EXALTED (An Exalted Novel)

by Elizabeth, Tara

  The trainees nod in understanding. I nod in fear. I can imagine the boys getting a similar lecture by Force or even Garret. I hope Ethan has calmed down and is focusing on the fight.

  “This is single-elimination or knockout. There are no second chances. If you get beat, you’re out.” Winding down, Millie moves toward a storage locker and opens. Inside are eight black jumpsuits. “Each of you has a suit here. They were designed using the last measurements taken by the medical citizens. Your name is across the bicep of the suit. Put them on and then come and see me. I will need to give you your mock weapons. Hurry up!” Millie claps her hands together loudly, spurring us into action. Why do all the instructors do that?

  We all shove our way over to the locker to find our personalized suit. I grab mine after three other girls find theirs. I’m surprised to find how lightweight and flexible the material is. This thin garment won’t hinder my body movements at all. That’s a very good thing since I’ll be relying on my speed and agility.

  I remove my black boots and shrug off my dark bottoms. I look carefully at the dark jumpsuit and discover there are no zippers or buttons. There are no openings at all except the face, hand, and foot holes. Odd. Leaving my undergarments on, I shove each foot through the face hole first. I pull the suit up until I’m able to push my feet out of the foot holes. Once my feet are in, I have no trouble pulling the stretchy fabric right up my legs and over my backside. It expands and contracts in ways that don’t make sense. I drop my black tank next to my other discarded clothes and finish pulling the suit on with ease. It covers my head last. The only way to tell me apart from the other girls is my name badge and green eyes—that and my height.

  I look down at my bare feet. The other girls must be doing the same, because Millie shouts, “Put your boots and socks back on and get over here!”

  I cover my cold feet back up, and after I finish lacing my boots, I head over to Millie who sits behind a table filled with dull looking weapons. All the parts that should be shiny metal are now gray. They are hard plastic replicas. As I glance over to my nemesis, I think, that’s unfortunate. But Kinah will still feel it when I get her with my blades.

  Millie hands me a belt that holds as many knives as my real one does. I buckle it around my waist and check out the contents. There are lots of daggers and two skinning knives. I’m pleased with the selection.

  Only now do I realize that I’m hearing the same pounding thunder of the spectators. They are booming overhead, like they did at the First Trial. I was too caught up in Millie’s speech to listen to anything else around me. And very similar to my first experience at the arena, my heart pounds in my chest. It beats right along with each thundering boom from above.

  “Line up girls! The announcer will be calling you soon!” Millie commands. She stands by the door that separates us from the male trainees. She knocks three times before the door is opened. We are ushered in and made to stand in an alphabetically ordered line next to the boys. Then, we wait to be called.

  My mouth nearly drops when I get a good look at the boys in their skintight suits. Every inch of their muscled bodies is on display. I stand one person back from Ethan in the girls’ line. I can’t deny that I’m enjoying the view. His strong shoulders are supported by his toned back, which curves right around to his perfectly formed . . . I’m blushing now.

  * * *

  As I sit in my seat next to the arena, I grow somber. The reality of what is about to happen is sinking in, just as the announcer calls the first pairing. The male trainees will compete first in the first round. So, I will have to wait here, a troubled mess, until they’re finished weeding out the weaklings.

  “Az will be competing against Garrison. Enter the arena on opposite ends and wait for the alarm. Once it sounds, you may begin. Fight to the death. Strength be with you.” The monotone male announcer is back, this time representing the boys.

  Poor Garrison, I think as I see him standing across from Az in the altered arena. Today the arena resembles our Defender’s Course. There are two trees, five crates, three boulders, and a sandy floor. There are no cacti, ponds, bushes, or walls. The trees look so real that a few birds swoop in the open top arena and test them out. They quickly leave once they figure out the leaves are artificial.

  Az lifts his mock ax over his head with both hands. He stretches his arms out to the left and then to the right as he waits for the alarm to sound. He’s being cocky.

  Garrison stands with his club in a ready position. His eyes are locked on Az’s every move.

  With a loud wail, the alarm sounds, making a few lingering birds squawk and fitfully fly off into the sky. Az strides directly toward Garrison with his ax swung over his shoulder. Garrison side steps to a nearby boulder, putting it between himself and Az. Unfortunately that doesn’t hinder the reach of Az’s ax. Az swings. He grazes Garrison’s club arm as Garrison tries to duck out of the way. The suit must really work because the injured trainee groans in pain while grabbing at the side of his intact arm. Az takes this opportunity to knock him over. He shifts his weight to get better leverage and then swings his ax into Garrison’s midsection.

  It’s always tough to go first, and Garrison just experienced that in full force. He was out of the Second Trial in less than three minutes. A citizen had to go into the arena to switch off his suit before he was able to get up—or come back to life, I should say.

  “Az wins this fight!” The announcer wastes no time introducing the next pairing. “Up next is Richard and Chasin. Take your places. Strength be with you.”

  Richard with his ax loses to Chasin with his bow after Chasin shimmies up a tree and shoots three shots off. They all hit Richard square. He never cried out in pain, he just fell over after the third arrow bounced off his rib cage. It was a pretty uneventful match.

  Now Ethan will face off against Leen’s club. My nerves start tumbling around in my stomach again. I scoot to the edge of my seat and squeeze my hands together. I try my best not to look anxious, as the two male trainees stand ready to fight. Suddenly, the alarm rings. It startles me even though I was expecting it.

  In the arena, Ethan immediately throws a dagger in Leen’s direction. Leen blocks it with his mighty club. The knife makes a thud as it hits the sandy ground.

  Ethan throws another knife, which is blocked again. We were warned that the others had been practicing blocking such attacks. Therefore, I’m not surprised that Ethan catches onto this quickly. He has to change his approach. He cautiously approaches the taller and broader boy with a knife in each hand. They are mere inches apart now. Ethan lunges for Leen’s stomach with his knife, but at the last minute he swipes his knife over the back of Leen’s quickly approaching wrist. Mid-backswing, Leen drops his club to the floor with an even louder thud than the puny knife. I wince as Leen backhands Ethan across the face.

  The crowd is stomping around us, calling for some good hand-to-hand action.

  Ethan drops down into a squat, feigning injury. As Leen leans over to grab the back of Ethan’s neck, Ethan drags his knife across the tendons on the back of Leen’s knee. Now Leen is on the ground, clutching the back of his leg.

  Ethan allows him a moment to stand back up on his good leg, but everyone knows this will end soon. After a quick flick of the wrist, one of Ethan’s knives hits Leen in the abdomen. Leen once again falls to the sandy ground. This time he clutches his stomach. I try not to look away as he curls into the fetal position and takes short, gasping breaths. He’s still crippled with pain when one of the citizens turns his nanosuit off. It takes Leen a minute to realize that he’s okay. He leaves the arena virtually unharmed. Ethan has already left the competitor’s floor and is back to his seat before his victim even stands up.

  Watching the pain on Leen’s face, I’m suddenly scared for myself and for Ethan. What if they’re recovering from their false wounds and temporary deaths because they’re on the Pump? What if it has some kind of psychological effect on us that we can’t recover from? Surely, we can’t
expect to get over feeling that kind of pain or thinking that we really died, without the dulling effects the purple drug offers.

  Now I’m really scared. Now I can’t lose.

  * * *

  There is only one more first round fight to go for the male trainees. It’s Cuyler against Kwan. The crowd stomps as the competitors take their positions in the center of the arena’s floor. These two competitors are the most evenly matched so far. Kwan stands ready, though he rests his steady hands at his sides instead of on the hilt of his sword. Cuyler, I can tell is ready to pluck an arrow from his back the second the alarm sounds.

  And that’s just what Cuyler does. Kwan rushes to a nearby boulder, sliding behind it for cover when the first arrow sails by. It barely misses him. Cuyler drops his bow. He knows that he will only waste more arrows by shooting at the boulder that’s obstructing his view of his opponent. After looking around, Cuyler sprints over to one of the trees. He shimmies up to a high point, where he will have a better vantage point. Upon seeing this, Kwan rolls behind one of the crates. He kicks off three of the crate’s rickety wooden sides with his heavy boot. He uses it to create a makeshift shield and holds the safeguard out in front of his body. Another one of Cuyler’s arrows sails through the air. It strikes Kwan’s shield, and then falls in the sand at his feet.

  Now armed with the shield, Kwan is feeling more confident. He heads directly toward the tree that Cuyler is perched in. He holds his wooden shield over his head as he scales the tree one handed. He manages to climb with only one hand with an ease that even I couldn’t manage with two hands. I lose sight of the trainees. I can only see the tree foliage shaking and rustling. Suddenly, something heavy comes crashing down through the tree, causing branches to crack and leaves to fly up in the air. My eyes go wide and then slam shut as Cuyler catches the lowest limb across his chest. The air is violently expelled from his lungs. Then he slides off the branch and lands flat on his back. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe.

  Finally, Cuyler lets out on big gasp. He looks around and surprisingly pushes himself off the ground. Kwan swings down from the tree. He lands in front of Cuyler with his sword raised. I notice that it’s the first time Kwan has touched his weapon since their fight began.

  Cuyler looks at the ground around him. He pats his body as searches for his bow. He can’t locate it, but I can see it on the other side of the tree by a boulder. Not giving Cuyler any chance of escape, Kwan raises his mock sword and brings it down across the neck of his opponent’s black suit. Cuyler instantly falls to the ground. Kwan decapitated him. Well, figuratively speaking.

  I become even more daunted watching Cuyler recover from his simulated death. When his suit is turned off, he rakes his hands over his neck. He grabs his head to be sure it’s still there. It takes several minutes of him repeating these actions before he’s convinced that he is actually intact and alive. Once he gets to his feet, he stumbles off the course and over to the medical citizens. He’ll need to be checked out after the hard fall he took from the tree. The blow he took to his neck will most likely leave bruising if not more serious injuries.

  “Kwan is the winner,” the announcer declares. “That ends the first round for the male trainees. Now for the girls . . . ”

  The crowd responds with enthusiasm.

  When they finally quiet down, the male announcer continues, “Our first pairing will be Bria and Neima. Take your places and wait for the alarm.” The announcer is to the point and blunt.

  The two girls leave us on the benches for their chance at first place in the Second Trial. They both present themselves as fierce warriors, ready for battle. I already know that Neima will win this match by a landslide, so I don’t watch the massacre after the alarm rings. Instead, I stare off into the audience across from me. I notice that there are lots of empty seats. Only a small portion of the stadium is occupied, because there are not enough Exalted to fill them. Only when the Exalted, citizens, and Ambassadors sit in the stadium together, do we fill all the seats. This rarely happens and in fact has only happened five or six times since I’ve been born. Sometimes, when there are a large number of Takings they will hold a gathering to remind the Exalted of their promises and duties to the Republic. They make everyone attend to bear witness, thus putting more pressure on the Exalted to be even stronger and more loyal.

  The alarm rings again, sounding the end of female trainees’ first match. A bird screeches overheard and flaps frantically away from the speaker next to the announcer’s box. The crowd begins beating their feet against the stadium floor, acknowledging the victor. There’s so much noise. I can’t decide where to look, but I finally settle on the arena, and I see that I was right. Bria is sprawled out on the ground with her arrows strewn around her body. Her arms and legs spread wide, like she’s trying to make the letter “X” on the ground. After her suit is turned off, she wakes up and rubs the center of her stomach. She pulls her hand away, searching for the blood that she won’t ever find. Neima must have whacked her with her spiked club, right in the center of her gut.

  After the girls leave the stage and announcer deems Neima victor, he calls up another pairing. “Etana and Valesca. Take your places.”

  He didn’t call my name . . . I want to get this over with. Nervous energy is consuming me. I can’t stand the waiting. I don’t want to watch this match either, but I also can’t bear not to. It’s Val.

  As my best friend faces off against Etana and her unusually slim club, my stomach knots up even more. I want my friend to win. I want her to finish unharmed. But, I don’t want to have to fight her. I sit on my hands to keep them from shaking. I decide that if I never felt nervous again, it would not be an emotion I would miss.

  When the alarm sounds, Val sprints in a wide circle around the perimeter of the course. What is she doing? This is a new approach we haven’t seen yet today. She grabs an arrow, strings it up, and lets it fly—all while running at full speed. Etana, surprised by Val’s behavior, fails to block the attack. The mock arrow strikes her calf. Even if she didn’t have the computerized suit on, the force of the hit would have been enough to cause her leg to buckle. She falls to her knees. Val is still running in a wide circle. She sends off another shot, but Etana dodges the arrow this time. Val’s opponent ducks and rolls away.

  Val runs for the safety of a tree, just like Cuyler did. I silently yell, “No! Didn’t you see what happened to Cuyler?” I hope she has a better plan than he did. Unfortunately, she never makes it up the tree. Etana uses the momentum from her roll, to stand and launch her club at Val. It flies through the air, somersaulting as it goes. I hold my breath as it moves toward my friend in slow motion.

  Etana’s club lands right in the middle of Val’s back. It sends her face first into the ground. I wince and fight to control my urge to go help her. I also realize what the smaller club is good for. It’s light enough to throw at someone.

  As Val falls, she loses hold of her bow, and her arrows fly out of her quiver. Fortunately, the blow doesn’t seem to cause too much injury, although I’m not sure how that’s possible. Val rolls over and grabs for the closest weapon within reach—Etana’s club.

  They stand only a few feet apart, Val with Etana’s club and Etana weaponless. This doesn’t stop Etana from attacking. Thinking Val is useless with a club, Etana tries to tackle her around the waist, but Val cracks the club down on the top of her back. She swings and hits her again. Etana drops to the ground after the second hit.

  I want to jump up and cheer and laugh for my victorious friend. Val just beat Etana with Etana’s own weapon! Etana is going to regret that after the instructors get a hold of her. Her scores will not be good for this round. The irony is too much for me, so I cover my smiling mouth with the sleeve of my nanosuit.

  Once again, the same monotone voice comes over the speakers. “Valesca is the winner. Exit the course and take your seat among the other trainees. Our next match will be between Mena and Trudi! Take your places.”

  Jolted out
of the cheerful moment, I realize that my name was just called. So was Trudi’s. I stand because I know that’s what I’m supposed to do. I look around at the stomping audience. They are pounding their feet, but I can’t hear any of it. I can’t hear anything, except the pounding of my heart and a bird screeching again. My feet feel like they’re stuck in thick mud, sinking deeper with each step. I have to force them to move forward. I step into the arena where I will face my first opponent of the day. Hopefully, she will not be my last.

  I glance back into the audience. Ethan and Az are stomping along with the crowd, watching me as I take my starting position on the course. My feet are planted firmly in the sand. They are shoulder width apart. My core is tight, and my hair is slicked back under my nanosuit away from my face. I may look like I’m ready for this, but my insides are disagreeing.

  The bird no longer screams, the air is still, the sky is clear, and Trudi stands facing me, ready to strike with her long sleek mock sword. Her hand hovers just over the hilt as she stares into my eyes. She grabs the weapon and pulls it out with one fluid movement.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The alarm must have gone off. I didn’t hear it.

  Around me, the world slows for a moment. Trudi and I are the only ones here. I block out all sounds, including the internal drumming that starts at the center of my chest and radiates outward. I take one deep breath. That’s all it takes.

  Everything speeds back up. I’m ready for this fight now. I’m a trained killer. I am confident. I am strong.

  I pull out two daggers. I hold one in each hand as I walk toward the flame haired Trudi. She patiently waits for me. I throw my daggers at her, hoping to surprise her. She blocks one, but the second brushes her upper arm. I’m surprised to see that she doesn’t even flinch. I quickly replace the daggers with two fixed-blade skinning knives.