That’s it.
Cylus sighs. “I guess I should teach you something. Today, I have already taught you that you have a call to serve others. I have also taught you the three hemazuric fluids—blood, sweat, and saliva. But let me also tell you one other thing. Be careful not to overuse it, but do try it. If you add a drop of blood to dirt, you can send the dirt anywhere you can see.”
With that, Cylus nods and disappears.
And that’s it, though I can see how it would have been helpful when those men attacked us. I’ll try it later, though. Ler and Dynd are out in the cold.
Once again, a stone platform rises out of the dirt next to me. I place my hand on it, and I’m taken out of the chamber. It’s late evening now, and the rain has turned to snow.
“Hello!” Ler says happily as soon as he sees me. “That was fast.”
“What did you learn?” Dynd asks gruffly.
“I learned more about Azureans. And I learned who Wynn’s father is.”
“How is that relevant?”
I shrug. “Our next stop is the mountain gate with the stone guards.”
Dynd swears.
“Can we get there before winter?”
“No,” Dynd says. “We have to return to Keeper and wait out the next eight months until the snows melt. We would die on a journey up the canyon now. The snow is already here. We should scale up the cliff now, before it gets too wet from the storm.”
I mull over Cylus’s words on the way up. I’ve received a lot of information, but I still don’t know a thing about how to defeat Wynn. I’m going to need a lot more information if I’m going to help anyone. I can see why Dee was so distraught when she realized what was required of her.
6 Interruption
Brit
Greg smiles across the table and takes my hand, but I pull back and fumble in my purse.
I need to do this.
“Brit,” he says. “I’m not sure what’s wrong tonight.”
Over the Christmas holidays, I convinced myself that I could do this. That I would do it. Why is it so hard now?
I give a half-hearted smile. “What do you mean?”
“You seem preoccupied. You’d think that after not seeing me for three weeks, you’d be a little more excited. You’ve been stuck with your mother all this time. I expected you to be a little more amorous.”
I bite my lip as the tears threaten to start. I love my mother. My brother died a few months back, for crying out loud. How can he speak down to my family like that? Like my world should revolve around him, and all the relationships I’ve built over the last nineteen years aren’t important anymore. I pull a tissue from my purse and blow my nose. He hates it when I do that.
“You know what, let’s get out of here. The food wasn’t great anyway.” Greg waves at the waitress who hurries over and takes his card.
He’s wrong about that, too. The food was amazing. Expensive.
Greg puts my coat on for me. I like it when he does that. He puts his hand on the small of my back and leads me out to his car. I like that, too. It’s raining, but not too hard. Greg opens my door and helps me get into the car before going to his door.
Is breaking up with him really the right thing?
Yes it is. I take a deep breath. I can’t do another semester like this.
We don’t say much through the dark streets. The windshield wipers glide across our view of the city lights as the car winds through the darkness.
Greg. We met in chemistry, and it seemed like fate. More chemistry than equations on homework assignments. A lot of girls gave me jealous stares when I studied with him. I’ve never done so well in a class before.
But Lydia was right. When she asked if he was going to take me to Waunakee for the funeral, I saw it for the first time. He had good excuses, and he’s really busy with work and school. But, I can’t get her question out of my head. She didn’t have to say anything else to tell me what she thought. If Greg really cared about me, he would have taken me to Waunakee. A guy needs to be willing to put the needs of his lady ahead of his own. The more I think about it, the more I realize Greg never does.
Lydia is the kind of person you can count on. It’s so sad that she got hurt because she deserved to be there with us when we beat Cal for the conference championship. I’ll have to call her sometime soon; it feels like forever since I talked to her. I’ve been so busy with Greg that I haven’t had a chance. He hates it when I text other people when I’m with him.
Greg stops the car. I have no idea where we are, but it’s dark and the rain is coming down harder.
“Hey babe, it’s time to let all the stress from the holidays go away.” He leans over and puts his arm around my back. He cups my face with his left hand and kisses me.
This isn’t the first time we’ve made out. But this is the first time that I don’t enjoy it. I can feel him getting excited, his hands start to touch my arms, my hands. I pull back, and he kisses my neck.
“Greg, I don’t want this tonight.”
He keeps going.
“Greg, stop.” I push him back. The light is dim, but he looks confused. I doubt any girl has told him to stop before. The confused look makes me feel guilty.
“What’s up?”
“I just don’t want to kiss tonight,” I say, and I look out the window. At nothing.
“What are you talking about?”
“I don’t want to kiss you right now.”
“Brit, you don’t have a boyfriend and then not kiss him. Don’t you think that’s a little selfish?”
He’s right, but his words make me angry anyway. Will he ever put me and what I want first?
Greg tickles my shoulder. I try to shrug him off, but he keeps his hands on me.
“I just bought you dinner.”
“Yeah it was nice.”
“So, can we get past all this silly stuff and get back to kissing?”
“No.”
“You know, if you’re going to act like this, I don’t know if I can go to that silly soccer thing with you on Saturday. I have to move a lot of things around in my schedule to make time for that. And, if we’re fighting, then I won’t come.”
I can feel his frustration in his jerky movement, in the tone of his voice. But I’m not just being silly.
“We’re not fighting, I just don’t want to kiss you right now.”
“Who doesn’t want to kiss this?” He pulls me over into his lap and kisses my face. His strong arms force me into a submissive position. I can’t move away.
“Don’t do that.” I try to push him away, but his grip on me is tight. “I want to go home.” I start to cry.
He finally lets go so I can sit up. “Don’t put on that little girl act,” Greg says, but he does start the car. He’s angry, and it’s my fault. I shouldn’t make him feel angry like that.
“Just take me home.”
“Then no soccer banquet,” Greg says. “I have other arrangements for Saturday.”
Then I have to do this tonight. The tears come harder.
“That’s fine,” I say in a soft voice I’m not sure Greg can hear. He never came to any of my games, either. Is this what a relationship is? You get a hot guy and he takes you to fancy dinner places and to secret make-out spots. I don’t care how rich or how good looking he is. I’m done.
“You know, you really didn’t call me much during break, I really missed you. I’d have expected a little more loyalty from my first girlfriend.”
I slide down in my seat.
“Your Christmas present for me was okay, but I guess I expected you to put a little more thought into it.”
I bite my lip and wish the tears would go away. In just a few minutes I’m going to be alone again. My evenings are going to be free. My life will be back to boring.
The car pulls up to my apartment, and I get out. “Greg, don’t ever call me again.”
He looks stunned. “What?”
“I’m breaking up with you.” I slam the door behind m
e and run.
I did it.
He rolls down the window and fires expletives at me all the way to the door. He doesn’t get out of his car.
He’ll have a new girlfriend tomorrow. I wish her good luck.
I open the door to my apartment, hurry past my roommate, fall on my bed, and cry myself to sleep.
✽✽✽
I wake up late the next morning. I’ve already missed one class, and my second class is just starting now.
Oh well. I’m not going to lose my scholarship for missing two classes. I stumble to the cafeteria downstairs. It’s already deserted, which is good. I need the time alone. I put toast in and sit down at a table with my head on my arms. Why did I break up with Greg after soccer season? I’ve left myself with nothing to do tonight. I don’t have any other friends, and it’s too early in the semester to start studying.
The toast pops and I head back to my room. I collapse on my bed, and then a knock sounds at the door.
I’m still in my clothes from my date the night before. They’re disheveled, but I’m decent.
The knock comes again.
I leave the toast on my pillow and open the door. A man in a police uniform. He has long, blond hair, which is tied behind his back, and he’s really tall. “Can I help you?” I say.
“Yes, I’m looking for Britani Sorenson.”
The sound of my full name makes me cringe. “That’s me.” Why is a police officer looking for me? Is Greg the kind of guy who would try and get revenge for breaking up with him? I’m not the kind of girl who would have an alibi. I barely remember what I did yesterday after I broke up with Greg.
“I’d like to talk to you for a moment, Britani.”
“Please come in,” I say, “and please call me Brit.”
The man smiles and extends his hand. He doesn’t grip mine when I shake it—the dead fish handshake. I cringe again.
“You can call me Bob,” he says, and he comes in and sits down on my roommate’s bed in a really awkward way. I shove a doorstop in the door to keep it open and sit across from him. He grabs a small notebook from his bag. Do most policemen act so casual in others’ homes?
“I’m just going to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay. Are you going to tell me what this is about?”
“It is about a missing person, someone you know.”
“Who?”
“Lydia Miller.”
Lydia? “I didn’t know she was missing.” Why would she be missing?
At least I broke up with Greg. I’ll find out what happened to Lydia. From now on, I’ll pay attention to people who are important to me and spend less time being manipulated. Lydia was there for me when my brother died. How have I not talked to her since?
“When was the last time you saw Lydia?” Bob studies me carefully, stroking a short goatee.
I think for a minute. She didn’t come to the soccer team party after we won conference. And, I don’t think I saw her at any of our games after that. How did I not notice her missing until now?
“At the end of October. My brother died, and she took me out to Waunakee for his funeral.”
“More than three months ago. How interesting. And did you stay in Waunakee the entire time?”
The man’s piercing gray eyes make me squirm. He doesn’t seem like a policeman, but he has a badge. I glance toward the open door. A few girls pass by in the hall. I’m okay.
“Yes, but Lydia didn’t.”
“Really? Where did she go?”
“To Pittsburgh. Right after the funeral.”
Bob is noticeably excited at this news. He leans forward, nearly coming off the bed completely. “No way! Why did she go?”
I stare at him, and he gives me a small smile and sits back on the bed. His behavior makes me hesitate, but I also don’t remember why Lydia went to Pittsburgh. I was in such a poor mental state that I didn’t pay attention. She never talked about family on the east coast, so I don’t think it was that.
“I don’t think I ever asked.”
Bob’s enthusiasm turns into a scowl. “I can arrest you if I feel like you’re hiding information from me,” he says. He straightens his body and stands up. He’s a lot bigger than I am. I sink down in my chair and look back out into the hall. I don’t see anyone out there.
“I would tell you if I could, but I’m not keeping anything from you.” My voice is small now. If this guy tries to attack me, would I be able to scream loud enough to get help?
His eyes bore into mine, and I look down at the floor.
“Okay.” Bob nods. “This was helpful. Please don’t tell anyone about my visit here today. We think Lydia may be in danger, and I don’t want any information getting to the wrong people. If you do tell others about my visit, we will find out and you will regret it.”
“Yes sir,” I whisper as he walks briskly out the door.
What is going on with Lydia? I call her cell phone. I call her room phone. I text her. I email her.
I don’t get an answer back.
Lydia really is missing.
7 Interrogation
Karl
Crack!
Buen’s stick bounces off mine and swings around for the next blow. This one comes stronger, but I deflect it easily. It’s the following blow that Buen puts his weight behind. My arms vibrate and nearly buckle as the sound of the impact echoes around the ring. As soon as Buen pulls back, I duck into a roll. His next swing whooshes over my head as I roll around him and jump to my feet behind him. I bring my stick down as fast as I can.
Buen whirls just in time to deflect my blow. I put too much into this one, and the impact sends my weapon flying across the ring.
“You just died,” he says.
I put my hands on my knees and suck in the humid air. Sweat drips off my face and makes pock marks in the dirt. The afternoon sun beats on my back.
Buen walks across the training ring to retrieve my stick. “You’re getting better. But you’re still too eager to overcommit.”
“I’m not so sure I’m getting better.” This is the tenth match I’ve lost today. It’s been two weeks since I came close to winning one.
“Your body is weak, but it will grow in strength with time.”
I don’t mention that it’s been months already. But I know we’ll keep working. Buen is as tough as nails. He pushes me hard and never lets up. Yet, he’s actually pretty cool. He’s not like the football coaches Dad watches on TV. I’ve seen so many fat men with bright red faces yelling at players. Definitely not Buen.
I feel as weak as I was when I started. Not as sore, maybe, but still weak. Training with Buen is eerily a lot like the first year of graduate school: long hours, intense pressure to succeed, constant exhaustion. It was over a year before I could cope with the pressures of PhD school.
I never thought I’d do it all again.
Buen puts the sticks away and is ready to head to the castle tower for our next workout before my hands come off my knees. I don’t know why he always takes such short breaks. Avoiding pain doesn’t make it any less painful when it comes, but at least it gives us a moment to enjoy our humanity before the next set of torture begins.
I really hate this next exercise. Running stairs. Ten times up and ten times down. Six stories, and we go fast.
“Come on!” Buen yells. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.
I push myself hard on the stairs, keeping my knees high like Buen taught me. My legs burn. Sweat drips off my body and runs into my eyes, but I keep pushing, exerting myself as hard as I can after a long morning of physical exertion. Together we push. Up, up, up. Buen matches my pace, stays by my side. I’ve done this every day for months now. You’d think it would be easier by now, or that my legs would somehow burn less. But even though I’m carrying around less fat and I can start to see muscles forming, it doesn’t feel any easier.
At least after the stairs it will be time for lunch and then horses.
I’ve decided that I really like horses
. I’m pretty sure the horses here are not unlike horses on earth, although I never studied them there. Before Buen, the only things I knew about horses were what I gleaned from movies and one lecture in evolutionary biology during undergrad. The professor referenced several studies that tried to genetically alter the bones in the horse so they were lighter. The horses got faster, but their bones shattered. Evolution had already found the perfect balance between speed and durability.
From what I can tell, these horses have the same delicate slender legs as the horses on earth. But, these horses have evolved differently in other ways, maybe due to genetic drift, maybe due to selection. Their snouts are a little longer, their eyes a little smaller. At least I think that’s why they look funny to me.
Still, I imagine they’re the same species of horse. These horses must have come from earth. I want to sequence the DNA of horses here and horses on earth and figure out how long ago it was that they diverged. I imagine it would be a similar time frame for the people, assuming the people here came from earth.
After feeding, watering, and brushing our horses, we mount and trot around the gardens. We’re just about to break into a gallop when a slave flags us down.
“A message from the Great Wynn,” the slave says, and he hands Buen a scroll. It’s sealed with wax, marked with Wynn’s inscription—the same inscription carved into the slave’s right cheek.
Buen rips open the letter. His jaw sets, and the smile from moments ago disappears.
He hands the paper back to the slave. “Destroy this immediately.” He looks at me with a stern, calloused look. “You will come with me. We do Wynn’s business today.” He kicks his horse and rides hard out of the ring. I keep my horse right behind him, surprised at the first break of our routine since I got here.
But the break in routine doesn’t stop there. I’m given something besides a black robe to wear. Buen and I suit up in armor, and Buen leads the way across the castle grounds to the main gate. Then for the first time since I arrived here in a cart, I cross the threshold and leave the castle grounds. We go into the city.
The Azureans Page 6