I hear footsteps coming in my direction, down the hall. Loud, urgent steps. There is only one pair. I stand in the middle of the room and brace myself.
“Open it!” I hear Bosco shout, and I jump, startled.
The door flies open and I see the flash of a red cloak. It is Bosco, but it is not Bosco as I’ve ever seen him before. His face is like thunder, and red to match his robe.
“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” he yells, louder than I’ve ever been spoken to before, and I’m stunned.
Tina gives him, then me, a nervous look and swiftly, quietly closes the door, leaving me inside alone with him.
“Bosco, I’m—”
“Judge Crevan!” he yells. “You will address me as such at all times, do you understand?”
I nod manically.
He seems to notice the effect he is having on me, and he calms a little. He lowers his voice.
“Celestine. You gave me your word. We discussed what we would do. I put my word, my career, on the line for you, and you betrayed me.”
“I didn’t, I mean, I didn’t think—” I stammer, but he cuts me off.
“No, you didn’t bloody think at all, did you,” he says, pacing, lost in thought, and I’m glad to be removed as his target of anger. “They’re having a field day out there with this. My own press, and the public. Seventeen-year-old young woman, educated, the envy of other girls, they’ve built you up as, that I’ve built you up as”—he rolls his eyes—“speaks out in court, admits to and is proud to be Flawed. Do you have any idea what this can do? How dangerous it is? It could breed an entire generation of imperfection, of greed and errors.” He stops pacing and comes close to my face, and I wonder how I ever found him handsome, because all the handsome is gone now. “Did you not understand, Celestine, that this is not about you? It is about our country’s future, ensuring reliable, perfect, ethically sound, morally competent leaders who can make pure decisions and lead us to prosperous times. Did you not understand that?”
He is in my face, demanding answers and explanations, and I can barely think.
“I will not have them make a poster girl of you. I wanted you to be on our side.”
“I am on your side, Bos—Judge Crevan,” I quickly correct myself. “And I don’t think you have anything to worry about with my effect on people. I am not a motivator. I couldn’t lead anyone even if I tried. I just want to be normal. I want to fit in. I want to be with my friends, I want to go home. I don’t want anybody to build me up as anything that I’m not,” I say, tears in my eyes. “You know I love Art so much. I love being a part of your family. I would never do anything to deliberately hurt you both. I am sorry that I have embarrassed you, and I am sorry that I have put you in this position, but I just couldn’t do it to the old man. I just couldn’t let him be punished for something I did.”
“Who?” he says, confused.
“Clayton Byrne. The Flawed man.”
“But didn’t anyone tell you? He died, Celestine. He died in the hospital last night. I told you that he wouldn’t live to see punishment.”
“Oh.” I exhale shakily. Was it all in vain?
“His family shouldn’t have been in court.” He continues pacing. “I wouldn’t have allowed it. It must have been Sanchez. She’s playing a game, and Jackson is falling for it. She’s been against me for some time, but I see she’s upped it now. This is a whole new level.”
Sweat breaks out on his brow. I have never seen that before, not even on the hottest day as he stood over his barbecue. His hair, which has come undone from its blow-dry, is starting to stick to the beads of sweat on his forehead. He stops pacing and looks at me, desperate, close to my face.
“Would you recant, Celestine?”
“What?”
“We can still swing this. It will be difficult, but Pia can do it. A reality show. She can follow you around, show the country how perfect you are. And the world. You know there are other countries contemplating adopting our system? They have been watching us for a while. I could be president of the Global Guild; I’m going to speak about it in Brussels this month. Celestine, this couldn’t be worse timing.” He looks at me again, wild, desperate, intense. Terrifying. Art is gone from any of this man. I no longer see the face I love in him. “Would you recant?”
“I … I … I can’t.” I can’t go back in there and take back what I said. It would be completely illogical. Who would trust me?
I once took my lead from Bosco. I thought that he knew everything, that he was perfect, but I’m surprised by what I see right now, this panicking, conniving man, desperate to maintain his sliding power. He is clutching at straws that are so delicate they will disintegrate upon his touch, and he is using me in the center of all this. Granddad was right.
“I can’t. I’m sorry,” I say gently. “Could you please let me explain this to Art myself?”
His face hardens, and I brace myself for another shout, but instead he is so quiet I have to strain my ear to hear, which, of course, is worse. It’s almost a hiss.
“If you think I will let my son go anywhere near you ever again, you are delusional. Whether this court had proved you Flawed or not, I had no intention of letting you ever set foot near him again, and particularly not now, now that you are Flawed, Celestine North, Flawed to the very bone.”
And on that he turns and leaves, his red robe flicking up and swishing with him. He slams the door closed.
TWENTY-SIX
A FEW MINUTES later Tina opens the door, with a new female guard. “They’re ready for you now.” Perhaps thinking of her daughter then, she softens her tone. “This is June.”
June speaks up. “Bark is heating up your iron, Flawed, gonna make it nice and hot for your pretty little skin.”
I look at Tina in horror and notice she in turn is looking at June in anger. I stop walking, terrified to go any farther, but they pull me along.
“Come on, keep walking,” Tina whispers.
I feel my legs weaken, I crumple, and Tina pulls me up.
“You’re not being branded yet, Celestine. They have to name your flaws first.”
I allow them to pull me through the maze of corridors. I move limply with them, like a rag doll. We stop at a new door. Perhaps they took me out through it before. I can’t remember, I was so stunned.
Tina looks at me. “Ready?”
“No.”
The door opens and the place explodes.
The first person I see is Carrick, who’s standing in the same place at the back of the room. He stands up straighter when he sees me, turns his body in my direction, and almost follows me with it as I make my way to my seat. I sense his newfound respect for me; there will be no back to my cell wall tonight.
The room is hot and stuffy. I can smell sweat and excitement, my life the entertainment of others. I see one woman offer a bag of candy to the man beside her. They ram the sweets into their mouths as they watch me pass, eyeing me up and down as if I can’t see them.
I take my seat beside Mr. Berry.
“What’s happening?” I ask him, and he shrugs, looking just as confused as I am.
“Ms. Celestine North, please stand,” Crevan says.
I stand, my legs shaky beneath me. My mom clings to my dad. My granddad’s cap is in his hand as he clutches it tightly, his knuckles white.
I stand alone in the courtroom and realize this is how it will be for the rest of my life, standing alone, branded Flawed forever because of one act.
I hear doors burst open, and the three judges look up.
“Don’t do this,” a voice shouts from the door.
It’s Art. I turn around. The disguise is gone.
“Art,” I say to him, afraid, and hear the quiver in my voice.
“Order in the court,” Judge Crevan says, banging his gravel.
“Don’t do this to her!” he yells again.
“Restrain him,” Crevan says, looking down, moving his paperwork around, nervously.
&nbs
p; Two members of security grab his arms, and he yells and struggles as they pull him from the room. I look away, turn to the front, eyes back to the ground.
“Shall I continue?” Judge Sanchez asks Crevan in her smooth voice, all honey and calm.
“No!” he snaps. “Celestine North,” he says, looking up at me, eyes wild and bloodshot. He means business now. “Your so-called bravery in court suggests you wish to be a poster girl, and we don’t take poster girls lightly. Not when the message you portray is dangerous to society. We see you as a poison that is prepared to inflict itself on our good and proper society. So take this to the people, poster girl.
“It is rare for any accused to receive more than one branding, but if you are to be looked at and adored by some in society, then let them see your flaws wherever they look. We must also take into account the seriousness of your actions, that they were done publicly, with an audience. This was not a private event that hurt a few. It was public and has become even more so. You have attracted the world’s attention, Ms. North, and for that we must send a message. I will now name your brands.”
Brands.
He pauses, and the room is so silent I’m sure everyone can hear my heartbeat.
“For stealing from society, you will be branded on your right hand. Whenever you go to shake the hands of any decent people in society, they will know of your theft.”
People start to talk, thinking he’s finished, but as he continues, they silence themselves.
“For your bad judgment, your right temple.”
Two brands. And he continues to gasps.
“For your collusion with the Flawed, for walking alongside them, and for stepping away from society, the sole of your right foot. Every time you connect with the earth, even it will know that you are Flawed to the very root of you.”
As he continues with a fourth Flaw, the audience protests again. Three brandings so far and continuing, it is unheard of. Only one person has ever received three brandings in the history of the Guild.
“For your disloyalty to the Guild and all of society, your chest, so that if anyone should wish to trust or love you in the future, they will see the mark of your unyielding disloyalty over your heart.
“And, finally, for the very fact that you lied to this court about your actions, your tongue, so that anyone you speak to or kiss will know that your words fall from a branded tongue and cannot be trusted for the rest of your life.”
Explosion in the courtroom. People are cheering, celebrating the justice that has been done, the scum that has once again been recognized in society. Others are shouting with anger at the judges for a great injustice. Even more than before now that they have heard the ruling. I have gained supporters, but not many, and what use is that to me now? It is too late. Naming Day has come, and I must face my worst fear: brandings, and not just one but five. It is unheard of.
My legs are shaking so much they buckle beneath me, and Mr. Berry makes a weak attempt to catch one arm, but his heart isn’t in it. Tina rushes to my side immediately and catches me. June takes my other arm, and I’m taken out through the hysterical public in the courtroom, out the main door, and across the courtyard, where I am shouted at and spat on. Objects pelt me, extra security hold the crowds back as they pulsate at me, more journalists than any other day hold cameras in my face, and I can barely see past the flashbulbs. I briefly see a large screen on the wall of Highland Castle and realize that my case has been aired for the public to see outside, and a huge crowd gathers beyond the barricade, many sitting on deck chairs.
I arrive back at the holding cell, covered in whatever filth people have spat and thrown at me, my ears ringing from the name-calling, my eyes still seeing the camera flashes. I try to adjust to the new light but find it hard. I trip and stumble, but Tina keeps me up. I’m aware of Tina’s and June’s worried glances at each other. They sit with me; they’re as jittery as I am.
I notice they’re covered in the same stuff I am.
“Sorry,” I say to both of them.
June looks surprised by my apology.
“We’re used to it,” Tina says, brushing off some egg yolk. “Just not this much. Look, this is new to all of us. How about tea for everyone?”
June nods and goes to the guards’ kitchen.
“I’ll get you some fresh clothes.” Tina leaves me. “I have to advise you to read the folder over there.”
The Flawed file, which prepares me for my new future.
As soon as she leaves, Carrick arrives back, accompanied by Funar, racing in at top speed, as though he can’t get back fast enough. He looks at me with concern. Big black eyes, worried, lost. He enters his cell and goes straight to the wall that divides us. I remember the first day, when he turned his back on me. This time he places his left hand up to the glass.
I don’t know what he’s doing, but when he doesn’t remove it, it suddenly makes sense. I join him at the window and raise my right hand up to the cool glass, pressing it flat against his. My hand looks like a doll’s hand next to his, and I realize that the glass that I felt separated us is the only thing that connects us. I rest my forehead on the glass, and his hand goes to my face, then away again as it hits the glass.
I’m not sure how long we stay like that, but I start to cry. We never speak.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THE “FRESH CLOTHES” that Tina returns with turn out to be nothing more than a bloodred smock, like a hospital robe, tied at the back and with a V-neck in the front to make room for my chest brand. It is what I’m to wear in the Branding Chamber. I recognize it from the Flawed man whom Carrick and I were forced to listen to as he screamed while his skin was seared.
Carrick’s jaw works overtime as he watches me take the gown, his black eyes deep pools of oil. He doesn’t ignore me anymore. There are no more smart faces and sarcastic looks. I have his full attention now, his full respect. I can barely escape his looks. When I return from the changing area, I see that his cell has been utterly trashed and that he is being held down on the ground by Bark. He has not reacted well to my ruling. Perhaps this makes him more unsettled about his own. We don’t get to say good-bye. I can’t even see his face. It is beneath Bark’s knee, cheek pushed to the ground, his face facing away from me. Our contact is to forever remain without words, not that we ever needed them anyway. I have no doubt that he will find himself wearing a similar smock and taking the same steps as I am doing now.
Before entering the Branding Chamber, I sit in a small holding room with Tina and June. They go through pamphlets of information with me about what is going to happen, what I will see, what I will feel, which is apparently nothing as they numb my skin, and how to treat my wounds afterward. They hand me so many leaflets for aftercare services, therapy sessions, emergency hotlines, all branded with the Flawed branding. I sign some paperwork—quick, short agreements accepting all responsibility for what is about to occur—agreeing the Guild will not be held accountable if any of the brandings go wrong or if ill effects result down the line. It is discussed clinically, calmly, as though I’m going for a nose job.
As I step out of the holding room and into the long, narrow corridor that leads to the Branding Chamber, I see Carrick sitting outside on the bench where we sat together, guarded by Funar. Funar has a sneer on his face, and I can tell he is happy about both my situation and the fact that Carrick will be forced to listen. Carrick will hear me scream. My family will hear me scream. I will scream.
No. I will not let that happen. I will not allow them to do that to me. I will not scream.
Feeling defiant, I believe this is the first time I have ever truly felt it. The first time on the bus was compassion, on the stand in court my admission was out of guilt and not bravery, but now I feel anger and I am defiant.
Our eyes meet. His are strong, and I feel the effect of his stare.
“I’ll come find you,” he says suddenly, his voice deep and strong, and I’m surprised to hear him speak.
I nod my thanks becau
se I don’t trust myself to speak. He fills me with the strength I need to enter the room without freaking out, mostly because I don’t want to lose it in front of him. My parents and Granddad are already seated behind the glass, as though they’re at the cinema waiting for the reel to begin, but their faces display the terror I feel. They do not want to view what they are about to see, but they are here so I don’t go through it alone. On seeing them, I think I would rather be alone, an unfamiliar feeling for me, who only ever wants to be surrounded by family. The excommunication from society is taking effect already within me, feeling detached from my family already, a stranger who can only go it alone.
Mr. Berry is here, too, which makes me uncomfortable, though I’m sure he must be here for legal reasons, and past the open door, around the corner, I know is Carrick. That gives me strength.
Tina places me in the chair. It is like a dentist’s chair, nothing unusual apart from the fact that my body is bound to the chair—at my ankles, wrists, head, and waist—so I can’t kick and flail as I’m seared. They want to get a clear symbol on my flesh for all time, the irony of a perfect Flawed symbol not lost on me. Tina is tender as she buckles the straps. I even sense a halt in sarcasm from June. Now is not the time for that. I’m getting what I deserve, the punishment speaking for them all.
Bark is busy with the equipment, doing whatever he needs to do.
The motorized chair reclines. I wince against the brightness of the ceiling lights. My skin feels hot as they shine on me, in the spotlight and center stage for all to see. This is it.
“It’s better not to look,” Tina whispers into my ear as she fastens the strap across my forehead. I cannot look now anyway, I can’t move.
They inject my right hand first with the anesthetic. It immediately numbs. Bark picks up the hot poker, and I see it, with its cast-iron F surrounded by a circle at the tip. My hand is flattened out and my fingers are strapped down, too, my hand forced open so that my palm is ready. It is done simply and quickly. No modern equipment, just a cast-iron poker and a count to three by Bark.
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