger has receded somehow, pulled back behind a curtain, and I sense the lessening of pressure.

  “Candidate Lark, for the moment, you are not Disqualified. However, you will report here later tonight during Homework Hour, for disciplinary action.” He points with a slight motion of his head to the raised platform deck in the back of the stadium. “Be on that deck, on time, at 8:00 PM sharp, to receive further instructions. That is all for now.”

  He looks away from me. And just like that, I am suddenly a nonentity.

  I watch Hasmik leave my row and walk away slowly. The Atlantean Instructors watch her retreating back.

  In the same instant Aeson Kass begins to pace our rows once more, raising his voice yet again into a terrible thing of power.

  “Candidates! Resume your Forms and Examples! Show me First Form, Floating Swan! The rest of you who are Examples, stand on your right foot!”

  It is over eventually, and the Yellow Quadrant is dismissed. We shuffle out of the Arena Commons building, beaten down and so tired that it hurts to think. Outside, it’s clear skies. The mid-day sunlight is so bright it is painful to the eyes, as we walk back to our dorms.

  “What an absolute evil jerkhole!” Laronda says to me, as soon as we’re outside.

  “Are you okay?” Dawn adds, in her eternally mild voice, but the expression of her brown eyes is serious and extra sympathetic as she watches me.

  “Yeah, man,” Jai says, limping next to us. “Sorry about that, Gwen! Like you need any more punishment! This whole Qualification thing is on
e Big Punishment! I mean, yeah, and now my feet are super-killing me. . . . At least you only had to stand on one foot for five minutes.”

  “Hey, girl, you did the right thing there.” Tremaine comes up to me and pats my shoulder.

  I nod silently. I am completely numb, beaten down.

  “What can you expect? He’s one of their military big-shots,” Mateo says sullenly, walking with his hands in his pockets. “And he is way pissed. He thinks it’s all our fault, we killed his friends in that damn exploding shuttle, so he’s taking it out on us.”

  “I get it,” I say. “But there was no need to be so merciless! Hasmik was genuinely hurt, it’s not like anyone was actually cheating!”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter. It’s how the military is. Typical basic training—a combo of mindless obedience and endurance stuff. It’s all a bunch of sadist drills, nonstop.” Mateo shrugs.

  “I don’t care what it is, he’s still a scary sadist jerk!” Laronda mutters. “And I am so sorry, girlfriend, you absolutely don’t deserve this crap.”

  “Thanks, I know.” I glance at Laronda and make a tired attempt at a smile.

  “What’s disciplinary action? Wonder what kind of punishment it is,” Dawn says.

  I don’t reply. What can I say? That I’m wondering too, that I am terrified, full of cold numbing sickness? Even now, it twists my gut with fear and nerves. . . .

  We get back to Yellow Dorm Eight and the Dorm Leaders are in the lobby, waiting for us with grim faces, together with several security guards. Two Atlantean Correctors in grey uniforms stand in the middle of the lounge, holding pieces of unfamiliar scanning equipment in their hands, and talk among themselves softly in Atlantean. They ignore us completely.

  How do I know they are Correctors? I vaguely recognize them from the assembly. There are no other distinguishing marks about them, no special police insignia, merely a yellow armband on one of them and a blue one on the other.