by Alex Quill
Rob looked at the smaller man as if he’d grown two heads.
“It’s what she’s here being paid for, isn’t it? It’s her job. Without me, she wouldn’t have a job,” he said, and then chuckled. Synago made her hands into tight fists, her fingernails cutting into her palms. She wanted so badly to punch this man.
But before she could do anything, Rob spoke again.
“Bring me another plate of food, would you?”
Synago willed herself to be calm and threw the shards of ceramic into a small receptacle on the cart with a little more force than necessary. She couldn’t help it. Her hands shook. She grabbed another plate of food and placed it in front of him, forced a polite smile on her face and bent her neck to nod in deference to him, then turned to leave.
As she went, Rob reached out and smacked her on the behind. Synago’s face grew even hotter with anger and she realized she needed to leave. Now. Before she decked these men. She rushed out of the room, slid the door shut, and then sat down next to Mellie. She put her face in her hands and fought back tears. Why couldn’t she just stand up for herself? Why did everything have to be so complicated?
After several trips back inside at their beck and call, Rob spoke of leaving. Synago paused in the corner by the door to listen.
“All right boys, everyone ready to hit the town? I’ve a brothel calling my name right about now.”
Two of the other men laughed and patted him on the back, and they stood up. The smaller man who’d stood up for Synago at the very beginning remained seated.
“Actually, I’m quite tired. Going to stay here the night. Will see you in the morning, yeah?” he said.
Rob frowned, and then shrugged.
“Whatever suits you, Ent,” Rob said, and then turned and left with the other two men. He gave Synago a crooked smile as he left the room and she downcast her eyes.
When the door slid shut behind them Ent stood and stretched, his eyes on Synago. He approached her and Synago’s mind raced. Should she leave now and risk offending him? Or stay and remain cornered by him? She took too long to deliberate, and he was upon her, standing just a few feet away.
“I’ve had to wait a long time for this, I hope you don’t mind,” he said in a low, raspy voice. Synago squeezed her eyes shut against him, desperately wishing she’d just walked out.
“Please don’t hurt me or my sister,” she said.
Ent paused for a moment and then pulled back and laughed. He laughed until he was leaned down, holding onto his knees and wheezing. He stood up, and wiped a stray tear from his eye.
“Oh girl, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not here to hurt you or your sister,” he said.
“You’re… you’re not?” said Synago.
Ent shook his head. “No. Not at all. Here.”
He rummaged in the pockets of his loose pants and retrieved two folded envelopes. He handed them both to Synago.
“I’m Resistance. I was shipped out to work with those Wraithen scum undercover. Like I said, I had to wait for them to leave before I could give these to you like I’ve been told.”
Synago stared at the letters in her hands. “What are they?” she asked.
“Those are Resistance draft letters if I’ve ever seen them. You’re being called in.”
Synago’s heart dropped. A draft? So Soon? If their names weren’t called, they’d be safe here until another draft. They’d continue to work for Yolanda. And if their names were called… well, Synago didn’t want to think about it.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Draft
THE TOLREN EMBASSY was cramped full of people when Synago and Mellie arrived for the draft. It seemed like every refugee in the city was there. It took them almost an hour of standing in line to get directions for their group. At the end a familiar voice called them over. It was Tessen, the Resistance Captain they’d met when they first arrived.
“Summons?” he said. He held out one hand, a bored look on his face. Synago handed him the letters and he only looked at them briefly before shoving them back in her hands. He didn’t seem to recognize them.
“You’re with group thirteen. When your group number is called you’ll come in here and names are drawn from the pool. Now move it. You’ll find your group outside.” He waved them away.
Synago took Mellie’s hand and led her outside. She clenched the summons letters tight in her other hand, flustered by the Captain’s casual attitude towards what might be a crisis for her sister. The dirt road was still wet from rain the night before. Their leather boots squelched in it as they went from group to group.
“Thirteen? That’s us,” said the third man they asked. He was stocky, with muscled arms, and his jet black hair stood out straight from his head, about a half an inch long. He had brown, almost black eyes. He couldn’t be from Tolren, Synago realized. In fact, much of the group didn’t look as if they were from Tolren. She stood awkwardly amongst the small group of people.
“So where are you from? What’s your name?” asked Synago in an attempt to make casual conversation while they waited.
The man seemed pleasantly surprised she asked anything at all. “Originally from Toktok. You two must be new. From Tolren I’m assuming? I’m Harry,” he said.
“Yes we are. I’m Synago and this is…” Synago looked and saw that Mellie was squatted down, poking her index finger into the mud. Synago sighed.
“…My sister Mellie.”
Synago hunched down and pulled Mellie back up, much to her anger. Synago offered the broken ley line spectacles from her satchel as an olive branch and she took them. When Synago turned her attention back to Harry he had a bemused smile on his face.
Synago tried to change the subject. “So they merge everyone together from every country for a draft? I thought it’d be just the people from Tolren today.”
Harry shook his head no. “They do everyone together. It’s all run by that Resistance guy. Tessen is his name, I think. You met him yet?”
Synago gritted her teeth together at the mention of his name. “We have. Unfortunately.”
Harry laughed. “Yeah… he’s pretty bad. In fact, I have a theory…” He looked around at the group and then leaned in close to Synago conspiratorially. Synago leaned in to listen while he whispered.
“He masterminded this whole thing. If you look around you’ll see it. Every single group is at least half disabled, old, or otherwise unfit people. Look.” Synago looked. Harry was right, every group including their own was at least half full of people who looked like they’d die the second they stepped foot on the battlefield.
“Why would he do that?” whispered Synago.
“He calls it a ‘fair and balanced’ system. My guess is he’s trying to pump his numbers up. Even Yuka who used to be exempt from the draft get letters now.”
Their conversation was interrupted when a man wearing a Resistance uniform stepped out of the emissary building and began to call groups.
“Groups one and two, you’re up,” he said. Synago watched as two dozen people lined up to enter the emissary building. Two of them were Yukan. Synago squinted against the morning sun in her eyes and looked harder at the pair, finding them strangely familiar. She realized just before they disappeared inside that it was Yolanda and Roland.
Synago’s heart stopped. She knew Yolanda and Roland were refugees but hadn’t thought them eligible for a draft. What would happen if Yolanda were drafted? The question gnawed at her mind. She clasped her arms across her chest and chewed at her bottom lip. It wasn’t long before a dozen people left the emissary building and the next two groups were called inside. Synago craned her neck to watch everyone go. Yolanda was among them, but Roland wasn’t.
Synago turned to Harry when she was sure Roland wasn’t amongst them. “Why’s there only half leaving? Didn’t two dozen go in all at once before?”
Harry blinked at her a few times, and quirked an eyebrow. “Half of each group is drafted. The twelve who were called have to stay and get set up by t
he Resistance,” he said.
“Oh,” was all Synago could manage. Her heart was beating at twice its usual pace with thoughts of the draft and there was a huge lump disappointment in her throat. Roland wasn’t with the group. Did that mean he was drafted? She searched the people who left again. It’s possible she could have missed him, but it was too late to tell now. Everyone went their own way, and the next group of people were blocking her view of the street.
A half dozen times groups were called, and then it was their turn. “Groups thirteen and fourteen let’s go,” shouted the same man wearing the Resistance uniform who’d called in all the others.
“That’s us,” said Harry. He led the group and they joined with group fourteen at the door. They lined up, and then entered the building where rows of chairs were set up. Synago and Mellie took a seat next to each other. At the head of the room stood Captain Tessen. On either side of the room in the far corners were men in Resistance uniform. Guards, Synago realized with a jolt.
“Most of you know the drill, but I’ll explain it for the new ones here,” announced Tessen, looking directly at Mellie and Synago.
“At the bottom of your summons letter you’ll find a number. If I call that number, you’ve been randomly selected out of this group to be drafted. You’ll come up to where I am now if and when you are called. Everyone got that?” Everyone nodded.
“Good, let’s begin.”
Tessen pulled out a sheet of paper from the table behind him and cleared his throat. He began to call out numbers, and different members of the two dozen walked up to him as they were told. Synago checked her own summons, and then Mellie's. They had the numbers 866 and 867. She hoped with everything she had that they wouldn’t be called. She normally wasn’t the praying type, but closed her eyes anyway and sent a silent prayer for protection to the High Mother.
When she opened her eyes she surveyed the people who’d been called so far. Two very old men with white hair and beards. A pregnant woman. A boy who couldn’t be older than twelve. Harry, who sat beside them, seemed to have become more visibly upset with every number Tessen called. He tapped his foot against the floor and crossed his arms, then leaned forward and put his head in his hands. Synago reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” she whispered.
Harry shook as if he were sick, then looked up and spoke to her in a soft voice. “This is wrong. Everything is wrong. I’ve been in for a draft sixteen times now. I’m more capable than anyone that’s been called. Why do I never get called?” He paused for a moment, a tear rolled down this face. “It’s been two years,” he choked. Synago frowned at the sudden and shocking change of demeanor in Harry.
She was now aware of the guards than ever. She spoke back softly in an attempt to calm him. “Maybe you’re just lucky.”
Harry shook his head. “No. That’s not it. This is rigged,” he raised his voice for the last sentence and the room fell silent.
Captain Tessen stopped calling numbers. He put the paper aside and crossed his arms.
“Is there something you want to say to me, Harry?” he said. Harry stood up so fast that his chair toppled over. Despite his clear outburst of anger he didn’t meet eyes with the captain. Instead, he stared at the floor while he yelled as if he were afraid.
“This whole thing is fixed. I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but you only ever call the old and the weak. Is this some sort of… sort of… sick game to you?”
Captain Tessen stiffened. He nodded to the guards on either side of the room. The men approached Harry. He put his hands up in surrender.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said, “just… just keep calling numbers.” The men paused their advance and after a moment Captain Tessen nodded them back into place. He cleared his throat.
“With that out of the way, let’s resume. Only one more number,” he said.
Harry reached behind him and pulled up the chair he’d thrown over. He sat in it with a sigh, then put his head back in his hands. Synago wondered if he was right. Could this be a set up?
Eleven people now stood at the head of the room with Captain Tessen. The last number. Time seemed to slow for Synago, and she reached for Mellie’s hand. She felt Mellie take it, and then squeeze. Mellie couldn’t possibly know what was going on, but she must have sensed that Synago was distressed. Synago squeezed back. This was it. Would they make it?
“Number eight six seven.”
No. No, he couldn’t have said it. What was their number again? Maybe she’d read their numbers wrong. Synago checked her summons. Eight six six. She checked Mellie’s summons. Eight six seven. Synago felt ill, and the room began to spin.
“Number 867? Come on you lot, check your summons,” said the Captain. His patience seemed to be wearing thin. But Synago couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Her sister, who she’d spent her life protecting, was now in life threatening danger.
“If no one comes up here I’ll have the guards check every summons letter, and I’ll call an extra number,” insisted Tessen. Harry nudged Synago. He had seen the number at the bottom of Mellie’s letter and looked expectantly at her.
Synago swallowed. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. She stood up and guided Mellie to the head of the room. She leaned in and whispered to her, willing herself to seem calm and in control for her sister.
“You have to stay here and do what these people tell you to do, okay?” she said, tears welling up in her eyes and a lump growing in her throat. Mellie frowned and looked at the people around them. When Synago headed back to her seat at the back, Mellie tried to follow her. Synago had to guide her back and tell her to stay again, but Mellie wasn’t having it. She began to cry. Synago tried to rub her back to comfort her, but Tessen pushed her out of the way.
“Only those who were called will stay. The rest of you get out,” he barked.
“When will I see her again? I have to be with my sister. You don’t understand,” insisted Synago.
Tessen gave her a thin, evil smile. “You can wait outside for when we’re done with her.” When he couldn’t tear Synago away himself, he motioned for the guards to escort her.
Outside, rain clouds were gathering in the sky. She stepped onto the road and looked up at them. The first few rain drops mixed with the tears streaking down her face. Her sister had just been sentenced to die, and there was nothing she could do about it.
CHAPTER SIX
The Law
SYNAGO WAITED FOR Mellie outside of the emissary building in the pouring rain. By the time Mellie got out her clothes were soaked, but the rain had slowed down to a small drizzle. As soon as Synago met Mellie’s gaze, Mellie rushed at her and hugged her tight. Synago was taken aback for a moment, but then hugged Mellie back and when they broke apart she could see that her sister had been crying.
“Are you okay?” Synago asked.
Mellie shook her head no and sniffled, then wiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “They… were… mean!” She exclaimed between sobs.
Synago sighed and took Mellie’s hand in hers. Questions about Mellie’s drafting floated into the rivers of her mind. When would she leave? What would she do? But Synago knew grilling her sister about her experience wouldn’t end well.
“Come on, lets go home,” she said instead, and took Mellie’s hand. They walked together in the drizzle of rain that was left. By the time they reached the inn, the sky was clear.
Inside the inn’s entrance, Roland sat at the reception desk with his elbows resting on the surface and his head in his hands. As soon as he heard them come in he looked up. He saw that they were wet and procured a few small towels. Synago smiled as she took them.