Dispocalypse Page 7

  Without thinking, Willow retorted, “I just don’t see the point of embroidery. Sewing, sure—I can see a practical use. Or even weaving to make cloth. That all makes sense. I didn’t realize when I signed up for this class that I’d be doing frivolous decorations. This all seems quite pointless.”

  Mel gasped, as did a few other students. Nobody had ever spoken to a teacher like that.

  Red gathered in Mrs. Culpepper’s cheeks, and her frown deepened. Willow worried the woman was going to explode.

  What the hell was I thinking saying that aloud?

  “My dear Miss Park, personal opinions are like breasts. They’re fine to have and take pride in, but when one takes them out and waves them in my face—we have a serious problem.”

  Willow opened her mouth to respond, but stopped herself when she saw Mel shaking her head vehemently, waving for her to not push Mrs. Culpepper any further.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Culpepper,” Willow said in the calmest tone she could muster, “but I’m just not interested in this class. You’re a wonderful teacher, but this isn’t for me. I really want to go into the advanced hand-to-hand combat class. I talked to Mr. Krauthammer, and he said he’d let me in if I had a referral.”

  Mrs. Culpepper stared at Willow with anger and incredulity. Willow’s heart raced. It was all she could do to control her breaths and not pass out.

  “You dislike embroidery that much?” Mrs. Culpepper finally said with a sneer. “So much that you’d rather be bruised and beaten by a bunch of ruffians?”

  “I—”

  The teacher flung the embroidery sample onto Willow’s lap. “Fine! Be off with you. I’ll talk to Krauthammer, and between the two of us, we’ll decide what to do with you. Please leave. Your attitude is a distraction to the girls who want to be here.”

  Willow’s hands shook as she gathered her things, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Mel. Willow knew she’d catch hell from her friend later that night. But it was all worth it. She could barely suppress her excitement.

  I think I did it!

  As she walked through the lonely stone corridors back toward her room, she felt she’d turned a corner in her life. She was going to leave that weak, overweight merchant girl behind.

  The only question was, what would she become instead?

  The New Student

  Willow had difficulty keeping her nerves under control as she left the Academy’s main building through its back entrance. The hazy orange of the sun peeked between the trees, casting odd shadows across the stone path.

  She didn’t want to take a chance coming in late for her first day, so she entered the fenced-off mustering area about ten minutes before class was scheduled to start. Still, a handful of boys were already sitting on the grass, chatting. As she approached, they looked at her with suspicion and amusement.

  Willow silently took a seat at the nearest end of the semicircle, folding her legs beneath her.

  “Excuse me,” said a boy. “What exactly are you doing here? Are you lost?”

  “I’m joining the class. I got a transfer, and Mr. Krauthammer let me join.”

  The change in the boy’s expressions was immediate. Suspicion turned to anger; confusion turned to concern.

  “My name is Zeno.”

  The boy directly next to Willow held out his hand. He must have weighed two hundred and fifty pounds, most of it muscle, and though he was sitting down, he looked like he would probably be over six feet tall standing.

  Willow shook his hand. It completely engulfed her own, but his grip was gentle. “My name is Willow. Nice to meet you.”

  Zeno looked at her with concern. “This is a dangerous class. I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

  Another boy nodded. “Exactly. You shouldn’t be in this class. First of all, none of us is going to want to hit a girl, and if we did, you’d end up in the infirmary. You should leave.”

  Memories of the taekwondo tournament came to Willow’s mind, bringing with them the feelings of embarrassment and anger. She planted her hands on the ground and popped up onto the balls of her feet, glaring at the student who’d had the nerve to ask her to leave.

  “How about you make me leave,” she said.

  The other boys laughed and jeered.

  “Steve, she’s threatening to kick your ass!”

  “You can’t fight a girl.”

  “She’s got to be kidding!”

  But Steve was cornered. Grudgingly he stood, his face red with embarrassment.

  Willow smiled and placed herself in a ready stance. As she tensed her legs and upper body, calm washed over her.

  Steve circled Willow, moving deliberately, arms hanging limply at his sides. She could tell that he was studying her, trying to figure out if she was serious.

  She motioned him toward her with the tips of her fingers. “Come on, Steve. Make a move.”

  The teasing from the others grew louder. Finally he brought his arms up and slowly approached.

  He was short for a boy, maybe only an inch or two taller than Willow, and his reach was about the same as hers.

  He took a boxer’s stance, stopping just out of jabbing range.

  Willow ducked low and swept her right leg, sending Steve off balance, then leaped forward and hit him in the chest with a front kick.

  Steve flew backward and landed on his back, breath whooshing out of him.

  A deep male voice sounded from across the mustering grounds. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Everyone but Steve, who was still gasping for breath, turned to see the combat teacher approaching. He was followed by a handful of other students.

  Zeno stood and faced Mr. Krauthammer. “Sir, Steve and Willow were settling something between them. No harm done. Right, Steve?”

  Willow extended her hand to Steve, and to her surprise, he took it. She pulled him to his feet. His face was a brilliant red, and she wasn’t sure if that was from lack of oxygen or sheer embarrassment.

  Steve rubbed his chest and nodded. “It’s all done,” he said to the teacher. “I was just getting to know our new classmate.”

  Willow was euphoric. From the moment she’d awakened with those strange memories, she’d had doubts about her sanity. Could the memories of taekwondo and everything else about that dream be real? Would the exercises be effective? The truth was, she really had no idea.

  Until now.

  It took all of her self-control to keep the smile off her face.

  She gave Mr. Krauthammer a formal bow of greetings and respect.

  A brief flash of amusement curled the edge of his lips. Then he gestured for the students to take their seats. They formed a circle in the grass around him.

  “Class, we have a new student today. Her name is Willow Park, and before any of you wise guys say a word, I expect you to treat her like anyone else. At the edge of the Forbidding, nobody cares whether you are a boy or a girl.” He smacked at his tremendous biceps. “It’s what you bring to bear against your opponent that matters. Nothing else. Do we all understand?”

  In unison, the class yelled, “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Good. Because I expect you to include Miss Park in your squad gatherings. This class is a team, and you’ll act like one.”

  Mr. Krauthammer turned his gaze to Willow. “Miss Park, the squad leader is Zeno. You’ll take your orders from him when I’m not around. This squad eats together and works out together. You’ll think of these boys as your family, and they’ll do the same for you.”

  Willow nodded. For the first time, she understood why these students segregated themselves at meals and elsewhere. They weren’t being elitist snobs; they were practicing what it would be like in the real world for them as soldiers.

  Mr. Krauthammer slapped his calloused hands together, and a cruel smile crossed his face. “Okay, soldiers, it’s Monday, and you know what that means.”

  Some students groaned as the class rose to their feet.

  Zeno edged closer to Willow and whispered. �
�On Mondays, Mr. K makes us run until someone pukes. I hate running, so I’m hoping you’re our new puker. The sooner, the better.”

  “Come on, pansies,” said Mr. Krauthammer, jogging down one of the paths into the woods. “Let’s see who’s first to quit today.”

  Willow emptied the contents of her stomach onto the trunk of an oak tree. To her dismay, she was indeed today’s puker. At least the rest of the class was gasping for breath.

  But not Mr. K. He continued to jog in place, not the least bit winded. “All right, squad, it looks like it’s time to turn back. I’ll take it easy on you, and we’ll set a leisurely eight-minute mile pace for our return to the school.”

  Zeno patted Willow on her back, his breathing heavy. “Thank God you joined the class. I got sick of always being the one who puked.”

  As they began the “leisurely” jog back along the trail, Willow wiped her face with her hand towel and tried to ignore the burning cramp in her side.

  I really need to work on my stamina.

  “Gee, Willow, I don’t know. You make it sound so appealing. Running through the trails until you get sick? How could I possibly decline?”

  In the dream world, Willow’s jogs had been made less monotonous by headphones that played music. Here, there was no such thing, so she’d asked Mel if she would consider running with her.

  “So that’s a yes? You’ll go running with me?”

  “Uhh… no!” Mel rolled her eyes. “I have enough trouble keeping whatever curves I have as it is.” Mel patted at her rear and touched one of her small breasts for emphasis. “You want me to lose what little I do have? Besides, let’s be honest here… I don’t want to.”

  Willow sat down beside Mel on her bed and took her hand. “I understand. It didn’t hurt to ask.”

  “Why do you have to do these extra morning runs anyway? If you’re already running in class, isn’t that enough?”

  “Let’s just say that as a girl, I’ve got something to prove. Mr. K says, ‘A squad is only as strong as its weakest member,’ and I don’t want to be that weakest member—at anything.” Willow patted Mel’s shoulder and starting putting on her workout clothes.

  “Will you be back for breakfast?” Mel asked hopefully.

  Weekend breakfasts were the only time thee two girls got to eat together anymore, now that Willow dined with the squad. But Zeno and the other soldiers had decided that weekends were for sleeping in and skipping breakfast—leaving Willow free to spend time with her friend.

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” Willow said with a smile. And with a spring in her step, she headed out and jogged toward the mustering field.

  Willow was soaked with sweat from head to toe, but she felt good about the distance and pace she’d just run. As she returned slowly to the mustering field, she allowed a cool breeze to cool her down.

  Though it was a weekend, there was always someone using the mustering field for some activity or another. This morning three boys were practicing their archery.

  “Hey, sweet cheeks,” shouted one of them. He looked like he was a year or two younger than her. “Aren’t you that merchant girl who wants to be a soldier?”

  The boy next to him laughed and said in a stage-whisper, “She’s probably giving it to the entire squad.”

  Willow wasn’t sure exactly what he meant by that comment, but she could tell by his tone it wasn’t good. Still, these boys weren’t worth her time. She strode on past without a word.

  Until the first boy stepped into her path and put his hand on her shoulder.

  Willow grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and swept his feet out from under him.

  The sudden fury coursing through her screamed for release, but the boy’s wide-eyed look of fear and pain gave her pause. So instead she merely kicked some loose gravel onto the idiot and snarled, “Don’t you ever touch me again!”

  With a snort of frustration, she stomped away.

  At the Academy building, a tall boy smiled and held the door for her. But she was still seething, and gave him only a snarl in return. She wanted nothing to do with boys at the moment. All she wanted right now was to take a shower.

  Tristan

  Willow’s classes were over for the day, and she intended to sneak in a run before dinner. She skirted around a group of students practicing archery and set off toward the distant trails.

  Someone peeled away from the class and began following her. She spun around, expecting to see one of the kids who’d confronted her before.

  Instead a tall student, a few inches over six feet, jogged toward her with a smile and a wave. “Wait up.”

  She waved dismissively at the archery class. “Don’t you have a class you’re missing?”

  He shrugged. “They aren’t very good. It’s just a beginner’s class. Besides, I wanted to ask you something.”

  Willow shook her head. “I need to work out. You can ask your question if you think you can keep up.”

  She took off at a blistering pace.

  The student caught up and looked at her with a lopsided grin. “The last time I saw you, you didn’t look happy. I think you even growled at me. What happened?”

  Was he trying to flirt with her? If so, he was wasting his time. She had no interest. Not now. Likely not for many years. She had enough on her mind.

  Pushing harder, she went even faster. To her consternation, he matched her pace—easily.

  She glanced over at him. Did she know this guy?

  And then it hit her. He’d held the door for her after that idiot had grabbed at her. She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment. She recalled not being very nice to him.

  “I’m sorry I was rude earlier, but someone had made me mad.”

  “No need to be sorry, I’ve been snarled at by the best of them. I’m just sorry someone made you mad enough to snarl. Anything I can do to help?”

  Despite their pace, this guy actually pulled slightly ahead of her. Long and thin, he was built to run. He ducked under branches and jumped over obstacles with ease. She was panting hard, and he wasn’t even the slightest bit out of breath.

  “No, you can’t help,” she managed between gasps.

  He slowed, and motioned for her to slow as well. “You’re going to get sick if you don’t catch your breath.”

  They came to a stop, and Willow bent nearly halfway over, trying not to pass out. “Don’t get too close,” she said. “It won’t be the first time I’ve puked on someone’s shoes.”

  The student squatted on his heels. He seemed totally unaffected by the run. “Good to know. I’m Tristan, by the way.”

  “I’m Willow,” she said between gasps for air.

  “Can I maybe give you a pointer, Willow? You don’t have to take it, but it might help.”

  Nodding silently, Willow motioned for him to go on.

  “Well, you aren’t breathing right. Your breaths are too shallow, so when you run, it’s like you’re trying to scoop water out of a sinking boat with a thimble. Eventually the water just overwhelms you and you run out of air.”

  “What should I do differently?”

  Tristan smiled. “Use something bigger than a thimble.”

  She cocked a brow at him, hoping he had something better to offer than a metaphor. That, and a brilliantly white smile.

  Tristan sat down on his rump, cross-legged, closed his eyes, and began taking deep breaths. His chest moved up and down in an exaggerated manner as he muttered, “Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale.” He opened his eyes. “Deep-breathing exercises. They train your lungs to pull in more air. Then you won’t run out so quickly.”

  Willow frowned. It made sense. “Can it really be that simple?”

  “Just keep working at it and you’ll be able to run all day if you have to.”

  Willow wondered if that was how Mr. K did it.

  She stood up straight, began jogging in place, and motioned with her chin. “Care to join me on the rest of my run? Just maybe… not quite as fast as before.”

  Tris
tan hopped to his feet and started off down the trail. As Willow followed, she noted that he glanced back regularly and adjusted his speed to make sure she wasn’t falling too far behind.

  Okay, so not every guy in that archery class is a total ass.

  Mel was already asleep when Willow finally collapsed onto her bed. Willow stretched her muscles out, reaching her arms above her head, and was asleep before she even had time to give it a second thought.

  And then something inside her ripped, and she found herself hovering over her sleeping body.

  “Dreamwalker.” The haunting voice sounded in Willow’s mind, far away, yet strong. Its power was seductive as it coaxed her from her dorm room.

  With but a touch of her will, Willow drifted past the Academy’s walls and raced toward the voice. The lands that streaked by beneath her shimmered with a gray hue that seemed magical. It was as if she could see the life force of the forests, and the smaller dots of creatures scattered about. And the farther she traveled, the stronger the pull of the voice became.

  And then she slammed into an invisible barrier. It was the same elastic barrier that she had encountered after being attacked by the wildlings.

  The voice was coming from the other side.

  She pushed through.

  Instantly, everything was different. The sky was the blackest of black. No stars, no moon above. No life force below. Yet in her vision, everything was outlined with an eerie otherworldly glow.

  Panning her gaze across an icy expanse, she sensed that she was high above the ground, but she recognized the land below—the frozen lakes, the concrete barrier separating north from south. This was her land, her world. An Earth that was dying—no, already dead, the corpse still cooling, crackling, the last hints of the world’s warmth leaking into the abyss.

  Images flashed in her mind: the sun being extinguished, the planets obliterated, all life coming to an end.

  Some intuition told her that she was seeing a possible future. The future of her world.