It took us about two hours to arrive at our destination. I enjoyed every minute of the ride. The world seemed so big from where we were. Not being surrounded by concrete walls was a marvelous feeling. I felt like screaming or howling but I knew better than to draw any more attention to myself.
The compound of the Classes was very different to Pau. From the air it looked like there was one big ring with two small rings inside at one end, and one big ring at the opposite end. It actually seemed to resemble a face with a surprised expression—big open eyes and a wide mouth. I looked around to see if this amused anyone else. No. They all looked petrified, their knees jittering, or holding themselves tight like they thought their insides would fall out. I felt sorry for them. For them, being separated from their parents was a big deal. Joseph was looking down at it with a quizzical expression on his face. I gave his hand a squeeze. He turned and grinned at me.
Between the inner rings was mottled green, not like the disordered chaos of the Wilderness but organized, like my mother’s patchwork curtains. I couldn’t tell exactly what it was from up here, but it looked like there were paths poking out here and there. I was hopeful. It was certainly different and that could be a good thing. When I looked back at Joseph, his expression had changed from one of amusement to very serious. He was deep in thought when we landed with a thud. We jolted in our seats and reality hit. He released my hand. One of the Guardians was talking but we couldn’t hear him until the blades of the chopper slowed, and then he was yelling at the top of his lungs, “…then go to the Centre and we’ll drop off your bags in your quarters.” He cleared his throat and in a softer tone said, “Off the helicopter everyone.” I giggled, which got me a harsh stare from some of the kids as well as the Guardian. It was different, but not that different. My humor was not appreciated here either.
We landed inside the mouth of the face. The walls were not as high here. I could actually see over them into what looked like a garden. It was beautiful and utterly foreign. I could see so many trees I had never seen before. Some with fruit hanging from overburdened branches, also herbs and flowers. I had only seen a real flower once. It had seeded in our front lawn, blown from the outside. I saw it for only a second before a groundskeeper plucked it from the earth and threw it in his bag of clippings. It was tiny and delicate, with yellow petals and a brown center. In this garden there were colors unlike anything made or grown in Pau Brasil. I was still craning my head around, trying to get a better look, as they guided us into the first building.
The buildings were all grey concrete, just like in Pau, but this collection of structures was grander and more imposing than our modest town buildings. They were overelaborate, with hideous, carved creatures climbing up the corners or sitting on the roof staring down at us. This was where the children had come to learn their trades, their fates, for over two hundred years. You could feel it, a mixture of history and solemnness. It was creepy, imagining dusty ghosts and stifled laughter floating down the halls.
Our small line of boys and girls was merged into a larger line as teenagers filtered in from other landing bays, until there were about fifty or sixty of us. Each of us was wearing our grey uniform with our tree emblems printed on the front. A Guardian was facing us as we were guided through a large set of carved, wooden doors. “Take your place at a table and be silent.” He said it about three times, repeating himself as more of us entered the room. His voice echoed around the vast hall, which, once everyone was seated, was still two-thirds empty. I guess, years ago, there must have been more bodies to fill the space.
The Guardian stomped his foot once and called attention.
“Who are we?” he barked.
“Citizens of the Woodlands.” The room echoed with the combined, unsure voices of sixty or so terrified teenagers. And I joined them. For once, I didn’t want to make up my own version. All my cheek had evaporated into tiny particles that clung onto the edges of my clothes like germs. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t as scared as every other kid in here.
“What do we see?” he said threateningly, his eyes squinting like he was trying to sift out the troublemakers early.
“All kind.”
“What don’t we see?” He scanned the room, connecting with different eyes of different colors but all with the same wide bewilderment reflected in them.
“Own kind,” everyone said.
Then one kid yelled out “Own kind” out of time with the others. The Guardian marched over to him and stood over his desk for the rest.
“Our parents were?” he asked the boy.
“Caretakers,” the boy whimpered.
“Our allegiance is to?”
“The Superiors. We defer to their judgment. Our war was our fault. The Superiors will correct our faults,” the boy muttered deeply to the top of his desk.
“What was that?” the Guardian said, leaning on the boy’s hand with his baton, pressing it hard across the boy’s fingers.
The boy winced but didn’t cry, “The Superiors. We defer to their judgment. Our war was our fault. The Superiors will correct our faults.” He yelled like the words couldn’t get out quick enough.
“Right!” the Guardian said in a voice like snapping shears. He released the boy’s fingers and held up his baton, scanning the desks with it. “And this is why we do the Test,” he concluded. He stomped back to the front to face us and motioned to the other Guardians who were standing against the wall.
I felt like I missed something. There were a few confused faces, some shuffling in chairs, someone coughed. I turned around to find his face. Joseph looked as puzzled as me. He shrugged his shoulders conveying his uncertainty. I didn’t realize we would be doing the Test straight off. I was hoping I might have some time to prepare. This was to decide the rest of my life. I needed to get it right.
The Guardians walked through the rows of desks handing out stacks of colored paper and pencils, their heavy, black boots sending vibrations across the polished wood floor. The man at the front kept talking. Pulling his glasses over his nose when he read and pushing them into his hair when he was looking at us.
“This is the written part of your test. Answer the questions honestly. If you answer dishonestly, we will know and you will be punished. There is no time limit. You may start as soon as you receive your packet. Raise your hand when you have completed each colored sheet and a Guardian will collect your answers.”
I stared down at the stack of paper. So this was it, my life in a packet. I shrugged and started. Pink first. The questions were innocuous to begin with. ‘Do you like to be outdoors?’ or, ‘Do you enjoy a challenge?’ As I worked my way through, the questions became more detailed, more specific. They asked for answers to scientific questions like ‘how does the liver metabolize fat cells’. They were all multiple choice, and the answers all sounded the same to me, so I just picked one. I did try my best to answer the questions honestly. I was mindful of my habit to be sarcastic. I didn’t want to end up shoveling poo in a pig farm because I joked about loving the smell of slops in the morning.
I put my hand up when I finished and the Guardian collected my last paper, perusing it carefully, making sure I had answered every question and ticked every box. He lifted his hand, indicating for me to stand. He scanned my wrist and then a barcode on the papers. I looked around and everyone was still writing, heads down, scribbling frantically. I had finished first. I was sure this couldn’t be a good thing. I was very worried I had missed something important, rushed through something I shouldn’t have, but it was too late. I was already being ushered out of the room and taken to the next stage of testing.