Denounced (Exalted Trilogy: Book 2)

by Elizabeth, Tara

  DENOUNCED

  TARA ELIZABETH

  DENOUNCED (EXALTED: Book 2)

  Tara Elizabeth

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright © 2013 Tara Elizabeth

  Published by Elizabeth Hawk Publishing

  Edited by Amanda Tarleton-Graves

  Cover Art by LMS Designs

  indieebookcoversbylmsdesigns.wordpress.com

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  First Edition: August 2013

  Also by Tara Elizabeth:

  EXALTED

  UNITED (EXALTED: Book 3/Final Book) – Coming Soon!

  ZOO

  Ego Sum Creator

  ~

  I am the creator

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Hurry!” I call back to Ethan. I don’t slow for him. Kinah is 50 yards ahead of me. I will not let her take first place. The muscles in my legs are being put to the test. This is what I worked for while everyone else was bulking up—speed. I know I’m faster than her, but I doubt she will let me pass her without a fight.

  “Keep going, Mena!” Ethan shouts.

  30 yards.

  15 yards.

  I’m quickly closing in on her. She’s right here, an arm’s length away. It’s also a club’s length away. Kinah swings her spiked club toward my stomach with as much force as she can muster while still running. I have no choice but to slow down and veer off course. Fortunately, I catch back up to her in no time.

  I grunt as I pass her. My legs and lungs scream from the exertion, but I push it all aside. I’m going to win! I’m so close! There are Exalted watching from the Gate. I can barely see them, but they grow in size as I get closer and closer.

  The cornfields . . . We enter the cornfields. The harvest has left them barren. My feet kick up dried slough from the stalks. The debris tickles my shins as I run through it.

  Kinah shouts behind me. She knows she won’t win in a foot race against me. She’s trying to distract me because she’s desperate to win. Without warning, something slams into the middle of my back and I fall forward. My body slams into the dry, dusty ground followed by my face. The impact knocks the breath out of me. I wheeze and cough, sending slough into to the air and consequently into my eyes.

  I’m shocked. Kinah hit me with her club. She launched it at my back and knocked me down. After rubbing my eyes, I see Kinah’s weapon to my right. She is swiftly approaching to retrieve it. I use the searing pain in my back to get me moving. I scramble over to her club and grab it at the same time that she tackles me. We tumble to the ground with such a tremendous impact that our heads crash into each other. My vision explodes.

  As we wrestle, slough and dirt flies up around us. I can’t let her get on top of me; I’ll never win. I slam my forehead into hers again. It causes her to fall backward onto the ground. The cornfields spin around me as I climb to my feet. I reach for Kinah’s club, but my hand comes up empty. My vision is playing tricks on me. I reach again. This time I grab a firm hold of her weapon. It feels foreign in my grip. My hands were meant to hold knives, not clubs.

  “Mena, run!” Ethan is only a few feet from me. “Run!” he yells again.

  The ground has settled now, so I turn and throw the spiked club out into the field. I throw it as far and as hard as I can. I turn to run, but Kinah tackles me.

  Ethan slows. He’s hesitates next to us as we wrestle. “Kwan! Kwan is coming!” he says desperately. He needs to leave me behind so he can finish first.

  I knee Kinah in the stomach. “Go!” my words escape my lips before being punched in the jaw. My face hits the earth and I see Ethan’s feet next to my head. My eyes trail up his body and finally to his face. I can see it in his tormented expression—he wants to jump in and help me, but his body is tensed to run for the finish line. “Go!” I shout at him as I pull a concealed dagger from my boot.

  He leaves me on the ground to deal with Kinah alone. We aren’t allowed to kill one another, but that’s the only rule in the Third Trial. I’ll use my knives if necessary.

  I continue to lie on the ground, knowing Kinah will attack me once again. And she does. She’s on top of me in no time, squeezing my neck with her giant hands. I bring my knife up and stab her in a place that will hurt, but not cause serious harm. The blade plunges into a chunk of skin and muscle on her side. She instantly releases her hold on my airway and falls to the ground, clutching her wound. This isn’t like the Second Trial. The injury and pain here are real.

  I leave my knife in her side as I rise to my feet. The stinging on my back is beyond painful. Without seeing my flesh, I can tell that I’m bleeding.

  My watch beeps once for Ethan as he finishes the Third Trial first. I let out a long breath.

  Suddenly, my back arches as my dagger is driven deep into my knife wound—the knife wound that Ethan accidentally gave me only hours ago. Now it’s me that falls to the ground with a stab wound. Kinah kicks me in the back for good measure. Then she runs to her club, grabs it, and heads for the East Gate.

  No! No! I push the physical pain down deep inside and pull myself to my feet. As I stumble forward, black spots threaten my consciousness. I try to blink them away. My pace is lagging, but I can’t go any faster. I just can’t.

  My watch beeps twice as Kinah crosses the East Gate. She won. Not me.

  The wall is so close now. I hiss through the pain of forcing myself forward. Stopping is not an option. I must finish this. I have to finish this.

  Finally, I pass through the opening of the stone barrier. My watch beeps twice after I cross, only seconds behind Kinah. I fall against the stonewall panting. Ethan and Kinah are nearby, resting on the ground as well. Their breaths are heavy like mine. I roll my head back and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to block out the realization of my defeat. My back is hot where I was hit with Kinah’s spiked club, and my shoulder still has a knife lodged in it. It’s awful, but all I can think about is that I finished second—not first. I’m a failure.

  There’s a flurry of activity; I can sense it all around me. Someone yanks at my waist. My eyes fly open. Exalted instructors are gathering up our weapons. Millie is removing my knife belt. “Boot daggers, Mena,” she commands as she opens her hand, waiting for me to comply with the order. I hand her one and then point to my shoulder, where the other one is located. “Medical!” Millie shouts.

  Within seconds, medical citizens swoop in on us. They hover around me, waiting for instructions. “Bag that for me.” Millie points to the knife in my shoulder. “Then get her to the infirmary,” she demands of the medical citizens as she purposefully walks away.

  I walk in front of the medical citizens on the way to the infirmary. Exalted don’t get carted away unless they absolutely can’t walk. It’s a struggle, but it’s something I must do. On my way to get medical treatment, my watch beeps once for a male trainee that finishes the Third Trial. Then it’s silent for several seconds, before beeping once again. I can only assume that they were for Kwan and Az.

  The walk across the city is almost unbearable, but I keep my head held high as I pass Exalted and citizens alike. The Exalted nod as I pass them. They are acknowledging my milestone. Once inside the building, I’m escorted into a gray room with an exam table, a desk, and a chair. There is a female medical citizen waiting for me. Without looking into my eyes, she says, “Please remove your clothes.”

  This is no different than my weekly physicals with the exception of having my wounds treated. I have no problem with removing my clothing for her
, except that I physically can’t remove my shirt. “I can’t get my shirt off since my knife is still in there,” I mutter to the woman.

  She glances at me and nods. Under the examination table, the citizen opens a drawer full of medical paraphernalia: scalpels, gauze, needles, thread-like material for stitches, iodine, latex gloves; the list goes on. Unfortunately, I don’t see anything that resembles pain medication. Feeling the pain of our Trials is part of the experience. I’ll have to deal with it.

  After cutting the shirt off my body, the woman treats some scraps on my ankles and calves. It’s virtually painless and unnoticeable. Next, she grabs hold of the dagger that’s still buried in my shoulder. I close my eyes, waiting for the inevitable. I can feel the knife slide along every muscle fiber, every skin cell, and every nerve ending as it’s pulled from my back. My consciousness threatens to leave me. Black spots corrupt my vision. I keep my eyes closed and take deep breaths.

  “Are you okay?” the medical citizen asks.

  I’m in too much pain to acknowledge how unusual her question is. A citizen shouldn’t question an Exalted in this way. I just mumble in response, “Uh huh.”

  The woman dabs my wound with gauze and then unwraps the shoddy bandage on my shoulder. It was covering my original stab wound. As she examines the cut, cleans it, and pulls the needle and thread through my skin over and over again, I think about the last 24 hours.

  I should be grateful that I’m still under the influence of The Pump, because if I weren’t, I’m not sure I could’ve done what I did. I turned down the chance at freedom. I sent Lily away. I kissed Ryker goodbye. And I didn’t feel a thing.

  I do know that when The Pump finally leaves my system again, I’ll feel it all, as I should have. It’ll hurt and I’ll probably cry, but the decision will have been made. It was the decision that I had to make. I have to know why Exalted and citizens are being drugged. And maybe there is no explanation, but I won’t find the answers out there . . . and I need to find the answers. Then I need to change things.

  I release a lung full of air when the woman finishes sewing me up properly. I didn’t realize that I’d been holding my breath the whole time she was working on me. The female citizen rubs some healing ointment onto the wound, and I am pleased to find that it has a cooling effect.

  The woman moves on to my back. She sticks her finger into each circular hole that Kinah’s spiked club left in my flesh. It’s definitely not a pleasant sensation. I struggle not to squirm under her touch. “Seven marks,” she says. “Where did you get this injury?”

  Her question was not expected. I don’t know whether to answer truthfully or lie. No, I don’t need to lie. There are no rules against what Kinah did. Regardless, I keep my lips sealed.

  Her expressionless eyes stare into mine as she waits for an answer. Finally, she says, “No need to answer. I know where they’re from. We study all of the trainees’ weapons. Your puncture wounds have a very distinct pattern. But here you are alive. Hmm.” She pushes off the floor, sending her rolling stool sailing across the room. She stops at her desk and types something into her computer that I can’t see. “We need to pay special attention to that weapon,” she says absently. When she’s finished typing, she sails back over to me and finishes cleaning my wounds.

  I don’t speak to her for the rest of my visit. Exalted and citizens don’t speak to one another unless it is necessary. I keep up the charade to avoid being found out. When my physical exam is finished, I get dressed and walk over to the scale. Of course, I can’t leave without my weigh-in and body measurements being taken. Her measurements will determine my meal plans for the week, though my meals in the Republic haven’t changed in a very long time.

  As I look down at her pinching the skin on my belly with metal calipers, I realize that I probably lost weight while in the Third Trial. I will most likely require additional fat and protein to build my body back up to its peak condition.

  “You are to report directly to your room from here. Stay there until dinner. You will go to the trainee cafeteria as normal for your evening meal. Someone will tell you what to do after that.” The woman holds out her hand and says one more thing, “Wristwatch, please.” It actually beeps as I place it in her hand.

  CHAPTER TWO

  I startle awake when the bedroom door slams shut. Val, my best friend, is standing in front of it. She launches a handful of purple pills at my face. “How could you have not told me? I thought we were friends!” Fury radiates in her doe-like eyes.

  “Val . . .” I’m shocked by her outburst. How did she find out?

  “Ethan knew, didn’t he? No wonder you two got so close. So what was it? Was I just not good enough to be in on your little secret? Or you just didn’t want any real competition?” she almost screams at me.

  “No, Val. I swear . . .” I sit up in my tiny bed and look at my friend who is more than angry with me. “I was trying to protect you. We were trying to protect you. Honestly. You already have such a strong personality; we knew it would be hard for you to cover it up. And we didn’t really know what we were doing . . . We may also have been a little worried you would turn us in.” I admit it all to her. She deserves the whole truth.

  “You can’t be serious? You . . . Ugh . . . Hold on a minute . . .” Val turns a familiar shade of green and rushes into the bathroom. The toilet lid clinks as she opens the lid to vomit—an unfortunate side effect of getting off The Pump.

  When she’s done, she slowly drags herself over to her bed and lies down. She faces away from me and curls into a ball. Her short hair is matted with sweat, and her clothes are filthy. She needs a shower, but I’m not going to say anything to her about it. Instead, I offer her something to drink. “Can I get you some water?”

  “Yeah,” she moans. “What’s wrong with me?” A tear slides down her cheek.

  “It’ll be over soon. This is normal.” I head for the bathroom to fill an empty glass that sits next to our sink. The tap water fills the small container in seconds. The Republic of the Saved has an excellent water system. It was completely rerouted and reengineered when we took over this small city after the war. Dr. Fredericks was lucky to have such well-educated survivors to help him create this safe haven. And we were lucky to have Dr. Fredericks, or so I thought. That’s why Val is so furious with me—I knew and she didn’t. I should’ve told her.

  An Exalted marauder named Ryker told me the truth about The Pump several weeks before the Trials. He told me that the supplement was being used to suppress our emotions. It was being used to control us all. This Exalted marauder escaped during his Third Trial—like I was supposed to. He now lives in a village by a lake and helps Exalted and citizens leave the Republic. He saves people. He gives them life.

  After I found out about The Pump, I quit taking it. I thought it would make me stronger for the Trials. I was sick for about a week, but after that . . . I felt the world. Everything had a texture and a smell. The things I saw before, suddenly looked different. Everything was new to me. I could finally smile like I’d seen the Ambassadors do so many times. I improved at knife throwing. There was a fire inside me that urged me on. It was amazing.

  Ethan, my other best friend, found out about the Pump after he saw me hide a pill. He noticed that I was excelling in training and wanted to do the same—anything to be number one.

  We chose not to tell Val. Valesca’s personality pushed the limits of The Pump as it was, so having her off of it was a huge gamble. We were also unsure of whether she would turn us in. Ethan and I struggled with maintaining a stoic Exalted façade—I just didn’t believe Val could do it, and I didn’t want my friend executed if she couldn’t.

  I sit down on the side of her bed and offer her the glass of water. “Drink this. It’ll help.” She carefully lifts the glass to her parched lips and drinks greedily. “If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll be going through this again in a few days. I’ve already got a headache,” I offer.

  “It does make me feel better,” she
says. Then she passes out.

  ***

  “Val. Val, wake up,” I say as I nudge Val’s arm. I haven’t moved from her side since she fell asleep. There were too many things going on in my mind that kept me occupied. I’ve spent the last 90 minutes telling myself what I should be feeling and how I should be reacting, but my emotions and body are not cooperating.

  Val groans as she pushes herself into a sitting position. I scoot over to give her room. “What time is it?” she asks.

  “It’s time for dinner. Have you been able to keep anything down?”

  “Not really,” she says without looking at me. Her body language is cold. She’s so angry with me.

  “How did you find out?” I ask. She didn’t tell me before she fell asleep what prompted her to stop taking the pills. It had to have been while out in the Third Trial. Maybe she had an accident or got sick. I hope that’s not the case.

  She scoots further away from me before she answers. “Some man told me. I tried to kill him, but I couldn’t. He was so strong . . . not like any marauder I’ve ever seen or heard of. He told me I would be stronger without it. He wanted me to go with him, but I wanted to come back here. Finishing was too important. Everything I’ve ever known is here.”

  “A man told you . . . What did he look like?” I ask her as my mind starts denying the possibility of it being Ryker.

  She sighs and rubs at her temple with her index finger, massaging the withdrawal symptoms away. I already know from my experience that it won’t work. With great effort, she answers, “He was tall like us, but thinner—well, tall like most of us.” Val corrects herself as she finally looks at me. I’m apparently a freak of nature among the Exalted—being as I’m only 5 feet 7 inches. She quickly continues, “His hair was buzzed down really short, and he said his name was Ry-something. He said he knew you.” She glares at me.