Exceptional (On Hold)

Chapter Four

        The stagecoach entered the sleek, modern city I’d spotted from a distance about an hour ago; the streets were smooth asphalt and the buildings were clean and well kept. People moved out of the way fearfully, drawing back from the midnight carriage and the four snorting draft horses; I guessed that we had traveled for around three hours so far, but it seemed we still hadn’t arrived at our destination. The sun, high in the sky, was about to pass its zenith and begin its gradual descent towards sunset. We left that city behind and came to large sprawling complex of farmland, many different farmhouses dotting the landscape. Pastures for cattle and dairy cows and sheep and goats and horses, rows of crops, orchards of fruit trees; here I saw the main source of produce and food for the entire region.

        I lived in a relatively small country—especially when compared to other countries around us –divided into fifteen smaller city-states, the largest of which is mine. The Web’s influence extends throughout the country but has the strongest foothold in my city-state, Midvale. Midvale acts as the unofficial capital of Itera, as it is the most powerful and prosperous of the city-states and is located in the center of the country where multiple rivers converge. It has fertile farmland as well as a large trade center. Our country’s name is derived from an ancient word meaning ‘again’, because of the land’s long history and its rebirth from a disorganized war-riddled mass.

        We approached the far west of Midvale, the most advanced part of the large city-state. I saw very little belonging to nature—practically everything around was manmade, artificial, all sharp edges and smooth lines. I could tell instantly when we neared the Web’s base, for people made way for the carriage with a reverent look about them. Uneasiness crawled up my spine, seeing how respectful the people were of the nightmarish carriage. The people’s response threw me off guard, and when the woman spoke again at last, I submitted unthinkingly. “When we arrive at the Center,” said the woman slowly, “you will follow me and will not speak.”

        I nodded.

        After another half-hour or so, the stagecoach halted before a grand building of blue-gray stone; it looked very much like a palace, some stronghold of royalty or other such imposing notions. A beautifully manicured lawn stretched before my eyes, not so well kept as to look unnaturally perfect. The woman wordlessly and elegantly exited the carriage and I did the same, though considerably less gracefully than she. I followed several steps behind her like some great lifelike shadow; she walked up the long, winding driveway to the immense entryway with me constantly checking my pace behind her—she walked painfully slowly, though I suppose with skirts that cumbersome, a swift pace would be nearly impossible to manage.

        We entered through a revolving glass door into a spacious, lofty atrium with a spotless cream marble floor containing a receptionist’s desk, several tables surrounded by stylish wooden chairs, and a few long couches. The color scheme of the entire atrium seemed to be cream, black, and polished maple wood. People filtered in and out, departing and entering through the enormous revolving door—and every one of them, my instincts screamed, belonged to the Web. Whether they were in on the Web’s true nastiness or they were simply brainwashed talented people, I couldn’t tell. The woman led me up to the receptionist’s desk where an elegant brunette dressed in a black skirt and cream blouse sat on a tall stool. “I assume this is Miss Gray? Exactly on schedule as always, Mistress!” she chirped, whirling a black pen between her fingers deftly before writing something down in a logbook in neat, elegant handwriting. She fished through a drawer—I surmised that the receptionist excelled at organization –and handed me a key on a simple, bare key chain. Unsurprisingly, the key and chain were black. “Miss Gray, this is the key to your suite: Eastern Division, Quad Three, suite number twelve. You should find everything to your liking—the suites are all standard issue but you may personalize it however you see fit. Your roommate is a Miss Lydia Darcy; if you have a conflict that cannot be resolved with Miss Darcy then please contact the front desk and we will reassign rooms.” The receptionist spoke fast; it took all my concentration to follow her words. She handed me a black drawstring bag with cream lettering on it—it read my name in calligraphy. “In here are all the information packets you’ll need—call the phone number mentioned if you still have any questions. This is your home now; please know that the Web will take exceptionally good care of you!”