Hostiles.
It was the most awkward moment of my life. I had no idea what to say, if I ought to do something. Did I have to give her a hug? After a moment I compromised by gently patting her back, saying, “I’m sorry.”
She huffed, shrugging me off. “I didn’t run off at the mouth for the fun of it. I’m telling you this so you’ll understand. See, Winslow is the splitting image of my da—a real Bardzecki man. He’s got the face, the build, and the attitude to match.” She tilted her head, mouth open, struggling for words. Finally, “Gridleigh... well, he takes after his da. And since his da wasn’t around, Bet stayed with Carissa for a time. That’s when Gridleigh started the rivalry, though it only exists in his mind. I guess he never felt like he fit, like he had a place, so he was always trying to take Winslow’s.”
“What did he do?”
“At first Gridleigh just wanted attention and praise. While Winslow would be climbing trees for the fun of it, Gridleigh would be climbing higher to prove himself. It was always like that, and it only got worse as he got older.” She looked at me sharpish then, to make sure I was paying attention. I nodded, and satisfied, she continued. “Gridleigh went away to live with my brother, Instructor Bardzecki, for a few years, and when he came back they were both sixteen. Maybe Gridleigh wouldn’t have been so competitive if they weren’t the same age, but I guess we’ll never know. So anyhow, Gridleigh returns to live with Winslow and instantly falls in love with Samona, a local girl.”
I didn’t like where the story was headed, but I couldn’t stop listening, thralled into a quiet stupor.
“I can’t say whether he liked her because she was Winslow’s girl or not, but the idea of stealing her away would have only fueled his infatuation. But of course she’d been sweet on Winslow for years, and like all the girls, she only had eyes for him.”
I grimaced but hid it the instant Mave turned to me. “You can imagine how the story ends. Winslow never participated in the rivalry, never even acknowledged it until Gridleigh started talking about Samona. There was a big fight, I’m not sure of the particulars, but I fear neither will ever get past it. So you see how this affects you?”
“I don’t think either of them are interested in me romantically,” I said, keeping any form of emotion from my voice.
“And aren’t we lucky!” she exclaimed. “No, I mean that Gridleigh sees this as a competition. On one hand, he might think that Bardzecki chose to put you on Winslow’s format because he didn’t want to hurt Gridleigh’s chance at trials. But on the other hand, he might have done it because he trusts Winslow more, trusts that it won’t interfere with his format’s performance. It must be eating at him, not knowing.” She looked me in the eye. “And trust me, Frost, romance or no, you don’t want to be caught between those two.” She thrust the soap container at me. “Now I’ve said everything I intend to say on the matter, so go on, shoo!”
I made to return the soap to its shelf, but turned to ask, “Which is it?”
“Which is what?” she huffed.
“Why did Bardzecki put me on Winslow’s format?”
“Why do you think?” she asked as she shuffled off.
I had no idea. But of course, it was pouring down rain when I left.
Chapter 18
My entire format was clustered inside of their hut. It was crowded and gloomy, with the only light streaming in through the doorless entry. Dinner had just finished, and I was anticipating my last day in the hole, though not for the reason one might expect. That second day, when Winslow lowered me down into the damp pit, I had been so tired that I’d fallen into a deep sleep almost immediately. So what had started out as a tedious, despised punishment soon became something I looked forward to. I’d nap for a few hours, the quiet, dark space feeling less creepy with each passing day. And when Winslow came to pull me out, I’d study until I was due for night-watch. I yawned in anticipation just thinking about it. But Winslow had called a format meeting and I would just have to suffer through first.
I watched him twist around the stacked bunks, passing out and collecting letters. I hadn’t written home yet, not since getting my family’s letters. I just wasn’t sure what to say.
Next to me Roth was sprawled across his bed. We sat on the top bunk, legs dangling over. He was deep in conversation with Jackson, who was telling him about how back home he used to lift, using farming equipment as his weights. Roth, who seemed to love weight lifting more than life itself, was totally engrossed.
I noticed Swanson and Steward sitting on the next bunk over, staring at me. I tried to ignore them for a while, but eventually cracked. “What!” I said in exasperation. Those two really had a gift for getting under a person’s skin.
Steward leaned forward. “We saw what happened in the convene. Gridleigh can be a real prick.”
Swanson leaned in next. “Do you want revenge on Gridleigh?” he asked quietly. And before I could even open my mouth to respond, “No, don’t say anything,” he cut in, shooting Winslow a quick glance. “Just give us the signal and we’ll take care of it.” And then they both sat back, staring at me with expectation in their eyes.
As I hadn’t a clue what signal they were talking about, I held very still, hoping they didn’t misinterpret a single twitch. Winslow called for our attention. I sighed in relief, ignoring Swan and Stew with pleasure.
“Alright,” he called out. “The first half of the year is over, and soon the instructors will provide feedback on our individual progress. But it’s the second half of our training that I’m concerned with, because I imagine it will go fast. So I want to start preparing for trials now.”
My format seemed to go wild for the idea. They cheered in various ways, each laden with excitement. Roth thumped me on the back, smiling grandly. I tried to look happy in return.
Winslow waited for everyone to calm before going on. “Trials are notoriously competitive because soldiers from the format with the highest score usually continue on to have an outstanding military career. You want to be recognized? Then you have to be on the winning format. In order to do that, we have to accept our weaknesses and deal with them accordingly.”
“And how do you plan on dealing with that one?” Pumphrey asked. He hitched his thumb at me.
I hunched over, wishing I wasn’t singled out so often. Roth bumped my shoulder with his in a show of solidarity, but I kept my eyes cast down.
“Yes,” Winslow confirmed casually. “I’ll speak with Frost in a minute. But first I’d like to discuss the Shetheerie exam, which may be written, oral, or both. Edwards, I want you to study with Fitallion from now on. And, Pumphrey,” he added, skewering the soldier with one look, “you could use some help as well.”
“Like hell!” Pumphrey shot back.
Winslow held up a hand, forestalling the argument. “Alright, we’ll wait until Instructor McMoore gives you your Shetheerie grade, and if it’s not suitable, then you’ll study with Fitallion. Without complaint,” he tacked on. “Agreed?”
It was a fair proposal, though Pumphrey didn’t want to agree. But he had little choice. I could tell by his pinched face that his grade would not suffice.
“Maybe Frost could tutor me. She’s good at Shetheerie,” Edwards interjected.
Winslow gave him a disapproving look, which Edwards seemed to shrink under.
“Frost,” Winslow said, turning to address me. “You’ll do very well on the academic portion of trials, but you need help with—”
“—Everything else,” Pumphrey cut in snidely.
Winslow ignored him. “They’ll test each soldier’s physical abilities, much like the drills we run through in PT. I want you to spend time each week lifting weights with Roth.”
“Ha!” Roth laughed. “I knew it was only a matter of time.” As if I had consented by choice, not likely! But I mustered up a smile for him anyway. It was hard not to.
“I assume there w
ill be a basic combat exam of some kind. Lee can prepare you for that, perhaps even Dutton can help. It couldn’t hurt,” Winslow said, thinking out loud. “In addition, we’ll be tested on one or more of the weapons we’ve studied. Since you’ve missed the first half of the year, you’ll need to make up the hands-on experience. Fitallion can take you to the range for practice initially, but once you feel comfortable, I’d like Pumphrey to take over. He’ll help with marksmanship.”
“What? No!” Pumphrey protested.
“Every mate’s score will affect the format as a whole. And since you have been so concerned with her holding us back, I thought you’d be relieved by how everyone is contributing to get her up to speed,” Winslow countered. “That includes you. Agreed?” he asked Pumphrey for the second time.
Winslow was gifted. He continued to back Pumphrey into a corner each time he disrupted the meeting. He was made to be a format first, well, for now at least. Eventually he’d lead more than just twelve training soldiers, of that I was certain.
Pumphrey shot me a venomous look. It was paired with his defeat, so I ignored it and the meeting moved on.
“The war games will be the last test of trials, but we won’t be given more information on that until it’s closer to the time. It could include our knowledge on first aid or land navigation and the like... maps, compasses. And since it is called the war games, you can certainly expect real-life scenarios involving combat, weapons, strategy and teamwork.”
This seemed to stir the format into a frenzy, while I remained singular in my disinterest.
“But like I said, we’ll worry about that closer to the time. For now, I want us to focus on making our weaknesses our strengths,” Winslow said, bringing the meeting to a close with finality.
It was a lovely sentiment, what he’d said. But as the only real weakness to my format, I wasn’t holding out hope of becoming its strength any time soon.
* * *
The rain that had been was long gone. It was early evening and the sun was drifting down for the day, but it was still hot. The wind blew from left to right, kicking up a small bit of sand that swirled around our ankles before sinking back into the grass. Even with all the effort they put into keeping camp manicured and picturesque, the sand still crept in, drifting from all sides, but mostly from below, shoving up beneath our very feet.
Winslow strode beside me, his legs eating up the distance between us and our destination—the hole. He surprised me by saying, “Instructor Bardzecki has agreed that one week in the hole is enough. Today will be your last day, though you will continue on with your other chores until I say otherwise.”
Was that his idea or Bardzecki’s? I didn’t bother asking. And I especially didn’t bother arguing.
“Fiona!”
When I turned, it took me a moment to recognize who’d called my name. And when I finally did, I was uneasy about it. Doug Chambers. I hadn’t seen Doug in a while. He was leaner now; face a bit sharper than it’d been before. It was the Doug I had fancied when I was young and lonely. The Doug who hadn’t wanted to speak to me (or even be seen standing next to me) back then. Doug had turned from boy to man, but his lashes were still long, drawing attention to a pair of expressive eyes. I looked into them, wondering why he was interested in speaking with me now. With Winslow behind me and Doug in front, trapped between the two… uneasy wasn’t the right word.
“Hello, Doug,” I said somewhat reluctantly. “What are you doing here?”
He smiled. “We’re in the same convene!”
“Oh. I haven’t seen you around.”
“But I have seen you. Causing the same splash as always, huh, Fiona? I had a letter from home, things are the same there. People are probably talking about you all over the Triangle Patch.”
Winslow was still standing just behind me. I felt like he must be staring down over my shoulder at Doug, but Doug seemed oblivious. So I said, “This is my first, First Winslow. Winslow this is Doug, I know him from—”
“—Oh we go way back,” he interjected, eyeing Winslow for the first time. “Winslow, huh? I know your cousin. He seemed quite interested in Fiona here. I had some stories—”
I didn’t need him to tell me about the stories. I already knew them. So I’d found the soldier who ‘knew’ me from back home, the soldier who had said... what was it? Ah, yes, I remember—that I was strange. And there was something else too, something not half as friendly as the smile he was sending me. I would bet he had written home about me, that he’d been the one to start the rumors around town.
“So, Fiona, do you know why you are here?” he asked, fishing for more information.
I just didn’t have the patience for it. “You may call me Soldier Frost,” I replied. “And apparently you already know why I’m here. Didn’t you tell First Gridleigh that it was because my parents couldn’t marry me off?”
His eyes skimmed over me to Winslow, suddenly wary. “I never—”
I cut him off. “—We don’t go way back. Our homes may have been in close proximity, but it may as well have been from here to Earth for all the attention it got me.”
“We weren’t introduced. It wouldn’t have been pro—”
I walked away, not wanting to hear more of his blathering. I was lost in thought as I marched to the convene, Winslow stalking quietly at my heel. Why had Doug suddenly wanted to talk to me? I’d overheard a lot more gossip since that morning by the latrine. I knew I was an oddity like Fitallion. The mere fact earned me a slew of unwanted attention. But the soldiers here at camp seemed to view me differently than I viewed myself.
Elizabeth had always been the pretty one. Even at twelve, the boys back home were just waiting for her to grow up, recognizing a good thing when they saw it. She was pale and fair-haired, with pink cheeks and red lips. Her eyes were bright blue, full of color, matching her flounced skirts which always caught the eye. She looked like she’d been drawn into the book of fairy tales my da had brought from Earth, identical to the princesses on every page. And then there was me... Having spent most of my time working under the sun, my skin was brown. Brown like the dirt under my short cracked nails. Brown like my hair and brown like my eyes. Brown. Brown. Brown.
But the soldiers here didn’t draw the same conclusions, in fact, they seemed to see a totally different me. I couldn’t help but notice how often I was on the receiving end of a lingering look, as if the soldiers admired me. And they must have, because I also noticed the way my format sort of discouraged them, standing around me while we ate or worked out during PT, insulating me. They kept the other soldiers from coming too close, and if by chance one did manage to strike up conversation with me, my mates were always hovering nearby to squash it. I didn’t mind. I just had a hard time believing that here I was desirable.
They said that when the sun struck my hair, it was red. When it reflected from my eyes, they were yellow. I’d never seen my reflection in the sunlight, only my ill-lit bedroom back home. And even if I’d wanted to check now, I couldn’t, because Ram and Mar had yet to return my mirror. The soldiers said I was striking, and the gossip concerning my looks was only fueled by the rumors about my intelligence. There was a rumor going around that I spoke fluent Shetheerie, and another that said I’d come to camp speaking Shetheerie. Some said I was a spy from Earth. Others said I was the illegitimate daughter of Commander Clarke. Camp was abounding with rumors, and I couldn’t help but overhear a few.
We were already walking through the convene cellar when Winslow spoke. “So the two of you go way back?” It was dark down there, so I couldn’t quite tell, but I thought his face might be hinting towards a smile.
“You think I was mean?”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m just always surprised what you’re like.”
“What am I like?”
“I thought you were bold that day in class when Edwards didn’t know
the answer and you tried to help him.”
“Stupid, you mean,” I said offhandedly.
“Yes,” he agreed. “And you’ve got some nerve, breaking into Bardzecki’s office like you did. Not many could do that.”
“Also stupid.”
“You didn’t let Gridleigh push you too far, or that Doug fellow, which takes gumption. It’s just buried under that inscrutable façade.”
“You think I’m inscrutable?” I asked, voice thick with sarcasm.
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m not the only one,” I muttered.
Chapter 19
“Mar!” I called, pushing myself up off the ground. He and Ram were wiping the sweat off their faces, gathering up waterskins, and preparing to leave the field. PT had just ended, so it took a big effort on my part to chase after them. “Wait up!”
I think Mar would have ignored me, but Ram turned.
“Where is my mirror?” I managed to say while catching my breath.
“We don’t have it yet,” Mar replied, visibly annoyed.
“You were supposed to have gotten it days ago.”
“We need more time,” Ram said.
“I gave you three days!”
“He said we need more time,” Martinez growled before stalking off. Ram followed behind, probably forgetting the whole conversation the moment I was out of sight.
“You handled that all wrong,” called a sing-song voice from behind me. Swanson and Steward sidled, and I hadn’t a clue as to which of them had spoken. Even after weeks at camp they still appeared nearly identical, though they swore there was no blood relation. On occasion Steward would wear spectacles in class, a black thick-framed pair that did nothing to offset his washed-out complexion. And sometimes, when standing close, I noticed that Swanson’s eyebrows and lashes were so pale as to be nearly invisible, which didn’t help his washed-out complexion either. But so far those were the only perceptible cues which marked them as two separate beings.
“You didn’t follow through with your threat, so now they know you’re bluffing.”
“Yup, if you’re pinning your hopes on them, then your mirror is long gone,” agreed the other, looping his arm around my shoulders as he steered me toward the convene for breakfast. Up close I could tell it was Swan by his transparent eyelashes.