Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117246 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 586(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Acid filled my churning stomach. “No, no complaints,” I rasped. Like any rational person, I valued Cured. Also, making waves never ended well.
“Your mother will be moved into Gradon next week,” the adviser said, hurrying us along. “The good news is, she’ll pay less in taxes, allowing her yearly allotment to slowly but surely reduce her debt.”
“No!” Not Gradon, the province with the most outbreaks. What’s more, Mom would be too far away for me to visit. There was no way I could afford a pass to leave Lucrea, much less a round-trip bus ride.
“However,” Ms. Butler announced, and I went still, even my heart seeming to stop. “If you agree to attend Fort Bala Royal Academy, become a lady-in-training, and serve for three years, your mother will be allowed to stay where she is, without incurring further penalties, and her past due balance will be paid in full. This is a onetime offer, void the moment you leave this office.”
A protest brewed at the edge of my tongue, stayed only by my clenched jaw. “I know little about Theirland, nothing about military service, and less than nothing about interrealm travel and combat.”
“That’s why you’ll be taught and trained.”
Unlike the more daring kids in my class, I’d never entertained a desire to visit the realm fused to ours. Couldn’t imagine being outside in the dark in either world, going head to head with hordes of maddened too far gone for treatment.
I tried again to make her understand. “I’m not—”
“Look. Judging by your transcript, I’m guessing your mom spent multiple paychecks on furthering your education rather than saving in case of an emergency.”
Blood drained from my head, igniting a dull ring in my ears. Ms. Butler wasn’t wrong. I’d attended expensive lectures and purchased the necessary tools to grow my own indoor minigarden. A pricey endeavor.
“Think of it this way,” she added. “Three years is a blip. When your term ends, we can revisit your desire to attend the Center.”
“But you just said the two-year gap is a major hurdle.” Think of the trouble a five-year gap would cause!
Again, she continued. “If you rack up enough honors, you’ll probably earn special privileges within your desired field. This is a win-win situation for you, Miss Roosa. I suggest you take it.”
The idea of me, Panic Girl, becoming a hardened soldier who traversed between two realms to protect civilians from an otherworldly sickness was nothing but laughable.
“So what’s it gonna be? Agriculture or family?” Ms. Butler demanded. “I need an answer. Not that there’s really anything to think about. This is a no-brainer to me.”
No, this was a nightmare. I mean, I’d heard of this happening to others. Kids who’d been drafted to pay a loved one’s debt. But I’d never thought it could happen to me.
“I’ll do it,” I croaked. “I’ll sign up.” Mom was my person; I’d do anything for her, even put my life on hold again.
“Excellent.” Satisfaction danced in the adviser’s eyes, as if my decision affected her future as much as my mother’s. “You’ll report to 1984 Minitrue Street at ten tomorrow morning. Don’t be late. The bus waits for no one, and it’s your sole transport to Fort Bala. You’re allowed to bring a single bag. No weapons, food, or mementos. They’ll only slow your progress.”
I struggled to catch my breath. Fort Bala, where a doorway between worlds was said to exist.
“Due to the intricacies of your training, you’ll be forbidden from seeing or contacting family and friends. Be sure to say your goodbyes tonight.” Ms. Butler swiveled in her chair, refocusing on the screen and typing. “I’m sending instructions to your data bank. You can access it at home. Have a nice day, Miss Roosa, and be Cured.” A certain dismissal.
“Be Cured,” I echoed out of habit.
Numb, I stood and stumbled from the cubicle. The knights hadn’t moved from their posts. Again, they watched me unflinchingly, almost as if they hoped I’d do something. Anything.
Tears stung my eyes. I wouldn’t see my mother, my best friend, for three years. If I even survived the academy.
Chapter Two
I tell you now: consider your ways.
—The Book of Soal 1.37.1.5
I burst outside, entering the bustling cityscape. People from every spectrum of society rushed about. Across the street, a man invited pedestrians to try his “asylum experience.” Near an enormous sculpture of a winged woman with crab claws, three knights and two lords in full protective gear arrested a group of people who were shouting, “Soal is life, Cured is death! The Kingdom of Yesterday comes!”
Soalians. Those on the cusp of infection. I shuddered. They believed a god named Soal lived in a magical library and he instructed them to destroy Cured, the only entity capable of protecting the rest of us. Anyone sane recognized how ridiculous it all sounded . . . but Soalians weren’t sane.