The Regenerates

Copyright © 2014 by Radiance Publishing

All rights reserved.

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ISBN: 978-0-9938840-1-6

“U
gh, they’re getting uglier every year.”

Ven Kealy crossed his arms and scowled at his friend. “Shut up, Hans. Abolition Day is nothing to scoff at. They’re all going to die.”

Hans shook his head. “They deserve it, though. If you ask me, it’s not that hard to follow a set of rules that happens to be plastered everywhere in massive letters.”

From the other side of Ven, Hans’ sister Florentine butted in. “You’re such a cow, Hans. It’s not funny.”

“What do you think, Ven? It’s their own fault, right?”

Ven groaned. Hans and his twin sister Florentine were discussing his least favorite subject. Abolition Day – a ceremony that took place in the center of the city for everyone to see – was drawing near again. Every morning, a new set of miscreants made the arduous walk to prison, where they would remain till their sentencing in a few days. Ven could spot them out the window of the Grand Magistrate’s estate where he and his friends attended lessons.

“Hey, airhead, I’m asking you something!”

“Flor is right, Hans,” said Ven. “It’s not something you joke about.”

Hans shrugged and buried his face back in his books, while Florentine muttered angrily under her breath. In all honesty, Ven hadn’t given Abolition Day too much thought. Most of the people sentenced were of lower Quadrants, like Drudgers or Prentices. Ven, his mother and his peers were all Highborns, serving directly under the Grand Magistrate on his estate and given the highest respect.

“Hey Ven, your mom’s going to be all tied up with that council meeting,” said Florentine, rearranging her blonde curls. “That means you’re free to help me break into Lady Sheema’s room. I’m dying to sneak in and throw tomatoes at that huge painting she has of herself. You coming with?”

“Seriously, Flor. Just because she made one comment about you not having a chance with Grand Magistrate Kayn, that doesn’t give you the right to go vandalizing her things,” said Hans. “And what do you see in him, anyway? Sure, he’s got nice hair–”

As Florentine opened her mouth to retort, Ven gathered his belongings and slung his satchel over his shoulder. “Sorry, Flor,” he said. “Count me out for this one. That dog of hers nearly took a chunk out of my leg the last time.”

“Oh, all right, then,” she said, trying to hide her disappointment. “See you around.”

Making his way through the winding maze of corridors leading away from the classroom, Ven looked out the massive windows down at the square. One by one they stood in line: men, women and children. Their faces were blank as they held out their arms to be stamped and followed a row of guards to a large stone building.
You idiots, you’ve given up your lives and condemned your families and for what? To rebel?
It disturbed him a little. The number of miscreants this year was larger than it had been in a long time.

As he passed Council Hall, a murmur of voices told him that the meeting was already in session. This left Ven some free time before his mother would make him help her sort tax accounts. He figured he’d pay a visit to the one person who seemed an expert at livening things up.

The stained glass windows lining the hall near the palace entrance were all adorned with the same design – a large, five-spoked wheel with a curved dagger running through the middle, representing Cor’s Stratum Order. It was Cor’s seal, and could be found just about everywhere. Ven exited the palace, walked past the neat, flower-adorned grounds and crossed the network of massive stone bridges and pathways that hovered above Stratum Square, connecting the different Quadrants.

Coralie Hasset’s modest house was in the Prentice Quadrant, a considerable distance from the Grand Magistrate’s sprawling marble and glass-domed estate in the center of the Highborn Quadrant. Farther to the edge, the Drudger Quadrant lay in the shadow of the others, murky and dark. Ven never went there. The Drudger Quadrant was lined with rows of crumbling metal structures, flickering gas lamps and shady characters.

As he neared the Prentice Quadrant, Ven could feel eyes staring him down. Being among the aristocratic elite of society, the idea of a Highborn wandering into Prentice territory was something of a spectacle. The only people who warmly welcomed him were Coralie’s family and their neighbors. The others gave him looks of contempt and disdain. Suddenly he felt quite snobbish with his neatly groomed hair, polished clothing and gold buttons.

The Prentice Quadrant, though less forlorn than the Drudger Quadrant, was nevertheless a dreary sight. Houses were made of old, fading red brickwork, and the cobbled streets were littered with cans of tinned goods and other miscellaneous rubbish. The few transport pods available in Cor belonged only to the wealthy, meaning if you were anything below a Highborn, your only method of transport was either by foot, or if you were lucky, a cycle. The Grand Magistrate believed that special transportation should be given to the worthy and deserving, and to those whose services to Cor had been exceptional.

Mr. and Mrs. Hasset would not stand for their home to be in the same state of disarray as the rest of the Prentice Quadrant. A short walk away from the pitiful street was a neat row of small brick houses, each with a well-manicured lawn. Coralie’s house was to the left. Ven opened the small gate, walked along the pathway to their front door and knocked. Mrs. Hasset was the first to greet him.

“Ven!” she said, embracing him. “This is such a nice surprise!”

Mrs. Hasset was a prim, slender woman with dark hair and a kind face. Ven had always thought she would fit perfectly in Highborn society. She was just as elegant and composed as Ven’s mother and, for that matter, any of the women on the council.

“Hello, Mrs. Hasset. Is Coralie around?”

“Of course, she’s in her room. Why don’t you go on upstairs? She’ll be happy to see you.”

“Thank you.”

The inside of the house was quaint. The old-fashioned wallpaper was peeling at the corners, and the furniture was made of faded wood. Nevertheless, Mrs. Hasset kept it spotless. Ven jumped up two steps at a time to the second floor of the house and stopped in front of Coralie’s bright blue bedroom door.

“Coralie, open up.”

“What is it? I’m reading.”

Ven pushed open the door. “We all know that’s a lie,” he teased.

Coralie was sitting cross-legged on her bed, a pen in one hand and a block of cheese in the other, scribbling away in a thick black notebook. She looked the same as always, ginger hair tied sloppily at the top of her head.

“Well, this is nice,” she smiled. “Trying to escape your mom’s chores again?”

“Actually, no.” He threw a pillow at her, which she dodged. “The council meeting is on and there’s nothing to do.”

“What about those frilly twins?” She continued to bite chunks of the cheese. “The ones you keep complaining about? Why aren’t you hanging out with them? I swear that girl has a thing for you.”

“No, she doesn’t,” said Ven. “She’s too busy trying to get the Grand Magistrate’s attention.”

“Why not? He’s pretty good-looking. It’s too bad he’s a bloodthirsty creep.”

Ven winced.

“Oh, sorry. Guess I should watch my mouth. Especially around a Highborn,” she said darkly.

“It’s not like that.” Ven shifted uncomfortably.

She nudged him. “I know, I’m sorry. Just not exactly a fan.”

“It’s all right. He’s not that nice to us, either.”

Kayn Stafford was only three years older than Ven, and following his official coronation in the next few weeks, he was going to be one of the youngest Grand Magistrates in Cor’s history. His father’s death had been sudden and untimely, and Kayn was constantly stone-faced. While Florentine seemed to find his brooding, damaged persona appealing, Ven’s mother described him as frightening. Ven had never spoken to him directly, but there had been one occasion where he had overheard Kayn threatening to expel a minister and his young daughter to the Drudger Quadrant for questioning him. While Ven didn’t have enough backstory to know who was actually at fault, both Kayn’s dangerous whisper and the pure fear in the minister’s apology were enough to send him running away as fast as he could. He had also heard gossip from the others that Kayn had personally seen to the torture and interrogation of an enemy spy.

“Anyway,” said Ven, “how are your parents doing?”

“Good,” she said. “Business has been great this year. Dad sent in one of his blueprints for a new weapons manufacturing factory to one of Lord Magistrate’s people, and they actually replied! They really seemed to like his idea and said they would send it in to Kayn himself for consideration. He’s supposed to send a message back in the next couple days and if all goes well, you could be seeing Daddy’s factory producing Cor’s weapons! It turns out we’re pretty well-known in the Prentice Quadrant, which explains why the blueprint didn’t end up in a rubbish pile.”

“That’s brilliant!” Ven beamed.

Coralie grinned. “Yeah, he’s quite proud of himself. What’s new with you? Last time you told me you rewrote a chapter of your professor’s history book because you found grammatical errors.”

“You practically did the same thing, but with a book of formulas," said Ven. "That makes it worse.”

“I didn’t rewrite them. I’m not a child prodigy,” she said. “I just corrected–”

A horrible scream rang out from outside Coralie’s window. Ven and Coralie jumped. Coralie dashed to her window and peered outside, Ven following closely behind her.

Outside, a group of palace guards roughly dragged a family of four to the middle of the street. The father and mother yelled at the guards as their young children began to cry. One of the guards struck the mother across the side of her face, and she crumpled to the ground.

Coralie drew the curtains and slammed the window, but from behind it, Ven could still hear the father’s yells grow even more prominent.

“That’s the fourth family from our Quadrant sentenced this year,” said Coralie softly. “It’s like the guards secretly watch us.”

Ven didn’t know how to respond.

“I used to babysit those kids,” she said after a moment, fiddling with her shirt. “They were so polite.”

“Oh…” said Ven. It was times like this that he had no idea how to comfort her. Even though he knew inside that the Sentenced deserved what they got, he realized that it must have been hard seeing someone you knew being taken away.

“I still think it’s horrible that they make you watch the Abolition Day ceremony from up close every year,” said Coralie.

“Well, there’s nothing I can do, and it would probably be bad if I made a fuss about it,” Ven replied. “It’s all right. At least they let me keep my eyes closed.”

“That doesn’t help, does it?”

“Not as much as it should.”

Coralie looked troubled and her eyes kept darting back and forth from her feet to the bedroom window she had just slammed shut. Ven kept quiet, staring awkwardly at her.

“I guess it’s time,” he said, standing up quickly. “I have an exciting stack of tax forms waiting for me.”

“Oh, alright…” Coralie’s eyes were glassy. “Before you go, Ven – since your mom is a council member, do you think she’d be able to do something about my neighbors? They’re such good people, they really don’t deserve to die.”

Ven could feel his stomach twist into a knot. “I don’t think I’ll be able to…I’m sorry, Coralie.” The disappointment on her face made his heart sink.

“Yeah, I understand. Thanks, anyway, Ven.”

Coralie didn’t look at him as he left her room and closed the door. As soon as Ven had left her neatly mowed lawn behind, he could feel a weight lifting off his chest.

As he made his way back to the palace, dreading the tedious task he had ahead of him, something else was making him feel uneasy. The number of death glares he was getting from the residents of the Prentice Quadrant was overwhelming. Looks of deepest hatred bore into him from all sides. That was to be expected. He lived in boundless luxury, and they lived in brick huts. Add to that the fact that a lot of their fellow residents were going to be executed in less than a week. Ven’s heart began to race. Prentices, who were often laborers, constantly carried pitchforks and gardening tools with them. He sped up, an irritating doubt beginning to creep into his mind. The weight on his chest returned as he recalled the family’s screams and the pained look on Coralie’s face. He took a deep breath.
The Stratum Order keeps us safe. This is for our own good. It’s for the best.