Chapter 13: The Decision
“You’re sure about this?” asks Constanza. After I had told Peter my decision he had ushered the group to my room.
“Yes.”
Royce’s dark eyes stare intently at me. “You’ve thought this out carefully?”
“Why are all of you questioning me?” I ask, perplexed. “Isn’t this why you abducted me?—to free me?”
“We want you to be completely positive,” explains Constanza. “There’s no room for any doubt in this operation. This is going to be dangerous and will take one hundred and twenty percent dedication.”
“I’m in,” I repeat strongly.
Constanza eyes me. “Are you su—”
“If there’s any chance I might be able free the person my real parents intended me to be then I have to try,” I announce.
Constanza nods. "Yes, you need to be the person you were born to be."
“Exactly,” Peter expresses.
“I’m definitely in.”
Peter smiles. “I didn’t expect any less from you.”
"I am, however, concerned with others risking their lives for me," I express.
"Don't be," Peter rushes. "You are our beacon of powerful light—our hope for the future."
"Are you sure about risking your lives for me?"
"We know exactly what we're getting into, but I'm still worried that you don't, Madrigal," states Constanza, “the leaders won’t kill you because they’re scared of what might happen with your supernova energy. But this time, instead of beating you down with horrible parents, they might lock you up or do something just as bad.”
“Believe me, I know their cruelty. I know what I’m up against.”
“Are you sure about leaving your old life?”
“Positive.”
“We’re thrilled about your decision,’” Constanza announces happily. “We can be part of your supernova future.”
“What’s next?” I ask. “What’s the strategy?”
“Royce and Peter are going to go with you to the Freedom Warriors Headquarters,” Constanza informs.
“Peter and . . . Royce?” I ask, not helping the grimace on my face when I say the latter.
Royce winces. “I’m going,” he says quietly.
“There are no better warriors than these two,” asserts Constanza.
“When do we leave?” I ask.
Constanza lets out a long breath. “As much as I’d like for you to get to headquarters ASAP, I can’t let you go just like that.”
“What?” I ask, baffled.
“She means that you need training—even if it’s just the basics,” explains Royce.
“Training?”
Peter nods. “Survival training.”
“I wish we could give you a full course of it,” Constanza regrets, “but we can only spare a few days. I’m afraid you’ll have to learn fast.”
“Let’s do it,” I declare. The sooner the better—I’m anxious to get to my new life.
Peter and Royce take me to a small gym close to my room. Some weights and mats are strewn about as if ready to be used.
“Survival is in the mind and heart,” assures Royce, his voice unwavering and strong. “That’s the first thing you should learn.”
Peter nods. “He’s right, Madrigal.”
“Believe it or not, the most important trick to survival isn’t about the gadgets or even the training you have.”
“What is it about then?” I ask with curiosity.
Royce’s dark eyes sit on me. “It’s about your state of mind—your belief in what you’re doing and you’re belief in yourself. It’s got to be in every cell inside of you.”
“Every cell?”
Royce nods quietly. “During dangerous situations, well trained people die all the time. People with fancy gadgets too. The ones who survive are the ones who push everything they have inside of themselves to move forward.”
“Your whole heart has to be in it,” explains Peter.
“Is that how a resistance survives when it's up against those much more powerful?” I ask quietly.
“It survives because to leave things as they are is a complete abomination—a compromise with the devil that can’t be made anymore,” Royce declares, between his teeth.
Peter nods vehemently. “That’s right!”
“You’ve got to want to survive, want to set things right, want to shake what needs to be shaken. You’ve got to want it with every single thing you’ve got inside of you.”
“I do,” I blurt passionately.
Royce smiles. “Okay, I think you’re ready.”
"Are we using weapons," I ask.
“No guns,” states Peter.
“No guns?” I ask.
“We can’t risk you being shot, Madrigal,” explains Royce.
“You could detonate the world,” Peter agrees.
Royce nods, his dark eyes on me. “It’s too big of a risk.”
“I’m like an atomic bomb,” I sigh unhappily. “A big, destructive thing.”
Peter shakes his head. “You’re much more than that.”
“Madrigal, you’re the Supernova,” states Royce. “Don’t forget it.”
“Let’s hope I’m good for something other than explosions.”
“You are our hope,” assures Peter. “The seers have always been right.”
Royce’s dark eyes stay on me. “And they’re right about you.”
During the next few days, I learn about surviving dangerous situations. Peter and Royce teach me to start a fire with natural materials, navigation strategies, first aid, and how to procure food, water and shelter.
“I’m amazed at how fast you’re catching on,” states Constanza, her eyes proud of me.
“I’ve got to confess something.”
“What is it?”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been taught these skills,” I assert.
One of her eyebrows arches up. “No?”
“My father taught me survival skills.”
“You’re father?” she asks, baffled.
“My real father.”
“He taught you this stuff when you were small?” she asks, surprised.
“He started when I was three.”
“Three years old?” she questions, astonished.
“Yep.”
“And you remember?”
“A lot of memories are coming back to me.”
“And you’re relating them with what you’re being taught now?” she asks, amazed.
“It’s like riding a bike,” I assert.
“Madrigal, I can hardly remember when I was five—much less three.”
I shrug and let out a breath. “It’s just one of those things.”
“Well, after all you’re the Supernova.”
I don’t know about the exploding star business which still leaves me with many doubts, but I do know that I have to fight for what I want. And there’s one thing that I need that will help do just that. When waking up one morning, I have a recollection that shows me the way.
“I need a slingshot,” I tell Peter and Royce.
“A slingshot?” Royce questions, baffled.
“I’m good at throwing things.”
Peter smiles. “I know,” he says as he puts his hand on his head where I had hit him with the tube of toothpaste.
“A slingshot will help me throw further than with my hands.”
Peter chuckles. “If this bruise still on my head is an indication of her abilities, we should make sure she has a slingshot.”
Royce nods. “We’ll have to make one.”
Between the three of us and the memories that I have of my real father making one for me, we construct a sturdy one from wood. Both Peter and Royce stare intently at me as I make the first try. As I start pulling back the thick rubber band, the rock falls flat to the floor.
“It’s been many years since I did this,” I explain.
“Try again,”
orders Royce.
This time, I manage to keep the rock in the rubber part of the slingshot. I pull back again and then let go, but the rock only goes a few inches and drops sluggishly to the ground.
“I need lots of practice,” I mumble, embarrassed.
“Don’t worry, Madrigal,” Peter offers, putting his hand on my shoulder. My first reaction is to slap it away. I’m not very good with demonstrations of affection, but I convince myself not to be rude. “Practice makes perfect,” he assures. “You can do it.”
I smile warmly at him, his touch still bothering me but my fondness for him stronger than my need for space. “Thanks.”
Peter returns my smile. “You’re welcome.”
“You’re so kind, Peter,” I utter.
“You deserve kindness.”
“I hate to break up this lovefest,” grumbles Royce, “but we have a lot of work to do.”
“I need to practice with my sling—”
“Let’s forget about rock throwing for the moment,” Royce declares dismissively. “We need to go over self defense techniques—that’s priority.”
As much as I dislike his spiky tone, I agree. Self defense is very necessary. As he teaches me tactics, I try to soak them all up. It could mean the difference between life and death, and no one is more aware of this than me. To my great relief, I realize that unlike the slingshot fiasco, old moves my real parents taught me come back easily and I’m able to flip even Royce to the ground a few times. On one occasion, he gets me unprepared and I’m the one who hits the floor with a heavy thud.
Peter rushes to me. “Are you okay?”
I gather whatever breaths I can with the wind knocked out of me. “I’m fine,” I manage to piece together.
“Hey, Royce!” he cries angrily, “What’s wrong with you?!”
“She needs to defend herself, and we can’t baby her.”
“You could’ve hurt her.”
“Our enemies will hurt her more if they catch her.”
“Hey—”
“He’s right, Peter,” I interject, finally getting my breath and strength back. I start lifting myself off the ground, and Peter immediately tries to help. I shake my head at him. “I can do this by myself.”
He nods solemnly as I stand up on my own. “I still think that was too rough,” he insists.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “I’m not a delicate figurine. I’m not going to break.”
“She’s fine,” Royce tells Peter.
Peter’s hazel eyes delve into Royce’s. “You and I should practice,” he hisses.
“I think that’s a great idea,” agrees Royce, his own voice unrelenting.
“Give me everything you’ve got because I’m not holding back!”
“Let’s roll!”
Before I know it, they are going at each other, knocking one another around as if the fight is for real. I’m stunned. It seems too rough to be practice.
“What are you two doing?” I demand to know.
They don’t pay attention to me as they continue roughing each other up. It’s a wrestling match with some martial arts thrown in. Blood is now spurting from Peter’s mouth and a wound on Royce’s cheek. Sweat pours off them, and I’m frightened that the cousins will do serious injury to one another.
“Stop it!” I yell.
“Don’t get in the middle of this, Madrigal,” states Royce.
“We have to make sure we’re prepared for the worse,” explains Peter.
“But—”
“Stay out of this,” Royce insists.
“Stay far away from us, Madrigal. You might get hurt,” Peter interjects.
Royce wrestles Peter to the ground and pins him down. Roughly pulling Peter’s right arm behind his back, Royce’s dark eyes gleam with satisfaction.. “Say you give up,” demands Royce.
“Never,” hisses Peter.
“Give up!”
“No!”
Royce yanks at Peter’s arm so forcefully that I’m terrified he’s going to pull it out of its socket. I can see the excruciating pain in Peter’s eyes, and my own heart hurts. How can his cousin be this cruel?
“Leave him alone,” I demand.
“Stay out of this, Madrigal,” Royce repeats.
“But—”
“Everything is okay,” Peter tells me with short, spastic breaths.
Everything is most certainly not okay! Peter’s savage beast of a cousin is unrelenting. I have to do something. I consider climbing on Royce’s back but judging by his enormous strength, he’ll probably just throw me off. I have to think of something else.
Then it hits me.
With fury boiling inside of me like an explosive volcano, I grab my preferred weapon.
This time my slingshot feels like its part of me. The rock doesn’t sputter, it doesn’t wimp out on me, and it doesn’t travel sluggishly. It violently crashes into the small of Royce’s back. He abruptly falls to the side before realizing what happened.