by Melanie Tays
“Let me down,” I exclaim. “I’ve got it.”
Suddenly I’m free falling, and I brace myself for impact on the ground, but Eason catches me in his arms and smiles. My head is whirling, breathless from the unexpected fall and sudden rescue. He sets me on my feet, and I immediately begin running. Now that it seems possible, I want nothing more than to survive this trial, and that means reaching the center before the paths shift again.
Eason stays at my side, running in lockstep with me, matching my pace with ease. Soon, we make a final turn and enter a round clearing with a metal platform. We stand together on it, but it’s really only meant for one person, so he wraps an arm around my waist to hold me steady. My heart is pounding, and I don’t know if it’s from the running or his proximity.
He puts his mouth close to my ear and whispers, “I knew I could trust you.”
I laugh, exultant, and cling to him as we rise into the mist and reach a higher level overlooking the maze. The strange mist seems to only block visibility one-way. We couldn’t see it, but everyone here can look down on everything happening in the maze below with perfect clarity.
There are seven other contestants already present. I note with satisfaction that Vander’s attack on me seems to have backfired, and he is not one of the contestants that have escaped the maze. My glee can’t even be dampened when I catch the eye of the pinched-nose girl from breakfast, and she makes angry snarling and biting motions toward me, as though my mere presence has turned her feral. She is definitely one to watch out for.
There are so many questions I want to ask Eason, so much that I don’t understand. I’m relieved to see a familiar face—and apparently a friend. But, seconds after I arrive, Keya is at my side.
“Well done,” she praises. “Though, is it really so impossible for you to keep your clothing clean and intact?” she adds in exasperation, muttering something about “upbringing” and “work cut out for me” under her breath.
I hear Eason chuckling behind me.
“It’s not really my fault,” I protest.
“Never mind,” she says, waving her arms dramatically. “The important thing is that you made it through.” She leans in closer so that only I can hear her next words. “I was secretly cheering for you, you know.”
I didn’t know, and can’t even guess why, but it’s nice nonetheless.
“Now follow me,” she says, and turns and walks away.
I steal one last glance at Eason before parting from him. He smiles and winks, and I feel confident that I’ll have a chance to talk to him later.
Keya sets a quick pace, and I’m not sure how she manages it in her tall, spike-heeled shoes that look absolutely counterproductive to the task of walking. I trail behind, trying to figure out how she stays upright, let alone moves as fast as lapping flames. She leads me down a hallway. Then we take an elevator to the ground floor. Soon, we enter a brightly-lit, white room with several empty beds.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“The Medical Center for the contestants,” Keya explains. “This is Doctor Hollen. He takes care of all the contestants during the Burning. He’ll get you fixed right up.”
A tall, middle-aged man wearing a long white coat comes over and appraises me. “Blazes, what happened to you?”
Keya makes her exit as the doctor leads me to the nearest bed.
“I was attacked by one of the other contestants in the maze,” I tell him. “He grabbed me and trapped me in one of the changing walls. The branches and thorns cut me up and tore my clothes. And that’s how I came to be here.”
“I see. Well, don’t worry. I’ll get you healed right up. Then you can make a report about the young man who attacked you. What did you say his name was?”
“His friend called him Vander.”
The doctor begins rifling through drawers in a cart at the bedside. He pulls cloths and wound cleanser from the top drawer. Then he opens the bottom drawer and removes a bottle of small white pills. It takes all my self-control to avoid reacting to the other contents of the drawer. It’s filled with medicines, including several small vials labeled Curosene.
My foot taps with nervous energy as I wait for the doctor to finish with me. I cannot leave this room without that medicine.
“It will stop hurting soon,” he assures me, mistaking the source of my agitation. “Take this pill. It will speed the healing process and stop the pain,” he says after he’s done cleaning the dozens of scratches, scrapes, and gouges that cover me from head to toe.
I swallow it down slowly while I consider how to get him to leave me alone. All I need is a few seconds to grab several vials.
Keya reappears just then, carrying a clean, untorn set of clothing. “I suppose we’ll just have to recycle those as well,” she says, referring with regret to the clothes I’m now wearing.
“Can I have some privacy to change?” I ask shyly.
I’m hoping that Keya and the doctor will leave the room for a few minutes, but they don’t. Instead, the doctor does something almost as useful. He draws a curtain around me that encloses the bed and the medical cart. I’m hidden from view, and just have to make sure to not make any suspicious noise.
Focusing on the top priority, I step around the bed and carefully pull open the bottom drawer. I start shoving vials into my shoes, and they’re able to hold six while still allowing me to walk, albeit awkwardly. It’s painful, but that seems a small price to pay.
Then I rip off the ragged clothes and pull on the fresh blue outfit that Keya has kindly brought for me.
“Okay,” I call, hopping up casually on the bed.
The doctor pulls back the curtain. He takes my hands to inspect the injuries that are already looking much better. “Be careful, now. I don’t want to have to heal you every day that you’re here. We’re already two for two.”
“Oh, you’re the doctor that healed my hands last night,” I surmise.
He nods.
“Thank you.”
“You can go now,” he says, starting to walk away.
“Wait, I need to make a report about the attack,” I remind him.
He smiles. “Oh, I’ll take care of it,” he assures me. “You just get some rest. Everything should be all healed up in an hour or so.”
Keya starts to lead me back the way we came, toward the room where contestants exit the maze, and I totter along clumsily behind her, trying to stay out of her line of sight.
“Can I go to my room?” I request as nonchalantly as I can manage.
“Don’t you want to see who else survives the maze? They’ll be your competition for the remainder of the Burning.”
“I’m not feeling very well.”
Maybe it’s the shakiness of my voice, the smattering of scratches that still mar every inch of visible skin, or the way I’m limping along, but Keya doesn’t push the issue further. She spins on her heels and leads us back in the opposite direction, depositing me safely in my room. I must seem really bedraggled because she goes so far as to arrange for my meals to be brought to me for the rest of the day.
“You really should take this time to prepare for the upcoming trials,” she encourages.
“What am I supposed to prepare for?”
She wags her finger at me and clicks her tongue. “Shame on you. I can’t go around giving contestants hints about what’s coming. That would be a violation of my duties.”
So basically she’s telling me that I need to prepare for something, but since I have no idea what, her advice is less than useless.
Rather than fret about what’s coming, I focus on the victories I just scored.
As soon as Keya leaves me alone, I pull off my shoes and nestle the vials to my chest in an embrace. This is Whyle’s life I hold in my hands.
I have already passed the Iron Trial, and with Eason as my ally, maybe I can survive the entire Burning. Keya might not be able to tell me what to expect, but I’m sure Eason can give me some pointers. It’s just a few days. If I can pass a
nd get an assignment in the Flame, surely there’s a way to get the medicine to Whyle. Sneaking back into the Smoke should be infinitely easier than sneaking into the Flame, and I managed that.
I am going to survive, and I am going to save Whyle and everyone who’s sick.
But for now, I have to find a better place to hide the vials. I can’t very well hobble around with them tucked in the sides of my shoes and squishing my toes. The vials are small, but it’s like walking around with enormous pebbles in my shoes. It’ll draw too much suspicion, and pretty soon they’ll wear blisters into my feet.
I consider various options for hiding them in my room. I could put them under the mattress with my clothes. I check to see if Petra kept her promise and my secret; the clothes are still there. That seems like a possibility for now, but also risky. After all, Petra does know that I hide things there. I could stash them in the back of a drawer, or in the closet, but nothing really feels safe.
I’ll have to keep them on me. The clothing I’ve been given isn’t extremely tight, but it will still show lumps if I’m not careful, and there are no pockets. My body is lean and strong from years of running and hauling, but not exceptionally curvy. That limits my options for hiding this on me unnoticed.
I turn back to my shoes. They have small holes in the toes, and are well-worn. I don’t really mind because it makes them comfortable. The soles are thick and sturdy, nothing like the silly things that Keya perches on with those thin little pointy heels.
But that gives me an idea, because my shoes do have slightly raised heels that are thick and wide. With effort, I pry out the insole of one shoe. When it comes out, I discover that the heel is partially hollowed. I try to fit a vial in the space, but no matter which way I turn it, the space is not quite wide enough.
I hunt around the room for something useful. The drawers near the mirror, where Petra did my hair this morning, are filled with all sorts of strange things—ribbons and bows, and clips for hair, and powders and pastes of all kinds of colors that are most likely more paint for my face, like the lipstick Petra smeared on me this morning. None of that will help me now.
The most promising thing I find is a metal nail file tucked in the very back of one drawer. It isn’t ideal, but it’s the best I have, so I go to work. Using its somewhat pointed end, I whittle away at the edges of the hollow space. It isn’t until the file snaps under the strain that I start to make real progress with the sharp edge of one of the shards. Finally, I’m able to work it enough that three vials fit into the hollow space of each heel. I have to file away at the insole as well, until it’s paper thin, before I can get both my foot and the hidden vials in the shoes at the same time.
Just as I’m about to slip on the shoes, I hear screaming and scuffling in the corridor just outside my room. Barefoot, I run to the door and listen, but don’t open it, afraid of what I’ll find.
“This isn’t right,” a terrified voice yells. “We didn’t get a fair test.”
What follows is a haunting cacophony—stomping, shouts, nails scratching the wall, cries of fear and pain, pleas, and the ringing sound of a blaster being fired.
Finally, the sound begins to fade, and I crack open the door and risk a peek. A dozen Enforcers are escorting—or dragging—the failed contestants away. Soberly, I shut the door on the scene. A shiver runs down my spine as I consider how easily I could have been one of them, how narrowly I escaped the Ash today. But the danger is far from over.
Whatever happens to me, I have to find a way to protect this medicine and deliver it to Whyle before it’s too late. I test out walking. The heels of my shoes are now flimsy and contain fragile vials, so I walk with most of my weight shifted forward to the balls of my feet. It takes some practice and emulating Keya’s posture before I’m able to maintain a reasonably normal gait. I pace around the room for the better part of an hour before I master the rhythm and balance, and walking finally begins to feel normal again. I don’t stop until the clicking of my shoes on the tile sounds steady and effortless.
Chapter 8
Lunch is even more delicious than the bread, apple, and orange drink I had for breakfast, and so much more enjoyable in the solitude of my own room. My only regret is that there’s no one to tell me the names of the foods. There’s a brown, savory liquid with chunks of orange and yellow. And there is a long, yellow fruit. This morning, I didn’t think it was possible for anything to taste sweeter than the apple, but whatever I’m chewing and swallowing now is so sweet that I have to alternate bites with the savory liquid in order to not overwhelm my senses.
I’m almost done when someone knocks at my door.
“Come in,” I call through a mouth full of sweet mush.
Timidly, Petra enters.
“Oh, hi! Are you here for the tray?” I ask, shoving the last of my food rapidly into my mouth.
“No, I’m supposed to get you.”
“For what?”
She looks away evasively. “I don’t know. You just need to come with me.”
I finish the last bite of food and then slip on my shoes so I can follow her.
She leads me back the way I came last night. At the exit, she holds up her intercuff to a panel next to the door and then directs me to do the same. The panel glows green, as do both of our bands, and the door swings open, allowing us out into the open courtyard.
This is the first time I’ve seen any part of the Flame in the bright light of day. The sight is startling, and I have to squint and shield my eyes. The blue glow of the never-changing sky reverberates off of seemingly every surface, as though the buildings and streets are all coated in a layer of crushed gems. Once my eyes adjust to the constant shifting and dancing of rainbows, my vision begins to clear.
Several buildings can be accessed from within the razor-wired, guarded courtyard of the Burning Center. Petra leads me across a long walkway to one of these buildings. Once we reach its tall metal door, we go through the same routine of scanning intercuffs that we did to exit the Burning Center. There’s no sign on this building, and I get the feeling that this is a back way in.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“The Justice Building,” Petra finally informs me. “Wait here. The Chief Enforcer has requested to see you.”
Petra deposits me in one of the cold, metal chairs lining the walls. Work stations are placed at equal intervals throughout the center of the room. Enforcers, easily identifiable in their red uniforms with broad gold stripes over their right shoulder, bustle around. No one pays me any attention at all. I watch the seconds—and then minutes—pass on the large clock that ticks above the door through which I just entered.
I start to wonder if this is some sort of mistake, but the thought of approaching someone to ask what’s going on is about as appealing as shoving my arm in the recycle sorter—not something you do if you want to remain intact.
Fourteen awkward minutes pass before a tall and heavily muscled Enforcer whose uniform bears three gold stripes, rather than the customary two, enters the room. People scurry to get out of his way as he approaches me, his face stoic and unreadable.
“Miss Kennish, follow me,” he commands.
Just as I stand, another Enforcer rushes over. “Sir, I am so sorry to interrupt, but I need to talk to you,” she exclaims in exasperation. “The woman is not cooperating.”
I follow their gazes as both Enforcers look at a woman seated at one of the stations across the room. She has short, dark hair and a pretty face, and I would guess she’s in her mid-twenties. She stares back at them as though warding off a predator.
The man holds up one finger to me, a signal to wait, and marches off across the room toward the flustered woman. From where I stand, I can easily hear their conversation.
“Hello Shawny Markum, I’m Terrance Enberg, the Chief Enforcer. Dina tells me that you’re refusing to cooperate. What seems to be the problem? Do you not understand the law?”
The woman stands, and that’s when I see that her belly is hugely
swollen—she’s pregnant. “I do understand the law, I just don’t understand why such a law exists. How can you force a mother to choose between her children?”
“Of course, the Council never meant for such a choice to be required. It’s for the safety and longevity of The City that the size of each family is carefully assigned. You already have your two authorized children. It was your choice to allow another pregnancy. Now you must either choose to give up the baby, or you can choose to stay with the baby in the Ash,” Terrance explains in mock sympathy.
“What happens to the baby?” she demands.
The Enforcers stare back in silence.
Tears roll down her cheeks. “I can’t let you take my child. I thought the entire point of the Safe Dome was to protect us, to keep us safe. How does this make any sense?”
“You must choose, or the Council will choose for you.”
“And what about my other two children? What will happen to them without me?”
“You have twenty-four hours to decide,” Terrance states flatly, and then turns back to me.
I avert my gaze, pretending I didn’t watch the entire exchange. The law is essentially the same in the Smoke. Most couples are authorized to have two children—my parents, for example—but some only one, and some as many as four. I think the difference has something to do with optimizing the genetics of the population for maximum health. I’ve never heard of anyone being sent to the Ash for having an extra child, but maybe they just always choose to give up the baby in such a case. Parents don’t get any extra credits to support unauthorized children, so it’s too big of a strain on the whole family for anyone to risk.
Terrance turns to the other Enforcer. “Dina, please get started with Miss Kennish, and I will join you momentarily. I’ve just remembered that I have a quick bit of business I have to attend to.”
She nods and turns back to me. “All right Emery, shall we?” She gestures for me to follow her back into a private room.