by Tom Hansen
He sighed, looking across the room with a distance in his eyes. “And yet some that should have come here didn’t.” He clucked his tongue.
A smaller table stood beside the one 2201 lay on. It held several vials full of different-colored liquids, glass tubes with glass rods inside them, and needles.
Big ones.
The man grabbed a needle and twisted it into the end of one of the narrow glass tubes with a rod inserted into the other end. He dipped the needle’s point into a vial filled with light green liquid and pulled the glass rod out of the tube just a little. The green liquid filled in the air gap left by the rod. He pointed the needle up and pushed on the rod until the liquid squirted out the top, then stopped.
He repeated the activity four more times, each time pulling a different-colored liquid in the glass tube.
Finally, he placed his hand on her right shoulder. “This, like all changes, is going to hurt, but you’ve already been taught to endure pain.” He paused, then read the ordinals etched on her shoulder once again. His eyes flared.
“Quite a lot of pain it seems.”
He cleared his throat. “I do have to say, as a scientist, I pride myself on facts and experiments. I like looking at data as empirically as possible, but there is something about you that I get a little giddy about, seeing just how much potential you have locked up inside your little red-haired body.”
He grinned, showing off his crooked, yellowed teeth. “I know I shouldn’t be excited about this since so many of my experiments fail catastrophically, but the good news is that I think I have all the kinks worked out this time. My last patient is still alive and that bodes very well for you.”
He paused to jot something down on the paper.
The voice told her to break out of the shackles and stick the needle in his neck. She told the voice to go away. She was doing her duty. She was being obedient.
He grabbed up the syringe and plunged it into her arm. “Let’s see how this works, shall we?”
As the green liquid disappeared into her arm, the voice inside her head screamed.
Unadulterated fire spread from her arm through her entire body. She shook in the restraints.
The voice grew louder as the fire burned through her. With every passing second, it grew more and more prescient as the pain continued to build.
She couldn’t take it anymore, and she listened. She turned her head and listened to the voice.
The voice told her to blow.
She obeyed.
Prisoner 1267062201 sucked in a massive amount of air, and blew it out in one massive gale.
All around her, the torrent of magic surged throughout the small room, buoyed by her pain and anguish. Every experiment she’d gone through in the last few weeks bubbled to the surface and for the slightest second she remembered a name.
Ynya.
Ynya would save her.
The voice inside her took over completely and whipped wind around inside the room, trying to destroy it. The wind howled in her ears, and the man screamed beside her, holding on to a leather strap attached to the chair.
Something pierced her shoulder and she lost all magic.
All was still, and the voice receded, happy that she had listened once again.
Chapter Ten
“Let me go you Gods-Sided Assholes! I will kill every one your mothers, and all of your family!”
Ynya fought back as much as she could the second she got control of her mouth.
But without her magic, she was just a waif-thin girl in the north.
She shivered now that her heat didn’t work. The soldiers had removed the stolen uniforms and Ynya only had her thin red dress.
Synol bore the indignity of being hauled around in silence.
Ynya wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Doesn’t Synol want to escape? Doesn’t she want to rail against her captors? Why isn’t she at least trying to get out of her bonds, or at very least kick the soldiers in the mouth to give them a broken tooth or jaw or something?
Synol had a frame much more designed for athletics than Ynya. One kick from her would leave an indelible impression on the guard.
One of the solders grabbed a baton and slammed it down on the back of Ynya’s neck for the third time since they’d left the records building. She didn’t even care anymore. It hurt, but her anger kept her focused and alert.
“Quiet! We have to get you Ordained and you don’t have to be conscious for the process.”
Ordained?
Ynya glanced sideways to Synol, who didn’t return her look. Her head was down and her eyes focused as the guards led her through the street.
They stopped outside another large building–they all seemed to look the same other than the colors and the sign out front.
Ynya hated it. Everything was the same. There was no flow to the place. It was too organized, structured. None of the buildings had any life.
Nor did the inhabitants.
All of them wore a glazed-over expression, like they were going through the motions.
Well, I’ll be the one to give them emotion.
Ynya struggled again against her bonds. But the soldier simply dropped her into a chair and before she knew it, five large shackles bolted around her.
An old woman came out of the door from the main building. “What do we have here? It’s not processing day.”
“Direct from the Warden. He wants these two Ordained immediately and moved into testing.”
The old woman, who had long silver hair done up in a bun behind her head, hobbled over to Synol and grabbed her by her chin. She examined Synol for a moment, mumbling to herself about facial features, then turned to Ynya.
She smiled. If they’d been in different situations, Ynya might have liked this woman. She seemed kindly enough, but she had that soulless look in her eyes like all the other soldiers.
“Oh you are a feisty one, aren’t you?”
Ynya shook her diminutive frame in the massive wood chair and shackles. “Come here and find out, you old bag.”
The woman’s bushy eyebrows rose at the insult. “You have quite the mouth on you, young woman. But I treat everyone the same here. As long as you don’t hurt me, I’ll do my best to not hurt you. But I have a job to do, so I best get on with it.”
She turned to her building but stopped after a couple steps. “I suppose we are going to spend a little bit of time together, I should introduce myself. I’m the Inscriber. You both look very familiar. You don’t happen to have two younger sisters, do you?”
Ynya gritted her teeth.
The old woman smirked, then stepped through the door.
Ynya raged. She snapped at anything that was close, shook her shackles, and screamed. She didn’t even know what came out of her mouth, but she tried to get as imaginative as she could with her epithets.
One of the soldiers backhanded her in the jaw. “Quiet.”
Finally, Synol spoke. “Ynya.”
“What?” Ynya was pissed. She was mad at herself for getting caught, mad at Synol for not being as angry as she.
“Save your energy. There are times to fight and times to wait.”
Ynya wanted to explode at her sister, but the words from Miss-Miss echoed in her ears. Smoke, not fire.
Instead of replying, Ynya simply went limp.
Fine, if they’re going to be like this, I’ll play their game.
The Inscriber came back, carrying a small box.
She opened the box on the table and removed a number of components; bowls, bottles of silvery and clear ink, and cloths. Then, she took out a couple of needles that reminded Ynya of the ones her Mama used to make dresses that were always too big for her waifish daughter. Only these needles were bigger. Much bigger.
The old woman turned to face Synol.
“I have to Ordain you, you understand that?”
Without turning to the old woman, Synol nodded. “Do what you have to do, and I’ll do likewise.”
The Inscriber turned
to Ynya. “See? I like your sister. She’s a smart one.”
The woman picked up the small vial with clear liquid in it and soaked the rag in the solution.
“This is just a bit of antiseptic, to keep you from becoming infected. It doesn’t hurt.”
She dabbed it on Synol’s inner right arm.
Whatever antiseptic was, it didn’t seem to phase Synol one bit.
She then poured a bit of the silver liquid into a shallow bowl, and grabbed a large needle. “This…not so much.”
Beside her, one of the guards shifted. Ynya couldn’t be sure, but it seemed they had a visceral reaction to what was about to take place.
The Inscriber dipped the needle into the bowl, coming away with just the slightest amount of silver liquid clinging to the tip. She poked it into Synol’s arm. It must not have hurt too much because Synol winced once after the first needle poke, but then continued to wear a serious and emotionless expression thereafter.
The Inscriber worked for nearly an hour, dipping and poking over and over, hundreds, possibly thousands of times. Every minute, she would wipe the area with one of the rags. It came back with a mixture of red blood and whatever the silvery liquid was. She went through nearly a dozen rags, eventually leaving a significant pile on the ground.
Finally, the Inscriber sat up. “Perfect.”
She turned to Ynya.
Ynya had tried to see what design the woman was doing, but couldn’t see past her back.
“Your turn. But I need to take a short rest. My back isn’t what it used to be. I’ll be right back.”
She left through her door.
“Did that hurt?”
Synol didn’t reply.
“What did she put on your arm?”
Again, Synol didn’t reply.
Behind them, the chimes rang out, signifying some kind of shift change.
Ynya wanted to scream. The desire to yell boiled just under the surface, but the constantly throbbing from the repeated blows to her head reminded her to keep her anger in check. The notion of her little sister being discarded tried to work into her head, but she pushed out the thought. Now is not the time to dwell on what the Warden said.
The door opened as the Inscriber returned.
“Alright, young woman, time for yours.”
She reorganized the silvery liquid closer, and pulled out the clear liquid. “Antiseptic again.”
The antiseptic smelled of harsh liquor. But it was cold to Ynya’s skin when it went on.
The Inscriber dipped the ink into the well once again, and looked at Ynya. “You ready?”
Ynya huffed. “I don’t care.”
The old woman smiled. “Oh, I think you care a lot, but none of that matters now.”
She poked into Ynya’s skin and a dense hot pain shot through Ynya’s arm. Far more than just a localized needle poke, it was a raging torrent of hot and cold, a mixture she’d never experienced before.
It was pure untainted pain. Ynya whimpered, trying to swallow back a scream. Tears poured from her eyes at the realization of how much that hurt. Just one needle prick and her entire arm throbbed. She’d rather be stabbed a hundred times from those silver daggers than by this needle.
The old woman stopped. “Now, now. Your sister was silent.”
Tears streamed down Ynya’s cheek and she looked up to her sister. Synol met her gaze, a morose expression on her face, and a single tear matching Ynya’s.
Synol mouthed, “I love you.”
The Inscriber punched the needle into Ynya’s arm again and again. Every single time, the intense pain tore through her body.
After the tenth prick, Ynya couldn’t hold back and cries of anguish replaced the whimpers.
After twenty, Ynya sobbed.
After the hundredth, Ynya bawled.
She bawled for her mother, she bawled for her father. She pleaded to be given a rest because the pain was so intense.
The entire time, Synol’s gaze never left Ynya.
Chapter Eleven
Ynya didn’t think it would end, but eventually, the pain stopped. A dozen bloodied rags were piled on the floor when the woman stood. “All yours.”
She started for her door, then turned. “For what it’s worth,” she pulled the sleeve back on her own arm, exposing her entire forearm. Silver numbers were etched on her arm, then she pulled down her shirt from her shoulder to show more numbers on her upper inner arm. “Everyone here has them. It’s just part of life.”
With that, she left.
The two soldiers walked them to the large holding pen in the center of camp. “When your number gets called, you better come find us. If we have to find you, there will be consequences.”
They walked through another double fence to get into the main holding pen in the center, where Ynya had seen all the milling prisoners when they first entered into this place.
They both stood there for a minute, taking in their new locale.
The yard was massive. Most of the dirt was packed clay and rock.
At least two hundred prisoners milled about in the space. Most huddled together for warmth. Everyone was dirty, malnourished, and many wore nothing but rags.
It was incredibly easy to tell the new ones from the others that had been here a while based on how dirty their clothes were.
Ynya was suddenly aware of just how bright and frivolous her dress was at the moment. She felt sorry that everyone with the mud-stained clothes had to look at her. She didn’t deserve having such nice clothes if others had to survive on less. She wanted to grab mud from a corner and coat herself in it. She didn’t want to stand out in this place.
Synol removed her coat, and walked up to a small group of people huddled together. The woman had no shirt, and huddled with her daughter in her lap and two more children on other side of her.
“For you.”
The woman took it without a word, but nodded appreciably to Synol.
Synol came back to stand next to Ynya. “I’m sorry she hurt you.”
Ynya looked down at her arm for the first time since the woman started her inscribing process. Blocky, silver letters went from her wrist and ended halfway to her elbow, eight numbers.
“1267071302?”
“It’s today’s date.” Synol replied, not looking at her arm. “I have 01 at the end and you have 02. It’s today’s date with a unique identifier on it. Everyone here has one, so you can tell what date they were logged into the camp.”
She pointed at the woman who now wore Synol’s coat. “She’s been here for two years.”
“Damn.”
“The woman who tattooed us has been here for sixty one.”
Ynya didn’t know what to say to that.
Behind them, someone yelled. “Ynya?”
Ynya remembered the voice, but couldn’t quite place where she had heard it before.
Ynya whirled around.
There stood Joanne and Tyrain, two of the mages who had helped Ynya escape from the caravan.
Joanne was a little thinner than last time she’d seen her, but still had that feisty look in her eye. Tyrain looked older somehow, despite only being twelve. His face had hardened somewhat and he had an edgy demeanor he didn’t have before.
Ynya couldn’t hold back her emotions anymore. All the pain she’d experienced, all the anguish in the eyes of those around her, all the loss she’d gone through bubbled to the surface. She’d never gone this long without her magic before, even though the multiple times she’d been stabbed by the Skarmyord. Part of her worried she was never going to get it back.
That part didn’t want to imagine what life would be like.
And now, seeing two mages she’d help set free in the past just broke her heart.
It was too much. She couldn’t keep everything bottled up anymore.
She fell on Joanne, who held her upright while Ynya cried on her shoulder.
Her right forearm burned, but she didn’t care. The pain wasn’t the issue anymore.
&n
bsp; After a couple minutes, the grief melted away and turned into a seething rage again, just below her skin. She missed the heat, but she wanted to maintain that edge.
“What are you doing here?” She finally asked, giving Tyrain a hug.
“Shortly after we escaped, we headed north, trying to get to Lyraville.”
“Oh no, and that place was crawling with soldiers.”
Joanne nodded. “Yeah. We took out a couple of them, stole some food, and managed to hole ourselves up to the south. We woke up one morning and Hans was gone, took everything we had. We searched for him, but couldn’t find where he’d gone.”
Tyrain filled in the rest of the story. “We couldn’t go back to Holmslatr, so we tried to make it past Lyraville, but ended up getting caught in the middle of the night. They brought us here and that’s been it for the last week or so.”
Ynya frowned. “Lyraville is safe now. We managed to kill all the soldiers there and there are no more patrols between there and Holmslatr anymore. I’m sorry you got caught.”
She looked between them. “So Hans left, but what about Firtze?”
“He was taken.”
“Taken?”
Tyrain pointed toward the south, where the white-roofed buildings sat. “The Translator came and took him. Once you go to him, you’re never seen from again.”
Ynya tried to process what she’d just heard. Translator? What did that mean? She was about to ask about Finny and Meki, but Synol spoke up.
“What is this place? What are any of us doing here? We just arrived trying to sneak in and were captured. We just got these horrible tattoos and I don’t even know what is going on.”
Joanne lifted her right arm, a series of numbers were on it, more than what the two girls had just gotten. “Ordinals. We all get them, and they hurt like hell every-time.”
“Wait, you get more?” Ynya asked.
Synol grabbed Ynya’s arm gently, a signal to keep quiet. “Please, start at the beginning, I need to know what this place is and its purpose, so we can start puzzling out where our sisters were taken.”
Ynya glared at her sister, but she remembered Synol’s unending tear-filled gaze while she was getting her ordinals. Synol deserved to ask any question she wanted.