A Tale of Magic... (14 page)

Despite her desperate pleas, Justice Evergreen refused to answer his daughter’s questions. He didn’t even look her in the eye as the guards pulled her past him.

“Don’t you dare address me as
Father
,” he said. “You’re no daughter of mine.”

In the late afternoon of their second day, Brystal finally spotted something in the distance that suggested there was civilization nearby. As the carriage moved closer to the object, she saw it was a wooden sign that pointed down a new path:

The Bootstrap Correctional Facility for Troubled Young Women sat on top of the only hill Brystal had seen in the Northeast Plains. It was a wide five-story building made from crumbling bricks. The walls were severely weathered and cracked, and all the windows were tiny, covered in bars, and the glass was mostly shattered. There were gaping holes in the thatched roof, and a crooked chimney in the center made the whole facility look like an enormous rotting pumpkin.

The building was surrounded by a few acres of parched land, and the property was bordered by a stone wall with sharp spikes along the top. Brystal’s carriage stopped at the facility’s gate and the driver whistled for a hunchbacked gatekeeper, who limped out from his small post and removed the barriers.

Once the gate was open, the carriage continued down a path that snaked through the facility’s grounds. Everywhere she looked, Brystal saw dozens of young women between the ages of about eight and seventeen sprinkled across the property. Each girl wore a faded gray-and-black-striped dress, a bandanna to keep the hair out of her face, and a pair of oversize work boots. All the young women were pale and emaciated and shared the same expression of utter exhaustion, as if they hadn’t had a decent meal or a good night’s rest in years. It was a haunting sight, and Brystal wondered how long it would be until she, like the other girls, resembled a ghost of her former self.

The young women were separated into groups performing various chores. Some fed chickens in an overcrowded coop, some milked malnourished cows in a small pen, and some pulled wilted vegetables from a withering garden. However, Brystal didn’t understand the point of the other activities she saw the girls performing. Some dug large holes in the ground with shovels, some moved heavy stones back and forth from one pile to another, and some carried heavy buckets of water around in circles.

The girls showed no objections to the pointless exercises and completed their tasks almost mechanically. Brystal assumed they were trying to avoid attention from the wardens who were patrolling them. The wardens wore dark uniforms and kept a hand on the whips dangling from their belts as they supervised the young women.

As if the facility wasn’t grim enough, a peculiar contraption in the middle of the property gave Brystal an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. It appeared to be a large stone well, but instead of a water bucket hanging from its roof, there was a thick wooden board with three holes—the perfect sizes to fit around someone’s wrists and neck. Whatever it was, Brystal hoped she would avoid the mechanism during her time at the facility.

The carriage stopped at the building’s entrance. The driver and guards pulled Brystal out of the back and she shrieked because the air was much colder than she’d anticipated. The front doors slowly opened from inside, the rusty hinges screeching like an animal in pain, and a man and woman stepped outside to greet the newcomers.

The man was short and shaped like an upside-down pear: he had an incredibly wide head, a very thick neck, and a torso that narrowed as it lowered into his tiny waist. He was a sharp dresser and wore a red bow tie with a blue suit that was perfectly tailored to his awkward measurements. His mouth was curled into a devious grin that never faded. The woman beside him was shaped like a cucumber: she was almost twice as tall as him, and she was the exact same width from head to toe. She looked more conservative than the man and wore a black dress with a high lacy collar. A permanent frown was frozen on her face, like she had never laughed in her entire life.

“May we help you?” the man asked in a deep, raspy voice.

“Are you Mr. and Mrs. Edgar? The administrators of this facility?” the driver asked.

“Yes, that’s us,” the woman said in a sharp, nasally voice.

“By order of the High Justice Mounteclair of Chariot Hills, Miss Brystal Lynn Evergreen has been sentenced to live at your facility until further notice,” one of the guards informed them.

He handed the man a scroll with the official order in writing. Mr. Edgar read over the document and then eyed Brystal like he had won a prize.

“My, my,” he said. “Miss Evergreen must have done something
very
naughty for a High Justice to sentence her personally. Of course we would be delighted to have her join us.”

“Then she’s all yours,” the driver said.

The guards unlocked Brystal’s shackles and shoved her toward the administrators. Without missing a beat, the guards and the driver returned to the carriage and raced away from the facility. Mr. and Mrs. Edgar looked Brystal up and down like two dogs inspecting a steak.

“Let me be the first to warn you,
deary
, that this is a house of the Lord,” Mrs. Edgar said in a spiteful tone. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave your debauchery at the door.”

“You must be tired and hungry from your journey,” Mr. Edgar said in a friendly manner that Brystal didn’t trust. “You’re just in luck—it’s nearly dinnertime. Come inside and we’ll get you changed into something more
appropriate
.”

Mr. Edgar placed a hand on the back of Brystal’s neck and the couple escorted her inside. The interior of the Bootstrap Correctional Facility was just as cold and battered as the outside. The floor was made of rotting wooden planks, the ceiling was stained from leaks, and the walls were covered in dents and scrapes. The administrators moved Brystal down a corridor and through a large archway into a spacious dining hall.

The dining hall had three long tables that stretched the entire length of the room and a small table at the front for faculty members. More young women in faded gray-and-black-striped dresses were seated at the long tables, hard at work sewing pieces of leather boots together. Just like the girls outside, the young women in the dining hall were gaunt and looked fatigued. Their fingertips were bruised and bleeding from being forced to work with dull needles. Additional wardens paced the hall as they inspected the girls’ work, and they backhanded some of the young women who weren’t sewing fast enough to their satisfaction.

At the front of the room, hanging above the smaller table, was an enormous banner with a message that made Brystal’s blood boil:

Unlike the rest of the facility, the Edgars’ office was very elegant. It had carpeted floors and a crystal chandelier, and the walls were painted with murals of beautiful landscapes. The office had large windows that peered into the dining hall and the facility’s grounds. It was the perfect place to spy on the young women as they worked.

Mr. Edgar took a seat in a leather chair behind a cherrywood desk. Mrs. Edgar pulled Brystal behind a privacy screen in a corner of the office and had her remove the clothes and shoes she had arrived in. She tossed Brystal’s things into a wastebasket and crossed to a bulky wardrobe on the other side of the room. The woman opened the drawers and selected a faded gray-and-black-striped dress, a bandanna, and a pair of work boots.

“Here,” she said, and handed the items to Brystal. “Get dressed.”

Brystal had nothing on but her undergarments and was freezing, so she put the new clothes on as fast as she could. Unfortunately, the uniform wasn’t nearly as warm as her old clothes and Brystal shivered in the cold room.

“Ma’am? May I please have a sweater?” she asked.

“Does this look like a boutique?” Mrs. Edgar snapped. “The cold is good for you. It makes you seek the warmth of the Lord.”

She sat Brystal in the chair across from her husband. His devilish grin grew as he watched Brystal shiver, and his double chin turned into four.

“Miss Evergreen, allow me to officially welcome you to the Bootstrap Correctional Facility for Troubled Young Women,” Mr. Edgar said. “Do you know
why
the High Justice has placed you under our care?”

“They say you’re supposed to
cure
me,” Brystal said.

“Indeed,” he said. “You see, there’s something inside of you that shouldn’t be there. What may seem like a talent or a gift is actually an
illness
that must be remedied immediately. My wife and I created this facility so we could help girls with your
condition
. With some hard work and prayer, we’ll root out all the unnatural qualities you possess, and nothing will prevent you from becoming a respectable wife and mother one day.”

“I don’t understand how manual labor and prayer cures anyone,” she said.

Mr. Edgar let out a low, rattling laugh and shook his head.

“Our methods may seem tedious and grueling, but they are the most effective tools for treatment,” he explained. “You are infected with a horrible disease—it’s a
sickness of the spirit
that the Lord himself opposes—and it’s going to take time and effort to destroy it. However, with dedication and discipline, we can crush the very source of your symptoms. Our facility will
starve
the evil from your soul,
pump
the darkness out of your heart, and
drain
the wickedness from your mind.”

Brystal knew it was in her best interest to just stay silent and nod, but every word out of Mr. Edgar’s mouth infuriated her more than the last.

“Mr. Edgar, you agree the Lord is all-knowing, all-powerful, and the sole creator of all existence, correct?” she asked.

“Without question,” Mr. Edgar replied.

“Then why would the Lord create magic if he hates it so much?” she asked. “It’s a little counterproductive, don’t you think?”

Mr. Edgar went quiet and it took him a few moments to answer her.

“To test the loyalty of your soul, of course,” he declared. “The Lord wants to separate the people who seek salvation from the people who surrender to sin. By willingly making sacrifices to overcome your condition, you are proving your devotion to the Lord, and to his beloved Southern Kingdom.”

“But if the Lord wants to identify those who
willingly
overcome magic, aren’t you interfering by
forcing
young girls to overcome it?”

Her second question was even more befuddling than the first. Mr. Edgar became flustered and his cheeks turned the same color as his bow tie. His eyes darted between Brystal and his wife as he composed a response.

“Of course not!” he said. “Magic is an unholy manipulation of nature! And
no one
should manipulate the Lord’s beautiful world but the Lord himself! He smiles upon the people who try to stop such abominations!”

“But
you’re
trying to manipulate
me
—isn’t that
also
an abomination?” Brystal asked.

Mr. and Mrs. Edgar gasped—they had never been accused of such a thing. Brystal knew she should stop while she was ahead, but she couldn’t stomach any more hypocrisy. She was going to speak her mind whether the administrators liked it or not.

“How dare you!” Mr. Edgar exclaimed. “My wife and I have devoted our lives to the Lord’s work!”

“But what if you’re wrong about the Lord?” she argued. “What if the Lord is much kinder and loving than you’re giving Him credit for? What if the Lord invented magic so people could help each other and enrich their own lives? What if the Lord thinks
you’re
the unholy ones for abusing people and making them believe their existence is a—”

WHACK!
Mrs. Edgar slapped Brystal so hard her whole head jerked in a different direction.

“You disrespectful little beast,” Mrs. Edgar said. “You will bite your tongue or
I will have it removed
! Is that understood?”

Brystal nodded as blood dripped from the corner of her mouth. Mr. Edgar leaned back in his chair and stared at Brystal like she was a wild animal he was excited to tame.

“You have a long road ahead of you, Miss Evergreen,” he said. “I’m looking forward to watching your
progress
.”

A loud gong sounded through the facility.

“Ah, time for dinner,” Mr. Edgar said. “You may join the other girls in the dining hall. Try to get some rest tonight—tomorrow is going to be a very, very long day for you.”

Mrs. Edgar raised Brystal onto her feet, walked her to the door, and gave her a shove on her way down the rickety staircase.

At the announcement of dinner, the young women sewing boots in the dining hall put away their work. The girls filed in from outside and joined the others at the tables. Brystal didn’t know where to sit so she took the first empty seat she could find. None of the girls noticed the newcomer in their presence; in fact, none of the girls said a word or shifted their focus from whatever was directly ahead of them. Despite Brystal’s attempts to introduce herself, the young women remained silent and still as statues.

Mr. and Mrs. Edgar sat in throne-like chairs at the faculty table and were joined by the wardens and the hunchbacked gatekeeper. Once they were seated, a group of young women with aprons over their gray-and-black-striped dresses entered from the kitchen and served the faculty members roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, and baked vegetables. The delicious aroma reminded Brystal of how hungry she was and her stomach growled like a neglected pet.

After the faculty’s plates were full, the young women were sent table by table to line up at a serving cart for their own supper. Brystal was handed a crusty bowl of a chunky brown stew that bubbled and smelled like skunk. It took every ounce of willpower not to gag at the revolting food. She followed the line back to her table, where the young women stood at their seats until all the girls in the hall were served.

While they waited, Brystal’s eyes fell on a girl a few seats down from her. She was the smallest girl in the dining hall and couldn’t have been older than six or seven years old. She had big brown eyes, a tiny button nose, and a very short choppy haircut. Unlike the others, the little girl sensed Brystal’s gaze and turned to her. At first, Brystal was taken aback by the acknowledgment and didn’t know what to do.

“Hello,” she whispered with a smile. “What’s your name?”

The little girl didn’t respond and just stared at Brystal with blank eyes, as if her body was deprived of a soul.

“My name is Brystal,” Brystal said. “Today’s my first day. How long have you—”

Their one-sided conversation was interrupted when Mr. Edgar pounded his fist on the faculty table. All the young women had finally returned to their seats and the administrator rose from his chair to address the room.

“It’s time for the evening prayer,” he instructed.
“Begin!”

Brystal didn’t know the young women
could
speak, but to her surprise, they followed Mr. Edgar’s command and recited a prayer in perfect unison: