The third

CHAPTER ONE

    Kip throws back her head and howls at the ceiling, her tingly laugh filling our small cramped room. We are composing poetry for our English class, and neither of us are any good. I’m at the small warn wooden desk, holding the pen to the magnetic tablet, trying to think of more lines to right. Kip’s continuous fits of giggles earns her a  book to the gut. The black metal volume thuds against her and she squeaks. I smirk in satisfaction and continue writing.
“Your heart is just like Granite. You’re from another planet,’ I recite, only to decide that that poem is too mediocre. I brush my fingers across the cool plastic, causing the letters to disappear. A head ache plays drums against my temples, something that happens when I think too hard. But this project needs to be completed. It is to be turned into our professor by midnight, not a second later.  Not submitting a homework assignment would result in a whipping in front of all of the residents.  In the five years that I had attended the Hemingway factory for youth, I have received three whippings, all of which were earned during my younger years. All of them were because I failed to complete assignments.
    “This is hopeless,” I mutter with a curse. It is frustrating that on the last day of courses, this is the assignment that’s causing us the most trouble.
    “I’m about to submit the poem that I wrote about Jason,” Kip says, her voice growing mischievous. I turn in the swivel chair and make eye contact with her. Her moss green eyes twinkle with daring.
    “Kip you have already submitted that for lyrics class,” I remind her.
    “Do you want to know what doesn’t make any sense Enly?” Kip asks.
    “What?” Honestly, we have no time for conversation, especially since midnight looms in front of us. But Kip needs to get something off of her chest. That is evident by her ram rod straight posture and the callused hands that are  clasped in her lap.
    “How does Professor Lang expect us to write poetry? We are trapped in this prison and aren’t allowed to see roses unless we grow them,” she says. Kip does have a point. We are expected to talk about art and nature when we have little or no access to it.
    “I’m not sure. All I know is that I might just give her a bad poem if it means not getting whipped,” I say before spinning around in my chair.
We both know that submitting a bad poem will assure that we don’t get a lashing. But neither of us can bring ourselves to do it. We will write until the last possible moment.
    Twenty minutes later, I’m scrubbing the eight by eleven piece of plastic clean for the umpteenth time when a soft hand lands on my shoulder. It’s Kip and she wants to say something to me. I let my black pen clunk against the desk before I say “what is it?”
    “I have a poem. Want to hear it?” she asks. I perk up, relieved that at least one of us is done. Kip doesn’t have her poem written. But she has a wonderful memory and tends to construct the words in her mind before writing them down. She moves away so that I can look at her, and the smile that stretches across her face makes concern bubble up inside me.
    “Will you dictate?” Kip asks as she wraps a strand of her golden hair around her finger. That is a stupid idea. The instructors will know my writing from hers and might accuse her of plagiarism. But that doesn’t need to be said. Time is in the essence. Turning my chair back around, I press the pen to the paper and say “I’m ready.”
      “It’s called that’s why I love you. Here goes nothing.
  You laugh at all my awkward jokes.
  You leave me romantic notes.
You always tell the truth.
That’s why I love you!

You interrupt people when you talk.
You are sometimes quick to judge and mock.
You are poison to an optimistic attitude.
That’s why I love you!

You blow on your food before you eat.
You always pull out my seat.
You comfort me when I’m blue.
That’s why I love you!

You spit condescending words when we argue.
You expect everyone to have your values.
You don’t understand my point of view.
That’s why I love you!

With you the good out ways the bad.
I want everything to stay the same.
  You feel the way that I do.
That’s why I love you!” The poem is cute, the lack of flowery words  shocking, considering that Kip composed it. The jealousy sprouts out of nowhere. Everything always comes easy for Kip. During the testing period, the judges will have a difficult time placing her. The same can’t be said for me.
    “That’s amazing!” are my forced words. I don’t face Kip for a while, because she will see the envy on my face. Instead I glare at the white wall, as if it were to blame for my lack of talent.
    “I’m glad it’s amazing,” Kip begins with a laugh. “Because it’s your poem. You wrote it about Ryan,” she says before snatching the magnetic paper and pulling the bottle of finalizer fluid from the shelf. She’s too quick. Before I have the opportunity to catch her wrist, Kip has already taken a cloth, squirted the liquid onto the linen and brushes it across the page, effectively making the Inc permanent.
    “Kip I…”
    “Oh be quiet. I wrote that poem about Ryan. Its fine,” she says before shoving me aside and sitting at the desk. The overwhelming relief and the guilt form twin fires in my belly. What if Kip can’t come up with another poem? Then, she will be whipped and there is no way that I could live with that.
    “Kip let me help you write your poem,” I plead as I hop up on the top bunk. Kip nods after checking the display on the digital clock that’s mounted on the wall. It is 10:45, Kip will need all of the help that she can get. Ignoring the head ache, my mind sifts through possibilities, love, regret, home, spring time, Ryan, and professors.
  “How about this?” Kip muses as she pulls  a sheet of magnetic paper from the drawer that held her government issued stack.
    “I can say that I’m sorry.
I can say that it’s my mistake.
Even if I begged and pleaded.
You wouldn’t listen to what I’d say,” Kip recited as she dictated. That sounded like something that she was writing to her sister back home. But Kip hated when people pried. She would talk about it on her own time.
    “You have a selective memory.
Always being able to recall what incriminates me.
Never listen.
Nope, you never change your ways.
Actually trying to reason with you.
Was my mistake,” she hisses  as the pen makes a grating sound against the paper. Her head is bent over, so there is no seeing her expression. She goes  on like this for a half an hour. Muttering curses, spitting accusations, and writing angrily on the page. She doesn’t need my help at all.
    Kip is rubbing a cloth over her piece of paper when the electric door hisses and a  female officer scampers in. We both turn, our faces identical masks of horror. We stair at her white tunic, royal blue pants, and black military boots with trepidation. Her gun is tucked into a holster at her side, a baton clutched in her left hand. There are so many officers milling about the factories that it’s difficult to find a familiar face.
    “Officer,” I greet remembering my manners. She is probably two years older with us with flat gray eyes, a square face, and a bulky form. Her ginger hair is cropped short, a requirement for anyone who joins the King’s army. I pinch the fabric of my yellow cotton dress, the only sign of nerves that I’m willing to show. It is hard not to look down at the black carpet.
    “Enly saint Claire,” she says in a flat tone.
    “I’m Enly saint Claire officer,” I say which makes me wonder if they somehow discovered that Kip wrote my poem. It’s possible. Rumor has it that the security team has cameras install in every room where they spy on us, even when we’re sleep          in.
    “A letter has come for you,” she says, displeasure in her face. A letter has come for me? That is virtually unheard of. When a third is taken from his or her home, all contact is shredded from the outside world.  No one here has heard from their families, and some will never see them again.
    “From who?” I shakily ask.
    “From the King. You are to pack your things and depart for Ninxi in the morning. Your brother Alexander is getting married,” the woman snaps before rushing away.  The door opens and images immediately bombard me. A high mountain peak packed with snow, three children bundled in black coats tossing snow at each other. A pristine castle complete with a mote and draw bridge. A young man with raven hair and blue eyes identical to mine. The day  that the soldiers came for me, Alex was fifteen and as skinny as a twig. He had kissed the top of my head and told me to complete a trade that allowed me to return back to Ninxi. A tear rolled down his cheek, the whole ordeal being tuff for him because he had lost Ruby to the army a month earlier. But what stuck out more than Alexander’s tears, was the fact that he was the only one that watched as I exited the gates of Saint Claire keep and followed the two soldiers clad in brown trousers and gold tunics into the steam car. No one but my eldest brother cared that I was leaving.
    “Enly,” Kip calls, pulling me from the bitter memories. I stare at my friend, who is standing by the desk holding her white sandals.
    “Oh. We should probably deliver the poems before it’s too late,” I figure. Kip snickers.
      “Already done. I couldn’t get you out of your trance. The time was ticking away,” Kip says before depositing her shoes in our cramped closet. The gratitude that I feel towards Kip is overwhelming. I walk over to her and wrap my arms around her. Kip pats my shoulder and tells me that delivering my poem was no big deal. We release one another and Kip strips out of her dress and dumps her dress in one of the blue hampers bye the door. After yanking her white night gown out of the closet, she shrugs into it and slides into the bottom bunk. I can’t move, my legs are as immovable as stone. Tomorrow, I will leave Ius which has been my home for five years for Alexander’s wedding on the King’s orders. What has happened in five years that caused my father to gain favor with the royals? It wasn’t like King  Guirraine hated my father. But he had only visited Ninxi twice during my childhood, and both times he stayed only for a couple of hours. A flash of anger shoots through me when I realize that much had  changed in Ninxi, and I wasn’t there  to see any of them.
      Hours later, I’m tucked into bed and still can’t sleep. Despite the cool air that’s blowing through the vents, the room is stuffy. If it were possible I  would open the windows. The officers here wouldn’t dare give students an opportunity to run away. Only a key pad in a hidden control room can unlock the windows. The doors are locked as well, and the florescent lights are out, signifying the end of the night. Kip snores are thunderous and usually I can sleep through them. But tonight, the urge to shake her awake is nearly impossible to resist. But I do because Kip needs her sleep and once she has been disturbed, she can’t go back to dream land. I sigh into the pillow which smells like gillyflowers and close my eyes and count backwards from two thousand to one. The excitement, worry, nerves, and weariness makes the task impossible. I keep on losing track of what number I’m on.
      I’m shaken awake by the same ginger haired soldier who had given me the news of Alexander’s wedding. I open my eyes and peer around the room which is dimly lit by the rising sun. She has two companions, both female with dark cropped hair. The girls are stealthy and don’t wake kip that couldn’t even be roused by trumpets of doom. Hating that these women are taking away my opportunity to say goodbye to Kip, I reluctantly climb down from my bunk and is nearly blinded when one of the women with dark hair tosses a yellow cotton dress at me. They don’t leave as I strip out of my nightgown and change into  my work clothes. They shove me out of the room and into the unlit hallway. The woman with the ginger hair clasps my upper arm and holds me their while one of the women pulls a pair of black goggles from her pocket and slips them over my eyes, which water and protest against the pressure. They temporarily blind me; most likely so that I can be taken threw a secret passage. My balance wavers, so one of the soldiers scoops me up into her arms, causing my head to lull to the side. We walk through a room that smells like antiseptic and bandages, only to enter a tight passage way that’s freezing. My head bangs on something hard, causing the soldier holding me to curse. She doesn’t stop to examine the injury even though warm liquid is trickling down the side of my neck. I sigh in relief when I feel the hot sun on my face, smell the freshly cut grass and hear the birds chirping. It won’t be long before they remove the blindfold.
    “Enly,” a male voice calls, letting me know that we have arrived at the meeting place. The woman hands me over to a man with strong arms and my face collides with his hard chest. He smells like a mixture of spring water,  pine soap, and perspiration. It isn’t a familiar smell, and neither is his voice.
    “It’s me Raff,” he whispers and I’m relieved. Raff is my Brother Alexander’s body guard. He has been protecting my brother since I was five.
    “Ryan is also with me,” Raff says as he begins walking. Raff’s younger cousin Ryan is two years older than me and had been my betrothed for as long as I can remember. I’m unsure of how it will all work if I’m assigned to another region because he is a second, which means that he is a soldier in my father’s army.
    “She’s bleeding,” comes a hard deep voice. Could that be Ryan’s voice? That can’t be. The last time that I heard him speak, he had a squeaky tenor.
    “She was injured going through the passage,” Raff says before gently placing me down on a soft surface. I want to tell him to remove the goggles so that I can see Ryan, but the sudden surge of pain causes me to grind my teeth instead.
      “When can we remove the goggles?” Ryan asks in an authoritative voice.
      “When we are two miles away from here,” Raff says which translates to when we leave the factory grounds. A gentle hand cups my cheek and  soft lips kiss my forehead.
      “Enly, it’s Ryan,” he whispers as he straps me down. My heart beat quickens as he brushes a finger over my lips. His scent is woodsy  and comforting. In a brief instance, the poem that kip had written based on the stories that I told her about Ryan flashes in my mind.  I wonder if he’s the same boy that I had known or did he change like Ninxi. A door slams shut, the steam engine res, and the car glides down the street. It feels like forever, waiting for the goggles to be stripped off. But when it happens, I immediately shut my eyes from the glare of the sun.
    “Open your eyes Enly,” Ryan demands as he sits beside me. I comply and at first the only thing that I can see our two big fat balls of bright lights. I have to blink twice before my vision clears and I realize where I am. I’m lying in the back of a steam car. Ryan sits beside me in a collapsible chair, his hands folded in his lap. His handsome face is blemished by a thin scar that encompasses that radius of his forehead. His ashy blond hair is cropped short and his once warm blue green eyes are hard. He looks at me with a mixture of curiosity, longing, and shock. I stare at him with yearning. At one time, Ryan was my best friend, the boy that I spent every day with. Now, he’s a complete stranger with many things to tell me. The eagerness causes words to spill out of my mouth.
    “How are you? What’s new? What rank are you in the army? How did you get your scar?” Ryan holds up a hand, his jaw tightening. It’s clear that he doesn’t want to talk about how he got his scar.
    “Enly,” he says as sharp as a blade. I’m too shocked to be surprised by his tone. My mouth hangs open in a perfect O shape and my muscles fail to comply with the orders to close it.
    “Your father wanted me to tell you this news as soon as I could. Though, your mother wanted me to wait until we reached Ninxi to tell you,” Ryan admits. His eyes grow determined, as if nothing could derail him from the path that he has taken, and that makes me nervous.
    “What news?” I ask.
    “You and I are no longer betrothed,” Ryan announces in a flat tone and just like that, my world stops spinning.