Iron and Wood #Wattys2017

Memories- One

Ten years before the Turning and Shal's decision, she had found herself sitting on a hard wooden bench in a small tower room in the Fortress. The room was filled with the whimpering of twenty frightened, confused nine-year-olds.

Shal felt the rough stone of the wall press into her back. Her hair was longer back then, and tangled, sticking to her forehead in the summer heat. Her rough cotton dress was damp. She was mesmerized by the small, round stained glass window on the wall opposite, bathing the room in swirling colours of red, purple and gold.

She could barely process the picture it showed—a river of red pouring from an overturned goblet. It was as if her head was stuffed with cotton.

She felt a sticky hand on hers. The boy was a head shorter than her, with a mop of matted brown hair and green eyes. A dark bruise covered his lower jaw.

Shal opened her mouth to say something, but it was parched with thirst. It was too dry to swallow. She looked around, seeing the faces of the other children—mostly they were dressed in the clothing of peasants, but others were in foreign dress, or rags. Many were dirty, with bruises and scratches and unwashed hair, but some were cleaner, with hair in braids or bound with ribbons. Most were tear-stained, and wide-eyed, but all looked as thirsty as she felt, some about to break from it.

Shal desperately wanted to go home. But where was home?

She couldn't remember. She could not even draw the faces of her mother and father to her mind—did she have either of those?

Panic swept over Shal like a tsunami. She wracked her brain, but found her memories had been wiped clean. Was she born in that little room? Was there anything before this? She could not even remember coming through the one door...

The door opened then, and the children huddled closer together as a man and a woman in black came inside. Both wore clothing with sharp lines and shiny silver collars around their necks, and the man, with his long, dark braid and high cheekbones, was adorned with a heavy iron chain and ruby, and Shal instinctively shrank from him and his calculating brown eyes.

The woman was shorter, with her wiry muscles visible even with her long-sleeved uniform. Shal could feel her gaze rest on her a little longer than the others, and squeezed the boy's hand tighter.

"You've chosen a lot of girls this cycle, Marius," the woman remarked as she finally looked away, surveying the line of children.

"I chose the strongest children we were offered," the man said unconcernedly. "And that we weren't, of course. Will you not be able to train them?"

"Of course I will," the woman snapped.  She glanced at Shal again.

"I never doubted you." The man's voice was amused.

The door opened again. Three more adults entered—two men and a woman. Shal noticed the long sword hanging at the end of the taller man's hip, and found herself imagining it in her own hands. But what would she do then?

The woman moved back down the line, to the end.

"Vanguard," she gestured to a heavyset, stocky boy.

No one moved for a moment, and then the man with the sword beckoned to the boy. The woman hauled him to his feet and pushed him in the man's direction.

The next child was a redheaded girl. The woman yanked her to her feet, roughly lifting her arm, examining the length beside her own.  

"Archer." She directed the girl towards the one woman.