Ensnared (Enchained Trilogy Book 2) Page 12

  I shove it all through the opening and fling it at the lever. Almost, but it bounces off. Desperate, and almost out of time, I shove my other arm through the hole and pull the hook back to me. Swinging it, I focus on the lever, releasing a controlled breath as I fling my makeshift hook at it again. It catches it. Bits of hair stick to my neck and face as I squish myself against the opening with my arms crammed through it when the ceiling touches my back. This is it.

  I yank the rope.

  The lever shifts to the other side as a click sounds, stopping the encroaching ceiling, and I pull my arms back into the room, releasing a sigh of relief. A trap door beneath me springs open, plunging me into a metallic tube, similar to a ventilation shaft, and I reach out, allowing my fingers the squeak against the sides as I try to grab on to something, while still maintaining my grip on the coiled wires. Darkness surrounds me as my mind races. What’s next?

  In answer to my question, water envelopes me as I drop from the tube and into a pool of water, deep enough to cushion my fall, and some of it rushes into my open mouth, going down my throat and causing me to cough, which results in me inhaling more water. Kicking, I swim to the surface, and relief washes over me when my head bursts through the surface, allowing me to breathe air, crisp, cool air, a welcomed change from the mustiness of the red chamber. The coiled wires float around me, resembling a water snake as it encircles me. With a final bang, my makeshift hook splashes into the water beside me and the trap door closes, sealing itself and denying me a way out.

  Transparent walls surround me, allowing me to see into another room and in front of me, hovering in the air with its camera focused on every move I make, is a drone. I glare at it, knowing that people watch its transmission, debating what my next act will be and whether I will pass this test. A series of squeals reach my ears and water gushes from a hole in the ceiling, filling the room with its fury. Fear of drowning. Swimming has never been one of my strengths, so I avoid deep pools of water when I can, and Molers knows this.

  The water rises, and within minutes, the glass chamber will be filled. Glancing around, I do not see any opening or access port, just one seamless prison of glass. Taking a deep breath, I plunge beneath the surface and swim toward the bottom, hoping to find something,—the water makes my surroundings appear to be dancing in front of me—but there is nothing I can use, no obvious means of escape. I hurry back to the surface, gasping for air, dismayed at how fast the water has risen. My focus turns back to the glass and the drone watching me. It must be the only way.

  Snatching my hook from the water, I swim to the glass in front of me and bash it with its pointed edge, but all I receive for my efforts is the hook bending. It isn’t rigid enough, nor strong enough on its own. I need a sharp edge. I study the lights above me and wonder if its supports will be enough to do what I need. There is just one problem: if the entire structure falls, I risk electrocuting myself. It is a gamble I must make.

  I throw my hook around one of the supports for the light and yank on it. Nothing. Hoping the hook remains around the support, I climb the multicolored rope I have, knowing that the light’s supports were never meant to hold 145 pounds of pure muscle. A part of me feels as though I have made no progress in my ascent as the seconds tick by and nothing happens.

  The water continues to rise.

  I bounce the rope, using my weight to jerk the bolts holding the support beam free. One splashes in the water. Again, I tug at it, desperate to get my hands on the metal support. Another bolt pops free and plunges into the water. With each passing second, the surface nears me, until water covers my toes and creeps up my foot to my ankle. I’m running out of time. I bounce on the rope again and again as the light shakes more and more from my movements. The final bolts pop free from their hold and splash in the water, and I plunge into the foaming liquid, followed by the metal support breaking free of the light as it splashes next to me with my hook. The light hangs at an odd angle, and foreboding builds within me as it sinks lower and lower to meet the rising water.

  Snatching the rod, I coil my makeshift rope, pulling the hook within arm’s reach, and ram the two together while wrapping the line around them, creating a club. The water has almost reached the ceiling. I hurry to the glass and ram my club into it. Hollow echoes vibrate throughout the water. I bash my club into the glass again, using the sharp point of the metal to try and weaken it. Nothing. Again, I ram it into the glass, screaming in frustration when a crack appears. Emboldened, I continue striking the glass in rapid succession, ignoring the burning fatigue within my muscles as the water reaches the ceiling and the dangling light. More cracks appear in the glass, stretching out like a spider’s web as they increase, creating more fractures that spread into their own nest of jagged lines. I pull my arm back and deliver a final blow just as the water touches the light, causing it to fizzle out. A jolt of electricity courses through me at the same moment the glass breaks, and I curl into a ball as water spills through the hole with me in its grasp.

  Gasping for air, I roll across the floor and lay still in the puddle enveloping me as it stretches across the floor, while water drips from the exposed edges of the opening within the glass wall, allowing my chest to rise and fall, savoring each breath I take. The drone hovers above me. Annoyed, I whip my club at it and knock it into a wall where it crashes and shoots out tiny sparks before going dead. Within seconds, another drone appears, taking the previous one’s place, and I burst out laughing, amused at how the people controlling them are so intent on observing my efforts to pass the trial of fears, and unable to control myself, even when my sides hurt. Those watching must think that I have lost my mind. I don’t care. They aren’t here. They can put up with me laughing, until I am ready to continue.

  Dancing light illuminates the darkened area around me, waving up and down the walls as an orange glow brightens and dims as though it cannot make up its mind what it wants to do. Turing onto my stomach, I lift my head and see fire jettisoning from vents in the ground and the ceiling in rapid succession. My final test. I stand up, dropping my homemade club and amble over to the edges of the spewing flames; my feet plop on the floor, splashing droplets of water onto my already soaked pants. Each time fire bursts from a vent, a stentorian roar slams into the tomblike walls, bouncing from one to the other, pounding my ears with each echo and causing the miniscule hairs within them to vibrate so much that they itch.

  One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten.

  They are timed, just like in the gauntlet. Confused, I stare at the flames, unsure of why I am to face them again; I never feared them in the gauntlet. An uneasy feeling nudges the back of my mind, warning me to be careful, while the drone hovers behind me, ordering me to continue, or face the consequences. The vent in front of me shoots out a wall of fire that lasts for ten seconds, but is enough to kill a person, before going dark. I run. Remembering the gauntlet, I have ten seconds to reach a safe space before the next series of flames begin.

  One… two…

  My fatigued muscles refuse to work, wanting nothing more than to rest, but I push them onward, demanding more from them, knowing what will happen if I give in to my body’s demands.

  Six… seven…

  Almost there.

  Ten!

  I jump, landing in a pit just as fire bursts from the second vent, and I cover my ears to drown out the roar as heat sears my back, causing my skin to burn and feel hot to the touch. It stops, and the count begins again.

  I take off.

  One… two…

  My lungs work overtime as I breathe fast, in tune with my legs as they stretch before me, sprinting across the charred area to the next safe zone. I keep my focus straight ahead, not daring to look back, afraid that I might stumble if I take my eyes off the red line that marks the end of the fifth and final test. Smoke spews from the vents as an ominous rumble builds, intensifying with each passing second, causing my chest to vibrate in tune to its thunder. A wall of fire erupts
behind me just as I slide into the second safe zone. Staring ahead, I gauge the distance to the next safe zone, frowning when I realize that it is a greater distance than the previous two. I’ll need to…

  What the hell!

  Something clatters on the floor next to me, shooting sparks in every direction as electricity courses through the metallic floor, and I jump to the side in an effort to avoid it, glad that my boots possess thick, rubber soles. Tapping it with the bottom of my boot, I realize that it is a net, but instead of a normal snare, it is electrified. Another one drops from above just as the fires cease, and I leap out of the way, rolling across the floor, my mind racing, wondering what to do about this unforeseen part of the test. The creators of this trial changed the rules on me, chucking what I believed to be the only way to pass this test into the garbage, forcing me to consider another way, but I can think of nothing. I jump to my feet and bolt for the next safe zone—if you can call it that—trying to count within my head until the next series of flames, but I’ve lost my count and focus on running. An electrified net crashes into the floor in front of me, and I leap over it, stumbling as I land, but I get back up, refusing to slow down.

  I reach the safe zone and am just about to jump in it when I notice sparks zapping along the bottom: an electrified net lines it! The rumble begins again. Shifting from one foot to the other, I try to think of what to do, but my mind refuses to work. Either I jump into the pit with the net and risk electrocution, or I remain where I am and burn to death. A nail scoots across the floor as my foot touches it. I pick it up, wondering why a nail is here, but shove it aside—who knows what this placed was used for before my trials—and fling the nail at the pit walls, testing them. Nothing. An orange glow fills the void within the vent closest to me, telling me that I have seconds to act, and I lower myself into the pit, pressing my feet and hands against the sides, holding myself just above the net as it zaps from the drops of sweat that fall from my chin. A deafening roar overtakes me, pounding my eardrums, forcing me to scream from its painful eruption as I hold myself up, while the drone, my constant companion in this hellish place, hovers below me, capturing every moment.

  The fire stops. Silence whistles in my ears as I crawl out of the pit, being careful not to touch the net beneath me, and I charge across the final stretch while continuing the count in my head.

  One… two… three…

  Pure will drives me forward as I am determined to not fail, and I think of Sheila, and Gwen. If I die here, who will protect them? I think of my commander, knowing that if I die here, she will meet the same fate. Besides, I have made it this far; I’ll be damned if I fail now.

  Four… five…

  I push harder, my feet flying over the floor so fast that they look like blurred smudges. A spark catches my attention.

  Shit!

  I stop just before I plow into the electrified net stretched across the finish line. Pacing in front of it, I search for a way through, but there is none and the count has ended. The final rumble begins, warning me that my time has run out. I need an escape. There has to be a way past this! The overseers of the trials would have left some way for me to win; it is in the rules. I scan the floor and find nothing as the rumble intensifies. Swallowing the lump in my throat in an effort to stay calm, I look upward, for anything that might…

  I see it!

  An end of a rope dangles high above me, coiled on a platform. I notice the conveyor belt attached to the dais and follow its line back to a single button on the far wall. The whine of the drone fills my ears as it watches me, giving me an idea. I snatch it out of the air and chuck it across the open space, hitting the button that drops the platform, releasing the rope, but it is still too high up for me to reach. Heat encircles me as the ominous orange glow fills the vents, while a series of zaps bursts from the net that imprisons me. Bracing myself, I take a running leap for the rope, knowing that I have one chance to get it right. Fibers touch my hand, and I seize the line, not caring if my tight grip turns my fingers pale as I kick my feet, swinging back and forth in an effort to gain the momentum necessary to propel me over the net. With one final swing, my body drifts over the tangled web of electricity as fire spews from the vents, creating an impenetrable wall that cooks my skin, and I let go. My knees buckle from the impact as I land, forcing me to drop to the floor and somersault over the red finish line.

  Snapping reverberates around me as the locks on the giant, steel door in front of me release their hold and it opens, allowing those on the other side to pass through. I glare at the faces surrounding me, looking for familiar ones, spotting Commander Vye whose face appears to be a mixture of pride and relief, before settling on Molers’ fuming eyes.

  “Anymore requests?” I ask him, my defiant tone does not go unnoticed.

  He turns and stalks away, disappearing into the cold light of the corridor, salvaging what dignity he has left.

  Chapter 9

  A Summons

  The bronze gates to the presidential palace loom before me as I approach them, marveling at the carvings upon them (of leaves folding over one another in a linear sort of pattern) that I had not paid much attention to the first time I had been invited here. Each ray of the sun brings out a different shade of red and orange as it shines upon the structure, forming a thin veil of color that resembles burnt smoke more than sunlight, and it changes my black uniform to an apricot color as I pass in front of it, strolling up to the arbiter standing guard, knowing full well that more are nearby should I, or anyone, try anything. He holds his hand out in front of me, stopping me. “State your business,” he says in a growl.

  “Arbiter Noni, serial number N27461, is here to see President Tapiwa,” I say, standing at attention.

  The arbiter scrolls through his pad and finds my name there, checking it off, before scanning the mark on the back of my neck, verifying my identity.

  A metallic crunch echoes around me as the gates open, allowing me passage. The arbiter says nothing when they open, so I just continue onward and walk through into the courtyard beyond, having not been provided a transport like the last time I was here. More than a week has passed since my escapade in the trial of fears, but instead of being allowed to go back to my life as an arbiter, I received a summons last night; a plebeian had showed up just as my duty shift ended and handed me the request to appear before President Tapiwa before noon today. Not wanting to keep her waiting,—it is never a good idea to ignore a presidential request—I made sure I left the manor right after sunrise. And so, here I am, a lone figure walking along the bisque-colored stones of the courtyard as they squeeze together, forming star-like patterns as the bits of glass mixed in them glint in the sunlight, making it look as though I am walking upon a sea of diamonds, heading up the triangular steps to the 20-foot high copper-lined, steel doors. I pause as the gates close behind me, feeling tiny in this stone square, and feeling alone. The last time I was here Commander Vye was with me and her presence gave me strength, but now… now I must go alone as my mind focuses on one reason after another for the presidential summons. Why does Tapiwa want to see me?

  Before I have time to dwell on scenario after scenario, a dark figure sprints down the marble steps, hurrying toward me, his aegean-colored pants billowing in the breeze created by his movements, resembling balloons around his legs more than an item of clothing. In a way, he looked like a blueberry rolling toward me. I inch my way closer to the steps, aware that the only reason this man is here is because it is his job to greet me, and as he comes closer, my mind recognizes him as the same man that greeted me, and the others, when I was here for the ceremony.

  “Arbiter Noni!” Kelab, the Minister of Affairs, greets me. “You’re here. Good. Good. Follow me.”

  He hurries back up the steps, but despite how fast his feet move, he didn’t cover much distance, since for every three of his steps, one of mine manages to keep pace. He should learn to walk with dignity and to stand tall and proud like us arbiters. As we go up the marble stai
rs and through the magnificent doors, the sun’s light intensifies, shaking off the sleepiness of the morning, letting everyone know that now is the time to be awake. Like before, we pass under the dome, and like before, I find myself staring up at it and the paintings of glorious moments within Arel, wondering about them, about the past, about how the city was formed, and wondering if there was a time when dark-skinned and fair-skinned walked together as equals, instead of separated. I must have stopped walking because Kaleb clears his throat, just a little, to shake me from my ponderings.

  “My apologies,” I say as I continue to follow him up the marble steps and the amber ribbons that weave their way through them, reminding me of endless rivers forming their own tangled web of illusion.

  “It is magnificent,” Kaleb says with a wink. “Now, come along. We mustn’t keep President Tapiwa waiting.”

  His feet scuffle on the marble floor, squeaking for just a moment, as he hurries off with me walking behind him in a calm fashion, while moving my eyes around to take in the ornate engravings on the walls as they snake up from the floor to the ceiling, looking like candle sticks that are stuck in the wall and can come alive at any moment. I force myself to quit mesmerizing at the grandeur of the palace, though it is difficult, as this is only my second time in the presidential palace and its elegant acquisitions, and I hurry after Kaleb as he takes me up the first flight of stairs and to the two staircases that branch upward, veering to the one on the left. Unable to contain myself, I place my palm on the railing, remembering that, when I was first here, Kaleb had said it was made out of Lala palm, and it is still just as smooth as the day it was first created. I remove my hand when Kaleb glances back in my direction, winking at me again as though I am some fresh-faced recruit. When we reach the top, the light dissipates into shadowed mystique as we stroll down the corridor and to an area that I assume is the private living space of the two presidents, but what catches my notice, is not the change in atmosphere, but the portrait dawning an archway at the end of a man, tall and proud, but with an air of arrogance as he holds his chin high and looks down his nose at any unfortunate enough to cross the path below him.