Valkyrie Rising ✓

Chapter Three

The morning of Selection, I rise and begin my beauty regimen. I apply a dark paste to my face to rid it of dead skin cells before I brush my hair one hundred strokes, then flip my head down and brush one hundred more. Once the paste has hardened, I peel it off and throw it away. I clean under my fingernails, shaping any that have grown beyond the required one-eighth inch semicircle. My eyebrows have a natural curve, yet another trademark of the Viry, so there is no need for plucking.

I know I won't need to maintain this routine once I join the Kuzabn, but for now, the way of the Viry is all I know.

I push the sleeves of my dressing gown up past my elbows. To be true Viry, one's skin must be unblemished and smooth. Always about the presentation, whatever they claim about the genetics. The soft underside of my arms, however, is lined with scars, each one no more than a few inches long.

Mother bought me an expensive cream to conceal and reduce the appearance of scars after she discovered the one left by Father's belt buckle on my lower back. Viry often wear backless dresses, so my back must be flawless. She doesn't mind spending money on me, since the Viry sector pays parents better than any other should their child be Inducted.

What she doesn't know is the extent of scarring on my arms, self-inflicted rebelliousness. One more pain hidden for the sake of beauty. I slather the cream over the ridges then head down to breakfast.

Krishel is staring glumly at his oatmeal, and when I slide into my seat across from him, I notice his eyes are puffy, like he'd been crying last night. He'd tried—and failed—to talk me out of my plans again. The more I think about the Kuzabn, the more excited I am.

Mother drops a plate of French toast in front of me silently and my conscience twinges, as usual when they give me better food than Krishel gets.

"Eat up, young man." Father glares at Krishel. Almost everything out of his mouth sounds like a growl. "You'll need your strength today."

I grit my teeth and swallow against the sudden tightness in my throat. Maybe someday, when I'm an official Kuzabn warrior, I'll come back to this house and Father will finally get what he deserves.

"Nadia, honey, you're not eating either." Mother's voice, as usual, is soft and overly sweet.

I cut off a corner of the syrup-soaked bread and shove the entire forkful into my mouth, keeping my eyes on her.

"Please don't eat that way, sweetheart. It's unbecoming of a Viry." Her sugary voice grates on me worse than Father's hoarse one today.

"Yes, ma'am." My mouth is still full. Krishel kicks me under the table, but I don't care about the warning. My last day is finally here.

                                                                                           *

The Selection begins just before noon. We all gather in the living room. My stomach squirms and I realize for the first time I'm nervous. What if I don't impress them? What if I fail and am cast out to the Infirmids, alone and scorned for the rest of my life?

I stroke one of the scars at my wrist, barely visible beneath the scar serum. I am strong enough for this; I would have given up long ago if I were not a fighter.

Finally, I can hear distant knocking. Mothers crying. Neighborhood kids cheering.

The Kuzabn have made it to our street.

The four of us stare silently at the door, waiting. I slip my hand into Krishel's. He squeezes it as if to say "you're ready". He knows how badly I've wanted out. Krishel is the only one in the world who I've entrusted with the secret of the scars I've cut into my own arms. He's my brother.