2A Chapter by W.V. BardPacha is taken from her village.The four
Processors hustled Pacha over the muddy village road. She could not even make out a single one’s
face " just a blur of black cloacks in the black night. Whether they were there to guide her or to
ensure that she did not run away, Pacha did not know. What she was acutely
aware of, however, were the legions of eyes trained on her. In the cold, unimpressed eyes of her region’s
inhabitants, of her own people, she saw no pity nor awe, only acceptance. One by one she
passed by the line of people, slowly dispersing now that the selection on this side
of the village was finished. Some stayed
and stared back at her with cold eyes, murmuring to his neighbor or her friend
how he or she always knew that Pacha would be one day selected. How could she not? With those eyes, that hair, that name…. Pacha saw no struggle, no hurt in her kins’ eyes,
not even surprise. She only saw a
chapter of her life closing, without so much as a mournful glance goodbye. The muddy face of
the boy she’d shared a kiss with behind the baker’s den flushed beneath her stare
and hastily turned away, running after his father as they left to gather for
the Selection of the Boys on the other side of the village. The feel of his lips brushing against hers
lingered for a moment while their eyes met, but blew away in the wind the
moment he turned away. “Pacha!” She spun to her
left to see her mother, out of breath, clutching her father’s hand. “Mother!” she cried out. She leapt to fling her arms around her neck but
the strong arm of a Processor pushed all the wind from her stomach like a solid
punch. Before she could so much as
crumple over and guard the offended area from further abuse, another hooded Processor
grabbed her by the shoulders and held her upright while propelling her forward
with a slight push. “This is how you
treat a Potential Reincarnate?!” bellowed her father. He reached over to shove at the processors
but the inanely strong one simply shoved his face away with a grunt. “Father!” Pacha
screamed and once again attempted a leap at her parents, and once again found
herself crumpled over and propelled forward. Her parents kept
up a sort of half-jog alongside the party, her father slap-fighting with the
one guard and her mother attempting to talk over the violence. “Pacha, I always
thought of you as a gift "“ “I don’t want to
go!” “No, honey "
listen, Pacha, I always knew " “ “Why did you let
them take me?!” shouted Pacha. “Pachacutec, you
know your destiny….” “It isn’t
mine! It’s a mistake!” “No, Pacha, you
were meant "“ The strong guard
engaged in fighting with her father gave a definitive shove. His power and strength from years of Capital
breeding overpowered her own starved father and Pacha watched in horror as he
landed squarely on his bad and broken back in the mud. “Father!” She screamed again, but before she
could once again attempt an escape, the guard behind her held her tightly. Her mother
crumpled in a protective heap over him, and Pacha could do nothing but turn her
head and watch as she was ushered out of her tiny village on that dirt path
connecting the five districts. Her
mother looked up at her with teary or rain-stricken eyes and shouted with words
whipped in half by the wailing winds. Pacha could only
make out “Gods’ gift, returned,” before the Processors closed in behind her and
blocked her view. She tried weedling
though the guards, even jumping over them, but they packed themselves too
tightly and stood too tall. She screamed
and thrust out from them but all in futility.
They swept her up in their steady trot forward in a swirl of black coats
and glittered eyes, and fight as she might she was but a salmon against a
mighty river. She reached out
and struck one of the cloaked figures in his face, palming his nose. He cried out in pain and staggered back. She let her nails rake down his face, not
carrying that she was defiling a minion of the god, only caring that she might
get away " might escape back to her family, might run home and hide and never
be found or drug away again. Suddenly hands
were holding her wrists and forearms behind her back, gripping her neck and her
shoulders and even her waist so that she could do nothing but squirm. They whispered to her in soothing voices,
hands kneeding out the knots in her shoulders as they held them down, their
faces still hidden behind their hoods and their words lost in the wind and
beneath her screams. They let her
struggle in vain, simply watching as the fight drained out of her. Left panting and
hardly able to move, the hands gripping her shoulders and the ones propelling
her forwards released her. The one whose face
she had marred caught her as she fell to the ground, panting and sobbing for
her parents. She stood up with help, but
her blood jumped as quickly as she did.
For a brief moment she felt the sturdy ground beneath her feet, felt the
rain soaking through her hood and shawl, and then she collapsed, blackness
encompassing her. © 2012 W.V. BardAuthor's Note
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