by Prince Edan
“Not like that,” she said through gritted teeth.
A smile played on Roland’s lips. “You guys are really close.”
Lord Nexus smiled and wrinkles ceased the edges of lively eyes. He had long salt and pepper hair that he had tied back with an elastic band. “Well, she’s my one and only.” A solemn look crossed over his face, and Roland knew the man would do anything to keep her happy.
“The song,” Lord Nexus carried on, “it was about the revolution, right? The rich fighting against the poor, and our triumph in the end.”
“I disagree, Lord Nexus,” Roland challenged. “You haven’t won yet.”
“Surely we have. The poor live in ghettos, dirty ruins of places that once existed. They have no power over us, no money, no weapons. They are pathetic.”
Roland’s fingers curled into a tight fist. They clearly had no idea who they were speaking to. They didn’t know that the place where his family lived was only minutes away from the ghetto. The person they were calling pathetic was the same guy they wanted to perform for them.
“Roland,” Director Brody cautioned, his eyes narrowing sharply, “surely you realize the lord has a point. We have better defensive and offensive capabilities. They can’t breech the electric fence that surrounds our city.”
They were right. The only way to get in would be to have someone within the city on their side. That was how Roland got his break. He was able to leave Samrea and start a new life in a safer city.
***
Roland had recently turned seven years old when he met the people who would take him and groom him into a capable young man. They had known that he liked to play near the fence outside Hather, a place he could never enter. On the other side, their guards patrolled the cities’ six watchtowers, walking from one tower to another at regular intervals. The towers were huge gray buildings that stretched toward the heavens with long slit windows. Behind Roland was poverty and destruction, ramshackle homes that looked like they would be blown over by a gust of wind. Patched zinc roofs, cardboard doors, a sheet of plastic covered holes to resemble windows. The strong scent of dirt permeated the entire village. Roland would spread his arms like the fighter jets that sometimes flew over his village and run barefoot around the fence. He never made it all the way around but he liked the feeling of the grass beneath his feet and the wind pressing against body.
“Hey, kid, come here,” a voice called from the bottom of the watchtower.
Roland obeyed, excitedly sprinting over to the stranger. He heard the low hum of the current that flowed through the chain link fence, and knew from experience that it would hurt if he touched it. The fence stretched far above his head and was topped with razor sharp barbed wire. In the village of Samrea, he was always alone. The other kids thought his obsession with the fence was weird, that he should hate everyone in that city. They told him it was the people in that city that caused them to live like this. They took away everything the villagers owned, and left them a land with only one source of water, a polluted pond where the occasional dead body would surface.
He met a lady at the fence. The wind whipped her black hair across her face; a pleasant smile appeared on her face.
“What’s your name, kiddo?”
“Roland,” he beamed, showing his two missing front teeth.
“Would you like to join our Order?”
“What’s ‘dat?”
“We are not allowed to invite people from outside. The whole point of the Order is to keep people like him out there,” the man beside her insisted. His face was protected by a metal helmet and he wore a light suit of armor.
“But he’s adorable,” she countered. “Look at his big gray eyes. I just want to take him home.”
“There are two things wrong with that.” The man’s voice gradually rose as he spoke. “One, that would be kidnapping, and two, he’s not a pet you can just take home and cuddle with.”
“Hush now, I know that already,” she said to him sternly before turning back to Roland. “So do you want to see what’s on the other side of the fence?”
Roland nodded. “Yes, please.”
“The commander would kill us,” the man said, pacing madly.
“It’s fine as long as they don’t find out where he’s from, right, Brody?”
“He has parents.”
“They should have kept him on a shorter leash. He passes here every day, spending hours away from home, and they never seem to care. I just want to give him a better life.”
“Then you may as well kidnap all the kids out there.”
She tilted her head to the side and pressed a slim finger to her lips, contemplating the idea.
Roland had not understood the severity of their actions. He had not known that they broke the law by taking them into their home. But he had known that they gave him a chance to see things on the other side. And that was all he ever wanted. He would finally get a chance to see Hather.
***
Director Brody cleared his throat, pulling Roland from his memories and repeated, “Lord Nexus has a very good point.”
“Well, essentially speaking, they can’t get in,” Roland agreed. “But I don’t think you should count this as their loss just yet. Sometimes people can rise up with renewed strength when you least expect it.”
He glanced at the director, who gave him an approving nod. The director said in a clear, compelling voice, “It is time for us to finalize arrangements so Roland won’t be late for class.”
They decided the party would be a month from then, on October twenty-fifth. Roland would receive five thousand dollars for two hours. If he messed this gig up, his career would go up in flames. He swallowed the unease that was rising in his throat. After a round of goodbyes, the lord and his daughter exited the room, the guard trailing behind them.
“Why am I your son?” Roland asked the director. “You told the teachers I was an orphan you found on the streets.”
“Ah yes, I wanted to talk to you about that. As of yesterday, the adoption process was finished. I am now your legal guardian.”
“That’s it?” Roland asked, lowering his voice in case someone was listening outside the room. “What about my parents? Do I still get to see them?”
“The commander has agreed to let you patrol the border this winter break. You can use that as an opportunity to sneak away and visit your family.”
It made sense. When Roland decided to leave with Director Brody and join the Order, he had turned his back on his family’s way of life. Their struggles would no longer be something he would have to endure. On his final day in Samrea, he promised his parents that he would earn enough money to give them a proper home. He just needed time.
Roland walked to the door, placed his hand around the knob, and stopped. “Why did you take me?”
For years he had asked the man that same question, but he never received a satisfactory answer.
The man shrugged and took a cigarette from his desk. He cupped his left hand around the lighter’s flame. “I told you before, it was on a whim.” He puffed, blowing smoke across his desk. “Try your best to avoid areas that the members of Rouge Resistance have shown up in. There are many techniques you need to learn before we send you on patrol, and it would be a shame if you died before then.”
Maybe the old man did have a caring bone in his body.
Chapter V
“You’re too slow,” Clark said, sweeping his sword toward Roland in a wide arc.
Their swords crossed and the boys bared their teeth as the impact jarred their arms. They were using blunted straight, double-edged longswords, focusing on reach and power.
Roland’s classmates formed a semi-circle around them, cheering for Clark’s victory. In a secluded area of the training room, the instructor jotted something down on the clipboard, occasionally peering at the two fighters. Roland slipped to the side and drove his sword forward. Clark attempted to block but was thrown off balance when Roland applied more pressure. As Clark stumbl
ed backward, Roland advanced, his feet moving quickly across the safety mats.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m doing pretty well at the moment. I’m not so sure about you,” Roland told him, his lips turning into a smirk.
There was a special combat class for children that had joined the Order. They learned advanced hand-to-hand combat and how to wield a sword. Although Roland preferred playing the piano, his calloused hands were used to wielding a sword. He practiced the swings for hours until his arms were sore and felt like they would fall off. Roland swung the blade at Clark’s head again and the boy ducked.
“Damn, you dropped a fifty dollar bill!” Clark exclaimed.
“I’m not falling for that again.”
“All right then, I’ll get it.” Clark feigned a dive, and Roland quickly scanned the floor.
Clark used Roland’s distraction to his advantage and quickly pressed forward, holding his sword against Roland’s neck. “I win, dumbass.”
People cheered and patted Clark on the back, congratulating him for his millionth victory.
Heaving a sigh, Roland remembered too late that his shorts didn’t have any pockets.
The instructor raised an eyebrow and chided, “You’re too damn gullible. It’s going to get you killed in an actual fight.”
Roland’s grip tightened around the sword. He pictured the yellowed eyes of the man that had attacked him. He remembered the sinking feeling that he would lose everything he owned, that Cassandra would be hurt when he wasn’t able to protect her. He could see her body shaking, feel the warmth of her bosom pressed against his back as he carried her home. He wanted to get stronger so he could protect the people he cared about.
“One more time,” Roland muttered.
“What was that?” taunted Clark. “I couldn’t hear anything over your nonexistent screaming fans.”
“I want a rematch,” Roland stated confidently.
The class fell silent when the mix of male and female fighters recognized that Roland was serious.
“All right,” Clark shrugged. “Let’s go, piano boy. I’ll teach you the difference between me and someone that lives behind a stupid instrument on the stage.”
Roland knew Clark imagined himself to be one of the best fighters in the school, and he was.
Clark stepped forward, watching Roland coolly. His stance was firm, balanced, unshaken. Roland stepped into a stable position, placing his right foot ahead and leaning forward slightly.
Finding the proceedings interesting, the instructor left his corner and walked over to the boys. He was tall and broad shouldered. Though he wore a plain shirt and pants, his muscles bulged under his clothes. A visible scar ran across his nose where a blade had bit into his flesh in his youth. Despite his neatly trimmed white hair, the man claimed to be in forties and most believed him.
“No rules, anything goes. Once you leave these walls, there won’t be anyone monitoring your opponents to ensure that they aren’t cheating or using foul moves. You’ll be on your own,” Mr. Bramen declared. “Swords ready.”
The boys obliged, holding their swords rigid before them with both hands.
“Fight.”
They sparred until they were drenched in sweat and neither gave in. Roland parried and blocked against Clark’s rapid slashes. Taking ragged breaths, they continued to fight for a few more minutes. Sweat dripped from their eyelashes, stinging their eyes. Clark dropped onto his hands and knees, directing a sweeping kick at Roland, but the boy jumped at the last second.
The bell rung and the fighting ceased. They had been at it for thirty minutes, neither side wanting to admit defeat.
Mr. Bramen gripped Roland’s shoulder. “That was great. If you showed that much determination on a daily basis, you would ace the class.”
“Not bad,” Clark admitted as he brushed past Roland.
“Go get changed,” Mr. Bramen called over the chatter that arose after the bell. “Don’t be late for any of your classes and then blame it on me for holding you back.” He glared at a brunette girl named Imani.
She shrugged sheepishly. “It only happened once, get over it.”
The class dispersed.
After changing into the school’s uniform of a white blazer over a dress shirt, the school’s insignia over his heart, and khaki pants, Roland met Clark and Kio in the cafeteria. The building was huge with long wooden tables and benches. There were five different tables, each reserved for people of a particular dorm. At the end of each table was a wooden totem pole with their dorm’s animal carved into the top.
Roland’s group was represented by a lion; ferocious, never yielding people that continued to persevere throughout hardships. The other groups were embodied by either a rabbit for those who displayed kindness, a panther for speed, a turtle for students that were slow and clumsy, or a hummingbird for children that lived and breathed music. Beyond the totem poles was a stage where the school’s teachers and director sat behind a table with a fancy white tablecloth.
Intricate glass chandeliers lined the ceiling over their heads. Roland’s eyes roamed the room, and he noticed the intimidating suit of armor on pedestals in the four corners.
Sitting opposite Kio and Clark, he examined the dish before him. It was some sort of wrap with stuffing inside surrounded by rice and beans.
Clark hissed. “Why must I see you every second of the day?”
“We’re in the same school and your boyfriend is my roommate,” Roland explained blandly.
Clark glanced at Kio who was absentmindedly chewing his food and completely ignoring them. “Break up with him,” he ordered.
Kio chewed, paused, then chewed some more. “It’s cheesy,” he muttered. “I hate cheese.”
Roland kicked Clark’s knee and the boy gritted his teeth, enraged. “I hope you die,” Clark threatened.
Smiling Roland said, “Thanks, I hope you die too.”
Toying with his food, Kio mumbled, “It tastes like glue.”
“Can I sit here?” a girl asked.
The table fell silent. No female had ever approached their section of the table willingly. Who wanted to be seen with two gays and a poor orphan? Though Clark received a lot of attention when he was by himself, the other two were normally given a wide berth. Roland glanced at Cassandra. She held her plate timidly, her blue eyes darting nervously over their faces.
“Hold on for a second,” Kio said, motioning for the boys to huddle together. “You know her?” he asked Roland.
Roland nodded.
“Is she dating you?” Kio asked
Clark snorted and declared, “Impossible. No sane girl would have such terrible taste.”
“He’s weird but he has above average looks, so that gives him an eight out of ten,” Kio said in Roland’s defense. “It’s not that farfetched.”
“Maybe, but he’s hard to get along with. All he does is stare into space like he’s lost his mind, so minus fifteen points,” Clark countered. “He’s a negative seven. Untouchable.”
A vein pulsed in Roland’s jaw as he listened to their degrading comments. His jaw set firmly and he turned to Cassandra. “Sure.”
She told him thanks and sat down. In the cramped space, Roland’s elbow would often rub against her as they ate and he awkwardly mumbled an apology. Clark was quiet as he examined their behavior.
“Thanks for helping me last night,” Cassandra said.
“It was nothing, I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Kio furrowed his brows as if he remembered something. “Were you together when you ran into the—”
Roland clamped his hand over Kio’s mouth and told him to shut up. The Rouge Resistance was on everyone’s mind as a result of their recent attacks on civilians. If the rest of the school found out about it, Roland and Cassandra would be bombarded by an endless barrage of questions. Though Kio hadn’t finished his sentence, Cassandra knew where it was going and nodded.
“How did you two meet?” Clark asked.
A smile appeared
on Cassandra’s lips, and Roland recalled his blunder. She winked at him and his face paled. She remembered it too.
“He thought I was my father’s wife.”
“I did not say that,” Roland protested.
“But you thought it,” she said. “Your scrutiny was written all over your face.”
Roland glanced at Cassandra. Her sparkling eyes were compelling and she had a beautiful smile. “Maybe. Not only were you taller than him, you were really mature. You didn’t get flustered easily, and you had the confidence that normally comes with age. And you are…”
He stared at her lush pink lips.
“I’m what?”
He wanted to say beautiful but his friends were paying attention. Kio was studying Roland critically and he knew they would mock him later if he messed up.
“Nice.”
It could have been his imagination, but a dark expression crossed over her face as if she were disappointed. As if she’d wanted him to say something more. Roland reached out and patted her head.
She blinked. “What was that for?”
“You looked sad. I wanted to cheer you up.”
She smiled but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I think I’ll go now,” she said, getting up.
“We can see each other again, right?” Roland asked.
“Maybe.”
Roland watched her retreating figure and his heart fell. He couldn’t fight the feeling that he had done something wrong.
Clark shook his head. “If I’m an idiot, then what are you?”
“He’s a dumbass,” Kio snorted, then used his fork to flick some beans Roland. “Let me give you some advice. The girl you’re drooling after right now doesn’t want to be treated like your little sister.”
Chapter VI.
A narrow dirt trail diverted from a clump of trees to a clearing that held a stable. It was located a few acres away from King Academy’s main building. The stable boy watched Roland curiously as he approached. He was washing a tray with a hose, the filthy water spilling onto the ground beside him. He was young, short, with bright brown eyes. Wearing a jumper over his long sleeved shirt and a gray cap that covered his eyes, he matched the role perfectly. When the boy straightened, Roland noticed a toothpick sticking from his lips.