The Blue Tower

Chapter 13

THE OTHER TEAM unties its boat and shoves off the pier. Their oars drop into the water and sweep forward. The boat begins to glide out into the water.

"Let's go," Sarai says. "First a little warmup. Then we'll race."

Our group of twelve steps into the other boat. Its wooden deck is polished and smooth. Sarai directs each of us into an assigned seat. I have the back left, directly behind Helena. Kiyo takes the seat four rows in front of me. Hank is on my row, to my right.

A wooden shaft rises at eye level. I run my hands along it, feeling the smooth grain. I wonder how many kids have sat here. I guess it's thousands or more. The seat feels worn. The grooves worn into the oar's handle seem custom fit for small hands.

Once we're settled in our spots, Sarai unties the boat and stands at the back, with a hand on the tiller to steer. The tower looms behind her. It's all ocean and sky behind us.

"Pull!" she calls out.

I grip the oar firmly and pull. The boat jerks into motion.

"Now lift, in a circle. Like this." Sarai holds her two arms out, showing us how to lever the oar up and out of the water, and back in again.

"Not bad," she says. "Pull!"

I keep my eyes on her and feel the heavy drag of the water on the oar. It feels thick as syrup, and my arms feel weak as toothpicks.

"Pull, harder!"

The boat is gliding now. Sarai steers us straight. We're well behind the other boat, but keeping pace.

"Every time my hand lowers, you pull." Sarai's arm is rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. And we're doing our best to follow it. My arms strain, but settle into it. After we've been rowing for a few minutes, I already know I'll be sore tomorrow.

"There are two rules for the Scouring," Sarai says amidst the rowing. "First, work together as a team. Second, capture or be captured."

Her hand falls. We pull.

Her hand rises. We lift the oar down and push.

"We row today to practice unity. There can be no divisions among you at the Scouring, or you will fail."

"What happens if we're captured?" Hank asks. A thin sheath of water glistens on his arms. Unlike me, he actually has muscles.

"It depends on which tower captures you. It depends on what they want to do with you. It depends on your past. But usually, they'll wipe your memories and make you start over." Sarai's hand rises and falls.

"But Blue doesn't wipe everyone clean," I say, remembering Shelley from third class, and her servant Adele with the silver collar around her neck. Bad as that collar is, it seems better than getting wiped.

"We give the ones we capture a chance to convert," Sarai says. "Blue respects the mind. Now, pull!"

Respect the mind. I like that.

The oars sweep together. My arms are aching. My hands are starting to feel raw. The tower has grown small in the distance. We have already gone a long way, too far to swim back.

After a few more strokes, Sarai tells us to take a break. "Good warmup," she says. "You should have a feel for it now."

"More than I'd like," Helena mutters in front of me, resting on her oar.

I glance over my shoulder. The other boat has stopped ahead, its oars motionless. Their group watches us float closer. Sarai tosses a rope to Abram, who pulls it to turn our boat to face the same direction as his boat, toward the tower. They both draw the rope in until the boats bump together, then tie the rope around the thick masts.

Max is only a few feet away from me in the other boat. Beads of sweat cover his forehead. He keeps his eyes away. The kids in his boat look bigger and stronger than our group. Most wear the robes of second class, but a few have three stripes on their sleeves.

"Greetings," Abram says, his voice carrying over the ocean, as our boats rock together on the waves. "This race is similar to the Scouring in two important ways: you must work together, and only one team can win." He holds up his staff, the blue orb reflecting the color of the sea, and points it back to the tower. "All you have to do is reach the dock first. May the fastest boat win."

"What do the winners get?" Max asks.

"The Scouring, and this." Abram pulls a small note from the pocket of his robe and holds it up. He looks like he might be smiling under his beard.

Great, the Scouring and another piece of paper. I'm struck by a crazy idea that I could just jump off the boat now and sink to the bottom of the sea and it wouldn't make any difference. Why go through with what they want?

"And for the losers..." Abram continues, his blue eyes passing over each of us. "Remember where you began in the tower? The losers return there, with their minds cleared again. You get as many tries as it takes."

I shudder, remembering the dark water in the cavern, the immense wall of stone behind me, and Abram waiting at the shore. It's like a recurring nightmare, being perpetually born wet and cold, without a past. I want to move forward, not backward. I want to keep the little memory and experience that I've gained.

So I have to win this race.

I catch Max's eyes. He's probably thinking what I'm thinking: one of us will lose, and it won't be me.