Chapter 12: Brand

There was one hour to sleep, which few of them in the barracks actually managed. After that they shuffled silently to receive their inoculations for growth, with Ollie receiving what looked to be a half or even one-third of the same dose as everyone else. After that they went to eat breakfast. There was no hour of questions, which was what Michael had expected. Michael found it difficult to eat, images of children's bodies and the scream of the parent’s whose child’s body he took alternating in his mind. He hadn’t seen much death in his last life. He remembered a man having a heart attack at the office which he didn’t survive. He remembered his grandmother’s body lying still in a casket. He remembered identifying his son’s body. It was mangled, but his face was unmarked. He remembered kissing his forehead as he cried. He had been steeling himself for the fact that he’d be fighting and likely killing, but that was going to be war, he would have adrenaline in his veins and friends at his side to protect. “I can’t blame him,” said Marcus, breaking the silence that had hung over their table. Davi scoffed. “He killed a woman.” Marcus nodded. “That I can blame him for. Trying to escape though? I can’t blame him.” Davi, who’d had no trouble eating, gave a shrug in agreement as he took another bite of bread. “I don’t understand trying it now,” said Ollie. “When we’re so small and weak. Waiting until our bodies had aged more would’ve made more sense, right? Unless he had a thing for it.” Pyotr shook his head. “He manipulated others through sympathy. That is an easier thing to gain with the face of a child.” He looked at Marcus. “I thought you were resigned to your fate here.” Marcus shrugged. “I’m mercurial. I understand what Xiu was thinking. We’re going to be fighting for this country for ten years, doing what sounds primarily like suicide missions for the chance at amnesty and a job. All because I died and grabbed the wrong speck of light.” Michael shook his head. “No. We deserve this. If you kill someone accidentally back on Earth, you’d also face punishments, repercussions. Doubly so if it’s a child. We deserve this, and worse wouldn’t be unexpected. Besides, the commission we earn goes back to the families whose children we took from them. It’s the least we could do for them.” Pyotr smiled at him. “You wouldn’t happen to have been catholic in your last life?” Michael sighed. “Lapsed, but yes.” Ollie patted him on the back. “Don’t worry. I’m sure a priest will arrive soon to bugger you, and you’ll feel right as rain.” Michael shook his head. “I wish I’d been reborn alone. That way I wouldn’t have to spend another lifetime hearing the same tired jokes over and over again.” That bit of levity brought everyone out of their funk a bit, and Michael found that he could force down his food a bit more easily if they kept talking. The rest of the day stayed somber, and no one was at their best with the lack of sleep and exhausting night. He struggled to perform even the spells he thought he’d already had a good handle on. The teachers and Kline were far harsher in their critiques and corrections, and the number of young guards had tripled. By the time everyone had gone to their barracks for the night no one stayed up to talk or joke, everyone simply collapsed into their bunks and fell immediately into a dreamless black sleep. The rest of the week passed by similarly. There was a somber and oppressive air that had settled over everything. There were a few highlights, with two more Takers being found to have high enough magic potential to train as mages with Ollie, and Michael finding that he had a talent for shields beyond what he’d expected, even managing to deflect a few of Kline’s blows without difficulty, half-assed though they were. A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. At the end of the week, rather than the barracks, everyone was taken to an outbuilding that no one recognized. No one asked any questions. The number of guards, the presence of Crim, and Kline had everyone too nervous to do so. Inside the building there was a middle aged woman, wearing a black robe and no military insignia. Her hair was black with a few threads of gray and hung loose and wild in stark contrast to the other women at the academy. There were several pews that had been pushed against the wall, and there was a long metal rod stuck into a brazier in the center of the room. A few yards from the brazier at the far end of the room was a small altar, and a golden symbol of a circle with lines extending from it in alternating lengths making it look almost like a sun. It was probably the most ostentatiously decorated place he’d seen at the Academy so far, and he still found it spartan. He guessed it was a chapel to the Divine. “Line up,” said Kline. They were all in a kind of line anyway, but Marcus shifted behind Michael who suddenly found himself at the front. Kline looked at them with a frown that hadn’t left his face since he had Xiu and his accomplices executed. “Today, you will be receiving your brand. This is usually reserved for when Takers are much older, and your bodies are more able to handle it, but due to recent events we are required to move up the timeline, and all of you are at the minimum age at which survival is a near guarantee. The brand is exactly what it sounds like. A mark seared into your flesh. Those in the Stent army who are required to lead Takers have a brand as well, and through that we can cause you pain.” He rolled up his right sleeve a bit showing a scar that looked like an X made up of curvy lines with a line through it. “They are only used in extreme circumstances, and at the end of your term they are removed.” He looked directly at Michael. “You're first.” Michael looked at him. It made sense, as a method of control, but even with his guilt he found it difficult to come around to being branded like a steer. He took a step forward and hesitated. Kline looked at him with what he thought was a bit of sympathy. “The faster we get this over with, the faster you can all get back to your barracks.” Michael didn’t look around, he remembered that there were a dozen guards and he was a child. He moved forward toward the robed woman. She looked at him, and through him, and he realized that she had to be a diviner. “Remove your shirt,” her voice was soft, but had some steel to it. He complied, and knelt. She produced a small length of rope and gestured to his mouth. He took it and bit down. She grabbed the handle of the iron rod in the brazier, brought it out, and stepped around too quickly for him to see the size of the brand at its tip. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful for that. There was nothing for a few seconds, then it hit. His jaw clenched on the rope as searing pain hit his right shoulder, tears forming and falling in the corners of his eyes almost immediately. The diviner removed her hand a moment later and placed her hand on his head, muttering under her breath in a language he didn’t understand. The pain was terrible, but when she finished speaking it became worse. His body jerked backward, and he clenched his teeth even harder, his hands forming into fists as he felt the brand sear into his soul just as it had his body. He collapsed forward again, tasting blood in his mouth. “He’s still conscious. That’s rare even for older Takers that are branded,” said the diviner as she helped him to his feet. His legs wobbled a bit and the rope fell from his mouth along with two of his teeth and a globule of blood. Crim came over to examine the teeth and made him open his mouth. “Just baby teeth. They were due to come out soon anyway.” She took him over to one of the pews and gave him a soft cloth to clean up the blood from the side of his mouth while she cleaned the brand. The cleaning was painful, but quick, and she bandaged it swiftly afterward. He watched as Marcus took a few steps forward, then whipped around rapidly and tried to run. He did a surprisingly good job, ducking under several grabs and making it to the door, but was grabbed by the collar at the last minute and dragged forward. Despite his small size it took three guards to hold him down as the diviner pressed the brand into his skin. Unlike Michael, he lost consciousness. While Crim looked him over, Michael heard her whisper to Kline. “Don’t hold it against him. He has difficulty with needles as well.” It was a lame excuse. Michael had gleaned enough from Marcus to know that what the brand represented was far more terrifying to him than any pain it would cause. Still, Kline gave her a nod as she went to clean and bandaging his wound. No one else tried to run. Pyotr was the only other person to remain conscious after receiving the brand, but Davi awoke from unconsciousness after less than a minute as did a few others. Ollie was knocked completely out. By the end of it, the small chapel to the divine smelled like a barbecue. Several of them were taken to the infirmary for more intensive treatment, and the rest were escorted back to the barracks. Michael slept on his chest that night.