The Brand of Anem Page 2

  As long as it wasn’t farming. Carson was sure that he’d rather die.

  On second thought, Carson supposed farming would be better than being a stable hand. But he didn’t have to worry about that occupation being assigned to him. Stable hands were only Class Three and below citizens. He was lucky enough to be born into a Class Five family, but also unlucky enough to not be a Class Seven or Eight citizen.

  Mother patted his shaggy hair that matched the color of her jet black curls she always kept pulled back into a bun. All the women in Deneb wore their hair pulled back into a neat bun. It was the only appropriate hairstyle. “Oh, honey,” she crooned. “The city will make sure you get the job you are best suited for, even if it’s something surprising.”

  She stood from the edge of the bed and began to leave. Carson turned back over, ready to be left alone with his thoughts once more.

  “Carson?” He turned his head to see Kayla hesitating in the doorway. “If you need me, you may wake me whenever.”

  He shook his head. “It’s against the rules.”

  “The exception is illness. You look a little pale, son.”

  “I am not that ill.”

  She sighed. “Okay. Sweet dreams.” She shut the bedroom door, and Carson listened to her footsteps become quieter as she walked away.

  Then, moments later, the lights went out in the whole of the house, just as it did in the whole of the province. And that meant that it was almost time.

  Almost .

  Patiently, Carson waited until the coyotes started singing to each other and the cold winter breeze coming off the sea rustled the trees outside his window.

  He sat up quietly, throwing the covers off his body. He changed into a pair of comfortable jeans and pulled a blue long-sleeve shirt over his white undershirt.

  What he was doing was definitely rebellion, and he had done it many times before. It was an addiction, if he was being honest with himself. Every time he got away with breaking a rule, he wanted to do it more and more and push his limits. How far could he go before getting caught?

  There were so many rules with so many consequences. Half of the time Carson considered breaking them in front of people just because it was so frustrating. It was caging. It was limiting. It only made him want to rebel even more. He was a trapped animal, and as each day passed, the cage shrunk more and more, becoming severely cramped, pushing at him from all sides. Something was bound to give eventually.

  Even though he never considered himself a rebellious Son of Deneb, he couldn’t bring himself to deny the fact that he was —despite the chance that he could be working in the Forces and punishing people for doing the exact same thing.

  Hypocrite . There was no escaping the simple fact that Carson was exactly that: a hypocrite.

  Even so, he wanted to blame someone else for his rebellious heart. It couldn’t just be him, right? He was always wanting to do his own thing, be who he wanted, forget about the world and the rules for just one hour.

  He only ever asked for one hour.

  A part of Carson blamed his own father, Derek. He always seemed to think Carson would do something stupid. As if it were inevitable for him to break the rules. Like it was something he expected of his son. Perhaps Derek knew things about Carson and chose not to say anything. Maybe he could see himself in the seventeen-year-old. Was it possible that Derek had done what Carson had done, when he was an Immature, too?

  Under the bed, Carson had stuffed a bag with things he’d need. He pulled out his black boots and laced them on his feet tightly, being as quiet as he could. He took out his pullover hunter green sweater and wrestled for a few seconds to get it over his head without knocking things over in his cramped room. Carson added a hand-knit hat that his mother had purchased a few weeks ago from the farmers’ market, tucking his ears into the warmth it provided.

  He had to focus on his breathing and on being quiet. Adrenaline pumped through him so much that he was shaking. But, the shaking could be from the fear of what he was about to do. If he got caught, what would happen to him exactly? He wasn’t running away, so they wouldn’t have him executed, but he was breaking out of the house. The consequences for breaking curfew on purpose was ten lashes.

  And then there was the brand they would no doubt find… That was another issue in and of itself.

  But he was also excited. Carson lived only for these specific nights.

  His hands trembled as he fumbled with the latch on the window. Windows were only ever opened during the fall, when the cool breezes were plentiful and filled the house with scents of coming winter. Even then, no one was allowed to keep them open at night. They were shut when the lights went out. Period.

  Carson quietly lifted the window as far as it would go. The opening was almost too small for his body to fit through, but he could do it. He had done it. The cold breeze hit him hard the moment the window was cracked open, and he shivered against it. He didn’t slow down though, and he didn’t make a sound. Quickly, he pulled his body out the window, planting his booted feet on the ground outside. The browning grass crushed faintly under his weight.

  A new rush of adrenaline coursed through him with the breeze.

  It was a game to Carson, and he knew it. Part of him was ashamed, and he supposed maybe he should’ve listened to that part, but he ignored it as if it were simply nothing but an annoyance.

  He shut the window as quietly as possible before darting across his parents’ land, through the few acres of scattered trees and brush browned by the weather. He climbed over the barbed wire fence at the very back, trying to be careful not to rip his brand new sweater on the rusted barbs. Mother would kill him and demand to know how he managed to damage it after only two days of wear.

  Stopping as soon as his feet hit the ground on the other side of the fence, he took half a moment to glance up at the starlit sky. He couldn’t help the smile and all-around happiness that flooded him. The moon had never been so big and beautiful before. The stars twinkled brighter and the coyotes howled happier songs too.

  Carson began running again. He jumped multiple fences and trespassed several different properties. Eventually, he was running through the trees that glittered the judge’s property. He stopped short behind a fairly thick tree when the judge’s white house with dark blue trimmings came into view. All the lights were off, of course, but if they gandered out their window, the moon would surely have given Carson away. It was bright enough that night.

  He tried getting as close to a particular window as he could by moving from tree to tree. He couldn’t be too careful.

  Finally, he had made it, standing only a few feet from a window several times the size of his window back home. He crept up to the glass, straining his ears for any sounds inside, but it was deadly silent. A curtain hung on the inside of the window, blocking his view. No light filtered through it. Carson’s heart hammered in his chest. What he was doing was always the scariest part. It was always kind of a gamble, but Carson was always very careful. After waiting a few more minutes listening for any noise, he tapped once on the glass with the tip of his finger lightly. After a moment, he did it again. Another moment later, he did it twice.

  After just a couple of seconds, the curtain swished to the side slightly, enough for her to peek out. Margaret’s unsurprised face appeared directly in front of his, framed by her long wavy caramel hair parted down the middle and hanging around her shoulders, free from her usual updo. The glass was the only thing separating them. She smiled at him, and he returned the smile genuinely. She looked over her shoulder at her closed bedroom door and then quickly opened her window. She sat on the edge of the window sill, wearing only her blush spaghetti-strapped silk nightgown. Carson pulled himself up to sit next to her, his legs facing the outside while hers were facing inside.

  Not but a moment later, they leaned into each other simultaneously, their lips gently pressing together. For many silent moments, words were not needed or wanted. Their kissing was quieter than if they’d si
mply been sitting there staring at each other. They were always careful to never make noise. Margaret suddenly shivered when the breeze struck her mostly bare back after being absent all that time.

  Carson quickly grabbed the folded blanket sitting on a nearby chair. He wrapped it around her shoulders, bundling her in it tightly. “You’ll catch a cold,” he rasped, a bit distant and taciturnly, as he continued to adjust the blanket around her.

  She didn’t reply. At all. Carson looked up at her, feeling that something was wrong. She closed her eyes the same second they made eye contact. She sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s not fair at all, is it?” A single tear fell down her face.

  Carson shook his head, gently pulling Margaret into his arms, embracing her tightly. He couldn’t respond to her immediately lest his voice betray him and reveal the hurt bubbling to the surface. He couldn’t let her go just yet either. He wondered if he truly would ever be able to.

  They continued embracing. It was a privilege, something that was illegal for them to do, yet, there they were, holding each other tightly—an embrace reserved only for wedded lovers. But, compared to what they had done, hugging was no sin at all.

  “Carson,” she whispered, a half-sob escaping her throat. She took a moment to calm herself before continuing to speak quietly. “What happened today… You shouldn’t have gone. You shouldn’t have had to see any of it.”

  He pressed his lips to her cold ear. “And what good would that have done me, Margaret? I can’t avoid reality forever.”

  She was crying more now, but trying her hardest to keep quiet. But that wasn’t the place for crying, there in her room. He pulled away from the embrace to examine her, but she turned away from him, sniffling. Using his index finger under her chin, Carson turned her head to face him. Pressing his forehead against hers, he said, “Let’s get out of here.”

  She nodded readily.

  Carson glanced over at the neighbor’s property. Over the treetops he could barely make out the top of their horse’s stable, an all too familiar place for Margaret and him.

  They were stupid kids for doing such stupid things, but Carson was convinced that what they had was beyond them. It was written in the stars long ago by Anem herself. They both knew that they were supposed to be together, and for whatever reason, it was impossible. And yet not quite so impossible. He could still love her, but no one could ever know. He would spend the rest of his days in love with her, but soon she’d forever be out of his reach. The nights they had left together could be counted on one hand.

  Taking her to the neighbor’s stable was easy, and there was no way anyone would see them. For one, the neighbor was a crippled old man—a million and a half years old, Carson figured—and his house was positioned a good half-mile away from the stable. Not to mention, the stable had been empty for many years, the occasional visitor being small wild animals. It was the perfect place for Carson and Margaret to be alone, to hide their true selves from the harsh world that would see them destroyed if ever caught.

  “We shouldn’t stay here long,” said Margaret as she climbed the ladder to the mostly bare loft. All that remained in the loft were a bunch of feed sacks that overtime the two of them had spread out to make a place to lie. That was the only place they could talk normally, not forced to be quieter than death.

  To the side of the feed sacks, they sat on a pile of hay under a dirt-caked window that had a crack running through it from top to bottom. They wrapped themselves together in the single blanket that they had been bringing with them for as long as they’d been going there.

  Carson placed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. After several long silent moments, occasionally kissing her and just simply holding her tightly in his arms, Margaret asked, “What’s wrong, Carson?”

  He exhaled softly against her jaw. “Been a long day,” he whispered, brushing his lips across her jawline.

  “You mean it’s been a long two weeks.”

  That was true. Ever since Margaret told him her father had pledged her to William Lach, it had felt like time was moving slowly and in the wrong direction. Carson simply nodded into her neck, breathing out heavily.

  She closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face again. They dripped onto Carson’s cheek, which caught his attention to it. “I never wanted to hurt you,” she whispered, throat tight.

  “You didn’t,” Carson told her in the same moment, hugging her tighter to himself. “It’s not your fault. Your father forced this on you.”

  She was trying so hard to not cry, but sobs ended up leaving her throat anyway. Carson thought it was a good thing he took her away from her house when he did. He would never tell her not to cry, but she couldn’t relieve herself of everything she kept cooped inside her while near anyone else. She needed a place to allow herself the freedom of mourning, and that old rundown stable was just that place.

  Carson ran his fingers over the series of scars on her left shoulder that made up the brand of Anem, the very brand that linked them together. He leaned down and kissed it softly. Another sob left Margaret. “It’s not fair,” she rasped between sobs.

  He kissed the brand again, then whispered against her skin, “That’s just our life. No changing it.”

  After several minutes, she was able to calm herself down again. She hugged herself to Carson and warmed her icy hands under his shirt, pressing against his body. “Carson,” she whispered finally, “about William…”

  He shook his head, lips brushing against her neck. He kissed her once before saying, “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “You’ve been saying that for two weeks. When will you?”

  “Not ever.” He gave her neck another soft kiss.

  She sighed, defeated. “Thought you weren’t avoiding reality anymore.”

  She got him there. Carson gazed up at her, into her hazel eyes illuminated in the moonlight streaking through the cracked, dirty window. He caressed her face, memorizing every detail, every feature. He knew he would never forget her face as long as he lived. “I’m not avoiding it,” he defended. “You think that I haven’t thought about your engagement to him these past two weeks? It’s the only thing I think about. I can’t get it out of my brain.” He paused to swallow a rising lump of emotions. “For instance, what’s going to happen when you marry him and he sees that stupid brand on your shoulder?”

  “Don’t call it that,” she said, breathless. “It’s the gift Anem gave us.”

  “Gift?” Carson huffed. “More like a curse, Margaret. It’ll ruin you, and it’s my fault.”

  She shook her head vigorously. Quite obviously, she didn’t like that he’d called something from Anem such a horrible thing. “She’s bound us together for life, Carson. That’s what it symbolizes. That you and I are forever bound.”

  “And no one will care about that, Maggie.” Carson’s throat tightened, making it harder to get the words out. “They’ll just see the sin, not the love that produced it. They care nothing of how it all happened.” That was the most disappointing part to Carson. They couldn’t see past the sin and appreciate the rarity of their devotion to each other. Couples rarely loved each other, and those who did were envied.

  She was quiet for a few moments before whispering, “It will be our downfall.”

  “Inevitably,” he agreed in a low voice.

  She stood up then, disrupting the comfort of their body heat under the blanket. She took the blanket off Carson as well and spread it across the old feed sacks. “One hour,” she said. She began undressing for him. She shivered slightly though it wasn’t nearly as cold inside the barn as it was outside in the coastal breeze.

  “An hour is more than I ever ask for,” he said, following her to the makeshift bed.

  Carson kissed her lips hard. They were salty from her tears and also sweet from her cherry-flavored lip balm. Her hands found their way around his clothing easily. There was a hunger in her Carson hadn’t seen in a long time, and he liked it far more than he should’ve. In genera
l, he liked the way she felt against him, and he should not like such sinful things.

  But why? What was wrong? Neither of them understood it. Never had. Carson wasn’t hurting her and she wasn’t hurting him. If anything, they believed their time shared together was good . Better than good. The only thing that separated them from loving each other properly were the rules they created. Carson believed it was them that were the bad part in the equation—not Carson and Margaret. It was them that forbade those in different classes from marrying. In Carson’s long-time developed opinion, it was the rules themselves that caused them to commit such sins.

  That old stable wasn’t the first place they were ever intimate with each other. There were several other times before, all in different places. Since they were sixteen, in fact, they had been breaking that rule, and for the last year, no one had ever caught onto them.

  It was strange too, Carson had thought, how no one had yet discovered them. After the first time they shared themselves with each other, they both received the brand of Bandia an Anem on their left shoulders, two matching brands unique from the rest of mankind. The lines and symbols etched deep into the dermis could only be read by the goddess herself. Specialists speculated that the symbols spelled out the two names of the lovers, but it was code that couldn’t be cracked.

  At the time, as sixteen-year-olds, Carson and Margaret were frightened that someone would see the brands and then everyone would know they had broken such a sacred rule. So they were careful—so very, very careful. They hid their shoulders from every eye. No one had ever caught even a glimpse of their unique, matching scars.

  Margaret was right about Anem having bound them together forever. The unfortunate part was the society that they lived in had made it impossible for them to survive together. Perhaps impossible to survive at all...

  Margaret was pledged to William. There wasn’t much Carson could do to change that. But still, he worried. For the whole hour he spent with Margaret in that old barn, he worried. Carson fretted over what would happen when she married William and he found the brand on her shoulder, when he would inevitably realize he had married an already-bound woman. What would happen to her?