by Melanie Tays
The woman behind the window slides me a tray. I don’t even have to scan my ID band. I take it eagerly, but then pause, confused. “What is this?” The window and the tray are familiar, but what’s on the tray is completely foreign.
“Your breakfast,” the woman replies without humor or interest.
It doesn’t look like any kind of food I’ve ever had, but I take it. I don’t want to cause a scene with so many people watching me. I search the room for a secluded place to sit, but the best I can find is at the end of the nearest table, where I can put an empty seat between me and the group of girls sitting there.
Seated with my back turned away from onlookers, I tentatively pick up one of the brown squares and put it up to my face, inhaling deeply. This is the source of the scrumptious scent that’s been taunting me. I stare at the spongy surface, still unsure.
“It’s just bread. It won’t bite you,” a boy says, claiming the empty seat next to me.
I look up, embarrassed, to see a freckle-faced boy with red hair observing me.
“I’m Ty. It’s nice to meet you,” he says.
“Hi, I’m Emery,” I say, and force myself to smile.
His name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. Of course, there’s no way I know this boy, or anyone here, for that matter. I wonder why he’s here talking to me. I shove a bite of the bread into my mouth so I don’t have to speak. The taste is so amazing that I almost exclaim, but fortunately I catch myself and keep it to an indecipherable squeak.
He smiles. “You don’t have that kind of food in the Smoke, do you?”
I shake my head and take another bite, savoring the flavor. The bread is dense and thick, but somehow fluffy at the same time.
“I’ve heard about the meal rations you have,” says Ty. “I guess it makes sense to offer the optimal nutritional balance at every meal with minimal waste. Some people say we’ll go to that here soon, too.”
Suddenly, I remember where I’ve heard his name before. This topic brings back memories of last night, hiding among sacks containing Smoke meal rations. It was the driver. He told the guard at the gate that his son, Ty, was joining this round. At the time, I didn’t realize what he was talking about.
Of course, I can’t tell him this little connection. I’ll never tell anyone. Still, it’s an interesting coincidence that the very first contestant who talks to me happens to be the son of the driver who unwittingly smuggled me across the wall. It’s a small city after all.
I finish off the last of the bread and pinch a few crumbs off my tray, shoveling those into my mouth as well.
He laughs. “If you like the bread, you’ll love the apple. They’re my favorite.”
“Why is the food different here than in the Smoke?” I ask. I crunch into the apple and experience sweetness like I’ve never tasted before.
“The Council says it’s to conserve resources, but then why not do the same for the whole city? And besides, they claim that The City was engineered to never run out of resources, so…” He leaves the sentence hanging as though that’s not the whole story, or at least he’s not convinced of it.
When I don’t respond, he changes the subject and goes on, apparently needing to fill the silence just like Liam. “So, what’s it like in the Smoke?” he asks, loud enough that the whole table can hear him.
I shrug. “You know—dusty.”
He chuckles. “Okay, then how about this. What’s your family like? Do you have a brother or sister?”
“Yes, a brother,” I say, and look away.
I do have a brother, but soon I might not. All because I screwed up. I was hasty and careless, and I got caught. I don’t want to talk about it. Not with this stranger, no matter how nice he may seem.
The girls at the table stand, shooting curious looks our way. As they pass me, one girl with long black hair and a pinched nose speaks to her friends, but her words are clearly meant for me. “I can’t wait to crush the Smoker. I hope she likes eating ash.”
It’s nothing more than I should have expected. It won’t do any good to get offended, so I just ignore her.
“How about you?” I ask Ty to avoid further questions about Whyle and my family.
He waits until the pack of girls has moved a few more paces off. When there’s no one left in earshot, he ignores the question and leans forward, whispering, “Did you bring a message?”
“Huh?”
“Have the plans changed?”
I just stare back in blank confusion.
“Come on, Emery, just tell me straight. Has something changed? Did they send you with a message?” He looks desperate, like he’s fallen into the water reservoir and is asking me to throw him a rope to keep from drowning.
My head spins from the sudden change in tone and direction. Try as I might, I can’t even venture a guess at what he means.
“I don’t really know what you’re talking about,” I admit, figuring that honesty is probably the safest response.
He locks his gaze on me, unconvinced.
It doesn’t appear that he’s going to give up, so I try a different approach. “As far as I know, nothing has changed.” Also true—because I know nothing about what he’s going on about.
He nods once, serious and resigned. “I had to at least ask, you know. I’m sure you understand,” he says, then gets to his feet and marches away.
I sit there, stunned; I’ve never been more confused in my life.
Before I have time to try and make any sense out of what just happened, Keya—in a different but equally fire-themed outfit—starts talking from a podium that has been set up next to the serving window. Above her head, four enormous, interlocking rings are suspended in the air.
“Welcome, welcome! I am so pleased to officially begin this round of the Burning.” She pauses expectantly, and the audience cheers. I manage a single, unenthusiastic clap. “This is such a special time in each and every one of your lives. And I am truly honored to be the one to guide you through this process of discovering your place among humanity.”
The arrogance. She speaks as though the Flame is all that’s left of human civilization, completely ignoring the Smoke and the other eleven Safe Domes.
The fervor infusing her words about this barbaric event turns my stomach. The Smoke may have its problems—and they may be far too many for me to enumerate—but we don’t put everyone on display and kick out anyone who doesn’t meet some arbitrary standard of acceptability. I remind myself that at least we have a choice whether or not to come. All of the children of the Flame are required to enter the Burning and prove that they have value to society when they turn seventeen.
“Today will be your Iron Trial, the first of four tests that will either prove that you belong here in the Flame of The City, or that you are nothing but dross that must be rooted out and expelled to the Ash.”
“Now, as some of you may know,” Keya goes on, a somber shift in her tone, “a strange turn of events last night has left us one Burn Master short.” She shoots a pointed look in my direction as a rumble moves through the room, and I’m not sure if she’s looking at me or someone else. I can’t imagine how she can insinuate that this has anything to do with me.
“That means,” she calls over the clamor, and the room quiets again, “that we will have to make some adjustments to the way this round of the Burning will proceed. Clearly I can’t manage twenty-eight contestants all on my own. So after a long deliberation this morning, the Council has decided that the Iron Trial will be an elimination trial.”
The room erupts into chaos. This clearly means something to them that is both surprising and disturbing.
Suddenly, our wrist bands—what did Keya call them?—our intercuffs light up yellow. I see the glow encircling my wrist, but feel nothing. For some reason I can’t explain, it does the trick, just as it did on the people in the streets last night, and the room falls into silence.
“That’s better,” Keya coos. “The Iron Trial will be a maze. Only the first fifte
en contestants to exit the maze will proceed in the Burning. The rest will be eliminated and sent to the Ash directly afterwards.”
She waits as a ripple of shock rolls through the room, then she holds up her arms in a grand gesture and proclaims, “The Iron Trial begins now!”
And the first ring above her head bursts into flames.
Chapter 7
Large double doors swing open. Keya directs us to proceed calmly and orderly, but her instructions are drowned in the chaos. Running, leaping, climbing, and crawling, twenty-eight terrified contestants—myself included—race for the doors, pushing and shoving as though our lives depend on it—because they do.
I make it through the entrance somewhere in the middle of the pack. Even though we’re indoors, the walls of the maze are formed by some kind of shrubbery I’ve never seen before, growing ten feet tall, with thick, thorny, tangled branches. I only have a second to decide which way to go. It’s just a random guess at this point, so there’s no sense wasting time debating it. I choose the path on the right and just start running.
I remember Mom sitting at the kitchen table just last month recalling how she had to rescue a worker who had become lost in the tunnels of the water plant where she was assigned at the time. “The secret to keep from going in circles is to place one hand on the wall and follow it wherever it goes. Eventually, it will lead you through all the tunnels and to the exit, every single time.”
If I place my hand on these walls, they will jab and slice my flesh and slow me down, so I just keep an eye on the wall, always keeping the one I’m following on my right. This isn’t the shortest route, but it’s the surest. Anything is faster than stumbling around in a confused and random path, hoping luck will lead you to the exit. Luck is a back-stabbing companion that will turn on you when you need it most. Just last night, luck feigned friendship time and again as it led me across the wall and to within inches of my goal, while all the while carefully maneuvering me into a cage.
I’m fast, and I quickly leave many of the other contestants behind, settling into a rapid pace that I can sustain for at least another hour without slowing. I pass contestants scurrying in all different directions, frantic desperation painted on their faces.
Every few minutes there’s a loud crackling sound nearby, but I can’t tell what’s causing it, so I ignore it for now and just stick to my plan.
I run for what feels like an hour before I have to slow, but I keep up a jog. I don’t know how large this room is, but I must be getting close to covering the whole of the maze. After all, how big can it possibly be?
Popping and crackling ring out from the wall to my right, and I pause and watch what happens, wondering if it’s a clue to the location of the exit. I watch in shock as a section of the wall withers and the branches crumple into nothingness. What’s left behind is not the exit. But it does explain why I haven’t found it yet. A new pathway is now open where it had been impassable just moments before.
The maze is changing!
I come to a dead stop. No amount of careful strategy or speed can take me safely through a maze that doesn’t stay the same. Already I may have traveled the same passages multiple times without a clue.
As I stand contemplating, the last branches of the wall recede. With it gone, I lock eyes with a guy who stands just feet away, on the other side of where the wall used to be. I don’t know his name, but I remember seeing him in the dining hall. He’s tall and good-looking, and seemed popular among the other contestants at breakfast. His dark green eyes hold me transfixed when I should be moving.
“It’s her,” he hisses to the friend standing next to him, and his features contort in malice.
“I thought we were looking for Jessamine,” his companion protests in confusion.
But the angry boy ignores him. “I’m going to do us all a favor and deal with this one first,” he snarls.
I stumble back and turn to run, but he leaps and tackles me to the ground.
“Come on, Vander, we’re wasting time,” the friend complains, though he expends no effort at all to rescue me from the assault.
“I won’t be beat out by a Smoker,” Vander hisses, holding my arms behind my back until I cry out in pain.
I twist and writhe, but to no avail. He’s just too strong.
The familiar crackling starts up again, and Vander yanks me to my feet. I kick and claw at his, but it doesn’t stop him from dragging me to the spot where new branches and thorns are rapidly springing up to form a new wall. He pins me there as the branches twist around me, trapping me inside the wall and leaving me unable to move without ripping my flesh against the punishing, unyielding thorns.
Then Vander and his companion take off running, and are quickly out of sight.
“Help!”
Several people run by, but no one stops to free me from my prison. I suppose they’re glad to see one contestant out of the running—one less threat to their own survival. I can’t even blame them, if I’m being fair.
Hot tears spill down my cheeks, and I honestly don’t know if they’re caused by the physical pain that engulfs me or the despair at realizing I’ve failed the very first trial.
This is it for me.
And worse—so much worse—this is it for Whyle.
I shut my eyes against the misery.
And then crackling begins again, but this time it sounds different—slower, less rhythmic. I open my eyes to find that someone has stopped to help me. I feel the tugging away of the vines that hold me bound, freeing me from this brambly prison. They stand in the pathway behind me, so I can’t see who it is, but I’m so indescribably grateful to them that the tears come again for a whole new reason.
“Thank you! If you free my arms, I can help,” I suggest.
Together, we break through the branches. It’s not until we’ve worked together for several minutes and are both covered in cuts that I’m able to climb free of the wall. I turn around and look up to see who among all the contestants has had compassion for me. I open my mouth to thank whoever it is, but freeze, mouth agape.
I am stunned speechless. I blink several times to clear my vision, sure I must be hallucinating, not merely because my rescuer is a dazzlingly gorgeous guy, but because I know him. I’ve dreamt of those eyes, as blue and deep as the constant sky, for years.
I don’t understand how he can be here. He shouldn’t be here—can’t possibly be here. And yet here he stands, just inches away from me.
Eason Crandell appraises me with concern. My clothing is badly shredded, but fortunately not anywhere too embarrassing.
I haven’t seen him—other than in my dreams—in two years, not since the day Raven dared me to kiss him back behind the school building. He was brilliant and funny—or so I’d gleaned from things I’d overheard him say. And while I had idealized this gorgeous guy for as long as I can remember, I’d never worked up the nerve to actually talk to him—maybe because I was intimidated by his perfection, and maybe because he is two years older than me.
Not one to lose a dare, I ran up to him, pressed my lips to his, and then ran away as fast as I could. I didn’t even see his face afterward to know how he had reacted to the sudden encounter. I told myself that I would talk to him the next day, but I never got the chance. That night he joined the Burning, and I never saw him again.
And that’s why he can’t possibly be here now. But I’m certain it’s him.
“Hi,” I say, sheepishly. “Thanks so much for helping me. I’m lucky you came along.”
“Yeah. Lucky,” he agrees with a smile.
“I’m Emery,” I say, feeling ridiculous and exposed. I never thought I would see him again, and I avert my gaze to the ground, unable to face him. “Do you remember me?” I can’t stop myself from asking.
He brushes a lock of hair from my face, and I look up to meet his eyes. He cocks his head to the side, considering. “Should I?” he finally says.
I am simultaneously relieved and deflated. I don’t know what I expecte
d. I’m sure he’s kissed lots of girls. I never even talked to him. And I know I wasn’t the only girl who lost sleep over this boy. I wonder which of them he would remember.
I shake my head. “No, you shouldn’t.”
“I’m Eason,” he says.
“Yeah, I know,” I admit, then look away, embarrassed. I don’t want to have to make any explanations on that point.
This is baffling and exhilarating all at once, but it doesn’t matter, because I come back to my senses and remember that I’m in a struggle for my survival—and for Whyle’s—and now is not the time to catch up with an old almost-acquaintance. I’m about to blurt out a quick thank you and get back to running when he catches my arm.
“We need to hurry,” Eason says. “I wasn’t expecting an elimination trial right off. We’ve got to find the exit.”
“Yeah…right,” I stammer, a little confused at his use of the word we. Is he suggesting we team up? Is that even allowed? No one said it wasn’t, so I’m not going to argue.
He bends down, and I’m not sure what he’s doing until he says, “Climb up on my shoulders and I’ll lift you up. Maybe you can see the way to the exit.”
I suppose helping me might be the best way to help himself, but that’s fine with me. I climb up on his broad shoulders and try to stay balanced as he slowly straightens. I start to slip and grab onto the only thing I can reach to steady myself, which is a handful of thorny briars. I recover my balance, but my hands come away with deep gouges that are dripping blood. The point of the perilous walls is probably to prevent contestants from climbing them, but neither that nor my injuries can deter me at the moment.
My vision clears the top of the maze, and I search for anything that looks like a way out. I see walls growing and shriveling in dozens of places.
“Do you see the exit?” he calls.
“I see the outer walls, but they look solid all the way around. I don’t see an exit,” I report in frustration. Contestants are racing around in all directions. And then I see what we’re looking for. A fast-moving girl reaches the center point of the maze, and a platform raises her into the air and out of sight. Quickly, I trace the paths from that location back to ours.