Fireborn

33 ¦ Basic Training

Basic Fireborn training chopped off my ass and handed it to me on a silver platter. I woke up every day at the fifth chime along with the other initiates. As a night owl, I'd never done that.

Thank the gods, the Creator demanded that a flask of coffee be left outside my bedroom door every morning. Even though it scalded my tongue and throat, I chugged the hot liquid like it was the elixir of life.

Our drill sergeants gave us only twenty minutes to wash, brush our teeth, dress in our combat armor, make the beds, and present our rooms. They stood in the corridors, timing us.

"Two minutes, Initiates! Let's go!" Sergeant Barker shouted.

He never failed to live up to his namesake.

Any lack of tidiness or hygiene was punished with ten lashes in front of the other Initiates. With an actual whip. I'd never heard of anything so barbaric. In Halden, students didn't receive any kind of corporal punishment--even if they did something terrible, like cheating on an exam.

He tossed a gold coin on my bed. "If this shit don't bounce, five lashes!" he roared, ripping the sheets off my bed. "Two minutes, Initiate. Don't make me check again!"

What a pedant!

Racing at the speed of starlight, I remade my bed. He threw a coin on the sheets as my heart leaped into my throat.

It bounced.

"All right, let's go!" Barker said, his voice ringing in my ears.

Peter and Marcus were standing at attention in the hallway. Barker separated Peter and me, but at least I was in the same group as Marcus. I didn't recognize anyone else.

"Move it out! Jogging in the gym."

We did an about-face and jogged through dark, cavernous hallways towards the gym. My stomach grumbled in irritation, and I began to regret missing my evening meal the night before.

If we missed mess hall, we went hungry. No snacks. No food. So Peter and I had only a jug of water for the night after a fourteen-mile hike.

I thought I was going to die.

"Five in forty-five, ladies!" Barker said, his voice echoing in the empty gym. It resembled more of an indoor arena with rows and rows of receding wooden bleachers. "Five lashes for every incomplete mile."

"Damn!" I grumbled to Marcus under my breath. "Is he for real?"

"'Fraid so," he replied. "Once I received ten lashes with an ice whip 'cause I forgot to call him Drill Instructor after our Protocol Training."

"Why an ice whip?"

"Fireborn flesh is hard to pierce." Marcus checked to make sure the drill sergeant wasn't running behind us. "We're completely impervious to fire and heat. But ice? Doubly painful. And doubly dangerous."

I gasped. "What happened?"

"Couldn't rest my back against anything for a week. Even after I visited the infirmary."

"Damn!"

"Let's get a move on, ladies!" Barker roared at Marcus and me. "This ain't no fun fair. Move it!"

The Sergeant cracked his ice whip against the legs of a slow Initiate, and she cried out in pain. I gasped when her black blood trickled down her calves as she ran towards a trash can. After doubling over and vomiting, she jogged back towards us.

"I...just had a...Fireborn treatment, Drill Instructor," she said, breathless.

He cracked his whip against the ground, making her flinch, and his blue eyes glared with menace. "Do I look like I give a damn, Initiate? Carry the bucket and puke in it if you have to."