by E. S. Maya
The enforcers slowed their march, leading the girls off the side of the road. They entered a wooden building painted the same dark red as their enforcers’ capes. Much to Safi’s surprise, its interior was dim and empty of furniture and its floorboards were stained with dust. Feeling the sweat turn cold on her forearms, she shivered.
The enforcers ordered the girls to form five rows in the center of the room. Then the men marched out of the building, leaving two burly, red-caped women to watch over them.
A few minutes later, the enforcers raised their hands in salute as an older, heavyset woman came striding through the doorway. Safi recognized her hands immediately. Those were working hands. Though she wore no Blackpoint uniform, she kept her back arched and her chin high. Plainly dressed as she was, the woman may have as well been wearing an invisible red cape over her shoulders.
“Stand up straight, ladies,” barked one of the enforcers. “At attention!”
Chuckling, the older woman waved a hand. “No need for that, enforcer. I’m sure these girls have had a difficult enough journey.” A few of the girls nodded in agreement. “My name is Gertrude. I am the matron of the first through fifth years of recruits.”
Recruits, Safi thought. That’s one word for us.
“Some of you will be here for five years,” the matron continued, “others as long as twenty-five, but I expect all of you to be on your best behavior.”
The girls looked tentatively at one another.
“Answer the matron!” said the enforcer.
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the chorus of girls.
“…ma’am,” added Safi.
“Goodness, what a bunch we’ve received this year,” said the matron with a smile.
Nearby Safi stood a small bespectacled girl who couldn’t stop crying. The matron fished into her pocket and produced a clean white handkerchief. She bent at the waist to hand it over. The girl accepted her offer, then delicately removed her eyeglasses, dabbing the cloth gently against her sharp yellow eyes.
The eyes of a Serk, Safi realized. They were the greatest enemies of the Abedi people, at least according to the few times she’d heard adults talking about them. It was her first time seeing one, and the girl didn’t look all that bad.
“No need to worry, dear. You’ll adjust.” The matron stood tall to address all of them. “You’ll find that working for Blackpoint isn’t much different from any other job. Here you’ll receive three square meals a day, so long as you do your fair share of work.”
The matron gave a slight nod to the enforcers. “Now, we can’t have you about Camp in those filthy old clothes.”
The enforcers ordered the girls to strip themselves bare. Safi untucked her tattered blouse, pulling it up and over the ridges of her spine. It wasn’t until she lowered her skirt that she realized she was among the skinniest girls there. Beside her, Raven’s skin looked white as milk, and her tummy held a notable paunch.
The pair of enforcers began handing out sacks of clothes, one for each girl.
“Inside are garments for sleep and leisure,” the matron explained. “You’ll receive one day off each week, on Blessing Day, and you’ll use it well.”
Safi received her sack with both hands. She set it down on the floor and, with some excitement, pulled out the first garment inside. A cheap tan dress, not much nicer than the rags her mother used to sew together back home. She peeked into the sack at the rest of her clothes and frowned.
Still, she was eager to hide her body from the strange girls, so she pulled the dress over her head.
“As for work clothes,” the matron continued, “you’ll receive those tomorrow. After your meeting with the warden.”
Safi and Raven stole a glance.
“Don’t look so glum, girls,” one of the enforcers said. “It could be worse. At least you won’t be in the Titan mines.”
The girls murmured in agreement.
With all the girls fully dressed, the matron smiled approvingly. “The only rule you need to remember here is to do as you’re told. The rest will come easy.” Still smiling, she turned to the enforcers. “Take them away for processing.”
“Aren’t you forgetting something, ma’am?” one of the enforcers said.
“Oh, how could I forget?” chirped the matron as the girls began to file out. “Ladies, welcome to Camp Cronus.”
14
All the Precious Things
The enforcers filed the girls into a small wooden building, ordering the lot of them to stand against the wall and keep their damned mouths shut.
Safi was surprised to find not more men of Blackpoint, but a pair of girls inside, who looked a few years older than her. They stood on each side of the building’s rear door: on the left cat-eyed brunette, wielding a pair of sharp scissors, and on the right a fussy bespectacled blonde, holding in both hands a flimsy straw broomstick.
Both of them wore clean red dresses, certainly nicer than anything Safi had ever owned. They fought to hide their grins from the newcomers, saying nothing in the presence of the enforcers, but looking eager to begin.
One of the enforcers cleared her throat. The broomstick clattered to the floor as the blonde disappeared out the back door. She returned carrying a small wooden stool, placing it in the center of the room for all of the girls to see.
“Take a seat,” the enforcer said, gesturing towards the front of the line. Safi leaned forward to look. It was the girl with yellow eyes. She adjusted her wiry eyeglasses and, making hardly a sound, approached the wooden stool. The girl sat herself down shivering.
The cat-eyed brunette reached into the doorway’s light, testing her glinting scissors. Safi folded her arms, watching as the older girl stepped towards her fellow Serk. She circled the stool once, then reached for the younger girl’s head, bunching up her hair into a thick makeshift ponytail. Two heavy snips later, the clump of dark brown hair fell away from its owner.
Broomstick in hand, the fussy blonde rushed in, sweeping a straight path from the stool to the roadside doorway. Safi watched as the girl with the yellow eyes returned to her spot in line. What little remained of her hair ended inches above her chin.
“Next!” barked the enforcer.
The girls took turns having their hair shortened. It was a length reserved for new recruits, Safi presumed, for the older girls’ hair reached their upper backs. When it came the tall redhead’s turn, she took great care in lowering herself onto the stool.
The cat-eyed brunette went to work. Down fell the redhead’s hair like a shower of autumn leaves, soon whisked away by the sweep of a broom. She returned to her spot next to Safi in line and masked her face with both hands.
The cat-eyed brunette looked at Safi and smiled.
As Safi approached the stool, it occurred to her that her thick blonde hair was her most prized possession in the world. Not that she had many. In fact, it could be the only good-looking thing about her. She sat down slowly, staring at the scissors in the older girl’s left hand. Then she gasped, for on her wrist, black on her skin, was a pickaxe crossed with a sword.
The cat-eyed brunette circled out of view. A moment later, Safi felt the girl’s hands on her head. The room itself seemed to brighten as she fluffed Safi’s’ hair to full volume.
Then the hands retreated, and Safi’s scalp jerked with pain. She realized her jaw was trembling, so she clenched her teeth shut. There was the scratching of metal behind her ears, the sudden sensation of lightness…
Safi buried her face in her arms, listening to the sound of her precious hair being swept from the room. But there were more girls to cut, and at the threat of an enforcer, she rose to her feet and returned to her spot in line.
Raven gave Safi’s hair an appraising look. “Not bad.” Then she strutted up to the stool and firmly planted her bottom, spreading out her knees while wearing a crooked smile. While the older girl began her work, Raven began tapping her heels, cracking her fingers, wiggling her wide ears….
The cat-eyed brunette
tensed in frustration. “Stop fidgeting!” she said, putting a hand to the back of Raven’s neck. She raised her scissors to begin, then paused. Raven’s hair stopped halfway past her ears, well under Blackpoint regulations.
Raven snorted back a laugh and shrugged at the older girl.
“Next!” barked the enforcer.
Snickering, Raven hopped up from her seat, but not before the cat-eyed brunette took a spiteful snip of hair off the top of her head.
Their next stop was a building at the end of a dusty lane.
As the enforcers waved the girls inside, Safi noted the distinct lack of furniture, of windows. Of just about everything. A solitary door stood opposite the entrance, wooden and unadorned, save for a large iron doorknob.
The room went dark as the door clicked shut behind them.
Safi heard gasps, then the shuffling of feet as the girls pooled on one side of the room—away from the mysterious door. In the commotion, she found herself pinned to the wall between Raven and the tall redhead.
Clothing sacks plopped to the floor as her eyes relaxed to the dark. There was scarce light coming through the bottoms of both doorways. Enough to see the tension in the other girls’ faces. She brushed a hand through her chin-length hair and frowned. How much worse could things get?
Not a minute later, the mysterious door swung open with a bang, sending several girls jumping, Safi included. A wedge of light cut into the room, and a man poked out his head. He squinted towards the girls and began waving them over. “Come on, first recruit up, get on with it!”
The girls whispered amongst themselves, sharing dark looks. Thinking it best to appear small, Safi shrunk against the wall. The tall redhead tried, unsuccessfully, to do the same. Raven folded her arms and hardened her face, though she couldn’t hide her twitching fingers. Not from Safi.
There came the sound of creaking wood. Safi strained her neck to see. It was the tiny girl with bespectacled yellow eyes, emerging from the cluster and marching towards the door. The moment she came within reach, the enforcer snatched her by the wrist and whisked her inside, slamming the door behind her.
Darkness filled the room and a long silence followed. Safi rubbed her hands together and pressed them against her face. Her cheeks felt like snow in her palms. She closed her eyes, listening to Raven’s tapping foot, the redhead’s shallow breaths. The uneven whispers of her fellow first-year girls.
From the next room, the girl began to scream.
And Safi’s knees began to shake. There was no good reason a girl that small, even smaller than herself, should be able to make such sounds. She steadied her shoulders against the wall, taking peeks at Raven. Trying to see if she was frightened too.
Raven glanced sideways and smiled. “Don’t look so craven,” she said. “It can’t be that bad. They’re the ones who paid for us.” Leaning against the wall, she balled up her hands and crossed her ankles, and returned her attention to the door.
Frowning, Safi turned to check on the redhead. The girl stood bent at the waist, propped up at the knee by a spindly-fingered hand. The other she held to her tummy. Her shortened red hair was plastered all over her forehead.
Safi reached for the girl’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
“Don’t touch me!” the redhead said, rising to full height.
Safi froze. For a moment she listened to the wood-muffled screams. Then she lowered her arm and laced her fingers, dropping her gaze to the floor.
The redhead stared for a moment, and sighed. “I’m sorry,” she said, letting go of her stomach to offer a hand. “My name’s Rebecca, from the Kingdom of Resmyr.”
“Safiyas, from Ashcroft—from Andolas.” The two shook gently. She felt a surprising amount of callouses on the girl’s long fingers.
Rebecca gave her best attempt at a smile. “What do you think is going on in there?”
“Blackpoint magic!” Raven said, slinking in between the two with her fingers bared like claws. “Just try and run away after they’re through with you! Haven’t you wondered why this big ol’ camp hasn’t got any walls?”
“Why not?” asked Rebecca, voice trembling.
Raven gave a knowing smile. “’Cause enchantments do the work for ‘em.”
Rebecca brought a hand to her mouth and gasped. “Enchantments?”
“That’s right,” said Raven with a nod. “Titan enchantments. I heard they can—”
Safi palmed Raven’s forehead and pushed the cackling girl out of the way. “Ignore her,” she said. But words did little to dispel Rebecca’s fear. The redhead held her tummy with both hands now, either very afraid or sick.
Safi stepped back, just in case.
One by one, they watched as girls took turns entering the adjacent room. Safi tried her best to listen, to tell the screams apart. Some were soft, and others loud, but none gave clues as to what awaited beyond the door. When it came Rebecca’s turn, it took the urging of several girls to send her, heels dragging, towards the open doorway. The enforcer took her by the wrist, and she glanced back at Safi for help.
Safi averted her eyes. There was little she could do now. Not for Rebecca, and certainly not for herself. For minutes, Rebecca screamed murderously. She was the noisiest recruit yet.
Then the screaming stopped. The enforcer poked his head through the doorway. Safi tried to make herself small again, but it was little use now. There were but nine of them left. All the others were staring at her. More importantly, so was the enforcer.
“See you on the other side,” Raven said, giving her arm a nudge.
Safi wound the top of her clothing sack around her fingers and took her time crossing the room. The enforcer grabbed her by the shoulders and swept her inside. Safi glared back at Raven, catching a glimpse of a smile as the door came slamming shut.
In the next room, a single large window allowed the brightness of day. The walls were lined with wooden shelves and half-assembled furniture. In the center stood two additional men. Behind them, Safi spotted another door, the exit, and beside it a sturdy-looking workbench.
Then she noticed the strangest little chair. At first glance, it seemed little more than a typical two-armed seat, but replacing its left arm was a narrow plank of darkly-stained wood. Two thick leather straps hung loosely off its side. One of the men moved beside it. He wore a blue work shirt, not unlike the boys from that morning. His beard, however, showed his age, and seniority, over the two enforcers present.
The enforcer let go of Safi’s shoulders. “Sit down,” he said.
Rubbing the hairs of her upper arm, she approached the chair, dragging her sack of clothes and testing the men’s patience. All the while she pondered ways to escape, of fighting off the men in a dazzling display of swordsmanship, or evading their clumsy grasps in a wild, dexterous gambit. But the enforcers wore the swords here, and Safi had ill experience escaping through windows.
Her bottom seemed to find the chair on its own. The seat was still warm from Rebecca and all of the girls before her.
The working man spoke from deep within his throat. “On the arm,” he said.
Safi raised her arm, staring curiously at her own hand. “My arm, sir?”
The enforcers chuckled deeply.
“No,” the working man said, pointing to the chair’s plank armrest. “Set it there.”
“Oh,” Safi lowered her arm into place. The working man reached for her hand and turned her wrist upward. Moving with swift efficiency, he pulled first strap over her palm, feeding its length through a buckle on the armrest’s underside.
She felt sharp pain where her knuckles met wood. Before she could voice a protest, the working man was tightening the second strap into place, just below her elbow.
She tested her bondage. She couldn’t move her arm in the slightest.
The man turned to his workbench. Arranged upon the tabletop, Safi counted over a dozen clear glass jars. Most were filled with fluids and powders in a variety of different colors. Its lower shelf held a small pil
e of vegetables, not unlike the green onions grown back home.
The working man set down an empty glass jar. He poured into it a measure portion of water and sickly green liquid. Then, while his left hand stirred, his right hand began spooning in a powder the color of rusted metal.
From deep within the lower shelf, the working man retrieved a pair of clean white rags. He dipped the first into the jar of untainted green liquid. The cloth drank and thickened, and he carried it dripping towards her. She flinched as he scrubbed her wrist with the coarse, wet fabric, but the pain wasn’t bad, and the rag smelled strongly of onions. Then he returned to his workbench, dipping the second cloth into the metallic-green concoction.
He returned to Safi with a small glinting tool in his hand. A thin metal rod with a sharp needled tip.
Falling into a panic, Safi tugged at her arm. But the straps were tight enough that the men didn’t notice. The working man leaned over her wrist, his focus intense, and lowered the silver needle to her freshly scrubbed skin.
Safi turned her head away and squeezed her eyes shut. Her wrist felt cold for a moment, and then hot. Impossibly hot. The heat prickled into an itch. Then it burned. She sucked air through her nose, catching the smell of onions and metal and blood, and the working man’s musk.
She heard footsteps as the needle pulled away from her skin. She felt the cold touch of a cloth, partially squelching the flames. She blinked her eyes open, sprinkling sweat and tears. The cloth covered her wrist entirely, or what was left of it. She looked up at the working man, hoping the ordeal was over.
The working man shook his head. “Once more,” he said, removing the cloth from her forearm and pressing the needle against her skin.
Safi shut her eyes as the fire sparked back to life. She jerked at her restraints, marveling at her own pain, and began to wonder if her hand was still attached to her arm at all.
