By the time they arrived, New Memphis’s open-air market had come to life. Hundreds of people milled about, haggling over items, the colorfully painted wooden panels advertising the wares forming a distinct contrast to their gray clothing.
Willow detected the smell of manure, and instantly felt a pang of sadness. It reminded her of growing up on a farm. Yet for the first time, she felt that that memory was… fading. It was more like the remnant of a dream now. That was what she wanted, of course, but she nevertheless felt sad to lose her other life.
A crowd of people were gathered at the trapper’s stall, where a huge collection of cages were assembled. Willow wandered over, her attention drawn to one furry creature quivering in his cage. It reminded her of a rabbit. She even had a dim recollection of cuddling with baby rabbits. That other life wasn’t completely lost to her.
But despite its gray fur and large, emotion-filled eyes, this ferocious creature clearly wasn’t a rabbit. Rabbits didn’t have snarling maws full of sharp teeth.
No, werebits were definitely not something Willow would want to cuddle with.
Willow leaned closer to Melanie. “The werebits are staring at me. It looks like… like they want me to help them.” For the first time in her life, she was struck by how intelligent they appeared.
Melanie laughed. “Just how sick were you? Werebits are nasty pieces of work. They’ll take a finger off if you give them half a chance. My mom buys them live, but my dad insists on butchering them himself. They make wonderful meat pies.”
Willow scanned the cages of trapped animals. She felt guilty for just standing there, leaving them to their fate. She should do something, but what?
“Come on.” Melanie tugged on Willow’s arm. “My mom wants to say bye to you before we go off to school.”
As Willow grudgingly tore her gaze from the werebits, she recalled that she’d actually eaten some of their meat that morning. It made her feel sick, and she swore to herself that she’d never eat a shred of that animal again.
Melanie’s parents were bakers, and Willow could attribute much of her own generous weight to them. Melanie’s mom’s sweet rolls were utterly irresistible.
So when she offered Willow a wooden plate with a large steaming biscuit dripping with melted butter, honey and her special blend of sweet spices, it took a strong force of will for Willow to shake her head.
“Are you sure you don’t want one?” Melanie’s mom asked. “I thought they were your favorite.”
Willow sat on a stool and propped her elbows on the bakery’s service counter. “No thank you. Can I just have a slice of toast with nothing on it? I’m still feeling a little queasy from being sick.”
The truth was that she wasn’t feeling queasy as much as experiencing a moment of self-loathing. The bakery was at the top of a steep hill, and Willow’s legs had burned as she crested the top. Yet she remembered being able to run for miles at a time as part of her regular workout. And she remembered Grandpa Lin insisting that the farmhouse kids keep fit. She wanted to once again become like that girl. It felt like a memorial to Grandpa Lin, the man she had never really known. At least not in this life.
Sitting next to her, Melanie devoured a plate of biscuits of her own. “What?” she asked, seeing Willow smiling at her.
“I just can’t understand how you stay so thin living under this roof.”
Melanie’s mom set a plate of freshly toasted rye bread in front of Willow. “My little girl has never been able to hold on to her weight. She’s not quite as lucky as you and I are.”
Willow harrumphed, but then she thought about all the girls she’d grown up with in New Memphis. Almost all of them were heavy. Although nobody had ever specifically told her to put on weight, she realized that she’d been raised to think she should. It was a sign of health and beauty. It was so different from the sensibility in Kansas City. Girls didn’t strive for the same body shape in that dream world. Though the one similarity was that girls did have certain expectations of what they should look like.
Willow silently resolved to become strong for herself, regardless of what was beautiful.
“Do you think they’ll let us share a room at the Academy?” she asked Melanie.
Melanie’s dimples showed as she returned Willow’s smile. “I don’t see why not.”
Willow grabbed Melanie’s hands and gave them a light squeeze. “Good. Because I’m going to need your help.”
But as she held Melanie’s hands, Willow wondered if the pit of dread in her stomach would ever go away.
The Academy
The harsh orange glow of the sun peeked through the clouds as Willow settled onto the Academy-provided wagon, readying herself for the ten-hour trip. Her brothers were among the crowd, waving farewell in the early-morning drizzle. There were a dozen Academy students on Willow’s wagon, ranging in age from ten to seventeen—from lower freshmen to seniors.
This would be Willow’s last year making the trip. After the Choosing ceremony, she’d transition from child to adult. Responsible for her own life.
The driver cracked his whip, and the ox-drawn wagon lurched forward. Melanie yawned, leaned her thin frame against Willow, and said, “Wake me when we get there.”
Willow was grateful that at least they were close to the front of the caravan. Convoys from all over the Dominion were lined up behind them, and with this many oxen, the smell at the end of the line wouldn’t be pleasant.
Willow looked over at the petrified looks of the younger kids. Two dark-haired girls sat stiffly, tears rolling down their cheeks. It reminded Willow of her first year at the Academy. She’d never been away from home before.
She was tempted to offer the girls some words of comfort, but any words of comfort would almost certainly be a lie.
Only when they arrived at the Academy would they truly learn what a sheltered life they had lived.
Every time she arrived at the Academy, Willow was awestruck by the feat of engineering. The main building was a stone behemoth, a square of roughly five hundred feet per side. The convention center flashed in her mind, and she realized how much larger a building could actually be. Nonetheless, in this world, the sight of the white chiseled stone building was awe-inspiring.
And yet, as she gazed upon the giant multi-story structure, she shivered. It felt almost as if the building were staring back at her. Ominous, cold. Somehow… evil.
They came to a stop in front of the main entrance, and the students hopped off. Willow looked up at the upper balcony, three stories up, where the headmaster, as always, stood to watch the arrivals. His brilliant red robes were a shocking contrast to the student’s grays.
His booming voice echoed across the mustering grounds. “Children, may I have your attention. Please line up according to your home regions. As soon as the last of the students arrive, you’ll all be allowed in to sign up for classes. No need to get anxious—we’ll have a fair and orderly registration.”
Willow had met the man face to face several times, and he’d always seemed nice enough, but there was something about his voice that sent a chill down her spine. Maybe it was the slight growl. She imagined that if he raised his voice in anger, it would be like a whip against her skin.
She and Melanie took their places with the rest of the students from New Memphis. Melanie nudged her and nodded to the next group over.
“By the look of them, I sometimes think that I was meant to be a farmer.”
It was always easy to pick out the kids coming from the farming communities. Their clothes were a bit more worn. And, as Melanie was noting, the girls tended to be much thinner than the merchant-class girls. Mel had always been very self-conscious about her looks—especially her thinness.
“Mel, you’d shrivel up and blow away in the breeze if you ever did the kind of work the farmers do.”
Mel harrumphed.
Willow’s gaze wandered back to the farmers. She was curious about their day-to-day schedule, and how farming actually worked in the real w
orld. She had farming memories of her own now, but they wouldn’t apply here. She remembered tractors, combines, and other things that couldn’t exist here.
Eventually a bell clanged, and a hush fell across the crowd. The headmaster’s sonorous voice again sounded loudly across the campus.
“Welcome one and all to what I believe will be the beginning of a most successful school year. Lower freshmen, welcome to your first year at the Academy. Please seek one of the teachers holding up a yellow banner; they will escort you to the proper wing for LF class assignments. The rest of the lowerclassmen, please head toward the west wing. There you will find the larger classrooms marked for registration. And upperclassmen, you will head to the east wing, where we have four upper-class registration rooms set up.”
The crowd became restless. Teachers blew a few shrill notes on whistles, and the crowd silenced itself once more.
“However, before you start,” the headmaster continued, “I have one thing to say before the school year officially begins.” His booming voice had gotten louder, and though it was only in Willow’s imagination, he seemed to have grown larger. “It was over five hundred years ago that our ancestors were torn apart by the greed of a corrupt government promoting the people’s selfish behaviors. Brother turned against brother, with only self-interests and no concern for the good of society.
“That society died with the catastrophe that was the Great War. Humanity found itself on the brink of extinction, and was plunged into three hundred dark years. It was only with the founding of the Dominion that we found a way for humanity to progress again in a world that wanted to destroy us.
“Within this great academy of learning, you’ll understand how our interdependence is our strength. No one person can succeed without the succor of the environment in which they’ve been raised.
“At the end of your time here, you will each make a lifelong commitment in the Choosing. Every one of you has the solemn responsibility to learn how your abilities can best contribute to the greater good. The Choosing is a sacred vow where each of you will declare how you’ll work toward raising your fellow man. Let us hope that tomorrow’s world is left better from our efforts and let us never repeat the failures of yesterday. With that, I release all of you to seek your place in this world.”
The benediction was the same every year. Each sentence carefully crafted with key words like “society” and “greater good” that were clear references to the Dominion. Willow sometimes wondered how much of the Academy’s teachings was fact-based and how much was an attempt to indoctrinate the students into supporting the government.
If their intent was indoctrination, it had failed in Willow’s case. She had seen this government abuse its citizens and exile those who voiced dissent.
Willow found herself in a banquet hall set up as a registration room, crowded by a hundred students vying for the electives they wanted. Every student was assigned certain core classes—history, art, sciences, math—intended to make them well-rounded students, but there was always room for at least one elective. The electives were supposed to help students make the proper decision when it came time for their Choosing ceremony. In past years, Willow had taken classes in customer service, accounting, and even botany. She’d skipped archery, as it would be a waste—she’d been practicing archery since she could walk.
What she was hoping for this year was to finally get some formal training in cooking. She’d been trying to get into a cooking elective every year since she arrived at the Academy, but it was always in high demand, and she’d never yet managed to sign up. She wanted nothing more than to take over meal duty from her brothers and finally give her father the—
Her heart sank. She would never be able to cook for her father.
Willow had tried to get Mel to teach her how to cook. Mel’s mom was one of the best bakers in New Memphis, and her father knew everything about butchering and preparing animals, and between them, they’d taught Mel to be an amazing cook. But whenever Willow asked for lessons, Mel refused. “That’s what an apprenticeship is for,” she always said. Willow suspected that Mel secretly wanted her to take a cooking apprenticeship with her mom.
Groans erupted ahead of Willow, and a teacher stood and raised her arms. “I’m sorry. The cooking class is now full.” She flipped over the green placard with the class description. The back of the placard was red, signifying the class was full.
Willow huffed, but after failing to get this elective seven years in a row, she was prepared for the disappointment.
She looked around at the classes with shorter lines, but not surprisingly, none of those classes particularly interested her. Then she spied a table with only three hulking boys standing in front of it. The placard on the wall read, “Advanced Hand-to-Hand Combat.”
The thought of fighting had never occurred to her in prior years, but that was before she had vivid memories of Grandpa Lin’s taekwondo lessons. And before Willow realized what she was doing, she found herself standing in line behind the three boys.
She heard a snicker, and looked over her shoulder. Two skinny farm girls standing in line for a sewing class pointed at her, giggling.
A gruff voice spoke behind her. “Hey. This is a class for boys.”
Willow spun around. It was one of the boys signing up for the hand-to-hand elective. He was easily six feet tall, and heavily muscled.
She pointed at the placard. “It doesn’t say it’s for boys only.”
He looked Willow up and down, looked back at the placard, then back at Willow once more. Willow thought he looked like a confused ox as he shrugged and turned away.
Willow knew how crazy she must look. A chubby merchant girl wanting to fight with giant boys? Their fathers were probably soldiers and had been training them for years. But she remembered all the lessons she’d received in her dream life. The punches, kicks, blocks, weapons training… dream or not, she had all that knowledge in her head, just as if she’d actually done all that training.
Maybe signing up for a combat class was the best way to find out if the memories rattling around in her head were real.
If they weren’t… this would be a disaster.
The mound of muscle ahead of her signed his name on the class roster and walked away, stealing one last look at her.
Willow stepped forward.
The teacher behind the table had a muscular build, and scars crisscrossed his cheeks below black hair streaked with gray. Yet he had a kind demeanor as he held up his hand.
“Excuse me, young lady. Are you sure this is the class you want to take? Most of my students find it quite brutal. Painful, even. It’s not something most girls would consider.”
Willow felt the heat of embarrassment creeping up her neck. “Are you saying I can’t sign up because I’m a girl?”
“No, I didn’t say that.” The teacher emphatically shook his head. “Have you completed the prerequisites?”
“Prerequisites?”
“This is an advanced class. You first need to have completed the basic version of the same class.” He pointed to the next station, where a red placard indicated that class was already full.
“I… I haven’t taken any combat classes. Is there no other way to sign up?”
“Only if you’ve been referred into this class by another teacher. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” The weight of disappointment sat heavily on Willow’s shoulders as she turned away.
Mel appeared at her side and grabbed her arm. “Willow, what are you doing over here? Come on, there’s a few slots left in the embroidery class. It’ll be great taking an elective together. Heck, if we’re really good, we could sell things that even the Dominion ladies would like. We can practice together!”
Willow let Mel drag her toward the signup sheet, and reluctantly signed her name on the roster.
Mel gushed about different stitching styles, but Willow barely heard her. She wasn’t looking forward to satin and back stitches; she had leg sweeps and front kicks on her
mind. And she wondered what it would take to get one of her teachers to refer her into the advanced combat class.
A New Workout
The entire upper class filed into the cafeteria for a late supper, and Willow took a seat next to Mel at a nearly empty table. Most tables contained a mix of future merchants, engineers, and farmers, but Willow noted that the guys on the path to being soldiers tended to segregate themselves. It struck her that something similar had happened in her dream-based high school cafeteria, except in that case it was the jocks who kept to themselves, as if they were better than everyone else. She’d never gotten the impression that the soldiers thought themselves better than the rest, but now she began to wonder.
The last meal of the day was traditionally a heavy one filled with stews, meats, and sweets. The food at the Academy also tended to use exotic spices that were unavailable in a frontier town like New Memphis.
Mel grabbed some werebit off a glazed ceramic platter, then held the platter out to Willow. “Grab it while it’s hot.”
Willow shook her head, her stomach gurgling in protest. “No thanks. I can’t seem to stomach fried foods lately.” She speared some grilled vegetables and put them on her plate.
Mel ladled a thick beef stew into her bowl. “This stew isn’t like my Da makes, but I like the spices.”
The farmer sitting across from Mel pointed at Mel’s bowl with his spoon. “That’s black pepper you’re tasting.” He smiled. “Name is Gus Suvertsohn. My family has a farm that grows it special for members of the Dominion. The headmaster purchases it directly from my pa and provides a ration to the Academy’s cooks.”
A question popped from Willow’s mouth before she could wonder where it came from. “I thought black pepper needed lots of heat. How do you grow it in this climate?”
Gus’s eyes widened with surprise. “You’re right—it does need heat. The Dominion allowed my family access to their glazier’s clear glass, and we used it to build an enclosure to house the plants. The sun cuts right through that clear glass, not like the milky glass we’re used to, and it heats up the inside enough to let some of the pre-war seeds that were preserved in the seed bank to bloom. We’ve only been growing this stuff for a couple years now.”
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