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.
My best friend.
Fists pound on the door. I take a deep breath. Squeeze the hand of the only person I've ever cared about.
Then let go.
A man in his late thirties enters and identifies himself as Ritter, Head of New Kuzabn Recruits. Five others crowd around the doorway behind him, three men and two women all appearing to be in their early to mid-twenties. The men vary in size; the shortest one is stocky and bulges with muscles, another tall and lean. The third one is of average height and trim build. One of the women has dark brown hair and bright blue eyes, the other unnaturally red hair.
"Radoslavs," Ritter says, reading our name off a list before rolling it up into one hand, "identify your candidate for Kuzabn training."
Father nudges Krishel; I catch the movement from the corner of my eye, but I step forward before Krishel can.
Mother sucks in a breath behind me, and Father hisses my name. The largest of the men beside Ritter chuckles and glances at the tall one, who looks a bit pale.
"I am Nadia Radoslav," I say into the silence, "and I wish to join the Kuzabn."
"Like hell, you do," Father says.
Ritter gives me a once over. "But you are Viryavati."
"Exactly." Father steps beside me. "You can't take her." He takes my arm, but his grip is surprisingly loose, and I pull away easily.
"They can if I want to join."
"It's against the Law." Father's growl is smug as his hand closes around my forearm again, more firmly this time.
"Actually," the red-head speaks up. She moves closer to Ritter and I see her hair almost has a violet hue to it, and she has dark freckles dotting her nose. "The Law is in favor of the Kuzabn. It makes a concession for the Viry, that we recruit in the three years from the first non-Viry becoming eligible, but otherwise one must get a waiver to be exempt, not chosen."
She smiles at me, and I decide I like her.
"What is that supposed to mean?" Father's jaw is tense as he glares at her.
She shrugs, unfazed. "Just saying the Law isn't black and white in this instance."
Father's hand drops from my arm as he turns his stare to Ritter. "So that's it, then? You just take her, just like that? Never mind the years we've spent raising her to be Viry, the money we'll lose if she doesn't rejoin them?"
Ritter's been eyeing Krishel, no doubt preferring his physique to mine. But I noticed Krishel shrinking back from the confrontation, and I know Ritter caught it, too.
"I'm not one to jump at the chance to annoy the Viry," Ritter mumbles, as if to himself, his eyes still on Krishel.
The pale man steps forward. "Of course we're not going to take her. There's no reason she shouldn't join the Viry."
He reaches out and gently pushes me back toward my family. Instinctively, my fist swings up and connects with his jaw.
For a moment, it's as if all the air has left the room.
My first thought is how good it feels to actually hit someone out of anger. No wonder Father enjoys it.
My second is how proud I am of my instincts.
But then I'm afraid I've sealed my fate with the Kuzabn.
The large man is the first of the Kuzabn to recover, as he quickly turns a snicker into a cough. The one I struck gives him a sidelong glance, then rubs his jaw, almost thoughtfully. I search for some way to redeem myself, to prove the Viry don't need me.
I almost scrape the scar cream off my arms, but then I remember a different scar, one that I haven't covered today.
"There are plenty of reasons I shouldn't join the Viry." I turn and lift my shirt, exposing the buckle-shaped scar curving around my lower vertebrae. "Like this one. They don't approve of scarring."
Mother is trembling, her fingertips pressed so hard against her lips they are turning white. Krishel has his hand over his eyes, as if he can't bear to witness anymore. And Father...
A muscle twitches beside his eye, and veins stand out in his neck and across his forehead. He stares at me with such loathing that for a moment I forget how to breathe.
The hairs on my neck stand up at the idea of turning my back to him, but I do in order to face Ritter again. The tall man has his back to me, and he's muttering to Ritter, too soft for me to hear. The faux redhead is nodding and smiling. The large one has an eyebrow raised, but an amused grin on his lips. The other woman is watching Ritter, her expression neutral, and the man at the back of the group is examining his fingernails as if bored by the discussion.
"Very well," Ritter says, and disentangles himself from the group. "Nadia Radoslav, we accept your candidacy for the Kuzabn Recruit Program."
"You can't be serious!" Father bursts out. Ritter ignores him.
He hands me a small bag. "The Parting will take place in front of the Solon District School. Please pack any personal items you wish to bring to Kuzabn Mountain, keeping in mind that weapons of any kind are prohibited and possession of such is grounds for immediate removal from the program. You will be provided with training uniforms upon arrival."
Now, he looks at Father. "Should you wish to dispute my decision, or express any other questions or concerns, please make an appointment with the Krasne Pravitko."
"Oh, believe me, I will."
Mother had started crying at some point during this exchange, but now she wails. "Don't take my baby!"
I give her a look of disgust before thanking Ritter and his team. "I won't let you down."
My eyes meet those of the Kuzabn I'd hit, the one who'd gone pale when I stepped forward. He eyes me now with such searching, I start to feel uncomfortable. My relief at Ritter's decision turns to terror. What if this trainer has decided to make my life miserable during training? Maybe he convinced Ritter to take me on only so he could teach me a lesson.
Men do enjoy teaching their lessons.
*
I examine my hand as the bus jostles me. I hadn't noticed at the time, but three of my knuckles must have split open against that Kuzabn's jaw. Only my middle finger is still shiny red; the other two have scabbed. Still, I can't help smiling as I think it over again. Now that I've had time to distance myself from the events, I've been able to cram my apprehension into a small corner at the back of my mind.
In fact, after the ordeal at the Parting, I'm even more confident in my decision to leave.
Mother had continued to cry, sobbing inconsolably into her hands. At first, I was surprised at the volume of her tears, but I've since figured she is more upset about the loss of money than the fact her daughter has joined the Kuzabn.
Father had pulled me into a rough hug, all show for the community. He dug a finger deep into my back muscle as he held me; I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
"Don't screw up," he'd muttered. "You're nothing now."
Tears had pressed against my eyes from the pain in my back, but I didn't allow myself to whimper.
Even now, I can feel the ghost of his finger; I shiver against the sensation.
After the Initiation, if I survive that long, familial ties can be severed, another perk of leaving home for the Kuzabn. Krishel, I will keep in touch with. Mother and Father can go to hell. In fact, I decide that from here on out, I will only recognize them by their given names. Senka and Zarko don't deserve the titles "mother" and "father"; I should have started this long ago.
The fine hairs on the side of my cheek prickle up and I turn to find the girl across the aisle staring at me. Her dark brown eyes are narrowed, as if by looking hard enough she can detect my reason for being here.
So I raise an eyebrow. "Problem?"
She blinks, as if surprised, then recovers and shrugs. She turns her gaze back to her window. I wait a beat before facing back to mine.
The trees are getting thicker, the roadway curving upward, into Kuzabn Mountain. We learned in Pre-Atomic History class our land was once known as the Shenandoah Valley. The Third World War ravaged the country with atomic weapons, followed by a giant tidal wave which demolished whatever was left of the east coast of America. Before the war, before the wave, land stretched far on the other side of the mountain range. Now, the mountains are all that separates Novy Mir from the sea.
I can feel other stares, but I don't challenge anyone else like I did the first girl. As a future Viry, I've become used to people looking at me, especially the lustful stares of men, jealous glares of women. But the looks I'd gotten when I climbed on board the bus—the annoyance, the incredulity—those I'm not accustomed to. And who would blame my fellow recruits? Some of them don't want to be here and probably can't fathom why someone born for more would choose what so many have been forced into. Others see joining the Kuzabn as the highest honor attainable them. They probably begrudge me my interest, thinking I am making a mockery of them.
I tell myself I don't care what any of them think. They don't know my story, nor do they need to know it. Maybe my beauty will give me an edge, help me get inside their heads and make it past Initiation.
The bus shudders to a halt inside the mouth of a cave. Since the entire Kuzabn compound is carved into the side of the mountains, the sudden darkness should not surprise me quite like it does. Still, little shivers of icy panic crawl through my veins.
Everything is closing in on me.
My chest feels constricted, like it won't expand with the movement of my lungs.
I need to get off this bus.
The girl across from me steps out at the same time I do and knocks me back with her shoulder. I scramble back to my feet as she smirks at me.
"Problem, doll?"
My nose is inches from hers. "You should watch where you're going."
The sudden claustrophobia is not helping my already short temper.
"I didn't see anything of importance in my way."
I think about hitting her like I did that Kuzabn earlier; we're both wedged in the thin walkway between the seats, and I really, really need some space right now.
A hand reaches between us before I can shove her. I follow its arm up to the owner, but it's too dark to make out his features. Just the flash of perfect white teeth.
"Relax, guys," he says, whoever he is. "There will be plenty of time to destroy each other later, I'm sure. Can we just get off the bus first?"
Then he reaches his hand up and chucks the girl on the chin; she swears at him and pushes past me.
For a moment, I think I should thank him, but for what? She would have gotten what was coming to her; I wasn't afraid. Besides, this isn't the Viry, where politeness is required and fighting of any sort is practically illegal.
I charge toward the bus exit. The boy is right, though; there will be plenty of time later. If not, I'll make time to finish it with that wench.
Recruits line the far wall. That girl is heading toward the left end of the line, so I go to the right. No point exacerbating that issue this early on.
The boy behind us follows her, which I think is fairly brave, considering her word choice just now, but it's none of my business.
My bus must have been the last shuttle, because we only have to wait a few minutes before Ritter strides to the center of the cave and shoots something into the air. A loud bang precedes a small firework display that leaves a pink glow lighting the space.
The noise silences the murmured conversations, and everyone looks at Ritter.
"Welcome, new recruits, to Kuzabn Mountain, where you will spend the next six weeks of training, if you are lucky. While you are here, you will have near-free reign of the training compound, limited only by specific instructions from your floor leaders. Do not pass through any doors marked 'Official Kuzabn Only', as you have not earned that privilege yet.
"Your progress will be charted by your instructors input as well as your achievements in three Performance Reviews. The first Review will take place at the end of your third week, after which the bottom twenty-five recruits will be sent away."
There is a collective intake; we all know by "away" Ritter means to join the Infirmids. I hadn't expected the number to be so high.
"After your fifth week, you will receive your second Review, and the lowest fifteen will go. Your final Review will determine your placement within the Kuzabn. Top twenty recruits will have their choice of jobs, the next thirty will be placed throughout the regular army, police, et cetera, based on your instructors' recommendations. The bottom ten, again, will not be Initiated."
So half of us won't make it. I feel that terror creeping back to the forefront of my mind, so I force my focus onto Ritter's introduction of our trainers. He sweeps his arm to the five people who had accompanied him during the Selection.
"Briar will be your weapons instructor." In the dim pink light, I can still make out a bruise smudging the jaw of the one Ritter points to first. I wonder, not for the first time, if Briar is the type to hold a grudge.
The stocky one is next. "Shark, your hand-to-hand combat. Hejae specializes in the art of the con."
The other man looks bored again as he nods to the recruits.
"Finally," Ritter gestures to the redhead and brunette in turn, "Kiira and Ceek will be your joint Recovery and Healing trainers. Ceek will also oversee the Healing Room."
Ritter clicks a remote and light spills from the walls behind us. "Please find your room assignments then go to your floor to change into your recruit uniforms. Dinner will be in Sub 1, below this level, in forty-five minutes. Dismissed."
There is a lot of scuffling as one hundred recruits turn to find our names written in tiny lights screwed into the rock wall. I spot my name beside another after several minutes of searching, and exhale out my pent up nerves.
Eveia Grimauld :: Nadezhda Radoslav—F2R17: HEJAE
I scowl at my full name but memorize the line and follow the crowd to the stairs. It winds around, following the mountain face, I assume, and emerges onto a landing where the setting sun is streaming through the windows. The entire floor seems to be encased in a glass box, except for the curved rock wall the stairs are cut into. At the far end of the rock, just before the window-walls begin, is a door marked "Official Kuzabn Only"; one much closer to this landing is simply marked "Up". The rest of the room is a lounge area, with sofas and chairs grouped around television sets, several card tables dotting the room, and at the far end are two pretty beat up billiards tables.
The crowd around me presses towards the second staircase, and we climb higher into the compound. I pass a door on the next landing marked F1. SHARK is handwritten in chalk beside the number.
My legs burn and I'm already winded from the two flights. I'm thankful my assumptions are correct when I reach the next door and it reads F2: HEJAE. I push through it and only take two steps before I'm face to face with the trim man himself, who up close I see is dressed far too well for the Kuzabn. Everything about him is Viry-handsome, except his dark hair falling into his eyes.
I wonder if they offered to make an exception for him; though the Viry profess the only beauty is natural beauty, they have been known to manufacture appealing qualities when they deem it necessary. Hypocrisy at its finest. Even my hair probably would have been lightened a shade or two.
Hejae wears a self-satisfied smile, as if pleased by my scrutiny. His eyes assess me as mine just did him.
"You're too pretty for the Kuzabn." His expression is neutral, but I detect a biting undertone to his words.
Maybe I was expecting camaraderie, considering our similar features. Maybe that's why my stomach feels like it has flooded with air and floated into my chest.
"So are you." I try to keep my face clear of the anxiety I can't seem to shake.
"I was never invited to Viry Preparation, much less the actual Induction," he says, his features darkening slightly. "I had nothing to lose when I joined the Kuzabn."
"Maybe I don't, either."
He gives me that smirk again. "You have everything to lose. Not if, but when you fail, you will be nothing. Your looks won't save you here, and they won't save you out there."
My throat closed at the words that so closely mimicked Zarko's, but I manage to swallow. "Then I won't fail."
"Fifty recruits are sent home. That doesn't include those who beg to leave. You really think you're stronger than over half of your fellow recruits? Some of them have been training their whole lives to be here. You think your sessions learning how to be pretty has prepared you for any of this?"
Hejae scoffs and shakes his head, then looks past me as the door opens and another recruit enters the floor.
"Go home now, before it's too late. Go home and be pretty."
He steps around me to greet the next recruit, and I blink back tears. What if he's right? Maybe I've made a huge mistake, the biggest one of my life.
I square my shoulders. There is no going back. It's already too late, so the only option for me is to succeed, whatever it takes.
The two doors closest to the stairwell are marked R11 and R20; I stomp down to R17 ignoring the ache in my legs. That time standing still, however brief, tightened my muscles painfully. I feed off that pain, like I do when I cut, and it is with marginally more confidence that I push open the door to my room, preparing myself to meet my new roommate.
She has her back to me when I come in, but turns when my rucksack hits the floor.
She crosses her arms and sighs. "Seriously?"
I wipe the shock from my face and smile at the girl from the bus.
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x zuz