The War Outside Page 12

  “Oh,” I say, blushing. “No. We… we don’t use them.”

  “And when you do engage in intercourse, does he finish inside you?”

  “Revered Mother?” I ask, turning my head to look at her.

  She merely looks on with plain but knowing eyes.

  I turn my head to look back at the doctor—who offers little more than a small nod—and sigh. “Yes,” I say, hanging my head. “He does.”

  “How many times have you engaged since your wedding?”

  “Two,” I say.

  “And this occurred both times. Correct?”

  “Yes doctor. I mean, sir.”

  The doctor scribbles a note on his clipboard before standing and walking over to the cupboard. There, he withdraws a small paper box, then pulld from it a small stick that he unsheathes before saying, “Have you ever taken a pregnancy test before?”

  “No,” I say. “I… I haven’t.”

  “You simply urinate on this edge here—” he draws a finger above the surface of the device “—and wait for it to show a plus or a minus sign. A plus means that you are pregnant. A minus sign says you’re not.”

  “You mean to make me take this now?”

  He nods. “Yes. It is standard procedure. There’s a washroom to your left, if you would be so willing.”

  “Which she would,” Mother Terra interjects.

  I rise, and carefully take hold of the stick, knowing that dropping it could be seen as reckless, and as such, defiant.

  You’ve already proved that you are outspoken, my conscience offers. Don’t do something that will get you in trouble.

  The fact that I have managed to make it this far without so much as a slap on the wrist is astounding. Knowing that I could potentially screw everything up here is unnerving to say the least.

  Rather than question it, however, I slide into the washroom, close the door, then make my way to the commode.

  The test, as it develops, is like a slap in the face, and is comparable to someone telling me I am stupid merely for doing what I have been told to do. As I wait for its proclamation—for it to tell me whether yes I am pregnant or no I am not—I rock atop the commode and try my hardest not to succumb to nerves, but find myself doing just that regardless.

  If it’s positive, my conscience offers, you’ll never leave the city. You’ll be stuck here forever.

  “No,” I mumble. “I won’t.”

  “Missus Cross?” the doctor asks. “Is everything all right in there?”

  “Yes sir!” I call. “I—”

  The testing strip shifts before my eyes.

  I swallow, then look down.

  Negative.

  The test is negative.

  I can leave the Glittering City without issue.

  “Doctor,” I say, standing and pulling my pants up my legs. I flush before setting the test on the edge of the sink and washing my hands.

  “May I come in?” he replies.

  I open the door.

  He moves toward the testing strip.

  Mother Terra—waiting outside—narrows her eyes at me, as if judging for any deception.

  “The test is negative,” the doctor says. “She isn’t pregnant.”

  “I guess you’ll be leaving the Glittering City then,” Mother Terra says.

  “I guess,” I say.

  On the outside, I am calm and composed.

  Inside, I am screaming with not only joy, but fear.

  Though I am glad that the test has registered negative, a strange part of me longed for the security a positive result would have brought.

  You would’ve had an excuse, my conscience offers, to not face your fears.

  I realize, however, that I am only exchanging one danger for another.

  Outside, I will be made a target of war.

  At least inside I would’ve had armed guards at my door.

  “Are you okay?” Daniel asks.

  I have barely spoken since my return. Still reeling from the invasion of privacy, and unsure how to feel in light of everything that was asked, I sit in the small chair that rests beside the sprawling window and bathe in the sunlight that streams into the room, unable to face Daniel’s gaze.

  “Kel?” he asks. “Please. Talk to me.”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  “I mean… are you? Really?”

  I cross my arms about myself and shake my head. “I… I don’t…”

  “Don’t what?” Daniel asks.

  “Think so,” I say.

  There is a silence that permeates the room shortly after my declaration. Wafting like mist, and spreading like wildfire, it infects not only me, but Daniel. All I can hear is the sound of our breathing, lax and even, but occasionally trembling.

  I want to cry.

  But you know that’s stupid, my conscience offers. Worthless. That it will do no good.

  So I don’t, and instead, continue to look out the window.

  I should be happy. Relieved. Effortlessly practical about the situation at hand. In the end, I got what I wanted.

  But no. I’m not happy. I’m not relieved, nor am I practical. Rather, I feel like the inside of me has just been open and exposed—carved with a knife meant to make me feel guilty for the simple fact that I am female.

  Closing my eyes, I bow my head, then lean forward until my eyebrows rest against my knees.

  Daniel’s movement as he draws closer should offer some sort of comfort, but instead, it does little more than unnerve me.

  “Kel,” he says. “We should talk about this.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Okay. We should talk about how you’re feel then. At least before you’re shipped off to the Rita Blanca.”

  “You want to know how I’m feeling?” I ask, lifting my eyes to face him. “Do you really want to know?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “How I’m feeling,” I say, “is exposed. Juvenile. Completely and utterly embarrassed over simply existing, for simply being who I am as a woman. I mean… it’s ridiculous. Who could have thought of something so invasive, so demeaning, so barbaric?”

  “The Countess,” Daniel says.

  “What?”

  “I said: The Countess came up with the Process.”

  I’m unable to comprehend what it is he has just said.

  A woman thought of the Process? A woman devised, then implemented it? How can that be possible? How could a woman do that to another woman?

  “Why?” I ask. “Why did she do it?”

  “Because she believes the people of the North to be stupid,” he replies. “Because they held up a leader who hated others. Who tried to knock people over and hold them down. She… did not want anyone else to ever believe the way he did, so… she invented the Process: from beginning, middle, to end.”

  “How could she have done such a thing though?”

  “I don’t know, Kel. All I know is that the Countess is a far greater force than most could ever possibly imagine. She has to be. Who else would be able to kill a president, sway half a country, then reign over a civil war?”

  “I… I don’t know,” I say. “I just… I don’t…”

  I fall back against my seat and turn my head to look out the window.

  For all this fame, and all this glory, I have sacrificed everything.

  Have my heels, so pretty and wonderful, been bathed in blood this whole time?

  I close my eyes to take a deep breath, then come to a horrible realization.

  They have, and it doesn’t take long for me to come to another conclusion.

  Some see me as the arbitrator of the world’s destruction, others the source of its salvation.

  What I truly am is highly dependent on how I play the Countess’ game.

  That is why I must go into the fields.

  That is why I must face the war outside.

  Eleven

  I am loathe to meet the Commandant, much less the Countess herself. This, however, is what I am told I must d
o as I am pulled from the comforts of my room and into the hall by none other than Revered Mother Terra.

  “Remember,” she says as she leads me through the halls, “to listen, and take their commands to heart. This is no game, Kelendra. People’s lives are at stake.”

  Though there is a lump rising in my throat, and though it wishes to keep me from speaking, I nod and say, “Yessum.”

  “You understand what I’m saying. Right?”

  “I do.”

  “And you understand that anything you do once we leave this city could have lasting consequences. Right?”

  “I understand, ma’am.”

  “Good.” Mother Terra comes to a halt. “We’re here.”

  The SADs following us break formation and walk to a nearby door. There, they knock, wait several seconds, then wait for the door to be unlocked by the person inside before turning to face us. “You may enter,” one says.

  Mother Terra steps forward, reaches out, twists the doorknob, then pushes it open.

  Inside stands the Commandant—who, in a simple gray suit with rolled-up sleeves, awaits our entry. “Come,” he says, his deep voice brisk but calming. “We don’t want any prying ears.”

  No, I think. We don’t.

  I try not to look at him too closely as I enter. A part of me is angry over what he’s done to Ceyonne, and as such, I fear that he will see it, which will lead to awkward questions and moronic answers. Because of that reason, I keep my eyes set toward the far window that looks out at the Glittering City, and try my hardest to avoid my gaze as I enter.

  Movement catches my attention.

  I turn, only to find none other than Countess Aa’eesha Dane looking back at me from a long bar along the wall.

  “Hello, Missus Cross,” she says, her voice smooth like velvet over my fingers.

  “Huh-Hello,” I manage.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

  “You as well,” I lie.

  She smirks as she pours herself a drink. “Logan,” she says, turning her attention upon the Commandant as he pursues the Revered Mother across the room. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No,” he says. “We’ve matters to attend to after this.”

  “Suit yourself.” The Countess sips her drink and watches me over the rim of her wine glass. “I take it you have adjusted accordingly, Missus Cross?”

  “Not… exactly,” I say.

  “Oh? Do tell.”

  I glance at the Revered Mother out my peripheral and find that she is looking on expectantly. Gone is her usual, judgmental gaze. In its place rests a content expression that instantly makes me nervous.

  “For one,” I start, returning my gaze to the Countess, “I wasn’t expecting there to be attempts on my life.”

  “Such is the curse of being a public figure,” the Countess says.

  “And for two,” I continue, “I… don’t exactly know what I’m supposed to do now that I’ve—”

  “Gotten what you want?”

  I pale.

  The Countess smiles and says, “There’s no shame in admitting it, dear. You played your trump card. It’s only natural that you’d be confused, given that you’re in over your head.”

  “I… I don’t—”

  “Don’t try to apologize. It’s over. Done with. Decided.” She sips her drink. “That’s why you’re here—to receive guidance about what you should do next.”

  The woman lowers her wine glass to the bar and approaches me slowly, with the intent a predator would have toward its unsuspecting prey. Gaze fixed, lips pursed, she offers a smile that would make anyone uncomfortable before coming to stand before me. “Now,” she says. “About your journey to the Rita Blanca sector.”

  I wait patiently for her to speak.

  Her smile turns into a frown as she says, “You will depart from the Glittering City in exactly one day.”

  “One day?” I ask, to which she responds with a nod. “How am I supposed to prepare in just one day?”

  “That is our conundrum at present, and the reason why you are here.” She purses her lips as she considers me. Then she says, “Had you not been so irrational in your decision making, we could have potentially made it to where you would have more time to prepare.”

  “You’re kidding?” I ask, unable to prevent the laugh that follows. “You honestly think that you would’ve agreed to my decision?”

  “Kelendra!” Mother Terra snaps. “Watch your tongue!”

  “She’s fine,” the Countess replies, her voice soft and mellow but filled with a tinge of malice. “She’s merely… how would we say… emboldened by her position.”

  “Which could be a good thing or a bad thing depending on how she proceeds,” the Commandant adds.

  My heart sinks.

  The man, who is so handsome and striking that his presence immediately commands attention, steps up to the Countess’ side to considers me with his cold blue eyes. He waits a moment to speak, then says, “You are aware that you will be entering what could be a dangerous situation?”

  “Even with soldiers?” I ask.

  The Commandant nods. “Yes. Even with soldiers.”

  I blink.

  He waits for me to speak further. When I don’t, he sighs, runs a hand through his closely-shorn blonde hair, and says, “The Rita Blanca Sector is perhaps the most active encampment positioned along the Great Divide. It is constantly under scrutiny by the North, and any weakness they feel they can exploit they will use to their advantage.”

  “Which is is why you must arrive cautiously,” the Countess adds. “We cannot afford to send a battalion of SADs with you, nor an enormous amount of supplies.”

  “But… you’re still sending them,” I say, choosing my words cautiously as to not draw undue attention to myself. “Right?”

  The Countess nods. “Yes. We are sending supplies, but only an amount that will fit in the two vehicles that will be following the one you will arrive within.”

  “So there’ll be… what? Six SADs in total?”

  “Yes, Kelendra. You will be accompanied by only six.”

  I grimace, but nod. I’m unable to keep from crossing my arms over my chest—which, I imagine in the moments thereafter, is likely a subconscious reaction to the news that I will not be as safe as I initially thought.

  “You will arrive wholesome and in pleasant spirits,” the Countess continues, “unafraid and without shame. You will greet the men professionally, offering smiles and camaraderie and words of thanks for their service. You will also deliver a speech that will be orchestrated by you personally, and deliver a message from myself as the Countess and my husband as the Commandant.”

  “What should I say?” I ask, unsure how to proceed. It seems odd that I would have to write, or at least assemble in part, my own words for this declaration, but realize that they likely want me to come across as personal rather than rehearsed.

  “You will say,” the Commandant states, “that we are thankful as a country for their service, and that we are honoring said service and risk along the Divide with the supplies we are sending.”

  “You will state that your Designated Purpose was to help the military,” the Countess adds, “and that you will do everything within your power to make conditions for them better.”

  “Should I share my ideas?” I ask.

  “No,” the Countess says. “You do not need to instill them with false hope, either for themselves, their positions, or for the wellbeings of their families. There is no need to cause an uproar within the camp.”

  “And what do I do if something happens?”

  “As in?”

  “As in… if we are attacked while I’m there?”

  “You will do what you are mean to do: remain safely with the SAD officers who will accompany you.”

  “I will ensure that you will remain safe,” Mother Terra says from the back of the room. “There is no need to be afraid. You need simply give your speech, interact with the troops, and rem
ain safely at either my own or a Dame’s side.”

  “Under no circumstance are you to attempt to play hero,” the Countess says. “All we need is a Beautiful One’s blood on our hands.”

  “The people would revolt.”

  “Exactly. Which is why you need to show an amount of self-restraint.”

  “I will,” I say.

  “Good.” The Countess smiles. “Do you have any questions for us?”

  “I… don’t think so,” I say, turning my head to look at Mother Terra. “I assume that we’ll leave at dawn tomorrow morning?”

  “It will take nearly ten hours to reach the Rita Blanca sector via an armored vehicle,” Mother Terra says.

  “There’s no way to make it there faster?” I frown. “I would have thought that, with all the advanced technology in the city, we wouldn’t have to go by car.”

  “Even if we arranged for you to go by helicopter,” the Countess says, “it would still be a lengthy trip.”

  “Besides,” the Commandant adds. “Arriving in a flying vehicle would make you an easy target.”

  “Which we don’t want.”

  “Okay,” I say, content—or, at the very least, comfortable—with the knowledge that I have been given. “I… I don’t think I have any further questions.”

  “If that’s the case, then you are free to go.”

  “Thank you, sir, ma’am, for your time… and for letting me go.”

  “Don’t think this will be a regular occurrence,” the Countess says. “We are letting you go simply for the goodwill of the people. If you jeopardize our position in any way, I promise there will be hell to pay.”

  “I understand, ma’am.”

  Mother Terra presses a hand against my shoulder and guides me out of the room.

  As we come to stand in the hall outside—and as we are escorted through the hotel by the SADs—I try not to think of what my punishment could be, but to no avail.

  Will they jail me if I mess up? Maybe even kill me?

  I close my eyes—and realize, in the here and now, how big a mistake I could have made.

  I’ve committed myself to perhaps the most dangerous Purpose I could’ve ever imagined.

  How will I possibly survive?

  Twelve