White

Chapter Two - Part One

(Picture of what Bess looks like, though she has blonder hair)


I slam my plate into the table next to Bess, my legs quivering as I try to sit down. My plate, which held the small vegetables from the Garden in a pulled of sticky mush as well as some dried bread for breakfast, clanks on the wood and spills the boiling liquid onto my lap.

“Hey, Bess. I thought they only made the White Uniform for kids,” Alana yells from the table in front of us. Spinning, the young girl smiles and laughs, the girls at her table her joining in immediately.

My eyes draw in and I give her a look to rival the strength with which I was squeezing my fist. The thick, desert air rolls on my tongue and I take a sip of water from the cup next to Bess’s plate.

We aren’t low on water out here in the desert. There were huge wells next to almost every tent and the farms were so far away that they drew water from the rivers in the forest instead of wells. And every year the farmers would bring food and the fresh water. It was supposed to taste amazing, but I had never touched it because, of course, it cost money and the White Matrons didn’t have any to spare. We were given food by the king which was supposed to be enough, but the Matrons knew that it wasn’t so they had begun to grow food in the desert. It didn’t grow much, but the little extra always helped.

I place the cup back down and try to cover my cough with a fist. Alana’s eyes shoot from Bess to me, then she stands up with her plate and walks over, sitting opposite us. “Louanna, right?” she asks. Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders and, through the knots, I could see her friends following.

“Yeah, and I really think you could waste your time somewhere else,” I say as I pick up some of the crumbly brown bread on my plate. I fumble with it, letting the crumbs fall onto the mush that had come with it, then tug a bit off and swallow it, watching Alana the whole time.

Bess opens her mouth as she leans forward, letting her huge form cast a shadow over Alana and me. But before she can say anything, a sweating Maeve taps me on the shoulder, her panting immediately drawing the attention of everyone else in the room. I hadn’t seen her since she had fixed up my arm last night. Grabbing my hand, she gives Bess an apologetic smile while ignoring Alana and her friends completely. I almost smile, but what Alana had said was still fresh in my mind. Bess and I were too old to be a White. And Maeve she was older still.

“Louanna. You’ve got to come,” Maeve says hurriedly as I follow her over the red desert sand and through the tent flap that leads through to the Garden. As soon as we walk, the smell of herbs fill my nose, making my eyes water, but I ignore it, instead, I follow Jill to a bench near the fence that separates the White Tent from a small one which is only ever used during festivals. I can already see an old man pulling things off it, packing for his journey back home. The sun beats down on my skin but, as I had spent my whole life under it, I knew it wouldn’t burn for too long. I rub my hands over the new white pants which one of the Matrons had given me this morning after seeing the state of my old ones.

“What’s happening?” I ask as soon as Maeve sits beside me, her long slim legs kicking up dust and making the white of her pant cuffs turn red. Maeve’s composure had changed from the usual happy to a rushed and halting frenzy.

She takes her time answering. “My cousin came here last night.”

“A cousin?” I squeak. I level my voice for the next question. “What did your cousin say?” My voice was still a higher pitch then it normally was. A cousin? White’s didn’t even know their parents and probably wouldn’t be able to name a single sibling, even if they were in the same tent.

“Keenan’s my cousin,” Maeve says, “he came to tell me that I had to get out of here. And if I have to, you have to too.”

“Why would I have to go?” I ask as Maeve slides closer to me, her knees hitting mine.

“You’re getting old too. Too old. Keenan said that they were coming for us,” Maeve looks at me as she speaks, but I couldn’t help looking over my shoulder, to see if there was anyone in here with us. Even with her eyes on me, it was like she didn’t see me, like she was somewhere else. That was probably reasonable, to be scared, if you knew you were going to be taken from your home.

“Where will they take you – us?” I ask. There were so very few older Whites, even though some of them tried to stay back and purposely miss their fights, I had always thought they either won by the other White not showing up or they became Matrons. And I had never met another White outside of this tent’s inhabitants, only the ones here, all the other women were the farmers from distant places wives and daughters. I had never even spoken to one of the Whites who won, only the girls still stuck in the White Tent.

“Keenan didn’t say,” Maeve answers, “though he said that we had to go. Louanna, I scared.” Her dull eyes look straight at me, as if imploring me to say yes, as if she asked a question or needed confirmation. Her tousled hair falls past her eyes and is immediately picked up by the wind that had come through the wire fence of the Garden. The Garden suits her, the flowers, the spices, they’re all the smells I associate with the woman who healed me.

“I don’t know. We’ve always been like this, and never has anyone complained, maybe the older girls just become apprentice Matrons?” It’s more of a question, a rhetoric question since my fingers tingle with the hope that she will accept that as the truth. If I were her, though, I wouldn’t be trusting a younger White with my life.

“You don’t understand, we have to go, you, me and Bess. We’re too old,” she pleads.

“Silvers! Silvers are here!”

My head snaps up, I don’t know who said it, but the word Silver, along with Maeve’s helpless look, has me on my feet and running for the dining hall.

I don’t hear footsteps behind me, and I don’t turn around to cheek for Maeve. “Run,” I whisper silently to her. If the Silvers are here, they’re here for two reasons which I could pick out. First, of course, is because of me attacking the one in the street while wearing my uniform; and two is what Maeve had been saying, she was too old and they were coming to get her.

I skid through the thin white material that separates the hallway that leads to the Garden from the dining hall. Voices clatter, clearly audible, through the fabric but as soon as I am inside the room, the cacophony rushes over me like sand burying my toes.

I don’t try to make out anything the girls at the tables closest to the entrance I just came through are saying, I head straight for Bess. The table Bess and I had chosen is now spotted with the late risers, all odd and shuffling, most sitting in small groups, barely speaking as they watch the main entrance to the White Tent.

“Bess,” I hiss as I slid onto the bench next to her, sitting right at the end of the table. My arm clatters against the plate that still holds the breakfast I had never finished.

“Silvers,” she whispers and nods in the direction of the entrance. I lift my head to see over the crowd of girls, but all I can see is brown and blonde, the predominate colour of White’s hair. Bess and I are no exception, we both sport the same dirty blonde, never cleaned, hair.

“Do you know why?”

Bess doesn’t have an answer, and from the conversations I can pick up from the girls near me, they don’t know either. I let my head drop back down, if it is because of the fight with the Silver, it’ll be harder to recognise me this way.

“You are not allowed in here!” A Matron yells, causing both Bess and me to glance to the left, just in time to see a few men walking through one of the side entrances. They, instead of wearing Silver like the men who stood out the front of the Tent, wore black fitted clothes. I clench Bess’s arm as they stepped past us, their knives dangling at head level. The young Matron scurries after them, waving her arms wildly as she tries to get the attention of the Head Matron who was standing by the Main Entrance, in front of the Silvers.

“You,” the young Matron calls, pointing at me, “call the Head Matron over here! And hurry!”

I gave Bess a smile, telling her that I’d be back, as I clamour through the rows between the tables and toward the Head Matron. The flailing arms that cascaded in torrents around me from the excited girls, all dying to catch a glimpse of the infamous Silvers. I was only hit a few times before I found myself almost buried in the folds of the Head Matrons uniform. I reach forward and tap her bony shoulder, my feet bussing as I wobble in anticipation.

Using my toes, I lift myself so I can look over the Head Matron’s white clad shoulder and toward the Silvers. There are many of them, crowding the pathway and the entrance, their eyes casting skittish glances in every direction. There are people behind them, the farmers and their families who were still in the process of packing up from the celebration or still finding enough customers to continue here for a few more days. There was a Silver who stood in front of the Head Matron, speaking in a low tone and gesturing to the men behind him.

I lean closer, listening to the Silver. “Matron, it is very important that you let us through. We are here as a guard and, if you do not give us access willingly, you will be removed from this position and sent away,” says the Silver who stands at the front. He holds a knife in his hand, letting it dangle loosely as he watches the Head Matron.

“Head Matron,” I whisper into her ear. This time, though, she turns to look at me. “Men in black uniforms have come inside, the Matrons need your assistance.” I use the language that Maeve has, in the past, tutored me in. My pronunciation, Maeve has told me, is less lower class then it had been before we had met.

The Head Matron nods and turns back to the men, ignoring me as more urgent matters gain her attention.

“I believe only the King has that authority and I, by the Kings own laws, am not allowed to invite any person who is not a White or a Matron into the White Tent. I hope you understand.” And then the Head Matron turns, brushes past me, and walks briskly toward the other side of the Tent. The Whites lean out of her way but bounce back as soon as she has gone, watching the Silvers again.

I am now the only person standing on the Whites side of the Tent, by the door. Looking back at the Silver, I give a small nod, though I don’t know why, and step to the side.

“Girl,” the Silver says, staring at me, “where did the Blacks come in?”

I give a little shrug, then turn and push my way through the Whites and back to Bess. My back tingles as I walk, as if I had just done something great by shrugging to a Silver. But it also makes me frown: Black, the King’s personal guard, here? Blacks and Silvers both here on the same day, and before this week I had never seen a single one.

“You know,” Bess says as soon as I am seated again, “the Silvers don’t seem that frightening.” Bess gestures toward a door. “I think some of the girl in here could beat them.”

“You shouldn’t be saying things like that,” I tell her even as I glance back toward the door which the Blacks had left. It was the door which lead to the dorms which we slept in. “Do you think someone did something wrong?” I ask.

“Didn’t you? I told you that we had to go,” Bess says with a pointed glare. “But I don’t think Blacks would be here for that.”

I nod, though not reassured, and look back at the door. My gut flips as the door opens and the Blacks come streaming out.

There aren’t many of them, less than ten. The Blacks are completely silent as they fan out through the rows of tables in pairs. Almost everyone is now looking at them, the Silvers forgotten. The Blacks barely slow as they look at down at the tables and the Whites. Bess and I both sit at a back table, so we are one of the first people the Blacks walk past. I hold my breath as one of the men brush past me. My lean toward Bess and watch out of the corner of my eye as they walk.

“What are they doing?” Bess asks as soon as the Black moves out of the vicinity in which he could have heard her whisper.

“I’m not sure,” I say. Each Black pair stops a few times as they walk down and every time they look at one of the Whites, they turn away. It is as if they can’t find what, or who, they are looking for. I try to find the patterns, looking at every girl who catches a Blacks attention.

I watch as a pair, stop and look at a White. The White is a girl I’ve never spoken to, but what I can immediately see is that she is old. Older than me, maybe sixteen. Watching, I notice that more and more of the Whites that are looked at more than the others are the older ones.

Older ones like Maeve. “Bess, we’ve got to go,” I whisper as I slide backward, moving slowly toward the entrance to the Garden as the Blacks head further down the rows, away from us