The journey seems never-ending. I can tell we’re passing by smelting factories, rubber mills, and sewage plants by the smells. They are at times overpowering, causing my head to hurt and my nostrils to burn. We swing through a loop, manageable only because we’re practically sideways, then straighten out again. We slow, but don’t stop. Clanking noises are over our heads as the carriage jerks violently up and down. The ride becomes smoother once the noises stop. The air is a little warmer and I now smell pleasant aromas. The car stops, our blindfolds are removed, and our shackles detached from our wrists. The room we’re in is vast, well lit, and smells of balsam and cedar. Carriages line the wall along the side. Many have fancy scroll marks along the doors. The mark of the Head Master.
“This way,” one of the Aedox says to us, pointing towards a stone archway with a staircase behind it.
We follow them, my heart pounding heavily in my chest. I glance at Brink, sweat covering his brow, hair wet at the base of his neck. We exit into a large entryway. Clunky chandeliers dangle precariously from the ceiling. We’re lead across the hall to a study paneled in dark wood, heavy maroon colored carpeting pushed up to the baseboards, and a stone fireplace resting in the middle of the far wall. The room is furnished in copious amounts of ratty furniture that must have once been glamorous in its time.
“Wait outside,” a tall man in cotton pants and a bulky dark red robe says. His back is to us, watching a large display attached above the fireplace. It’s not The Litarian Battles, but rather a news program. I guess it’s the kind of thing only viewable by those in the government.
Once the doors are closed, he turns to us, a glass tumbler in his hand filled with a dark liquid. He takes small steps forward, sizing us up as he moves. It’s been a while since I last saw the Head Master, and he hasn’t aged well. His thick gray mane has thinned. His once fit and muscular frame is now frail. His skin feels rough when he touches my face. I try and pull away, but he grabs me around the neck.
“What trouble you’ve been, Max,” Edom says, practically spitting in my face.
“I haven’t done anything,” I protest. “What the hell is wrong with everyone?”
He removes his hand and slaps me hard across the face. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I could have the Aedox remove you to be tortured if I so desired.” He steps backwards, almost tripping over his own feet. “I do have a reason for bringing you two here.” He gestures for us to have a seat on one of the couches. He sits across from us, placing his glass on the table between us. “You’ve been selected by Tarsus to participate in The Litarian Battles.”
“What?” I practically shout.
“Really?” Brink says, cheering up slightly.
“You will be transported there tomorrow morning, after my staff gets you two properly scrubbed and presentable.”
“You can’t be serious?” I say. “They already drew the two from the Outer Limits a couple of days ago. Why would they do it again?”
“Since the government has implemented a change to The Litarian Battles, they need more participants.”
“You mean those that are disposable,” Brink adds.
“You aren’t the only ones from the Outer Limits going,” Edom responds, picking up his drink. “Some of those in the second-level housing will be joining you.”
“I’m not of age,” I voice.
“It doesn’t matter, Max, you were selected, so you don’t have a choice.” He presses a button on the table and the Aedox return. We’re grabbed, practically yanked out of our seats. We’re almost out the door when Edom stops the Aedox. “It’s best if you don’t act out. The government has made it clear that anyone who purposefully undermines any segment of The Litarian Battles will be formally executed on live television.”
The door closes as Brink and I are escorted up two different flights of stairs located in the entryway. Three Aedox take me up to the first landing, down a lavish hall, and to a room on the left. I’m shoved inside and the door locked behind me. The door is too thick to try and break, unlike the doors at the orphanage. I walk over to the four-poster bed that sits in the middle of the room, and collapse. I’m uncomfortable in such lavish surroundings. How can so much opulence be allowed to the Head Master, but not the rest of us? As I look closer at the furnishings, the bedspread and curtains, however, I notice that the lavish is decaying. Everything’s old, chipped, faded, and raggedy. Almost like the carriages when they come to the grove for repair.
I close my eyes, trying to figure out what to do. A sharp noise causes me to bolt upright. Three woman, around the age of sixty, enter from a secondary door on the right. They escort me into a large bathroom, complete with sunken tub. For the next hour, they scrub me until I’m raw. I shy away from their grasps, but they’re surprisingly quick and strong. As soon as I’m dry, they dress me in satin pajamas, have me brush my teeth, and send me off to bed. The mattress is lumpy, but it’s still better
