The Choosing (The Arcadia Trilogy Book 1) (9 page)

T
he trials began
.

She was called out in the morning and injected with a truth drug, the nurse giving the injection so distracted by the beautiful Centurion keeping guard she practically stabbed Olivia with the needle.

She sat in a hard metal chair and faced a panel of government officials and answered questions for hours until they got to the one question she had anticipated and dreaded. She could feel the serum coursing through her veins. She held her breath.

"What does the word freedom mean to you?" The man asking it was old, bald, shriveled, ugly. What did he know of Livy's life, the one she'd lost, the one in Pastoreum? Or of her hopes for the future?

"It means nothing to me." She could say that, even with the drug still working its evils. She was telling the truth.

"Come now, surely you've heard the word."

"I have heard the word. In many places. From many people. It is somewhat overused."

This seemed to amuse the persimmon mouthed math teacher who sat on the examining board.

"But you know the word. You know what it means."

Livy parroted without intention. "I know the word. I know what it means."

He persisted, bald head sweating a little in the summer-hot room. "What does the word freedom mean to you?"

"Nothing," Livy said.

F
ollowing
her interview she was barraged with tests, sometimes in rooms full of students, sometimes in a tiny cubicle where her paranoia and claustrophobia ran rampant. IQ tests, reasoning, personality, skills, literacy, math, and that one made her laugh. Tests for where she fit into society. Tests for
how
she fit into society.

They asked her again about the word freedom. She didn't have the drug in her this time and felt naked when she answered. She told them about the plow horse she used to have, about watching him slip the traces and run shaking his mane and battering the crops, his delight in his freedom.

"Did you envy him?"

She would have to be careful here.

"He did not know his place." When they seemed to expect more, she said, "I did not envy him."

T
hey came
at last with a bitter drink and watched her as she drank the contents of the glass. They stepped back when the bitter concoction spewed back up and out of her moments later. They were unconcerned. Vomiting didn't change the way the drug pierced the blood-brain barrier and changed the way the neurotransmitters did their jobs. They fastened a camera on her to watch her eye movements, sensors to track her involuntary nervous system reactions.

They left her in a small dark room.

Livy began to scream.

I
n the hallucination
, the fires burned around the city again. Mother and father, Grandfather Bane and Pippa, her siblings, Geoffrey, Kellan, Vicki and Ted, all of them running from the figure on horseback, the Centurion holding aloft the torch, bringing it down on the back of her mother's skull. Leaving her spilled in the burning fields where the old plow horse that never existed shakes his mane and runs free, free, free and her father falls in slow motion, shot by his very own bullets when the fire sets them off.

Livy, wearing a sash of purple, royal purple, chosen for something, turning her back on her family as they run and kneeling at the feet of the Plutarch.

Creatures crawling out from under his robe. Mutants from the savage Forbidden Zone. No. It's only a dream, just like a dream.

They're tracking. So she kneels at the feet of the Plutarch, begging for mercy.

As the drug wears off and the connection to the tracking equipment fades, she sees herself stand, facing the Plutarch, holding a harvesting tool: a mirror sharp sickle.

But by then the testers were no longer tracking her hallucinations.

Fists clenched, Livy woke.

S
weating
, aching, her mouth tasting foul, Livy woke into the day of the Choosing. Still alone, in a room even smaller than that she had shared with Julia for six months, she performed sit ups, push ups, stretches, isometrics, ran in place and finally showered, leaving cleaning her teeth for last for the pure pleasure of it.

Breakfast came. She only ate because she believed she'd need the strength to get through the day. What she really wanted was Simon.

She had no proof she'd ever see him again.

J
ulia met
her in the hallway. The Centurions were forcing everyone along, but Julia delayed just long enough for Livy to catch up.

Livy instantly took her hand. "Scared?"

Julia nodded. "I keep telling myself whatever is going to happen will happen no matter what I do."

Livy nodded, moving along the underground corridor that would lead them through the Institute and to the Square without ever getting into the compromised "outside" the domed city offered. That was a shame.

Julia added, "And then I see Viola again in my memory."

Livy squeezed her hand. "I'm seeing exactly the same thing."

Maybe not exactly. Maybe she was more afraid for Simon than for herself, and for Julia, as well. Maybe she was overconfident, but the way the Plutarch had responded to her, the way she felt, the way she learned, she didn't think she had anything to fear.

For herself. For everyone she cared about, Livy was afraid.

The ceremony made her nervous too. The Choosing would be broadcast throughout Arcadia and to any of the provinces that had electricity and a way to receive the stream. Every one of the students at the choosing would be shown on the glass walls of the dome, giant pictures capturing their expressions, their reactions. Delight or despair or deviance.

She'd have to school her features.

Maybe that wouldn't be hard. Livy was still torn. A part of her wanted the luxury of remaining an Alpha in this society. She wouldn't have to work unless she chose it, and among her choices would be government work. She could work in the arts. She could write down her stories.

The other part of Livy still worried about her family. She tried to convince herself they were no worse off than they had been without her there. If there was less food produced by her family and less of an allowance of community share, at least Livy herself wasn't there to consume any of what they were awarded. That had to help.

Right.

She couldn't stop thinking of her grandfather, either. If there was any way on this day of the Choosing he would make his way to somewhere that had a live feed. He'd be watching. He'd see Olivia Bane as she was assigned her place in life. What would he think? What would he, who knew her better than Julia, better than Tarah, better than Simon or her mother, what would he see on her face? Loyalty to her community?

Or treason?

The corridor sloped upwards. Julia's hand sweated inside Livy's, or maybe they were both sweaty palmed.

The doors at the end of the corridor opened. The Square lay ahead of them, the stages, the place where the traitor had been judged and beheaded, the whipping post where Viola had been half stripped and beaten until she fainted.

Livy began to shake. She shied from the sight of the stage and tried to pull back.

The Centurions forced her forward, Julia still clinging to her. Just before she stepped into the diffuse sunlight, Livy caught sight of the female Centurion. Since the day she'd been brought in she'd never had an interaction with that guard again.

Today, briefly, the guard made eye contact. The female guard caught Livy's eye, held it, and slowly lowered her chin. If nothing else, Livy thought the look might mean
stay strong
.

T
he remaining youths
stood on the platform, waiting to be assigned to Alpha, Beta or Gamma. The director, missing for months, too busy to deal with them most of the time, stood on the stage, as real and frightening as the judges had been.

"This is an historic day!" he called to the waiting spectators, everyone from Beta to Gamma and Alpha to government worker to titled Aristocracy. "Today the results of the Culling stand before you, waiting to be judged. These are the young people who will see our communities into the future, those who will rule, those who will serve, those who will perform: Alpha, Beta, Gamma."

"Why don't they hurry up?" Julia whispered. "I just want to get this over with."

Livy whispered back. "Really? I'd rather stand here forever than go on with it if it's going to turn out bad."

"You have nothing to worry about," Julia said, and scanned the others on the stage, "There's Trevor. And Simon."

Livy whipped around, fast enough to almost catch the Director's attention. Simon stood a few rows back, up a ways on bleachers, so the crowd could see all the youths present. When he saw her, Simon flashed a rare, fast smile, then briefly closed his eyes, acknowledging her.

Livy did the same, and faced forward, more confident and relaxed now she knew Simon was there. Which was crazy. There wasn't anything he could do anymore than she could. If one of them was declared Gamma, the other would only be able to watch.

That's not going to happen. You know that.

She knew nothing.

Just that fast, the director began naming Gammas. The list was long. It seemed nearly a quarter of their graduating class of two-thousand had failed in their tests, or their genetic material had come back tainted, maybe touched by the mutant blood that sentenced most to The Void.

It was a long naming, no one that Livy knew well named, only one or two names she knew at all, and the trembling slowed, her stomach clenched a little less hard, her fingers fell out of fists. She could cope with being named Beta, however much she hoped against it. Gamma would have been a death sentence.

Even as she thought that, the Centurions came onto the stage to begin removing the new pleasure workers, when a wave of panic swept through them and two or three in the middle of the pack broke free, starting to run. Suddenly at least half of the roughly five-hundred new Gammas were in flight, knocking into the director, into the guards that came for them, swarming down off the stage and into the Square, trying to run.

There was nowhere to run. Where do you run within a closed city? They were caught and in some cases beaten, dragged or forced onto the buses that stood, guarded and now closed, filled with the Gammas.

The next wave of Choosing covered the yellow sashes of the Betas, those bound for service, the laborers who kept the government and cities running. Julia's name was called and she sobbed, hugged Livy, squeezed her hand. "I'll never forget you."

"We'll see each other again," Livy said desperately. Julia had become a sister.

Julia shook her head. "No. We won't. It doesn't work like that."

There was little left to the ceremony. Those left standing on the stage would be the Alphas. All that remained was announcing their names. The boys first, Simon among them, and then the girls, all but six of them, and Livy was left standing among the six.

Desperate, she scanned the stage, the other Alphas, the buses where the Gammas waited to be shipped away. Was it a trick? A joke? Would she not be called for anything? Were they to be considered outcasts or Untouchables, or worse, deemed traitors?

But now onto the stage came the Plutarch, his hair still graying, his body still hard and muscular, his stride still confident. His aspect still that of a ruler. He strolled with his hands behind his back, observing the girls, Kara among them, and the other Alpha girls Livy had expected to be there, beautiful, fair-haired or dark, smart, sometimes outspoken.

The Director was still speaking, Livy realized, and forced herself to listen through the buzz of confusion and panic crawling through her mind.

"Every year of the Culling, a new mate is chosen for the Plutarch."

Livy's stomach dropped. All at once she was violently nauseated and scared beyond measure.

"One of these girls will be chosen as the mother of our future leader, the Plutarch's mate, the mother of community." He paused, then, and met the Plutarch's gaze.

"I have made my choice," said the ruler of the world.

The director bowed, and crossed the stage to where the Plutarch paced, handing him five blue sashes and one purple sash. Those who received the blue sashes would merely join the Alphas, but the one who received purple would have her life changed forever.

Livy closed her eyes. She already knew the outcome. It fit with the dreams of fire, and the dreams of running, and with everything that had happened to her since the day of the Culling.

She waited as the Plutarch slipped blue sashes over the heads of the other five girls, one after the other, taking his time and speaking to each, something brief, until he walked toward Livy and pulled the purple sash from his pocket, slipping it over her head.

His hands on her shoulders, he turned her physically to face the assembled crowd. "The mate!" he shouted. "The next royal mother! She will birth tyrants."

Livy felt her knees give out from under her and the stage rise up to meet her.

T
he journey
back to her home in Pastoreum came as a surprise.

"This is the tradition," the female Centurion said. Her hair is a brassy gold when she takes off her helmet. Though she forced Livy into the vehicle that will bear her to Pastoreum, she has not been unkind. Until the binding ceremony when Livy becomes the Plutarch's mate, the Centurion will be at her side day and night, both protecting and jailing Livy. "The binding ceremony will be held in the village where the Royal Mother was born and raised. Along the way we may stop for your gown, your dowry, your retinue. Or not. Are there those in your village who will stand for you?"

Livy blinked. She had only wakened half an hour earlier, still groggy from passing out. Everything seemed strange as a dream. Not the nightmare where Agara burned, but the kind of dream that featured dragons and other unlikely beasts from fantasy stories. "Stand for me?"

"Did you hit your head when you fell? A girl always has her friends to support her at her wedding."

Livy was silent again. She'd known she was to become the Plutarch's mate. She'd known it before she was ever named. The moment she'd heard there was a girl chosen during the Choosing ceremony for such an –
honor
– she'd known she would be chosen.

But a wedding? She had thought the binding would be ceremonial. In name only. She thought the Mother of the Race, the Royal Mother, that those names were symbolic.

The thought that he would touch her made her wither inside.

"I have friends in Pastoreum. My sister, my friend. They'll stand for me." The expression felt archaic in her mouth. The idea felt terrible.

"I would stand for you if no other would. You will be my ruler."

Livy considered. "I don't even know your name."

As if surprised, the woman hesitated, only momentarily. "I am called Solene. Named for the day star."

T
he journey
back was faster than the journey to Arcadia had been. The smaller vehicles traveled faster. At night they were put up in inns along the road. By day gifts were left beside the convoy, and serfs lined the roads to look at her.

Livy rode facing straight ahead, unblinking.

Her grandfather had told her to remain true to herself.

She was no longer certain who herself was.

"
L
ivy
!" Tad began to run toward the convoy, Pippa right behind him. Geoffrey had hold of Kellan and Vicki, keeping them from running to her. Olivia saw her mother grasping at Pip and Tad, trying to run after them, her great pregnant belly swaying.

The Centurion reached them first. With her staff she stopped Pip, but she sent Tad flying over backwards to land on his backside. He considered for two seconds and began to scream.

Livy tried to move around Solene but the guard held rigid, her hand stopping Livy. "They cannot touch you. They must
bow!"
She shouted the last as an order to Olivia's family. "You are royal now."

"I don't care!" Livy shouted, incensed. She could smell the moonvines, the jasmine, the hay in the fields as the year turned cold and the root crops were protected. She could smell peat fires and pumpkins baking and her family was
so close
.

"But
they do
," Solene warned.

Behind them the Aristocrats were stepping from the conveyances that had brought them to Pastoreum.

Livy's family stood huddled and uncertain, watching her, until the Plutarch stepped from the lead vehicle in a flurry of trumpets and guards stamping their staves and then nothing was right, nothing was normal in the village.

"
I
ask
you give me leave to visit my old home," Livy said. She could barely keep the edge out of her voice. Why bring her here for the binding if she wasn't allowed near her family? "My grandfather is old and ill and I want to see him." She forced herself to ask slowly, to make it a question. She could not order this man if she wanted her wishes acquiesced to.

"No," the Plutarch said, but the smile on his handsome face bade her wait. "But you may visit them in their new home."

Livy slept in a well-guarded room in the best inn in Agara, alone when she was only a mile or less from her family. She fumed at the time wasted, and shouted at the old woman who came through the door and looked at her eyes, in her mouth, felt the glands around her neck and asked if Livy was still a virgin.

"What else would I be? I was dragged from my home the instant I turned sixteen! Leave me alone!"

She thought the woman raised a hand to slap her but instead she muttered a weird benediction of sorts and went away with her herbs and potions and stethoscope and questions.