Leaning forward, I’m in a crouched position. Blood howls through my body with the ferocity of gale-force wind.
“Don’t,” Sully says in a low voice. “Think of June.”
I turn to face him. He’s breathing as heavily as I am. Fury lights his eyes. He feels as I do. I can sense it; feel the tremor of a great tempest brewing in not just me, but him, too.
He holds my gaze for several tense beats then I look away, Mr. Derrick’s voice returning me to the scene unfolding.
“Next!” His eyes scan the class. They land on a lean boy with rich, dark skin like Jericho. “You. Come on!”
The boy stands and rolls his shoulders back. On the surface he looks brave, but I wonder if I’m alone in seeing the tremor in his hand when he reaches for the sword Mr. Derrick offers.
As soon as the sword is in his hand, the instructor wastes no time and doesn’t allow a minute to pass. He hops forward, his movements jerky. The boy swipes in a wide arc, handling his wooden weapon with more dexterity than the ones before him, but he’s not a match for Mr. Derrick. The man blocks his strikes then as soon as the boy moves to swing, he jabs his sword into his stomach. The boy doubles over, dropping his sword and clutching his midsection. As he bends, Mr. Derrick drives the handle of his weapon into the boy’s back. An anguished howl rips through the air. The boy drops to the floor.
“Dead!” Mr. Derrick beams gleefully. He pauses dramatically. “None of you have learned a thing!”
The pressure inside me surges so intensely, I can no longer contain it. Springing to my feet, I shout, “Enough! They’re just kids. You’re supposed to be teaching them. Not abusing them!” The words rush from me in a furious torrent.
For a moment, his eyes are wide, and he’s stunned still. But quickly, he rebounds and his eyes narrow to spiteful points. “How dare you speak out of turn, filthy surface dweller!” he hollers. “You are a student, and I am a teacher!” He turns, thinking he’s cowed me into silence. Clearly, he’s thought wrong.
“Too bad there’s nothing you can teach me.” I do not tame the raging contempt running rampant in my tone. “You aren’t even that good. You’re just fighting children who don’t have the skills you’re supposed to be teaching them yet. So yeah, you look really tough beating up little kids, but trust me, you wouldn’t stand a chance with an Urthman.”
A cruel snicker passes through his wafer-thin lips. That snicker quickly devolves into a bizarre, hysterical cackle. “Not that good. Not that good! Are you kidding me? I’m the best fighter in New Washington!”
“New Washington’s in trouble if that’s the case,” I retort.
Mr. Derrick sucks in his cheeks so tightly, for a moment I worry his face will cave in. When finally he takes a breath and speaks, disbelief mixed with arrogance peppers his words. “I suppose you think you are a better fighter.”
“Oh I don’t think it. I know it.” My tone is as steely as my expression.
To my right, I hear Will whisper my name. “Avery, come on. Knock it off.” I feel his eyes on me, and can see him in my periphery. He’s turned to face me.
“Come on then, bigmouth. What’re you waiting for? Show me how good you are.” Mr. Derrick prances with his arms wide, his gestures flamboyant. I wonder if he realizes how silly he looks strutting around as he is. With long arms and legs like a frog, an undersized torso, and his straggly ponytail, his gestures are meant to intimidate but end up being little more than buffoonery.
“Avery, don’t!” Will insists quietly.
Every fiber of my being longs to spar with Mr. Derrick. His abuse of power, his abuse of the children urges me. June is the reason I want to silence him, and she’s also the reason I should sit down and close my mouth.
“Come on, Avery. Just let it go,” Will begs. I glance over my shoulder at him. His aquamarine eyes plead. For a split-second, I contemplate doing as he says. My knees buckle ever so slightly, the space between Sarah and Sully just a bend away. All I need to do is lower myself to the floor.
But I can’t.
I picture June and Riley, their small, shivering frames cowering under the tyrannical threats of Mr. Derrick. Or worse, the girls enduring the physical cruelty he doled out readily just during the span of this session. No, I can’t sit down. I look away from Will, swiveling my head toward Sully. He smirks, and the twinkle in his eyes when they lock on mine tells me he already knows what I plan to do. He knows what’s going to happen. And glittering in the depths of his brown eyes, I see he stands beside me.
“Don’t mind if I do.” I accept Mr. Derrick’s challenge and step forward. I enter the edge of the circle and pick up the wooden sword, swinging it in a figure-eight and crossing my body from right to left. My muscles are warm, heated by anger, and the sword is light in my hands.
Mr. Derrick holds his weapon in one hand, his arm away from his body. His stance is cocky, and foolish. He will learn this soon enough.
Hopping several steps and adding to his frog-like appearance, he advances, swiping his blade at me in sloppy, lopsided arcs. I sidestep him with ease then raise my weapon, toying with him. He snarls, revealing yellowing teeth, when our wooden blades connect and I effortlessly deflect his feeble attempt to knock me in my temple.
Thoroughly incensed by the ease with which I avert him, he starts taking heated, wild swipes, slashing at me as if he holds a machete and is trying to clear tall brush. I spin to my right, turning so that I’m behind him, and lunge, striking the back of his head with my weapon. “Dead!” I shout.
Mr. Derrick groans and stumbles forward, nearly losing his footing. The room erupts in chatter. Faces are etched in shock. All except for Will, Sarah and Tom. Tom’s head is lowered and Sarah’s is buried against Will’s shoulder. Will looks away, his eyes cast to Sully who’s on his feet and beaming.
“Again!” Mr. Derrick has regained his footing and is circling once more. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grimaces, looking disheveled.
We square off. He assumes what he believes is a fighting stance, while I’ve maintained mine all along. He charges, storming me with a deranged look I’ve never seen a human wear. “Ahh!” he cries nasally as he hefts his sword overhead and moves to skull me.
I drop to one knee and slide, striking him in his stomach before I’m clear of his attack. “Dead!” I bark.
Mr. Derrick holds his torso for a moment then whirls to face me. His expression is feral. He’s in a full rage. He storms toward me in a blur of flailing arms and flushed skin. No longer sparring for the sake of teaching, he intends to hurt me.
I defend myself, fending off swing after swing, until he leaves his left side open. He’s left so many parts of his body vulnerable to attack I have trouble choosing which one to exploit. I settle on his left flank and strike his ribs hard. He immediately grabs his side, which is undoubtedly throbbing, and he drops to his knees. And when he does, I smack him in the face with my sword.
“Dead!” I yell for the benefit of onlookers. Cheers erupt. Children of all ages are on their feet clapping and shouting. I’m vaguely aware of the word “Azlyn” rising and falling among the tide of exuberance. While the commotion is under way, I bend and hiss, “You need to find a better way to teach these kids.”
After several moments of applauding, Mr. Derrick sits up slowly. “Class is over. Go!” He waves in defeat, humiliation seeping from every pore.
I drop the wooden sword I clutch and make my way to Sully, Jericho, Will, Sarah and Tom. Everyone looks exceedingly concerned save for Sully and Jericho.
“Ready to go?” Sully winks and asks nonchalantly.
He leads us out of the self-defense classroom and into the hallway. I grab him by the arm and he turns to face me. “Sully, what’s Azlyn? I heard it again in there. What does it mean? You said it’s a children’s story, but I don’t understand.”
“It’s from a children’s storybook that’s now banned down here. But the story is still told to children.”
I roll my hand forward, p
rompting him to tell me more.
“The story’s about a girl with blonde hair who leads the children of the underground city to the surface and defeats the Urthmen. She leads humankind back to power.”
“So they think I’m a fairytale leader?” I ask.
“Well, they’ve never seen anything like this before.” He lifts a ringlet of my pale-blonde hair and wraps it around his finger.
I’m about to ask more questions when a group of kids approaches us.
“That was amazing!” a tall, lanky girl says.
“How did you learn to do that?” a boy asks.
“Did you really live above ground with the Urthmen?” another asks.
Catching my breath and reeling a bit from the sudden barrage of questions and unfamiliar faces so close to mine, I take a deep breath and a step back. “We all lived above ground.” I gesture among Sully, Jericho, Will, Sarah and Tom. “And if we didn’t know how to fight, we’d be dead.”
“You’ve fought Urthmen?” The boy in front of me has his mouth partly open. His eyes are wide.
“Of course, we didn’t have a choice. It’s part of life up there,” I say and point overhead.
“Not for all of us,” Sarah chimes in.
I look at her quizzically. “What do you mean?”
“Some of us were slaves,” she replies and drops her gaze to her feet. Her brother lowers his eyes, too.
For the first time since meeting Sarah, I actually pity her.
My pity is short-lived when Will grabs my upper arm and spins me in his direction. He pulls me to the side, a haunted look creating lines around his eyes. “Avery, this is exactly what President Sullivan warned us about. You putting on a show and telling these kids about how great it is fighting for our lives is exactly what’s going to get us thrown out.” His tone is harsh. His eyes flash with fear-filled annoyance. It’s difficult to listen past it and truly hear what he’s saying, but I force myself to. And while I’m loath to admit it, I know he’s right.
Slowly, I nod. “You’re right,” I concede. “You’re right. I don’t want to get us kicked out. June, Riley and Oliver, they need this place. They’ll do well here.”
“And so will we,” he adds, his voice softer. He releases my arm and steps back. “All of us have a chance at a real life here, a future that doesn’t include running from Urthmen or bloodthirsty beasts in the forest. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
His point has been made. He isn’t telling me anything I don’t already know, yet somehow, hearing him say the words, out loud, punctuates the point radically.
I return to the group of children and explain to them how hard life is above ground and how lucky they are to be safe and with their families. They listen, rapt, and when I’m finished, I am confident I’ve impressed upon them the importance of appreciating what they have and where they are.
The rest of my day is spent attending classes and behaving myself in a manner I imagine President Sullivan would approve of. By the end of the day, classes are over and I return to my room. I’m exhausted, only unlike exhaustion born of hunting and hiking all day, which causes my muscles to burn from exertion, today, my legs feel leaden from underuse. Sitting all day is foreign to me. Aches worm their way into my joints, and my temples throb from the overload of information thrown at me. Seeing June’s face brightens my day immediately.
Fast asleep and curled in a ball on her bed, it’s obvious she had a long, tiring day, as well. I decide not to wake her until dinner and stretch out on my own bed. As I lie with my arms folded behind my head, I hope my actions today in the self-defense classroom do not come back to hurt us. Although I don’t regret teaching Mr. Derrick what I believe was a well-earned, well-deserved lesson in humility, being the reason my sister and the others are forced from New Washington is not part of my goal. They deserve safety, comfort, and the possibilities of what lies ahead of them, even if I’m not a part of them.
Chapter 16
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep or what time it is, only that I fell asleep shortly after dinner, when a hand claps across my lips, firm fingers biting into the skin around my mouth. Startled awake, my eyes snap open. Bleary and unfocused at first, they struggle against the thick blanket of darkness coating my room. My heart gallops madly as if I’ve just sprinted up a steep hill. Only no hill has been scaled. I am flat on my back with a hand clamping my mouth. My eyes dart from side to side. I strain to scan my surroundings. I’m able to make out two large shapes, inky and imposing against the dimness of the room. I start to sit up, contracting my abdominal muscles and lurching forward, but am halted by hands that pin a leg and arm on either side of my body to the bed, and a voice at my ear. “You don’t want to wake June and scare her so don’t make a sound.” The voice is low, and though no threat of violence has been issued, it quivers with the promise of danger.
I freeze as the gravity of the situation settles over me. My heart leaps from my chest to my throat. Strangers are in my room, dangerously close to my sister. Every muscle in my body tenses. Innumerable thoughts race through my brain. I attempt to writhe inasmuch as I can, but am met with resistance; and the voice in my ear.
“Be still, Avery.” Warning slithers through his words with serpentine deliberateness. “President Sullivan wants to speak with you,” the male voice commands.
A fine sheen of sweat breaks out on my body and I feel the color drain from my face. President Sullivan wants to speak with me. He sent his henchmen out in the middle of the night to retrieve me. This is not a social call. I’ll be brought to the President to answer for my behavior.
Dread courses through my veins and pumps in time with my chaotic heartbeat. My throat constricts and my eyes burn. I can’t believe I’ve done this to June. I can’t believe I allowed my reflexive need to teach Mr. Derrick a lesson to prevail. The consequences of my behavior have yet to be revealed, but I’m certain they’ll be dire.
“We’re going to move you now. Remember, not a sound,” the voice whispers.
I nod in agreement. I’ve already destroyed June’s life. The least I can do is allow her uninterrupted sleep for the next hour or so.
The hulking forms lift me off the bed and transport me to the door. Once they place me on my feet and see that I’m cooperating, they escort me. A man is positioned on both sides, each clutching the upper portion of my arm tightly, and another, the one I presume did all the talking, leads the way.
I do not turn to see the faces of the men handling me. I don’t dare attempt to worsen an already awful situation. All I’m able to see in my periphery is that the men are tall and broad, not nearly as tall and broad as Jericho, but close. The man walking ahead of us has considerable height as well, but is leaner.
Swallowing hard, I decide to ask them a question that’s burning in my mind. “What’s the reason for grabbing me in the middle of the night?” I try to sound as calm and peaceable as possible. It’s a struggle. I’d like nothing more than to shout and fight every step of the way, and would, were it not for June and the others.
“I already told you,” the man in front of us says with cool indifference, never breaking stride.
“But if you’re going to throw me out, why not just do it? That is after my sword is returned to me.” Keeping the argumentative edge from my voice is close to impossible. I want to scream but manage to speak calmly. “What’s the point of dragging me to the President’s castle when I’m getting kicked out? Why bother with all the pageantry, the middle of the night visit?”
“I’m not throwing you out, yet.” The man replies and emphasizes the word “yet.”
Yet. So I’ll be lugged to President Sullivan’s residence, lectured and yelled at, and then have the distinct displeasure of being returned to the surface with my sister and friends. I wonder whether that is how the situation will play out. It certainly seems as though that’s the direction in which it’s heading.
Interaction between me and the men ceases as I am ushered down a long dre
ary hallway lined with doors then through an equally dreary tunnel that seems never-ending and impossibly narrow.
Just when I’m about to beg them to run so that we can exit the claustrophobic passageway as soon as humanly possible, the walls widen and the ceiling lifts. Gray and brown stone gives way to crisp, bright beige walls. Warm light shines from up ahead, and the scent of freshly baked bread permeates the air. I know we’ve left the area in which June and I stay, that the General Population ward is far behind us. We are in Washington Central.
Stepping out into the soft light cast by lampposts that line the street, the difference between this area and the other is glaring. In only two days’ time, I managed to forget the picturesqueness of the landscape. Here, attractive structures built of rock are lit cozily from within and cobbled stone glistens; its glimmer is highlighted by the tall lamps that glow every hundred or so feet. It’s a far cry from the soot-covered factories that line the streets on the other side of the city, that’s for sure. The sight of it makes me feel inexplicably angry.
Passing the increasingly larger buildings, we reach a set of ornate iron gates. The man leading us pushes a button on a small metal box and a voice crackles from it. “Yes?” the voice demands.
The man replies, “I have Avery.” The gates part, as if commanded by his statement, and the President’s castle of stone menaces on the crest above us.
Rising and soaring as far as I’m capable of seeing, the castle instills an instinctive sensation of distress in me. My mouth goes dry and my heart resumes its fitful pounding. The building teems with hostility that is almost palpable.
The three men and I enter through the same heavy door I entered the first time I was brought here by Opal. A space filled with polished, shiny articles greets us, and our shoes move soundlessly over gleaming floors. We climb a wide, curved staircase to the second floor and follow a lavish hallway to a door I recognize.
A winged bird in flight with its lethal talons poised to attack and its beak wide is carved into rich, dark wood. It is ringed in gold; an emblem I assume represents the President.
The Underground City (Book 3): Planet Urth, no. 3 Page 17