Sylvanlight, Book I by slflew

Chapter 7. The Branding.

Chapter 7.

A metallic groan resounded through the darkness - shaking the metal floor and causing the people around Gwen to shift and whisper. She didn't know how long she had slept, but wished she had slept longer. She reasoned they hadn't been inside the ship for more than a day.

Then, suddenly, the ship began to shudder more violently. More groans accompanied it, making it feel as though the ship was going to fall apart around them. Then it all stopped with a clang that reverberated throughout the corridors endlessly, then there was silence. Well, Gwen thought. Something's happened. Perhaps we've landed.

Footsteps sounded, voices talking. Their captors were coming - opening doors with bangs, people yelling, fighting. When their door was flung open, letting in the greasy yellow light, it seemed too bright after such a long period of blackness. She followed the crowd calmly, detached, as they were led to the glaring light from the open hatch. The soldiers marched down the exit ramp ahead of them.

Gwen looked up at the sky, which was brutally brilliant from the setting sun, which was not golden, but rather a pale yellow, because before them lay a great city, with factories letting out dirty smoke. The evening star was visible, but she didn't know where on Earth she could be, since the city looked unlike any other she had seen.

They then stepped onto the cobblestones of a great plaza. There were people standing and gawking at the scraggly crowd of survivors, people that had been walking by and stopped to see the sight. Gwen sighed, annoyed that she was part of some spectacle, but the people watching collectively gasped and pointed towards the night sky.

Was another ship coming in? she wondered. She turned and looked at whatever the crowd was pointing at, and saw that the evening star was brighter then before and moving across the sky, getting larger and brighter. A trail followed it, and the soldiers gaped as a great cry seemed to rise from the city. The shooting star disappeared over the horizon of distant mountains with a bright flash that was echoed by a great boom, as of distant thunder.

People continued to talk amongst themselves, aghast. Soon all the captives were off the ship - more people, she realized, than she had seen go on - and she craned her neck to see if she could find her family, but they were lost in the sea of people. She saw the lamplighters come out, lighting old-fashioned oil lamps across the plaza. The city began to twinkle and shine as lights were lit and darkness descended. Gwen quickly scrutinized what she could see.

The city was built around the base of a large mountain, which was so high that its top was lost among the clouds above. On her left, a large dirty white wall ran from the mountain to what looked like the ocean, off in the distance. The wall was tall enough that it dwarfed all the surrounding buildings. On the opposite side of the mountain, skyscrapers stood looming over city. Beyond the white wall on the left, however, a single white tower rose high and slender alongside the mountain.

The crowd that had formed around the captives had drifted away, as staging was quickly set up by servants. Men were coming now, clustering in groups, calling out for drinks and slugging them down. A fog began to thicken in the corners of the plaza, as the air began to get cold and goosebumps rose on Gwen's arms. Men wearing dark capes of various styles, top hats or none, some carrying canes or wearing rings on their gloved fingers. She blinked as someone obscured her vision, the guard who had cut her finger hours ago. He grabbed her elbow, jerking her up awkwardly. She followed him out from the group, joining about 300 others who were being prodded towards a gate leading out of the plaza. Then she realized none of her family was in the group, and she lost all composure, screaming for them. She struggled past bodies, trying to go back, and she managed to burst free of the group, sprinting towards her family. The guards were shouting - why didn't they just shoot her? she wondered - but it was too late. A guard caught up to her and grabbed her from behind. She struggled against the iron grip - "Mom! Dad!" she dried, but she was hauled off and placed in a locked cart as she sobbed.

Her cries died away as the rhythmic clopping of the horse drawing the cart soothed her. The faces around her were either grim or shell-shock, eyes vacant. The cart stopped, was unlocked, and they were let out. They were now by a river, next to a wooden building that seemed to be rotting from the ground up.

After being given some water, they were led through a side door into the establishment, where they were put in a large bare room. As she scrutinized what she could see in the light of the flickering oil lamps, she noticed, her heart plummeting, that there were bloodstains on the floor and walls. A girl about her own age was sitting next to her, and Gwen turned to speak with her and quell her own fears. "What do you think is going to happen to us?" she asked.

"I don't know," the girl whispered back, sweat beading on her forehead. "Maybe they want us to compete or something. Or we could be executed."

The guy next to her leaned over, frowning. "I don't think so. The soldiers take care of us as though we're property of some kind. They didn't shoot us and they gave us water."

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"Waterville," the guy replied.

They both looked the girl expectantly. "Augusta," she said.

"And yourself?" the guy asked  Gwen.

"Ash Mills," she said, reflecting morosely on the irony of the name.

Then one of the guards appeared through the door, holding a piece of paper. "Jonathon Scathings," he called out. The man beside her sighed and stood up. The guard moved toward him, beckoning for the man to follow, flashing his gun as a silent reminder of what awaited him should he disobey. Jonathon followed him reluctantly out of the room. The crowd outside went quiet, a person spoke, then there were single shouts. The effect on the people around her was nearly instantaneous. A woman burst into tears, sobbing, "They're auctioning us off!" and buried her face into the shoulder of the man next to her. "We're slaves," the girl next to her murmured. "I don't believe it."

One by one people were called out and auctioned off. Eventually, when there were only about seventy people left, the guard came in and called out, "Gwendolyn Alexandria Maddox!" Gwen stood up, heart racing as she walked behind the guard, wondering if she could get out of the situation. Unfortunately, there were also guards outside the door. She sighed and followed him out of the room.

He took her down a hallway and up a short flight of stairs, onto the stage, in front of the eyes of many men, who were sizing her up. The room was smoky and dimly lit, but that rarely matters in most auctions. The bidding began - furious, loud, and heated - more so than she had heard earlier. The auctioneer and the guard exchanged pleased glances. Eventually, the bidding slowed to two people furiously betting against one another, giving each other angry glances. One was short and pudgy, with greasy long hair that hung down in strings over his face. The other had a hooked, pointed nose and long, clawlike fingers. He was dressed in red and black, eerily remniscient of a vampire.

Then a man dressed in black from head to toe stood up, wearing a top hat and holding a silver-tipped cane. He quietly named a price, at which heads in the entire room swiveled in his direction - some agape, some frowning, some angry. A murmur started and the auctioneer fidgeted nervously. The two who were bidding on her before looked at each other, then at the auctioneer, sitting down slowly. The auctioneer banged his gavel, and the gentleman in the back gave a small smile under the gaze of his peers, then sauntered up to a table on the side as a guard led her down to it. The gentleman paid with gold, which was duly counted as the next round of bidding began.

After the coins were counted, the gentleman signed a paper. The guard escorted them to yet another room, where a man waited next to a furnace. He pulled out a brand from many sticking in the flames, and Gwen started and turned around to run, as a cold muzzle was stuck at her chest. She glared at the soldier, who was sympathetic. "I'm sorry," the soldier whispered, and she looked pleadingly into her owner's eyes, which were cold and unforgiving. "No!" she cried as the brander took her left hand and laid it on the table, holding it with a firm grip.

She turned her face away, tears coming to her eyes in anticipation as she felt the heat of the brand coming close before actually touching her skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and screamed as fire set itself into her flesh - a pain like she had never felt before - and she struggled against the man who held her wrist. The hand let go and the pain eased a little, as she fell to her knees and pulled her hand in front of her swimming eyes. What she saw was not what she had expected from a brand - a red black burn that would pucker the flesh - but rather a perfectly formed circle of faintly glowing metal that sat on her flesh, no puckering, no burn around it, but it still was hot and painful. She clawed at it, burning her fingers, but it wouldn't move - it was a part of her now.

"Get up," came the smooth voice of her owner, and she did, following him out of that wretched hovel into the street, where a carriage sat waiting. Gwen realized that there were no soldiers nearby, and bolted. Idiot, she thought, to not do anything. Her heart beat fast as she got farther down the street, but her hand suddenly flashed with pain, gradually getting worse until she thought it must be on fire. She stumbled on a cobblestone and fell flat out, and before she passed out from the pain, she saw the mark on her hand glowing bright with the dark figure of her master coming towards her. Then all went dark.