The Given Children

Chapter Five

Now

Lapis and I sat quietly while Daven spun in circles in his cell, running his hands through his hair and muttering under his breath, all of us sensing the rising sun outside. Had that been our last night of freedom? The sun was rising and the shadows were shrinking, leaving no darkness for us to hide in, only blinding light and burning gazes. We had agreed to try to fight and escape when they were passing us over to whomever the House was sending to pick us up. We had to try to run as soon as we left the Governor’s house, the closer we got to Derelin, to Solis, the stronger his power over us would be.

It was hard to think of fighting and running when I already felt like it was over. It had started last night, the numbing feeling crawling through my limbs and shutting down my thoughts. In my mind I was already trapped in that House, in that room, watching as we all danced limply on the puppet string Solis pulled. Empty shells, empty dolls that looked so nice and pretty on the outside yet still alien with those pure black clothes and gold tattoo on our wrist. No stuffing in these dolls, they were porcelain and hollow.

I was already shutting out the physical world, retreating into my mind, the only dark place left in that House with shining light and dancing dolls. I clung to that darkness, reaching for the night. I wanted to hide in the darkness, even if it meant being cradled by demons. At least they would be my demons. My mind.  My will. My heart started picking up as I recalled the horrifying violation of not being able to make any choices, not being able to control my own actions, despite what Daven whispered to us at night.

When you had so few choices in life, the decisions you did make held so much more weight, so much more importance. The choices reverberated through us all, all the Given Children. Decisions. Choices to try and escape. To trust your friends. To watch as your friend is left behind because he chose to sacrifice himself so that you could keep going.

I reached up with stiff arms and rubbed my eyes, trying to push the thoughts out of my mind. But they wouldn’t leave, they echoed through my head, haunting me, torturing me with its accusations. I’d become so skilled at blocking it out, banishing it from my mind and living in the present, planning for the future, but all it had taken was one small wandering thought and I could find no peace. This was the downside to shutting out the world, you could accidently lock yourself in.

Daven stopped pacing and we all looked up as six guards, in much cleaner and showier uniforms than their prison counterparts, walked down the steps and into the dank. One spoke to the guards at the door, who both looked relieved and almost a bit disappointed. All other eyes were on us.

The other prisoners looked at us with surprisingly alert curiosity. I felt the urge to run or hide with all this attention but instead I rose to my feet, crossed my arms and just stared at the soldiers. I could hear Lapis getting to her feet as well, though I’m not sure she was as good an actress as me.  The Prison Guards took a step back, the skinny, mustache one who had been intimidated before by my staring muttered a small prayer to the Spirits and rubbed his fist over his chest-a gesture meant to ward off evil spirits.

The other Soldiers didn’t seem as flappable, two stepping forward to my cell as the other four stood at attention.

“A representative from your Witchlord has come to retrieve you.” The man in front said with a voice of authority. “We expect your cooperation and respect. Now, please step forward with your hands in front of you.”

He opened the gate and the other soldier started walking towards me with a long strip of black fabric in his hands. I guessed that it was the same material that our uniforms at the House were made of.  Nearly impossible to tear, capable of blocking both heat and cold while still being thin and comfortable, the sight of it made me part my lips and look over to Daven for direction. I did not want to have that on me, it was too close to wearing the uniform, made me too vulnerable; but Daven nodded his head once, eyes wary but full of confidence. I looked back towards the two men who were looking at me as though wondering if I was going to fight them or not. I exhaled sharply and held out my hands, clasped together. The soldier who had spoken before came and stood behind me, holding of my arms while the other started winding the cloth around my wrists in a complex pattern, knotting it securely and tucking in the loose ends. At least I had the advantage of having my hands in front of me. It was so archaic, this symbolism and tradition of having our marks seen.