The transport bounces along the pothole-ridden road—its right rear wheel hits one square on, causing the back to jump up and me to strike my head on the roof of the vehicle—toward the giant gates that allow entrance through the wall and into Arel. My... my city. Elation at seeing my home eludes me, running away and hiding as though ashamed of being associated with such a place. Where is the pride I had once felt? Why do I feel so... empty?
I glance at Chase, who sits in the back seat with me, but his gaze remains straight ahead, focused on anything, or anyone, but me. We had spent an additional three weeks at the outpost; and in all that time, he had never spoken to me. My mind still wonders why he lied about what had happened in the wildlands. He had the opportunity to embellish his role in saving my life, to advance his status and prove his worth, but he chose not to. I realize that I have been staring at him for the last several moments and jerk my gaze away, passing over Commander Vye, who had turned in her seat in the front and watched me. We lock eyes for a moment before I turn back to the window, watching as the scant amount of brush disappears and the road widens the closer we get to the gate.
I move my leg a little, glad to have the brace off. After the extended stay at the outpost, and the excellent care provided by their doctor, my broken leg healed quite well and faster than anyone thought possible. My station as an arbiter, and the fact that my age meant I had an excellent chance of healing quicker than most, and with little to no lasting side effects, made me the doctor's number one priority, though a part of me wonders if Commander Vye had a little something to do with all the extra medical attention as well. Her behavior toward me seemed changed, different outside the wall than before we left.
Grinding and creaking fill the air, drowning the roar of the transport as it plods along and I look ahead. The black gates, dulled from the constant sand, wind, and rain, creep open, allowing one to see inside the city. Guards in their towers turn their attention on us, aiming their weapons, poised and ready to strike should we prove to be a deception, should we prove to be the enemy. As the transports pull in and nothing happens, their rigid stance relaxes just a little, but behind their helmets, I know that they watch us, waiting, and ready.
I prepare to get out, thinking that the vehicles will stop, but they do not. Hoping that no one noticed my mistake, I nestle back in my seat and watch as the leaning buildings of the eastern sector pass by us. People scurry out of our way. Plebeians walk behind their masters, but even their masters do not dare look at us, choosing to avert their eyes instead. I am taken back to my first day within this region as I hurried to report for duty, remembering all the people who refused to look at me, hastening away instead, hoping that I did not notice them. Again, the same question I had thought about that day enters my mind: why are arbiters feared? We guard the citizens of Arel. We defend them from outside invasion. We protect them from uprisings. Yet, all I ever see in their faces is fear or anger.
Long shadows pass over us as we make our way through the bouncing streets that feel as though they have not been repaired in over five years. One of the rear wheels finds another pothole, and I clutch my stomach as it is jarred from its peace. The silence within the vehicle ebbs at my nerves, broken only by the roar of the transport's engine as it climbs the small hill to the manor, and I look up, staring through the windshield at the building that grows as we approach. Elation at seeing my home eludes me for the second time today, and I am left with a hollow pit in my stomach.
We pull onto the driveway that leads up to the front door and the vehicles stop. Not waiting to be told to get out, I open my door, grab my duffel bag, and place my boots on the pavement, relishing the warmth of the sun as it covers my face. Commander Vye strolls to the front of the vehicle, while Chase hurries inside, no doubt to get a head start on his chores for the day and to make up for the ones he missed while gone. He never glances in my direction and a part of me is hurt by it, a puzzle that plagues me as I try to understand why.
"Noni," Commander Vye says to me and I turn toward her, remaining at attention, "there will have to be a report written, but that can wait until tomorrow. Take the rest of the day to rest."
"What about my patrol duties?" I ask, wanting to get back into a routine so that it would occupy my mind, freeing me of the events from the past nine weeks.
"Let me worry about that."
"Yes, ma'am." I secure my duffel over my right shoulder and head for the front door. As I place my hand around the knob, it jerks from my grasp and opens wide, forcing me to come face to face with Molers. My breath catches in my throat, forming a hard lump that refuses to dislodge and allow me to breathe. I swallow, forcing the lump downward, as I keep my gaze fixed on Molers, wondering why he is here. I know that he has applied for a transfer out of the training center, asking to be assigned elsewhere in the city for a position similar to Commander Vye's; he does it every year. When I was still a recruit, we always knew when his request had been denied, as his already temperamental mood turned more foul and the least little thing set him off.
"Arbiter Noni. Commander Vye," he greets us, but I do not buy his façade of pleasantries, having witnessed it before. "Please, come in." He opens the door wider.
"Master Arbiter," says Commander Vye in a controlled tone, keeping her own curiosity at his sudden presence muted as she strolls through the door and I follow after her.
"Shall we go to your office?" asks Molers, but his request is more of a command than a suggestion.
I do my best to keep my face impassive, but some of my curiosity and hatred toward him must have shown through since he turns and gives me a warning glare. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I wooden my expression, and he once again focuses on Commander Vye. She inclines her head and leads the way to her office, and he trails after her while I reposition my duffel on my shoulder and head for the staircase.
"Arbiter Noni," says Molers, and I stop, unsure of why he insists on calling me by my formal title, while at the training facility, I was referred to as recruit, little shit, or maggot, "you will join us."
I will? Why? Whatever business he has with Commander Vye could not include me; at least, it never has in the past. Knowing that I would not be allowed to escape whatever he had planned for me, and not wanting to be on the receiving end of his wrath like I had been countless times as a recruit, I follow after him and Commander Vye, tightening my grip on my bag, making up the caboose to a train as it creeps through a darkened tunnel to its impending doom. We entered the office and Commander Vye takes her place behind her desk, refusing to sit, preferring to stand when dealing with Molers, who positions himself right in front of her, his expression unreadable, while I sink into a corner, wishing I am somewhere else.
"Please," says Commander Vye, motioning to a chair.
"I prefer to stand," Molers replies.
For a moment, I am thrust back to when I had stumbled upon them while they were in here, arguing. The door had been ajar and I had allowed my curiosity to get the better of me. He wanted something then, something that angered Commander Vye. What does he want now?
"As you wish," Commander Vye says, remaining on her feet so that she can look into Molers' eyes and face him as an equal.
The tension in the room strangles me and I hope that neither of them notice the beads of sweat dripping down the sides of my face.
"It has come to the council's attention that you had a little bit of trouble during your trip," says Molers.
"That is not surprising since I sent word to the Command Division about it eight weeks ago," replies Commander Vye.
"They wanted to clarify a few things."
"I left nothing out."
"Maybe so, but some things are a bit confusing for them."
"For them, or for you?"
Molers' brows furrows, not liking how Commander Vye goes straight to his real reason for being here. "I've warned you before to not make an enemy of me," he growls.
"Perhaps, you should clarify what questions you had about my report."
"Commandant Paq had interesting things to say about your visit."
"Indeed." Commander Vye's tone darkens.
"Most of it, concerning, you." Molers faces me, and a wave of heat fills the space between the collar of my jacket and my skin. "Defeating the bell. That is quite a feat. Of course, the reason for you engaging in it is even more interesting."
I stare at him, trying to keep the fear off my face as I know where he is headed with this line of questioning.
"Why is it you failed to kill the outsider when you had a chance?"
My mind goes back to that moment. I feel the rain on my skin and it envelops me, drowning me, causing the stray strands of my hair to plaster themselves to my face as I prepared to kill him. For a moment, the room and people before me fade away as I travel back, reliving that exact moment when I had decided to release him, only for him to die at the hands of Commandant Paq. I jerk myself back to the present, realizing that two pairs of eyes are on me, waiting for me to answer Molers' question.
"He was not a threat to Arel, sir."
"And how is it you came to that conclusion?"
"Commandant Paq had decided to release this outsider so that he could have a bit of fun and hunt him down. If the man was a threat, shouldn't the Commandant have executed him the moment he was captured?"
"A fair question," says Commander Vye.
"And yet, it is not yours to answer," Molers reminds her. He turns back toward me. "It has also come to our attention that you went missing for a few days."
"Yes, sir." I reply.
"Care to elaborate?"
"It will all be in my report, sir."
"Master Arbiter," Commander Vye interrupts me, "I must protest. This interrogation of yours is out of line."
Molers slams his fist on her desk; its resounding thud echoes around the room, silencing her and causing me to jump just a little. Again, I am reminded of the previous time he had come to this manor and talked with Commander Vye. I never thought too much of it, but now, I wonder what was said before I had stumbled upon them and eavesdropped on the last few minutes of their conversation. Commander Vye had not been happy with what he had said and remained in a terrible mood the rest of the day, but this current situation makes me wonder why he is here as Grelyn's warning to me resurfaces, forcing its way to the forefront of my mind.
"Answer me!" Molers bears down on me, and I realize that I had been so consumed with my own thoughts that I never heard him speak.
"It will be in my report, sir," I repeat, hoping my response answers the question he had asked me.
"In your report. You and that plebeian boy were alone for some time," continues Molers, and I begin to understand what this is about, "and his statement was interesting. In the preliminary report that your commander sent back to Arel, she states that the plebeian boy helped you while you were lost and wounded in the wildlands, but she also stated that he mentioned how you saved both your lives at least three times, all while you had a broken leg and a possible broken rib."
"Bruised," Commander Vye corrects him, Molers ignores her.
I wish I knew what Chase had said to Commander Vye while I was unconscious in the medical wing of the third outpost. All I know is that he credited me with our survival, refusing to take any for himself or to embellish his own role.
"He helped me as much as I helped him," I say.
Molers' doubtful expression conveys his disbelief toward the entire incident, and my mind races to think of what I can say that will match Chase's story; otherwise, we will both be punished.
"Did you run into any of the locals?"
"Locals, sir?" I ask.
"Any of the people who live outside the wall."
I harden my face, willing myself to not show fear to this man, as I try to moisten my cottonmouth with what saliva I have left so that my words will be crisp and clear and not have a hint of anxiety in them.
"We found one, sir."
"And?"
"He ran off," I answer.
"How do you know it was a he?" demands Molers.
"I do not," I reply. "It was an assumption, but the individual could have easily been female. The rags it wore made determining its sex difficult."
"Did you speak to it?"
"No, sir. The outsider ran off. I believe we surprised it as much as it surprised us."
Molers weighs my words, mulling over them, trying to determine if I lied or told the truth. I maintain my rigid posture. He seems too interested in what happened to me out there and I know it has nothing to do with him being concerned about my welfare. He hides something. But what?
"Are you finished?" Commander Vye demands.
"Anxious to be rid of me?" says Molers in a sly voice.
"Master Arbiter," replies Commander Vye, "I have a sector to manage, and you keeping us here, demanding to know answers to questions that will be in both our reports, and which you will have access to in the next two days, prevents me from doing my job."
Molers' brow twitches, a sign I know well, one that indicates his anger is close to bursting through the calm façade of his. He never liked being challenged.
"So it does. Very well, commander, I look forward to reading both of your reports."
He will be reading our reports? An instructor from the training facility never reads the reports of other arbiters, unless they are under his command or are a recruit. What happened while we were away?
Molers salutes both Commander Vye and me before leaving her office.
"Commander," I ask, "what was that about?"
"I don't know," she replies.
"What does it mean?"
"Nothing good." She waves me out of her office and I clench my duffel, hugging it close to me as I leave, spotting Molers as he finishes talking with Chase, who squirms underneath his towering physique and unrelenting gaze. Molers stalks away from Chase, walking past me and the same plebeian girl whom I saw when I first entered this manor as she sweeps the front entrance. Without warning, he raises his hand and backhands her, knocking her to the floor, relishing the scream she releases when he strikes her.
I drop my duffel.
"Molers!" I shout at him, not using his formal rank, as my mouth speaks the words flowing through my mind before I can stop them. I don't know what compels me, or why I react this way, but his cruelty toward the plebeian sparks something inside of me, causing me to seethe with anger. "Striking a plebeian who has done no wrong and who has not failed in performing their duty," I say to him, loud enough for all to hear, as I approach him and stand inches away from him, "is a violation of the law. According to Arelian law..."
Strong hands seize me around the throat, shoving me into the wall, while the edge of a table scratches my side as I slam into it, choking me as I struggle to breathe. My first instinct is to panic and grab the hand around my throat, but I stop, remembering my training and reach for the side table, feeling for anything I can use as a weapon.
"Are you threatening me?" Molers growls into my ear. "Because if you are, there is a better way to settle this."
My fingers brush something long and slender. I snatch it, but before I am able to act, another hand grasps Molers' wrist in a firm grip and the knuckles turn white from the pressure.
"Master Arbiter," Renal's voice echoes around us, and I glance in his direction, having never noticed his presence or heard him approach, and judging by Molers' startled expression, neither did he, "that is enough."
Molers releases me.
I lean against the wall, coughing and gasping for air, doing my best to not show just how close I was to losing consciousness. I glance at Renal, who looks at the slender object in my hand, a broken handle that had belonged to the single drawer in the table, which someone must have placed there earlier and forgotten about it, and I drop it, allowing it to thump on the rug on the floor.
Molers heads for the door, but Renal stops him.
"Master Arbiter," his calm, yet commanding voice demands obedience, and no one questions him, not even Commander Vye, as she stands in the doorway of her office, "Arbiter Noni has not issued your punishment."
"My punishment?" The fury in Molers' eyes could melt stone, but he contains himself, an act that unsettles me, since he is not known for taking orders from anyone deemed to be below his station and rank, but something about Renal's stance conveys that disobedience of his command will not be tolerated, and Molers senses it.
"You did disobey the law and no arbiter is above it," Renal says.
Molers faces me, standing at attention. "Very well. Arbiter Noni, what is my punishment?"
I survey the others in the room, each of them watching me, awaiting my decision. The prohibition of striking a plebeian as they perform their duties is a law in Arel, but it is one that is ignored by most; even I paid little attention to it, until now, until something within me changed. As my eyes pass over the other arbiters I read their expressions: most believe that this is just a simple power play between me and my old instructor, a way for me to demonstrate that I am capable of being firm in my duties, even when it is someone I know, while others probably believe that I have overstepped my bounds. My gaze meets Chase's. He shakes his head at me, pleading with me to let it go, but I cannot. If I do, I will forever be marked as weak and given an assignment that will result in my death. No, I started this and now I must finish it.
"Master Arbiter Molers," I say, doing my best to keep my voice from shaking and to not cough, "for your failure to follow the law, a law set down by our ancestors in their wisdom, you will..." My mind races to think of a proper punishment. As everyone stares at me waiting for me to finish my sentencing, I think of the factory I had visited with Commander Vye and how plebeians and Arelian citizens had been sent there because of unforgiveable infractions. Though I know that he will not be there for long, perhaps I can make his life a living hell for a while, giving him a little taste of what he delivered to us recruits. "You will be assigned to the munitions factory here in the eastern sector for a period of three months."
Molers' face darkens.
"Master Arbiter Molers," Renal says, "you have been given your punishment. You will report to the Command Division within the hour, where a Marshall will be assigned to you to ensure that you are not afforded any special treatment."
Molers salutes Renal and stalks out of the manor. His demeanor tells me that I have made a dangerous enemy, one that I will have to face in the future.
"Don't you all have somewhere to be?" demands Commander Vye, and those who had gathered to watch our exchange make themselves scarce. "Noni, you can file your report in my office."
I do not argue with her, knowing that after my exchange with Molers, I must file a report, and the sooner the better. She steps away from her office and I reach for my bag, but before I can grab it, the plebeian girl snatches it away from me and runs upstairs, taking it to my room. Composing myself, I go into the commander's office and swipe my bracelet against the wall monitor, watching as it flashes to life, confirming my identity. Before it allows me to access it, it asks for confirmation from Commander Vye that I have permission to use her computer. She gives it and leaves, closing the door behind her.
I take a deep breath, preparing what I am to say. "Arbiter Noni filing a report of formal reprimand for Master Arbiter Molers. Molers struck a plebeian performing their duties, violating law 2265-A. For such a violation, Arbiter Noni recommends a sentence of three months in the munitions factory of the eastern sector. End report."
Though the Ministry of Justice determines a violator's final punishment, when it comes to arbiters, the law is a little different. When an arbiter commits an infraction, the arresting arbiter can determine the punishment, anything except the crematorium, and the Ministry okays it in the majority of cases. I know that my recommended punishment will be upheld, but I have a sinking feeling that my actions have made my situation worse. Molers will never forget what I have done.
I turn off the wall monitor and it morphs back into the wall, giving no indication that it had ever been on, much less that it exists. When I open the door, Commander Vye fills the doorway and I force myself to meet her gaze.
"You should not have done that," she says to me.
A quick glance down the hallway tells me that we are alone. I step past her and head for the stairs.
"A plebeian can be replaced, but a good arbiter cannot."
I remain silent.
"When you won the bell, you asked me how I knew you could do it and I told you that you remind me of me. Don't be like me."
I look into her eyes, seeing compassion for the first time. Before, whenever I stared into her gaze, only a cold stern look greeted me, but right now, something has changed, something is different. Pity fills the dark depths of her pupils, but not the sort of pity I had witnessed Mandi display. This is different. It is directed at me.
"Take the rest of the day off."
"Yes, ma'am," I reply and make my way to the staircase, but she stops me the moment I place my foot on the bottom step.
"Noni, this job will either harden you, or kill you. Remember that."
I hike up the stairs after she goes into her office and closes the door behind her, unsure of what has just happened. Not wanting to think about it—Chase, my time outside the wall, or the barbarian that Commandant Paq murdered for no reason other than the thrill of it—I run up the stairs, not caring that my boots pound each step, mimicking the way a masonry worker hammers stone. I reach the top step within seconds and hurry to my door, not waiting for it to slide open all the way as I shove my way through and stop short. The plebeian girl stands in the center of my room, her head hanging low as she stares at the floor, allowing the tangled mass of her hair to fall around her, covering her face. I spot my duffel. She has placed it at the foot of my bed, still zipped closed and with no sign of having been rifled through, as though the thought of stealing something valuable had never occurred to her.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, more surprised than upset.
"Waiting, ma'am," she replies in an inaudible voice that I have to strain my ears to hear her.
"Waiting for what?"
The girl reaches up and tugs at her dingy shirt, soiled and grayed from use, pulling it down, bearing her pale skin while keeping her shoulders hunched and her head bowed low, not daring to look at me. My eyes widen as I grapple with her actions and rush toward her, seizing her shirt and pulling it back up over her shoulders. I cannot believe that she thought... I would never... the thought disgusts me! She is a child. I drop to the floor as I realize that, for the first time, I do not think of her as a plebeian, a slave meant to do the menial chores that my job prevents me from doing, but as a young girl, too small and weak to protect herself in a world intent on forcing her to fulfill the tasks of a grown woman.
"What made you think that I..." I allow my voice to trail off, unable to finish the question as the thought continues to make me want to retch. I prefer men, ones closer to my age, and I would never force myself upon someone.
"You saved me from the other arbiter. Did me a favor," she whispers, afraid to speak up for fear that I may decide to punish her myself. "I owe you now."
"Not like that, you don't." I grab the only chair in the room and encourage her to sit down. "Do the other arbiters here force you to..."
"Only two," she replies.
It is forbidden for an Arelian citizen to force themselves on a plebeian. Such unions are outlawed altogether to prevent an inferior population from being produced, but most of what is prohibited, happens anyway.
"Tell me their names," I say to her.
"Anan," she says to me, "and..."
"Continue," I encourage her, keeping my voice gentle.
"Trix."
I know Anan. Well, in passing. I run into him from time to time, but we have never been on patrol together, nor have we ever talked. Most days, he can be found harassing the plebeians, and as I think about it, I remember that the women and girls always tried to keep their distance from him, and now I know the reason why. As for Trix, I only see her when we are all expected to report to the dining area; she keeps a low profile, though she was on the receiving end of Commander Vye's temper before we left for the outposts, for failing to remain at her post.
I look at the girl, thinking back to when I first arrived at the manor, trying to remember her name. As I force myself to remember something that I had once thought trivial, the girl sneezes and I notice her shivering. There does seem to be a bit of a chill in the air, but I never noticed it until now. I reach into my closet and pull out one of my spare arbiter jackets, wrapping it around her shoulders the way I think a mother does when tending to her child, the way I had witnessed Chase tend to his sister when she was scared, but I never knew the love of a parent.
"Sheila, right?" I ask her.
She nods her head and starts to cry. I am confused as to what I should do. I have never witnessed anyone cry like this before, nor have I ever been sought out for comfort. A part of me fears that her sobbing will attract attention, and considering how well today has gone, that is the last thing I want. I turn toward the door, expecting to see someone standing there, demanding to know what is going on, but it is empty. As tears stream down her freckled cheeks, I wrap my arms around her, feeling clumsy and awkward, but she nestles into them, allowing me to embrace her in a comforting hug, surrounded by the pale sunlight that creeps through the window. I lose track of time as she weeps, waiting for her to regain her composure, but she stops, falling silent, and yawning from the exertion.
"Feel better?" I ask.
She nods, wiping the last tear from her eyes.
"Why don't you rest," I suggest to her, laying her down on the bed and tucking the blanket around her.
"I can see why Gwen thinks you are nice," Sheila yawns again.
Nice? I had tried to arrest her when we first met. "She said that to you?" I ask. She had to have been close to Gwen's age, maybe a year or two older.
Sheila nods, but her face turns somber again.
"What's wrong?"
"She's sick."
"What?"
"While you and her brother were away, she was forced to beat the rugs in the rain as punishment for burning a pot in the kitchen. She hasn't been out of bed since. Some of us try to get her chores done in addition to our own so that she won't be missed, but she isn't getting better."
"Where is she?" I ask, knowing just how well Chase would take her illness, and I find myself worrying about him.
"In the plebeian quarters." Sheila yawns once more and closes her eyes, falling asleep within seconds.
I step away from the bed, determined to find Chase and his sister. The door to my room makes a small—soomf!—sound as it closes behind me and I sneak down the dim and gray hallway, heading toward the back stairwell used by the plebeians, leaving Sheila in my room, asleep on my bed. No sounds escape from the main floor or the stairwell. Taking it as a good omen, I slip down the stairs, hugging the wall and being careful to step over the fourth step from the top so as not to cause it to creak, like it always does when someone steps on it. Muted silence swirls around me, encouraging me to continue my descent down the servants' staircase.
When I reach the bottom step, I crane my neck to peek around the corner, looking into the kitchen and the corridor that leads to the main entrance and the main stairwell. No one. Unnerved by the lack of activity, I force myself not to dwell on it, but to take advantage of it. Perhaps Commander Vye had decided to send everyone out on patrol, or because of my entanglement with Molers, they might have been confined to quarters. Regardless, the lack of their presence is my chance to see Chase and Gwen.
I dart from the back staircase to the main hallway, tiptoeing as I creep along it, making my way toward the plebeians' quarters. A cough echoes from up ahead. Startled by it, I bump into a narrow table, causing it to shift a little. The cough stops. I duck into a doorway just as a head pokes out from the main living area, using the shadow to conceal my presence. The man looks up and down the hallway, pausing to listen for any more sounds that might indicate that he is not alone, and judging by the way he reacts to my clumsiness, I realize that he isn't supposed to be down here either, meaning that Commander Vye had put everyone in lockdown. I watch him creep to the main stairwell and climb them, doing his best to not make a sound.
Several seconds pass as I wait, making certain that no one else is down here with me. Before another can interrupt my skulking around, I hurry to the door that leads to the plebeian quarters and open it, cringing when it releases a slight creak, which to my ears, sounds as though a raging storm has just opened its fury upon us. Glancing around, I see no one, nor do I hear any footsteps racing to investigate, so I slip through the door and close it with a soft clink. I lean against the door, shrouded in darkness with only a single light hanging from the ceiling, coated in cobwebs, to provide any escape. My hand stretches out and finds a rail. Clinging to it, I take each step one at a time, doing my best to remain silent as they sink under my weight, threatening to give way and allow me to tumble downward.
Water pools at the bottom, and I almost slip when I step into it, but manage to catch myself. My antics attract the attention of a plebeian woman. She rushes to the doorway of her room and gasps when she sees me, placing her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming, in case her actions bring punishment down upon her. I place my index finger over my lips, motioning for her to remain silent, as I remember Sheila's reaction toward my sparing her from Molers' wrath and realize that arbiters do not come down here, unless they intend to inflict some sort of punishment, or are looking for something else. Once again, the thought of someone using her in such a manner causes a small swell of vomit to enter my mouth, and I force myself to swallow it, maintaining my rigid composure, not wanting to show disgust or fear in front of this plebeian. If she suspects that I am disobeying orders, she might use that to her advantage.
"I am looking for Chase," I tell her in an authoritative tone.
The woman points further down the dismal corridor, her pale skin reflecting the murky light emanating from the few lanterns allowed down here.
I stalk toward the area she points to, stopping when I reach a corner that takes one down another hallway and follow it after receiving an approving nod from her. Manual doors line the walls, each hanging from rusty hinges, swaying from the slightest movement, as no latches remained to lock them in place. Stale dust fills the air, enveloping me, causing me to choke as I breathe, unused to such a toxic atmosphere. I poke my head through the nearest door, but the room is empty. Continuing my search, I scour room after room, discovering a plebeian or two in them, each surprised to see me, but too frightened to do anything, finding no sign of Chase or Gwen; and, as the minutes pass, the soft plops of my boots on the grungy, dirt ridden concrete floor remind me that I do not belong down here.
I reach the end of the hallway and stop. Two doors remain for me to choose from. I pick the one on my right and open it, freezing in the archway at what greets me. On the only cot in the room—if you can call a moldy mattress riddled with tears from which its stuffing pokes out, supported by crooked and bent metal rods a cot—lies Gwen, her eyes closed with beads of sweat dotting her face as she shivers underneath a thin and tattered blanket. Chase sits by her bedside; his worried eyes focus on her, and he never notices my presence. I open my mouth to speak, but the words stick in my throat, refusing to come out, to allow me to speak.
Swallowing, I force the lump in my throat downward, moistening my mouth and whisper, "Chase."
He jumps up and stares at me, unsure of why I now stand in his room.
"Noni! You shouldn't be down here!"
Ignoring his statement of the obvious, I enter the room and close the door behind me as best I can, though it just swings on its crooked hinges, mocking my efforts. "I came when I heard about your sister."
"Why would you care?"
His words stab my heart, slicing through me as though I am little more than softened butter being spread on a piece of bread. He notices my wounded demeanor and softens his tone.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"Sheila told me about Gwen," I say, stepping closer, gasping when I see her ashen face.
"Where is she?"
"My room. Sleeping," I add when he gives me a questioning look. "How is she?" I ask, pointing at Gwen.
Chase bows his head and turns away in an effort to hide his tears from me. "Not well. She needs antibiotics, but no medical center will waste such resources on her—on a plebeian."
He says the last word with disdain, and for the first time, I agree with such sentiment, remembering the man at the medical center Commander Vye and I had visited, insisting that the plebeian woman he carried be cured. A pang of guilt struck me as I recall his fate and that of his children, a remorse I have never experienced before, but as I watch Gwen's small chest rise and fall from her shallow breaths, I pity her.
"They say she has been like this for a few days now," Chase talks more to himself than to me. "Some of the others here have tried to cover for her by doing her chores, but they cannot keep it up for long. I should have been here."
I place a hand on his shoulder in an effort to comfort him, something I have witnessed others do, but it feels awkward and unlike me, so I release my grip.
"She doesn't deserve this," Chase whispers to himself.
"What happened?" She had been well when we left for the outposts and her sudden illness made little sense, unless...
"Vaccinations," spits Chase, "or that's what they call them."
Every five years, all residents of Arel are required to receive vaccinations against various diseases, including the plebeians. During that period, we line up for our routine inoculations, or personnel from the medical centers will visit areas within Arel, distributing them. Our wristbands are scanned and we are given the appropriate shot. I received one before leaving Arel and never thought much of it, and I am certain that Chase received his as well. Though, there are rumors... rumors that not all of the immunizations are legitimate.
I remember a few years ago we all had our routine vaccinations, but despite the efforts of the medical centers, a small outbreak took place, preying upon the old and the already infirmed, as well as spreading among the plebeian population. The only areas not affected were the maternity wards and the training facility. They do not receive any injections to avoid harming any children they might be carrying, but they are also segregated from the rest of Arel. The only visits they are allowed are from medical personal and arbiters, all of whom are given complete health scans to ensure that they will not infect anyone within the ward itself. And though I have received my immunizations every five years since I was three, we are also kept separate from the rest of Arel to ensure that our training is not infringed upon.
During the small outbreak, one of the instructors at the training facility voiced his concern that perhaps some of the vaccinations were not immunizations at all, but the disease itself, used as a way to control the population. I never saw him again. Gwen's current condition brings these memories back to my mind, ones I had forgotten about, until now.
"What do you mean?" I ask him.
"You know we received our vaccinations before leaving Arel."
"Yes."
"After we left, the rest of the city underwent its five-year health inspection where everyone is given a health screening and vaccinations against what are considered the deadliest diseases."
That sounds about right.
"Haven't you ever wondered what is in those shots?"
I stare past him, not wanting to look upon Chase's tortured face. The truth is, I never thought about it. I just did as I was told.
"She was like this when we returned. According to the others, she fell ill soon after receiving her vaccination, the same day she was forced to clean the rugs in the rain, and she isn't the only one. Emma died a week ago."
The name is not familiar to me, but I keep my mouth shut, allowing Chase to speak.
"They say that the southern sector got hit the hardest from this small outbreak, and according to the presidents of Arel, it is now on the decline. Most who were affected have died, but she is strong. She won't succumb." Chase brushes away a strand of hair that has plastered itself to her cheek, swallowing back a tear and doing his best to control his breaking voice.
"Are the plebeians the only ones affected?" I ask.
"No," says a small voice, and both Chase and I whirl around. Sheila stands in the doorway, having snuck in without making a single sound, and I chastise myself for allowing someone to sneak up on me, but push it aside since Gwen's current state is more important.
"Sheila," I say, yanking her inside, "what are you doing here?"
"You were gone when I woke up and I..."
"It's okay," I say, hugging her, unsure where this sudden protectiveness of her comes from, or why I feel the need to keep her safe.
She pulls away and takes a quick glance at Gwen's still form. "You all talk when you think I'm not listening. Some of you even brag about what happens to us."
I listen to her speak, knowing that her use of the word "you" refers to people like me.
"Some of the old died within a few days," continues Sheila. "A friend of mine mentioned that her master's wife—she had been wheelchair bound for a few years now—died from this outbreak. He died a week later after kissing her good-bye. Those too weak to keep going are dead: citizen or plebeian."
A lifetime of conditioning rebels against accepting her words, but Sheila's demeanor harbors no deceit, and I find myself believing her as my thoughts turn toward Gwen and what she means to Chase.
"Haven't you noticed the fires burning brighter since you returned?" asks Sheila.
No, I have not.
Gwen coughs and mumbles something, but her inaudible words are impossible for any of us to discern, and my heart aches for the loss Chase will suffer if she dies. I blink my eyes several times in rapid succession to prevent myself from crying. What is wrong with me? I have never felt sympathy for a plebeian before, but ever since Chase saved my life, ever since he lied for me, I am compelled to help him, to return the favor and... and I have been referring to him by his name, not his station. Conflict reels within me as my mind and heart struggle to overpower the other, wrestling with what I have always been taught to believe against what now stares back at me: one sorrowful face worried that someone he loves will die and another just grateful to be spared a beating, or worse.
I watch as a bit of dribble spills from Gwen's open mouth as she struggles to breathe. I do not know how much longer she has, but know what will happen if no one helps her. As I ponder the last few minutes and what Sheila has told me, it occurs to me that disease can be spread from one individual to another by saliva, and before my mind can stop me, before my heart is controlled by years of training, I ram a finger into her mouth, coating it in her spittle, and shove it into mine.
"What are you doing!" Chase jumps to his feet and yanks my finger out of my mouth, but it is too late.
"Returning the favor," I say.
He stares at me, his eyes wide and mouth open in disbelief. Is that worry on his face? Does he no longer just consider me another arbiter?
"You saved my life twice," I tell him. "I owe you."
Chase opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off, knowing I have wasted too much time down here.
"If I get sick, they will take me to the medical center for treatment. I will try to steal some of the antibiotics they use to treat me and get them back here. But I will need your help—both of you—to get it to Gwen."
"Noni..." Chase begins.
"It's the only way to save your sister."
"You are gambling your life that they will want to save you," says Chase. "What if they decide that you are not worth the resources?"
My eyes pass from him to Sheila before locking onto his again, and for the first time, I do not fear the consequences of what I have done. "Then the crematorium will have two new fuel sources."