I am clearly not made for a hammock. The other girls in the dormitory sleep without complaint, but every time I am on the verge of sleep, I almost pitch from the hammock onto the floor below. Everything is uncomfortable here. From the vast amounts of water to the hammocks, I am forever uneasy. Pinned underneath my body, my arm goes numb, and I glare into the darkness as turn over again.
Too fast.
My foot becomes entangled in the fabric and I dump my entire body on the ground. I untangle my foot and yank my blankets from the hammock, giving up entirely on the idea of sleep within its folds. I cocoon myself on the floor and drift off, no longer caring what my roommates think of the crazy girl on the floor.
Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty seconds of peace. I begin to fall away from the floor, into the first respite since coming here. It doesn’t last for long.
The door slams open not twenty seconds later, and Arlette storms in, lighting our stones with a torch. She is gentle but forceful with her approach to waking up the entire dormitory, shaking some girls awake and refusing to take no for an answer. Her feet stop right in front of my nose and we lock gazes, my body still wrapped tightly in blankets. She raises one eyebrow and moves on to Claire’s hammock without comment.
I follow the footsteps of the other trainees upstairs to a balcony overlooking the Resistance. The underground lake yawns beneath us, and my stomach drops viciously. All traces of exhaustion leave my system as adrenaline rushes through my body and sheer panic takes over. I force myself to take mechanical steps away from the railing, to pin myself against the rock wall as the rest of the trainees file in behind me. As long as I am pinned to the wall, no one can force me to the front. I’m small enough that maybe their bodies will block my view of the water below, and I can pretend that there is nothing there— that the cavern turns into an abyss rather than a lake.
The blonde girl from earlier— Claire— plants herself against the wall beside me and sags, her honey colored eyes decorated with dark circles. She is at least half a foot taller than me, and I feel even more like a child standing next to her. I will sink into the background with this rock wall and no one will notice me.
Claire lets out a half-sigh, half-moan as the other trainees swarm around us, their eyes on a haggard man at the very edge of the balcony. His eyes are cold.
His eyes skim over me, lighting on the bigger trainees, or the ones chattering in small groups.
“This is crazy,” Claire says from beside me. “We didn’t even get an hour of sleep.”
“We got about four hours,” I say, watching Quinn argue with a boy nearby.
“How do you know?” she asks.
“Because we went to bed at 11 and it’s 3 now.”
A hush falls around the room as I finish my words. Several heads nearby turn to stare at me, and I’m left wondering what in the world I did. I clamp my mouth shut and try to sink into the wall, but it’s too late. The man’s steel gaze snaps to my face, and now all eyes are on me.
My words are taboo here, that much is clear. I can see it in the fear that pales the faces around me— in the furtive glances that are directed at the man, waiting for his reaction.
“Girl. What’s your name?” He growls the words, his voice like glass shards. I have no choice but to answer him, but it takes Claire nudging me in the ribs before I can snap out of my stupor to reply.
“Kestril.”
“Kestril,” he repeats. My name sounds wrong in his voice. My palms turn clammy against my side, and I can faintly hear the other trainees breathing. This man is a time bomb. Each and every one of the people around me expect him to explode.
“Come here.” My limbs freeze. I can’t move. Because ‘here’ means closer to the edge of the balcony— near the water. I can’t do it. My legs twitch, but I make no forward progress. He narrows his eyes. “Are you disobeying my order, soldier?”
“No, sir.”
“Then why aren’t you moving?” He stops briefly on each word, his voice low. I take a halting step forward, partially helped along by Claire’s nudge. She might just want me away from her, since I’ve so clearly made myself a target. I can’t say I blame her.
My first step turns into a series of hesitant steps towards the edge. I clutch my hands to the side of my jacket to hide the shaking. But it doesn’t matter. My hatred for water will come out soon, whether I try to hide it or not.
I halt in front of the man and stare at his boots, because looking up requires that I acknowledge the water below.
“Kestril.” He says my name like a swear word. Not even twelve hours into my stay in the Resistance, and I’ve encountered a man who hates me enough to turn my name into a curse. It has to be some kind of record. “Do you understand why we’re here?” he asks.
“No, sir.” My mother taught me constantly to say ‘yes sir’ and ‘no ma’am’, but I’ve never found the skill useful until now. Right now the automatic response is life, and I am thanking her profusely in my head.
“You are here to detach yourself from time, trainee. The Errant can step outside of time. They live, breathe, and die by what they make of time. But you will be different. If any of you so much as thinks the time, I will throw you off this balcony myself. And you won’t hit the water.”
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It takes every ounce of my self control to remain standing in front of this man. It is so quiet on the balcony that my own breathing sounds loud and disproportionate in my head. My hands maintain their sweaty grip on the edge of my jacket as the man speaks again.
He narrows his eyes at me, and then reaches out to grab my arm, jerking me closer towards the edge with a bruising grip. My breath quickens as I catch a glance of the water below, and realize how easily he could throw me in. My inability to swim would hardly matter at this height, though. I would be dead as soon as I hit the water.
“Morran, don’t.” Arlette’s voice. I am frozen as my body debates with my mind over what to do. I have to fight every ounce of training that begs I retaliate. Because to do so will end badly here. My fighting skills are limited to other girls, fighting in a controlled, caged environment. Not here, with so many unpredictable variables. Not here, where there is an aftermath to all physical actions I take. So I continue to stand there, avoiding the sight of the water, as every muscle in my body protests the movement towards the edge. Morran’s grip is painfully tight against my arm.
“Morran—” Arlette’s protests have no effect. Morran drags me closer to the edge until I am wishing fervently for any way out of the situation. My head spins. My arms tingle and go numb entirely. I force myself to take deep breaths, and the spinning calms slightly— enough for me to see some logic.
He wouldn’t kill a trainee the first day, would he? I want to say no, but I realize that by singling me out like this, he has made me an unforgettable example. Of the group of other trainees that looks on, none will forget this. None will forget that it could have been them. If he throws me over the edge it will only make his point stronger.
Arlette moves closer, a flash of warning in her eyes as she locks gazes with Morran. Either I have misjudged her entirely or her motives are far different than I previously thought. Regardless, her dissent seems to have some effect on Morran. His grip loosens slightly and the tugging motion towards the edge weakens a bit. I let out a breath of air I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
“Girl, do you know what people look for in a young Errant?”
“No, sir.” I still barely know what the Errant are. All I know is that it is a very bad thing for anyone to be.
“An uncanny ability to tell the time,” he says. His voice rasps as his vocal cords tense up. By the vein pulsing at the side of his neck, and the snapping quality of his steel eyes, I can tell that he is just barely holding back an outburst. All I want to do is sink back into the wall again, away from the prying eyes of the other trainees.
“Can you explain how you know the time, soldier?” His voice is too quiet now. I flinch as he asks the question. The obvious answer, of course, is that I glanced at my locket before coming here, and before going to bed earlier. But I can hardly give that information away now.
Lie, a voice says. Lying is not something that comes readily to me. But I try anyway.
“I just…know,” I say. Too late I realize I’ve set a trap for myself. Knowing instinctively is likely even worse than possessing the locket. But without knowing its significance, how can I be sure? I try to backpedal. “Lucky guess, sir.”
“Luck doesn’t exist, sweet.” I hate the way he clips his words— the way every sentence becomes a sneer even as his face remains blank. He stares at me for another moment before he releases my arm. Inwardly, I sigh, my shoulders sagging with relief. But Morran continues to stare at me. By the time I realize he is not done with me, it’s too late to dodge.
His hand swings through the air to collide with my face, and the blow makes my vision go black for a moment as I hit the ground. I sit up slowly, my face on fire, and something warm trickling down my cheek. For a moment it is all I can do to sit in shock and rage on the ground as my cheek swells.
I want to send myself flying at him, to hurt him in any way possible. The strength of my desire to hurt him shocks, then shames me. I look away finally, and he laughs.
No one dares move. Because I am an example. Somehow, without my intending this, my plan to stick to the shadows has gone horribly awry. And now no one will align themselves with the girl Morran has singled out.
“That…” Morran says, jabbing his thumb in my direction,”…is how you wash out here. If one of you so much as utters the time, whines about the time, even thinks about the time, I will personally throw you off this balcony. That is the only warning. Questions?”
It is a challenge to those still dumb enough to question his authority. I try to get to my feet, slowly, and Claire is by my elbow, dragging me to a standing position. Morran’s eyes snap to her tall figure, and at once I am wishing fervently that she hide against the wall again.
“Do you want to eat for the next week?” he asks. Claire remains silent, but her grip as she pulls me up is strong. I glance at her face. Her eyes are unwavering, her chin thrust forward in a stubborn fashion. Morran has already lost this one. She has robbed him of the intimidation he so heavily relies on to threaten the group. But I feel like Claire has lost more. Morran won’t forget this.
This time, though, he concedes, shooting us another venomous glare before storming off. From the hallway, I hear him shout, “Training in an hour.” Then a pause before he adds, “You’ll regret doing this, girls. I promise.”
The hair at the back of my neck stands up as the other trainees file out from the balcony, giving us a wide berth. The more timid ones won’t even look at us, and I direct my glares towards their backs as they file out. As soon as everyone is gone, I round on Claire.
“Are you crazy?” I ask. Claire’s eyes are puzzled as she replies.
“Of course not,” she says. “I helped you up. That’s all.”
“With an insane person marking me for dead,” I say. “Do you want to die?” Claire laughs, the laughter not quite reaching her eyes.
“He’s all bark and no bite.” Then her smile pulls down into a frown as her eyes lock on my cheek. “Or maybe not.” I touch my hand to my cheek and wince, drawing away a hand soaked in blood. Claire opens her mouth to speak again, but hesitates as her eyes flick over my shoulder. I follow her gaze to see Arlette approaching, her face as no-nonsense as it was a earlier.
“I’ll see you at breakfast,” Claire says, then darts off down the staircase, avoiding Arlette’s scrutiny.
Arlette looks me up and down, her gaze critical as she mulls something over. Then her face settles again into her glare of disapproval that I am already becoming too familiar with.
“Your friend is wrong about Morran,” she says quietly. He eyes drift to my cheek and the scowl sinks further into her face. “Let’s do something about that gash,” she says. I follow her mutely down the staircase, wondering briefly whose side Arlette is on. She is someone to watch. Where her eyes follow there will be trouble, and from that I can learn more about the Resistance than from any other source.
As she sinks into the stairwell she turns around briefly, a smile creeping onto her face. It evolves into a full, wolfish grin. I wonder if she eats trainees who don’t make it through the trials.
“Welcome to the Resistance,” she says.
Welcome, indeed. I follow her without comment, deciding that at least if I must have enemies, it’s good that they have a sense of humor.