Renegade: A Young Adult Dystopian Page 2

  Clenching his teeth, he wrenched his gaze from Memphis. Sometimes he could be such a prat. Tactical training had always been one of the hardest classes for Brokk, and he met, not for the first time, Professor Iasan’s cutting accusations, “Foster! What do you call that?”

  More chuckles rippled out and the tips of his ears singed red. A minute passed and then another as he studied the fascinating details of his leather boots.

  “Well?”

  Meeting his teacher’s gaze, that familiar flicker of anger ignited him. He was so tired of being trained for no acclaimed threat. The Academy had taken him in years ago with golden promises of schooling him in the control of abilities, that they could all have a shot at a normal life. Not that it would be a school woven from lies. Not that they would be regimented, honed, and molded into weapons. He did not sign up to be a soldier. He felt his lips tug upward as he slammed the bow to the ground. It clattered noisily, and he threw his hands out to his sides. “I’m done, Professor Iasan.”

  Stalking, he brushed past Memphis not meeting his gaze. Through the catcalls and hollers, Memphis’s voice cut through his mind, “Brokk...” Memphis’s tone only made him walk faster out of the courtyard, not looking back once. He passed under the stone archway, its chiseled carvings always striking him as unnerving and beautiful at the same time. It told the story of the Academy, how the Faes and the Strattons had built the foundations for their democratic government, how they had pulled Kiero out from under the shadow of war. How the Academy was, and had been for years, structured to present it’s golden warriors to the world, fighting off any threat of abuse and injustice. The pupils here were some of the most gifted and strongest representation of what Kiero had to offer.

  Or most uncontrolled. Needing to be caged.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with what the Academy stood for. He was just as well-learned in Kiero’s history as any other student. About the trade wars with the Shattered Isles, about how Roque’s father and his council continued for years to enslave Nei’s people, the mass slaughter of desolates, people without or with weak abilities. The Faes had fought for their freedom. Tearing away from their past that was bathed in blood, trying to balance the power in the country. Of course, he was honored to be a part of such a movement. Of course, he was grateful that Nei and Roque had taken him in. He had no recollection of his parents or what had happened for him to end up alone in the forest that surrounded the Academy so many years prior. Without the Faes, he would not have survived or would have been at the mercy of the raiders.

  Their world wasn’t perfect, but it was at ease. The raiders had proclaimed separate regency and somewhat left their towns and cities alone. The Shattered Isles were under a peace agreement now with the Faes but no longer accepted Nei as one of their own blood. The desolates were under the sworn oath of protection from the Academy, and the Academy continued to grow and flourish with the Faes’ dream. Sighing, he looked up past the archway to the open sky and the endlessness it provided. He should be grateful. He should take his instruction without question. He should be proud to be a student here and graduate to serve his country. He would be a government official, a warrior and protector of the peace.

  But he was not.

  There had been whisperings for the last couple of years of what exactly the seniors were instructed to do by Cesan Stratton. He shivered, his eyebrows furrowed as those whispers swirled in his mind. Creating chaos and fear, unleashing the students as weapons. Everything started as whispers in this place, but the knowledge of what Cesan might be doing, what he was brainwashing into the hearts and minds of students, had shattered his flawless view of the world around him. He would not be carved into a fear monger, he would not use his abilities to crack the frail bond of peace that had been accomplished.

  He would not become a monster.

  His throat felt thick as he tore his gaze away and continued his walk back to the main building. Whether the rumors were true was a problem. Cesan was not his favorite man and they rarely saw eye to eye, but was he an enemy? Sighing, his dark thoughts whisked away any peace of mind he might have had for the day. A tolling bell rang out behind him, marking their lunch break. By fire and flame, finally. The Academy was a sprawling map of concrete, the main building consisting of dorm rooms in the center, a tall cylinder watch tower to the east, and encircling it was the constant placement of adjacent classroom buildings. No gates were needed, no security. Any one mad enough to try to disrupt the students and teachers here wouldn’t make it past the onslaught of different abilities. Besides, the closest city was the Captital of Kiero, Sarthaven, and that was hours away.

  He was following the well-worn path back up toward the building when a clear voice rang out behind him, “Brokk, wait up!” The blood in his veins froze, and he stopped walking mid stride. One second passed. And then another. His breath was swept away the moment Emory Fae grabbed his arm, turning him to face her. Flushed cheeks and bright green eyes, her excitement was practically electric in the air between them. It consumed him, igniting his core.

  But like every other day, he swallowed down his emotions and wolfishly grinned at his other best friend. “And what possibly could you want?”

  Wrinkling her nose at him, she punched him in the arm. “Oh come off it. Memphis caught me after class and mentioned you might be skulking around somewhere in this general direction.”

  “Of course, he did.” Brokk sighed, returning his attention back to his walk.

  Naturally Emory wasn’t detoured one bit. “Was it Iasan again?” Both she and Memphis were privy to his opinion about their training teacher. Iasan was ruthless, a trained killer, and expected them to have no compassion, no mercy. It was dummies now they were practicing on, but when it wasn’t? When they killed without a second thought? He never wanted to lose that part of himself, even if he attained the skills. Emory’s mouth pulled down in a grim line as she walked beside him. “You know I can talk to my dad again.”

  A strangled chuckle barked out of him. “That went so well last time. No, I can deal with Iasan, just not today, Em.” Unclenching his fists at his side, he didn’t remark on Emory’s father. Roque Fae, everywhere he went he oozed of authority and structure. Of might and discipline. He was severe, a ruler in every right. He was a desolate and one of the most influential people in Kiero. He thought highly of his instructors and of his government, and Brokk clearly remembered last time Emory had gone to him about Iasan.

  “He is the best in his field, the best throughout the country. Brokk should be willing to challenge himself instead of limiting himself due to his heart.” Emory had relayed his message mockingly, but the words had cut through Brokk. This was their leader, the person everyone praised. The man everyone looked up to. The man he never went to with his concerns again after that. Doubt clawed at his mind. They climbed in comfortable silence, the melody of the forest creatures floating out to them. Heard, but unseen. It was soothing and melancholic, the soft music dripping with life and isolation. He knew those melodies fell on deaf ears, but he was always listening, his personal orchestra overlapping in beautiful harmonies, and it ignited him.

  They reminded him of the woods, the only place he could be free. The treelines blurring as he ran, the moon’s light mapping his way. Feeling the earth under his paws, Brokk lost himself in his animal instinct. Those heartbreaking laments of the fellow creatures that could be found in the darkness tugged at him. Calling him to come back, to come home. To him, being a shapeshifter was a gift. That part of himself, his ability, was part of his very core. The yearning for wildness, for freedom, for power. People had been afraid at first, thinking that he couldn’t control himself. That he would hurt someone. The wolf and man were one, each skin he wore was him. That part of himself he was always in control of. It was his other ability. The one he kept tucked close to his heart, locked in the darkest corners of his soul. That scared him. That he didn’t understand. It was waiting, growing and expanding, for that trigger moment where it would
explode from him, emblazed and uncontrolled. The ability he had told no one about.

  Swallowing hard, he brought himself back, back to Emory’s crystal laugh, to her smile, the gentle brushes of their fingers. He was drowning in the stormy seas of his fears, and she was his anchor. Had always been his anchor. Would always be.

  Raising a delicate dark brow at him, she said, “It would seem we have a visitor.”

  Snapping his attention forward, he stalled, murmuring to his friend, “Do you want me to take care of this?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Brokk, I have known him since I was a little kid. He doesn’t scare me. You shouldn’t be scared either.”

  Stopping, he shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at Adair Stratton stalking toward them. He was gangly, tall and thin. His dark gaze held only one person, boring into Emory as though it could physically pierce her. His body bowed toward her. It commanded one thing—longing. The Faes and the Strattons were best friends and that extended toward their children.

  Reaching them, Adair took him in with a sneer as he drawled, “Emory, we are to go see our parents. Immediately.” His voice was smooth and deep like still water.

  A sly smirk tugged at the corners of her lips. “To discuss important matters, I’m sure?”

  Adair nodded, tilting his head as his eyes ravished her. The hair on the back of Brokk’s neck stood on end, and he wanted to snarl, to protect his friend from the spell. Not a single bone in Brokk’s body trusted him. Not. One.

  Adair offered his arm to Emory, which she took with an apologetic look toward Brokk. “See you later. Duty calls.”

  Feebly waving goodbye, he glared into Adair’s back as they walked away, light and dark, oil and water mixing. Brokk caught snippets of Adair’s voice back toward him. “Emory, honestly, what do you see in him?”

  This time a snarl did break through his lips, and Brokk shut his eyes, taking in deep breaths. Adair always got under his skin, preaching to Emory that she was above her friendship with Memphis and him. Emory, of course, had always done what she wanted, ignoring his poisonous words. Ones he thought were lost to them. Yet she always let Adair in, always answered his beck and call. Brokk couldn’t help but see past her façade, that a part of her was spellbound by Adair and would bend to his will wholly. He tolerated that friendship for her, but he hated it. Soon they were nothing but distant figures on the horizion, and Brokk continued his way up the path alone.

  His next class was almost as painful as the first.

  “On my command... Now!” Professors Lien’s voice sliced through the tense excitement of the room. The auditorium was cavernous and filled with natural light, making every detail clear to the students. The obstacle course was grueling and complicated, laid out before him, the challenges plain to see. Various tunnels, scaling walls, and other teachers strategically placed for hand-to-hand combat before you could reach your partner. Looking to Memphis stationed across from him at the opposite end of the room, he sighed.

  With a casual shrug, he waggled his eyebrows at his friend and then chaos exploded. Every time he shapeshifted, it was like falling into piercing icy water. His muscles tensed as he ran forward, and then in an explosion of cracking bones, he bore his second skin, his golden fur rippling, defined muscles propelling him forward like a comet streaking across the night sky. Full of flaring life, burning and devouring its path. Around him, the room exploded with a various number of elements—fire, water, and wind bending to students will. To his left, Alby’s red hair and pale skin disappeared as he became invisible. To his right, Jaxson multiplied himself and all the versions of himself raced ahead, trying to finish the course first and reach his partner, Wyatt, waiting for him. Pleasure rippled through his body as Brokk propelled forward, scaling the towering wall in one leap, adrenaline pushing him faster, harder, better.

  He dodged and twisted from abilities being thrown at him, missing the professors’ assaults with ease. He loped through a tunnel, and the light of the auditorium was swallowed up in an instant. Snarling, he charged, flying out the end to skitter to a stop. Professor Iasan stood between him and Memphis, a glittering sword in his right hand and a small ball of flame dancing in his left.

  A low growl ripped through him and Professor Iasan tutted, “Now, Brokk, you must understand this isn’t personal. You are so full of talent. Now use it.”

  Fire swirled and consumed his world. All he could see were roaring flames, all he could feel was heat. Smoke filled his nostrils, his lungs, and he was drowning. He was cornered, and he was suffocating. Blindly flinging himself forward, Brokk shifted back just as Professor Iasan parted the fire to his will, and glittering steel cut toward him. He didn’t think, he just reacted. Shifting back, he spat on the ground, salvia mixed with blood. His muscles were pulled taut and his fist slammed into flesh. Iasan’s jaw cracked, his head snapping back. Panting heavily, a strange ringing filled in his ears. Iasan rubbed his jaw, his gaze honing back to his student, with malice burning in them.

  “Enough, Iasan, enough!”

  Professor Lein’s voice rang out, her cry making everyone stop. Memphis was frozen behind Iasan, his usual pale skin ashen. She glared at him snapping, “Foster, come here now!” Heaving, he spun around and trudged toward his furious teacher, her glowering gaze cutting through him with each step. Snapping her teeth, she exclaimed, “Foster, what are you thinking? You too, Iasan! Class dismissed!”

  Her grey hair was piled high on her head, her stubborn gaze challenging any of the students to defy her. Ripples of whispers came to life as everyone collected their things and began filing out. Memphis shook his head slightly before turning his back on his friend. Turning her attention to them, she nodded curtly, and they followed her out of the auditorium.

  The hallway was relatively quiet considering it was just after lunch. Brokk internally groaned, knowing exactly where Lein was taking them. It was the last person he wanted to see. Iasan shot him a smug look as they finally rounded a corner to a pair of old oak doors. Professor Lien knocked twice, the rapt sounding twice as urgent from her anger. The door swung open and Roque stood there, his dark eyebrows raising as he took the group in, his emerald eyes holding Brokk’s gaze last. His hair was disheveled, and bruised skin lined underneath his eyes. His silver shirt and black pants were rumpled Brokk couldn’t remember the last time their leader looked so unkept. The resemblance to Emory was stark; she held all her father’s physical traits with her mother’s wildness and kind heart. For that, he was grateful, as Roque focused on him, coldness filling his gaze.

  Roque gruffly snapped, “Lein! What is the matter of this visit? You’ve caught me at a bad time.”

  Lein sighed, shooting them another glare before answering Roque. “Maybe Foster should explain this to you. Iasan, I will deal with you.” Iasan paled slightly under Lein’s stern gaze and a flicker of gratification shot through Brokk. Iasan wouldn’t be let off easy. The two professors took off in a low, heated conversation, leaving Brokk alone under Roque’s stare.

  Roque hurriedly cleared his throat, blinking hard as he curtly said, “Well, you might as well come in.”

  Resigning himself to the fact this would not be easy, Brokk stepped forward into the Fae’s office. A chaos of papers, bookshelves, and maps met Brokk. Nei and Cesan sat at the round polished table in a heated argument, oblivious at first to their arrival.

  “Cesan, for the last time I will not let you—”

  Roque slammed the door behind Brokk, making him jump. Nei’s words died in her mouth as she realized he was standing beside her husband. She shot Cesan a warning look before rising. “Brokk, what can we help you with? Cesan here was just leaving.”

  He shot a glance at Cesan, his dark ambiance like his son, Adair’s, filling and suffocating the room. Bowing mockingly to Nei, he strutted by them, while Roque’s dark gaze followed his friend silently. Warning, hot and sure, flared within his gut. What had he just interrupted? A dark curiosity bloomed within him and he stepped forward, clearing his throa
t and pushing his thoughts aside.

  “It’s... well, it’s about me punching Professor Iasan in the face during ability training.”

  Nei’s lips curved slightly upwards, her kind eyes waiting for more explanation. Roque stormed in front of Brokk snapping, “An assault against a teacher can result in expulsion.”

  Gnashing his teeth together, he volleyed, “And pushing students to react in violence doesn’t need consequences? Sir, I beg you to listen to what I’m saying. Iasan isn’t teaching us, he is forcing us to always be on the defense, to always act with vengeance. To be weapons without compassion. To forget what it’s like to be human.”

  Roque ran a hand through his tousled hair. “Brokk. Sit down. Iasan has his methods, as we all do. He pushes you because he believes that you can achieve great things. He is brusque and stern and disciplined, but he knows no other way. The tides of this world have been pushed into change with great effort from all of us. It is the younger generation that will dictate whether the dream and purpose of the Academy lives on. For it to live on, it must encompass your soul, your beliefs, and your dreams. It once did, did it not?”

  He stood awkwardly, the weight of Roque’s words falling on his shoulders. It did once, as a young boy. A young boy who dreamed of a full life and pined on childish whims. Now, as he was on the brink of entering his manhood, he sought out one thing above all else. The truth.

  The truth of his past, the truth of the Academy. The truth of the hearts of the Faes and Strattons and how they upheld their students.

  A flash of sympathy crossed their leader’s eyes, and he rested a strong hand on his shoulder. “You will understand fully one day. With all dreams comes sacrifice. With all freedom comes some form of cage. It is the lesser of two evils that we all must learn to live with.”