The Mind Master Chronicles: The Pawn Sacrifice
Jennifer Alice Chandler
Chapter 1 (Aronade: age 12 — Intro to the Elite World)
I am called Aronade. I began writing things down at age twelve. Then again, I don’t know what my exact age is; I had lost track of the years long ago.
I find that it helps to write things down right after they happen. It’s very therapeutic. Rereading what I write, on the other hand, can be unnerving. All those raw, unprocessed emotions can cause me to relive the pain. But I digress …
I am going to the city. We arrive by train.
“Don’t assume you know where anyone is coming from.” the Instructor warns me.
“Think about it, Puppet. Of course they are going to maneuver it that way; it makes sense. It’s like a game of chess. Right and wrong have nothing to do with it; it’s about winning. I’d advise you not to take it personally.”
“You have to become used to being alone. You can’t afford to be too dependent on them.”
“Instructor.”
He looks at me, and I can tell that he doesn’t like even this level of familiarity — even with just my using his moniker instead of his name.
“Surely, they aren’t this absurd.” I insist. “They make no sense.”
“Oh, if only it weren’t true, but you have to get used to it. You can’t show your disapproval, or they’ll single you out.”
“But surely this can’t be.”
“I’m assuring you that people can indeed convince themselves that whatever they come to believe in is ingenious … and, well, you can see how refreshing it is to have someone sane to talk to.”
“Yes, I saw that.” I say, referring to Mark.
He looks at me disapprovingly.
“You’re getting lax on your grammar. It’s ‘I see that!’ ”
I am annoyed and think to dispute with him that I made a mistake, but I am too tired for the effort. Plus, he doesn’t seem to know about Mark.
I am greeted by a great big old building, which is to house me for years to come. It isn’t unlike the complex I had come from — only less modern. The spaces are certainly narrower and even gloomier than the spaces I had grown accustomed to. All I can see from room to room are neat, orderly rows of desks. And yet, I have an odd feeling of familiarity all the same. It is like I had left one prison and come to another. I had no idea earlier that the time I had had between the complex and the school would be the only opportunity I would have to enjoy the open air in a long time.
“So, are you two siblings?” the official who is bringing us into the school asks. I look at Kurt funny. Where did she get that idea? We look nothing alike. For one, he has pale blonde hair, and I have chestnut brown. His eyes are a pale grey; mine are an assortment of colors. It just seems odd she would even think that …
“It says here your onkel is guardian to you both.”
Onkel? She means the Instructor, of course. Why hadn’t he accompanied us into the school? I don’t know. Perhaps, he was worried there would be too many questions asked. The only problem is I have no idea how to answer the questions we are being asked. I have a pretty good idea that I am no relation to the Instructor. Is Kurt his relative? Or, is he like me — just listed as such on a form? I still have no idea who Kurt is or how he factors into the Instructor’s life, and, therefore, mine. No mention had been made that he has the disease I have, which could kill the elite of this world — people like the Instructor. The Instructor calls them “the elite.” Apparently — I had learned on the train in hushed whispers, but it was still a dangerous conversation to have in public — that the elite had been genetically altered to live much longer, healthier lives than the rest of us. That basically cemented their position at the top of society’s pecking order. And then they decided that there were just too many of the rest of us; there are only so many slaves needed, I guess. Therefore, they purposed to kill most of us off with a virus they manufactured — one that they would be immune from. That is until a group of scientists in the city I had been living in cultivated a virus of their own that exploited a weakness in the genetically manipulated code of the elite and killed those who had that code. The elite destroyed the city, but I had survived.
At this point, I have no memory of the incident. At any rate, I am a carrier of the virus. It does no harm to me or people like me, but it could be extracted from my blood and utilized as a weapon. That’s the reason the Instructor took me in — as a bargaining chip — as blackmail. When he told me about this, he seemed unconcerned about his own safety — about the virus possibly being extracted from me, so that means of exposing it to the elites could be found. For him, he said, it is the excitement of the game — of the gamble.
“At least I’d win. I don’t bluff, Puppet. I only play when I have the cards. Unlike the others, I realize I won’t live forever. I find this game more than enough of a reason to get me out of bed in the morning.”
“Now I really don’t know what to believe.” I determine.
The Instructor, for some reason has decided to hide me at one of the elite’s private schools.
“I thought it best for you to see the real world-system from the inside.” the Instructor had said.
“But isn’t it more dangerous among the elites?” I had asked him.
“No, it’s more dangerous among those desperate to become one of them.” the Instructor had returned.
“We’re distant cousins.” Kurt speaks up suddenly, redrawing my attention to what is going on around me.
I had forgotten there had been a question asked. I am grateful that I hadn’t been put in a position where I may feel compelled to lie, but, then again, it’s not as though I correct Kurt either. Though, I do wonder why he added the word “distant.” Wouldn’t cousin have been sufficient? Oh well, at least he didn’t say we were siblings.
The woman seems to take Kurt’s response as a fitting explanation. She doesn’t question Kurt further and, like I said, I am glad to see her let it go. I only wonder how many more questions people will have for us.
The woman is leading us somewhere. It turns out to be the office of the headmaster. It is a round room with big windows, and it is filled with mahogany furniture. I spy a short, older man sitting in a grand leather chair facing us. Opposite him sits another man; his back had been facing us before, but he now turns toward us as we enter.
I almost gasp when I recognize the Instructor, but, fortunately, I catch myself in time. He wouldn’t have liked it if I had shown such weakness. Why should I be surprised that he had made his way here in secret and then waited for us to make an appearance at the headmaster’s office?
But what has the Instructor been telling the headmaster? Would his and Kurt’s version of reality match up? I don’t worry that the Instructor has been saying bad things about me. That doesn’t seem to be his way. I, after all, am just his pawn. It isn’t my destruction he is angling for. And yet, I have no doubt at this point that he could very easily sacrifice me if the need arises. I mean nothing to him but a means to an end. The question is: what will my end be?
I look over at Kurt. He doesn’t seem surprised to see the Instructor here but maybe that is an act. Then again, the Instructor does love to catch people off-guard so much and so often that it may have started to seem like a commonplace occurrence for Kurt after awhile.
As I’ve said, I have no idea what kind of relationship Kurt has with the Instructor. Perhaps, he has been in the Instructor’s presence more often than I have. Though, for whatever reason, Kurt hasn’t learned the Instructor’s lessons. Once again I wonder, what is the point of Kurt?
I begin to wonder if Kurt is going to spy on me much the way my caregiver Nan had done. I wouldn’t put it past the Instructor to devise such a scheme. Now maybe the Instructor just wants to ensure my safety — or I should say his investment’s safety — by having Kurt around me. Maybe he doesn’t really care what I do or don’t do. It is impossible for me to say what is real in this situation. And yet, there isn’t much doubt in my mind that Kurt would relish the opportunity to tell the Instructor anything that I did do — so long as it didn’t reflect badly on him as the incident with Mark had.
Mark. I still can’t quite wrap my mind around the fact that Kurt had tried to kill Mark — and in such a grotesque manner. Who does that? What am I dealing with in Kurt? He seems to think he is like the Instructor, and even I think so … up to a point. But if they really were alike, why is Kurt so eager to keep Mark a secret? Does Kurt enjoy putting one over on the Instructor? No, not if Kurt’s admiration for the Instructor is sincere anyway.
Who can really tell with Kurt? Still, if the Instructor wants me to have a protector, Kurt is ill-suited for the job. He should have chosen someone like … like Mark.
I catch myself as a lump forms in my throat. Could people tell as I sit stiffly in the chair next to the Instructor that I had ceased from breathing for a moment? How close had I come to being rid of this place? Would Mark really have been able to take me with him? I will never know now. He is gone — long gone. He left me behind. Not that I can blame him for that. No, actually I can, but I try not to. I need to believe he was my friend. I can’t stand to think that that had been a lie.
“So …” the headmaster begins. “Your onkel has chosen well for you by placing you both at our academy.”
“No … I’m onkel just to her.” the Instructor surprisingly corrects the man.
Kurt seems dismayed. Why would the Instructor deny Kurt is his relative but claim me as his relative instead? Unless he thinks that acknowledging Kurt will cause people to discover his (the Instructor’s) real identity. Still, Kurt obviously hasn’t come to that same conclusion; he is noticeably unnerved.
The headmaster looks at the Instructor with curiosity on his face.
“Of course, Kurt has been one of ours for quite some time now.” the headmaster adds, seemingly trying to distract everyone from the apparent awkwardness of the moment. “I believe I met his Tante Nan …”
The Instructor remains silent.
“Has she seen the information pamphlets?” the headmaster asks the Instructor, referring to me.
“Not yet …” the Instructor informs him with almost a giddiness in his voice.
The headmaster proceeds to fish out a brochure. He then hands it to me.
Kurt turns his eyes toward the window. I take some time to look over the pamphlet — not only as a show of respect to the headmaster but also because I figure the information could prove useful. And the fact is, when it comes to the Instructor, you never know when something that has been given to you could arbitrarily be taken away.
“Yes, I and my staff assembled this guide for students. They have found it very helpful I am told. I am the Herr Hartheim mentioned in the literature. That’s what you will call me.”
I look up and nod slightly.
“You’ll find the people here come from all over, but they are all like you. We keep the strictest standards at Durhorst Academy. Your onkel has been able to vouch for you quite well. And we were able to find room for you.”
“And I appreciate it, Hartheim, very much. I had to be sure that my niece wouldn’t be forced to mix with people who weren’t …well … elite.”
My eyes shoot up. Did he say “elite”? Did he mean it in the context of what he and I had discussed on the train? I look at the Instructor and can tell right away that’s exactly what he meant.
Herr Hartheim then greets the Instructor like he belongs.
“She’s one of us.” the Instructor insists in regards to me.
Herr Hartheim laughs and nods approvingly. I expect the Instructor to shoot me a glance warning me not to overreact. Instead, he smiles with amusement. I am to be surrounded by people who, if they find out who I am, would want to kill me … and that I could play a role in killing without even intending to.
I stare off into space, trying to look as blank as I can. I can’t believe I am at an academy for the elites. Of course, at moments like this, I have to wonder what Kurt is thinking. Is he one of them, too? How can I be sure he won’t tell them I’m not? I’m in as much danger as they are really. I am now under their thumb. Is Kurt’s only motivation to keep quiet about my secret his admiration for the Instructor? Forgive me if I don’t think that is enough to rely upon. Is the Instructor really invested in my survival at all, or is he merely a gambler — putting it all on the line for the thrill it gives him? Only it is my life he is gambling with … and possibly others.
And what about Nan? Is she one of them, too? She did look scared for a moment when she thought I’d been cut once. I had forgotten that. That doesn’t necessarily mean she’s one of them, though. Why would she take on the job of taking care of me if that was the case? Maybe when I cut myself she was just afraid of becoming like me … a carrier.
And really who are the elites anyway? I know only what the Instructor has told me about them, which isn’t much. They must be powerful, though, if they could destroy a whole city without repercussions. This man, Herr Hartheim, is probably one of them. Does everyone in the world know who they are, or is it a secret? Does he only allow the Instructor to talk openly about it because he thinks we are all elites, too? And if it is a secret, why is it a secret? Are they afraid of my disease — of people who might want to use it to do them harm? Now that would be ironic given what they want to do to everyone else! Still, it would explain the Instructor’s rather giddy reaction. He loves this type of thing.
It bothers me how much I don’t know. Surely I will have to learn a lot more about the elite and fast if I’m going to succeed in passing myself off as one of them. It would stand to reason that I should know much more than I do; anyone would expect that.
“Well, do you want to stay for the tour Herr Frankfort?”
Frankfort? Is that the Instructor’s real name? No, I doubt that … it is probably made up like my familial association with him. The Instructor apparently uses aliases. One has to wonder how he would know if one got compromised. But then, maybe that is the fun of it — the thrill of the game.
Then, I begin to wonder is Frankfort to be my last name, too. What if Herr Hartheim hadn’t mentioned that name just now and someone had asked me what my last name was? Not only have I never heard of the name Frankfort before, but I don’t even know my real last name anymore. I would have drawn a complete blank. How awkward would that have been? How potentially disastrous! What? Am I supposed to scheme to get all of this personal information out of these people without arousing anyone’s suspicion? How woefully ill-prepared am I for all of this! I wonder if Kurt is in the same position as I am … though I can tell just by looking at his expression that I won’t be getting any help from that quarter.
“Why yes, I may as well. I’d like to see the layout of things.”
“Of course.”
The two men stand with great care and a rather regal air. I stand slowly, trying to appear as dignified as possible. Kurt just stands. The Instructor shows just the slightest trace of disapproval towards Kurt. When I look at Kurt again, I can tell he has seen the Instructor’s face, for he has grown even paler. Maybe … could Kurt be afraid of the Instructor — not just of his disapproval but of him?
The tour is a bit hokey. It is made even the more so by the Instructor’s reaction to it. His eyes absorb every detail of the layout and features as though the minutia hold the most poignant fascination for him.
“I do have an appreciation for architecture.” he expresses to Headmaster Hartheim.
He casts a knowing look at me. I don’t know whether to cringe or laugh. Of course, the best reaction is to not react at all — which is what I try to do.
Kurt, on the other hand, lets his eyes wander around with disinterest seeping across his face. He sighs from time to time. I surmise that the sighing is to show his dissatisfaction with being ignored. I conclude this because his sighs are loud, and they seem to be preceded by moments when Headmaster Hartheim and the Instructor have their backs turned to him. Kurt couldn’t seem to care less if I notice him or not.
“Well, that’s about it.” the headmaster informs us. “You’ve seen just about everything now … except the student dorms.”
The Instructor just waits.
“Well, I can look up their room numbers, and we can see their rooms … I’m sure that they’re ready. I reserved two singles as you requested. Kurt can be transferred right away.”
“Singles? That sounds boring!” Kurt declares suddenly.
The Instructor turns a venomous look on to Kurt. If Kurt had wanted the Instructor’s attention, he certainly has it now!
Suddenly, the Instructor smirks with satisfaction, which surprises me.
“Kurt apparently prefers having a roommate.” the Instructor starts drily. “But I believe if we asked him, his roommate would probably thank me for standing my ground.”
Both men laugh at Kurt’s expense. Kurt’s expression grows sour. He then glares at me for some reason.
“Oh, and I feel I have to mention — even though you are probably already aware — but even so … the school will have to be moved out of the city eventually. In fact, we are already in the process of looking for a new site … in the countryside.”
The Instructor’s face falls. I know that look. It usually signifies that the Instructor’s will has somehow been thwarted. But how would that apply in this situation? Moments later, the Instructor catches me looking at him questioningly. So, he turns his glowering mug on to me. I look away.
“Ah, yes.” I hear the Instructor comment. “That isn’t convenient … but I do see why you think it may be necessary.”
“It is. It is.” Herr Hartheim insists.
The Instructor scowls at the man’s back. I can tell that this isn’t over.
“Liesel.” the Instructor states pointedly.
I am staring off into space.
“Liesel.” he repeats.
I look over at him with surprise plastered on my face.
Liesel? Is that to be my name here? And I’m just learning about this now?
And Kurt … is his name still Kurt? Then, I remember that the Instructor called him Kurt in front of the headmaster. So, apparently, for some reason, he is still Kurt. Then again, I guess when they enrolled him — and who knows how long ago that was — they used his real name for whatever reason. If Kurt even is his real name …
Either way, I am apparently being given a new name: Liesel. I wonder if Kurt can be trusted not to call me Aronade. But then the Instructor’s displeasure seems to be enough to motivate him to try. Still, it occurs to me that I am having yet another layer of my identity stripped away. I am like one of those maple seedlings that twirl down to the earth. All those around me are springing up in their youth. But I am a fraud … outwardly I am one of them — but inside? How long am I going to live? Am I going to be allowed to live?
The Instructor has apparently lost interest in me and what’s happening around me again, for he is quick to say his good-byes once we make it to the threshold of my dorm room.
“Well, I think that about raps up my need to be here.” the Instructor announces.
I don’t know how to account for the sudden panic I feel. Certainly it isn’t affection for the Instructor, and, therefore, anguish that he’s leaving that I’m feeling. It’s more like the feeling you have when you’re thrown into the deep end of the pool; and yet, you still don’t know if you can swim. Actually, I highly doubt that I can.
His parting words to me, which are spoken in whispers, are: “We all play games … it’s what we do with our time. The world is our game.”
I consider this parting shot less than helpful. Who knows when I will see him again.
“You are a bit … overly sensitive.” the headmaster makes note of me.
“I am?” I repeat incredulously.
It occurs to me that he is comparing me to Kurt. Incredibly, Kurt is apparently their ideal, and they are determined to put their full energies into making him succeed. It feels strange to me. What is Kurt set to accomplish? It is true that Kurt can be charming with others. But is that really a skill? Apparently, around here it is. The only thing I can see Kurt as having is a penchant for killing — but since Mark survived, he is not particularly good at that either. At least, I hope he isn’t.
But what is it to me if they find me to be a disappointment? I’m not invested in these people or in this world of theirs.
But something does continue to trouble me, however. I am dubious of Kurt’s relationship with the Instructor. Does he have a similar role that I have? Could I be replaced by him? And if I am, what will become of me? It was worse after I learned the truth. Before I could just pretend that the worst thing that could happen to me was my being kicked out onto the street. Now I realize my very life is on the line. Just a word for the Instructor or even Kurt could doom me. That knowledge makes living in the same facility as Kurt all the more miserable. It would have been bad enough just to know what he had tried to do to Mark.
When I find a moment alone with Kurt, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I ask him, “So, are you one of them, too — one of the elites?”
“I’ll never tell.” he tells me without giving the explanation as to why. Is it fear that I might try to give him the disease, or at least threaten to, if he were an elite? Or, is it fear that others will turn on him if they realized he was one of us “inferiors”? Of course, he seems pleased I can’t say which one it is.
“So, are you related to him — the Instructor?” I venture.
He looks upon me keenly.
“Just as with you …” he sneers; his tone drips of sarcasm. He probably figured out I am trying to get the answer to my prior question another way. “He’s my onkel … even if he denies it.”
I realize there is no way to know if the Instructor is really Kurt’s onkel or if this is just part of the game.
It would make sense if they were related. After all, it actually is the only way Kurt’s presence here makes any sense to me.
I am surprised. I’m just being released into the world only to find the Instructor has left some things out about how bad things are now. The prevailing ideology has already infiltrated the schools, the libraries, the media … even every facet of government and most of the military. The people who are not in power are either buying into it — dancing like a puppet on a string — or they are too afraid to admit they aren’t a part of it. The people who had once stood up against them are apparently long gone. You can feel a sense of emptiness — a void where the defiant used to be. What is the point of my coming out of hiding? What chance do I have here? And then, I think of Mark. Assuming he is still alive, will he change to fit in with the others? Certainly, my brother probably has changed over the years. He’s been around this for a long time …
I guess since I’ve been out of it for so long it strikes me all the more how strange it all is. I mean, it’s like being blindsided by a two by four. This place is a different world from what I’m used to. For one, before I wasn’t expected to behave much differently than I was already inclined to. Now the things I do in order to follow God will probably lead to my being persecuted.
I find I don’t like the world. Most of it isn’t real, and the parts that are real aren’t what I consider good. But people are seemingly buying into this vision. And they somehow know if they acknowledge the reality, the semi-pleasant facade will go away. It’s not that I want the world to be bad; it’s just denying the truth does nothing for me. Improve things by all means, but mass delusion isn’t my thing. Someone is always hurt when you try to cover up the crimes of perpetrators in order to maintain the façade. Also, it emboldens people to do the wrong thing since they know people are invested in covering up an immoral act.
I look off to the side. I never thought I’d miss the complex. Perhaps it is because I never thought I’d be permitted to leave it. But at this moment, as I look about the confines of the school, I realize that what little freedom I had had before is about to be curtailed. I had left one prison only to discover I had been trapped in a prison within a prison. What is the point of escaping when there’s nowhere to escape to?
At least before some of my time had been my own. True, I had always felt as though I was being watched. Sadly, it was only at the end of my stay at the complex that I realized that I had not actually been watched the entire time. Then again, what difference did it make if it was the entire time or not? Certainly some of the time I had been watched. And since I couldn’t tell when those times were, it had the same effect as if I had been observed the entire time.
But still, there is no denying that I am being observed constantly now. I can feel it as well as see it. There is Kurt for one. And there are so many employees that we pass as we walk the halls, who don’t even make a secret out of watching us. I wonder if even in the dark I will be able to feel invisible. I’ve always been the kind that has tried to carve out a corner of the room for myself. The problem is will they even permit me to have that much?
I feel trapped suddenly, and I want out. Yet, I quickly resign myself to the fact that I can’t escape — at least not yet. And I also can’t afford to panic — to lose my composure. I can’t think about the future. I will find someplace for myself … or not.
One of the first things I find that the elite do when I first meet one of them is to ask me questions to see if I have their worldview or not. There is a distinct feeling that if I don’t I will be ostracized from their company. I’m not one of them, of course. But the Instructor is, so that is enough to allow them to tolerate my presence among them … at least for now.
Copyright © Jennifer Alice Chandler 2020
jenniferalicechandler 
Leave a Reply