The three of us find the other survivors in a cavernous stone dining hall dominated by a long wooden table. Torches light the room. Night's mist slithers through open windows. It is like something from the old tales. The times they call Medieval. Toward the far end of the long room is a plinth. A giant stone towers there; embedded in its center is a golden Primus hand. Golden and black tapestries flank the stone. A wolf howls upon the tapestries, as though calling out a warning. It is the Primus hand that will tear this House apart. Each one of these little princes and princesses will think themselves deserved of the honor of leading the House. Yet only one can. I move like a ghost with the other students, drifting around the stone halls of what seems to be a giant castle. There is a room in which we are to clean ourselves. A trough runs icy water along the cold floor. Now blood runs with the water to the right and disappears into the stone. I feel like some sort of specter in a land of fog and rock. Black and gold fatigues are laid out for us in a relatively barren armory. Each student finds the fatigue bundle tagged with his or her name. A golden symbol of a howling wolf marks the high collars and sleeves of our clothing. I take my clothing with me and dress alone in some stor- age room. There, I fall into the corner and sit, silent. This place is so cold and quiet. So far from home. Roque finds me. He's striking in his uniform- lean like a strand of golden summer wheat, with high cheekbones and warm eyes, but his face is pale. He sits on his haunches across from me for several minutes before he reaches over to clasp my hands. I draw back, but he holds on till I look at him. "If you are thrown into the deep and do not swim, you will drown," he says, and raises his thin eyebrows. "So keep swimming, right?" I force a chuckle. "A poet's logic." He shrugs. "Doesn't count for much. So I'1l give you facts, brotherman. This is the system. The lower Colors have their children by use of cata- lysts. Fast births, sometimes only five months of gestation before labor is induced. Except for the Obsidians, only we wait nine months to be born. Our mothers receive no catalysts, no sedatives, no nucleics. Have you asked yourself why?" "So the product can be pure.' "And so that nature is given a chance to kill us. The Board of Quality Control is firmly convinced that 13.6213 percent of all Gold children should die before one year of age. Sometimes they make reality fit this number." He splays out his thin hands. "Why? Because they believe civiliza- tion weakens natural selection. They do nature's work so that we do not become a soft race. The Passage, it seems, is a continuation of that policy. Only we were the tools they used. My ...victim was, bless his soul, a fool. He was from a family of no worth, and he had no wits, no intelligence no ambition," he frowns at the words before sighing, "he had nothing the Board values. There is a reason he was to die." Was there a reason Julian was to die? Roque knows what he does because his mother is on the Board. He loathes his mother, and only then do I realize I should like him. Not only that, I take refuge in his words. He disagrees with the rules, but he follows them. It is possible. I can do the same until I have power enough to change them. "We should join the others." I say, standing In the dining hall, our names float above the chairs in golden letters. Our test scores are gone. Our names have also appeared beneath the Primus hand in the black stone. They float, golden, upward toward the golden hand. I'm closest, though there's still much distance to cover. Some of the students cry together in small groups by the long wooden table. Others sit against the wall, heads in their hands. A limping girl looks for her friend. Antonia glares over at the table where small Sevro sits eating. Of course he's the only one with an appetite. Frankly, I'm surprised he survived. He is tiny and was our ninety-ninth and last draft pick. By Roque's pro- posed rules, he should be dead. Titus, the giant, is alive and bruised. Those knuckles of his look like a dirty butcher's block He stands arrogantly apart from the rest, grin- ning like this is all splendid fun. Roque speaks quietly with the limping girl, Lea. She falls down crying and throws her ring. She looks like a deer, eyes wide and glistening. He sits with her and holds her hand. There's a peacefulness to him that is unique in the room. Wonder how peace- ful he seemed when strangling some other kid to death. I roll my ring on and off my finger. Someone smacks my head lightly from behind. "Oy', brotherman." "Cassius." I nod. "Cheers to your victory. I was worried you were all brains,' Cassius laughs. His golden curls are not even tousled. He throws an arm around me and surveys the room with a wrinkled nose. He feigns this nonchalance; I can tell he's worried. "Ah. Is there anything more ugly than self- pity? All this crying." He smirks and points at a girl with a busted nose. "And she just became ag- gressively unpleasant. Not that she was ever much to sniff at. Eh? Eh?" I forget to speak.
