Humayre: The Chronicles of Ronin Wilder

Last in line, and very thankful for the fact, Ronin held his hands tight to his stomach trying to hide what he was doing. Pulling at a piece of loose tape on his thumb he guessed he didn’t have long. The line was moving at a brisk pace.

The contraption was about seven feet tall, black, and made of metal. It had a sort of humanoid shape to it. Sort of like ae a sarcophagus. Still too far away to make out specifics, all Ronin could see was that it stood up straight like a person and the front opened like a door. Kids were being led into it one at a time. As the line shrank and he moved closer, he was able to see the contraption a little better. The inside of the sarcophagus, which Ronin decided to label it as for lack of a better term, was depressed in the shape of a human body. There were spots for a person’s head, hands and feet to rest.

Three more kids finished. The routine was quick. They entered the sarcophagus, the door was closed, thirty seconds passed, the door was opened, they were ushered to the corner where the other kids who had been awakened were standing. Ronin thought for such a momentous event it all seemed rushed and anticlimactic.

Refocusing on his efforts to remove the duct tape Ronin was relieved that everyone’s attention was on the sarcophagus and not on the kid picking nervously at his hands. At least one thing was going his way, the massive amounts of adrenaline firing through his body was numbing the pain he would normally be feeling from his fingers. Despite his best efforts he had only been able to remove the tape on three fingers. Trying to conceal his work was slowing him down. Perspiration beaded above his upper lip and he could feel trickles of sweat rolling down the small of his back.

Kevin was right in front of Ronin. He hadn’t said a word since they got in line. Ronin had other things to worry about though, like the duct tape on his right middle finger which was proving difficult to remove. The end of the tape was worn down leaving a sticky edge that he couldn’t get his fingers under. What made matters even worst was the fact that one of the students had been denied participation. A band-aid on his right forearm gave him away. It was a simple cut, already almost healed. The student pleaded but Mr. Wetstone was very adamant when he said no open wounds of any sort. If they discovered Ronin’s nails, he knew they wouldn’t let him go through with The Awakening. Maybe never let him, seeing as how bad his nails were.

Time was not on Ronin’s side. He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but half the line was already Awakened. Five nails to go, he skipped the middle fingernail. Counting how many kids were left, he realized there was no way he’d make it. Hiding his hands while removing the tape was taking too long. His heart felt like it was about to burst through his ribs. Staring at his middle finger, he cursed himself for forgetting to do it the night before. A nudge in his side pulled his attention away from his hands.

“Hey,” said Mike.

Ronin was happy to see his friend but it wasn’t enough to remove the panic from his face.

“Hey,” he responded.

“I was right,” said Mike. “Thought you might be freaking out back here trying to figure out what to do about those nails.”

“Yeah,” said Ronin. He used Mike to shield himself from unwanted eyes and pulled at the tape on his middle finger. The pain was excruciating.

Kevin turned around and stared at Ronin’s hands. “Oh crap,” he said. “I thought you were gonna do that last night.”

“I forgot,” said Ronin. He shook his head. “This isn’t working. I need some water. It’s the only way to loosen the glue on the tape.”

Kevin looked to Ronin, paused, then looked to Mike. “Ronin thinks you’re alright,” he said.

Mike gave him a funny look.

“If he thinks you’re alright then you’re alright in my book too,” said Kevin. “Sorry I’ve been such an idiot.” He held his hand out.

Mike stared at Kevin’s outstretched hand. His expression was blank. A smile extended from ear to ear. He grabbed Kevin and gave him a huge bear hug then released him. Kevin gasped for air. Mike pat him on the shoulder. “I knew you’d come around bro.”

The three boys laughed. The respite only lasted a moment for Ronin. Four more kids had been awakened. The line was quickly diminishing.

“We have to do something,” said Kevin. “If they see that duct tape, they won’t let him do it.”

“I have an idea,” said Mike. “You said water would help right?”

“Yeah, but where am I gonna get water?”

“There’s a bathroom just behind us. It’s in the kitchen,” said Mike.

“How do you know that?” asked Kevin.

“Had to use it during breakfast after I decided to go for the world record for most pancakes eaten.” He rubbed his stomach.

Kevin chuckled, Ronin didn’t, which wasn’t lost on Kevin.

“Hurry,” said Kevin, looking at Ronin. “We’ll cover for you.”

“Bro. Once you go through those double doors, it’s the first room on your left.”

“Thanks,” said Ronin. With a hurried pace he entered the kitchen through the double doors. The bathroom was on his left, the door was closed. Just as he was about to turn the handle the kitchen stove caught his eye. It demanded his attention. The size of it was mind boggling. The black iron stove took up twenty feet of wall. It was a wood burning stove. Next to the stove, on the opposite wall, was a stainless steel sink. Hundreds of dishes were piled into its massive basin. On the stone ceiling, hanging from iron hooks, were stainless steel pots and pans. Spice racks, hanging herbs, cook books, knives of every shape and size littered the marble counter tops to the left of the stove. In the very center of the kitchen was a wooden table. It looked like a huge cutting board. A kitchen true to the magnitude of BrightWood Academy, designed to serve hundreds, if not thousands.

Regaining his focus, Ronin burst through the closed door. The bathroom was darker than he was used to. Two candles perched on the sink were all that lit the small room. It was going to be hard to see, which was a problem because he needed to find the edges of the duct tape. It didn’t matter, he realized. There was no time for that now. Ronin turned on the sink. The ice cold water rushed over his hands. It was soothing. His internal stopwatch told him he only had a few minutes left. Water dripped from the soggy duct tape as Ronin removed his hands from the sink. Tape on four of his fingers loosened and came off with no trouble. The blasted middle finger was another story.

Using his nails to get under the tape, he pulled. The room swayed and seemed to darken. In that moment he’d forgotten how to breathe, how to yell out in pain. The tape released its grip. The toilet seat caught him as he collapsed. Splaying his fingers out, he realized that it would all be for nothing if Mr. Weststone got a look at them. They might as well have been painted black.

Two kids were all that remained, Kevin and Mike. They nodded to Ronin as he joined them back in line. Mr. Wetstone motioned for Kevin to enter the sarcophagus. Ronin took note of the procedure. If he was careful he just might manage to get into the sarcophagus without Mr. Wetstone seeing his nails. He’d have to be fast though. If he concealed his hands before he put them into the depressions, he might be okay.

The door opened. Kevin stepped out of the sarcophagus and nodded to his friends. Mike was next. He stepped inside and placed his hands into the depressions as he leaned back. Ducking down, he was barely able to fit his head in.

“They couldn’t make it any bigger, huh?” said Mike, sarcastically. Mr. Wetstone ignored him and closed the door. Thirty seconds passed. The door was opened. As Mike got out, he nodded to Ronin.

The moment of truth was upon Ronin. Mr. Wetstone called him over. His ears began to buzz and his body numbed. Balling his hands into fists he strategically held them at his side. Mr. Wetstone looked to Ronin’s hands. His eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. Had he seen? Did he know? This was it, Mr. Wetstone knew. As he leaned back into the sarcophagus he waited for it. Waited for Mr. Wetstone to tell him to get out. But Mr. Wetstone said nothing. The two depressions for his hands stared up at him. This was where it could all go wrong. Looking up, Ronin noticed Mr. Wetstone watching him like a hawk.

The depressions for Ronin’s hands were shaped in a manner where he would have to open his fists and position his splayed fingers into them. Mr. Wetstone would surely see his nails. There was nothing he could do about it now. Taking in a deep breath, and then holding it, he opened his hands and placed them each into a depression. Once again he waited to be told that his life was over.

Nothing. Mr. Wetstone didn’t say a word as he closed the door. Everything went black. Did he pull it off? Relief washed over him. As Mr. Wetstone opened the door Ronin wondered if he should be feeling anything. Focusing, he noticed nothing. He felt just like he had before he entered the sarcophagus.

“Join you’re fellow Humayre,” said Mr. Wetstone looking to Ronin.

Sensation returned to Ronin’s anxiety-numbed legs. His heart rate slowed to a rational pace. Walking forward he searched for any odd feeling, but he felt normal. Just as he was about to exhale, a tingle pulsed through his temples. He stopped, it was a strange feeling, but as quickly as it came on it vanished. He took a step. A piercing sensation burst into his cheeks. Rubbing his jaw he looked to Mr. Wetstone. Sharp, searing, penetrating pain attacked the tips of his fingers. Clasping his hands together he collapsed to his knees. His jaw started to ache. The pain focused itself. Two teeth at the top and two at the bottom. He held his hands over his mouth. Wetness escaped between his fingers and creeped down his wrists. The light in the room seemed to transform into shadow. Dark red was everywhere, on his hands, at the tips of his fingers and pooled below him on the grey stone floors.

Whispers flooded Ronin’s ears. As clear as day, he could hear the sound of shuffling shoes, of people exhaling and inhaling. Then the scents came on. Dirty feet which smelled like corn chips, oily hair, and bacon. Each smell was distinct even though he could sense them all at the same time. Rank breath, soiled boxers and tooth paste, the stinks were attacking him from everywhere. Ronin’s stomach turned as the pain and sensory overload struck him like an unseen mugger. The world turned on its side and went black. The last thing Ronin heard was a thud as his forehead smacked cold stone.