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Erica couldn’t have explained why she found her grandfather so offputting that morning. He was grouchy, but that was always a given. Maybe he had been talking less and watching her interact with her friends more closely. They were preparing for their daily hike, refilling canteens and knotting laces while Cyrus stood off to the side, fingers absentmindedly skimming over his shoulder.
Ben had noticed, though. He asked Cyrus whether he was planning to hike with them and was met with a terse reply. Ben shrugged and went back to packing, but Erica could still feel his eyes on the back of her head.
He stopped her as the group was headed out the door.
“You’re going to stay while they go hike. We haven’t trained one-on-one in a while.”
She glanced at the other teens, who had stopped at the door, puzzled. “We can train later today. This is good cardio.”
“You’re getting lazy,” he snapped. “The last thing I need is for you to grow weak messing around with less-advanced kids.”
Svetlana looked hurt. “I am not less-advanced-”
“The hikes were your idea,” Ben interrupted.
“Then I’ve changed my mind for today,” Cyrus said through gritted teeth. “Go.”
No one moved, glancing between each other.
Cyrus’ nostrils flared and Erica cut in before he could start yelling. “You guys go. It’s fine.”
It wasn’t until Mike muttered, “Weird,” and started out the door that the others followed. Only Ben lingered a little longer, looking at her for reassurance. Erica gave him a small nod and he left, casting one last worried glance behind him.
Then it was just Erica and her grandfather. Who was…angry? Annoyed? She found it difficult to read emotions off of well-balanced, normal people. When it came to someone as closed-off and unbalanced as Cyrus, she was completely lost.
“Come with me,” he told her and marched out the door and toward his own cabin. Ben and the others were already hidden to her by the thick forest.
Erica was startled to find a fire already roaring in Cyrus’ fireplace, smoke streaming out of the chimney outside. They generally tried to avoid lighting fires during the day, what with trying to keep their camp a secret and all. Inside, she watched while Cyrus rummaged through a crate of his belongings.
“I thought we were going to train. Spar or something.” Cyrus had pretty much stopped sparring with her a few months ago, when she started beating him consistently.
“This is more important.” He lifted a carved, wooden box out of the crate. “It’s crucial to your success.”
Confused, Erica noted the Hale family crest on the lid of the box. It was an intricate insignia, with an eagle and a shield and bits of Latin. Growing up in her grandparents’ house, she had seen it on everything from door handles to refrigerator magnets. What could be more important than training? Cyrus pulled a small table next to the fireplace and set the box on top, gesturing for her to come closer.
He took a deep breath, eyes closed, the way Erica had seen him do when preparing to do something daunting.
His eyes snapped open and he was almost glaring at her, as if daring Erica to disobey him. “You know our family emblem. And I know you’ve seen this before.” He tugged down his shirt sleeve, revealing the skin of his left shoulder and collar bone.
Erica’s mouth went dry.
The crest from the box loomed out from his shoulder in raised, pink scar-tissue. It stretched along Cyrus’ collar bone, from the base of his neck to his arm. The spot where you pressed your hand to feel your own heart beat.
Of course she had seen the mark on him before. She had guessed it was tradition, despite Cyrus never mentioning it. Another tradition Alexander had apparently missed, as he had no emblem on his chest. Erica remembered the age she was when she realized her grandfather’s mark wasn’t an ordinary tattoo. It had been made by pressing something scalding, burning hot into his skin and leaving it there, sizzling and melting-
Erica reeled back. “No. No, I don’t want to-”
Cyrus grabbed her arm, fingers digging into her skin, and yanked her back toward him. Back toward the fire. “Look at me. Look.” He grabbed her jaw, forcing her chin up. His eyes were angry, Erica could tell now.
She was shocked. She thought she had more time. Cyrus had never mentioned continuing the tradition in the first place.
Cyrus opened the box next to him, still grasping her face. He drew out a long metal bar, a heavy rectangle that no doubt held the Hale insignia on the end. He held the long end and plunged the rectangle deep into the hearth.
Erica gasped in fear. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as she stared into the flames, a ghostly blue at their bases.
“Don’t be pathetic. It’s a burn, not an amputation,” Cyrus said matter-of-factly. Her grandad was so calm about this that her reactions felt uncalled for. “You need this. I’ve watched your priorities shift these past weeks. You need to remember where your loyalties lie. What your life and all our work has been for.”
The end of the bar began to shift colors. “My father gave me this brand. And his father before him. It’s tradition. I’ve come to be grateful for this symbol and the responsibility it represents. Nothing is more important, and I need you to remember that.” Cyrus turned the pole, stirring the embers. “Remove your shirt,” he said coldly.
Numbly, Erica found herself pulling her shirt over her head. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the flames.
“I-I thought this sort of thing was outdated,” she winced, hating herself for stuttering.
Cyrus waited another agonizing minute before pulling out the rectangle, which now glowed orange from being pressed against hot coals for so long.
“We’re Hales. We protect this country above all else. That will never be outdated.” Cyrus stepped toward her with the bar held out until her back was against the wall. She could just make out a hellish-ly glowing eagle amid the hot metal.
Erica’s hands trembled, something that had never happened to her before.
Cyrus raised the brand, levelling it with her bare shoulder. “Don’t move or I’ll hold it on longer.”
That was all the warning she got before the scalding rectangle was forced into her flesh. The pain was immediate, white spots covering her vision. Bile rose in her throat at the smell of her own sizzling, bubbling skin. Someone was screaming, distantly.
Erica’s knees buckled and Cyrus forced the brand deeper.
He waited a few more seconds. She couldn’t breathe. Then Cyrus removed the brand and she crumpled to the ground, tears streaming down her face. Her throat felt hollowed out from screaming. Dark spots covered her vision.
Erica was afraid to look down at her shoulder, but she did after several minutes of being curled around herself. If there was an emblem amid the mess of burned skin, she couldn’t make it out. A sob loosed itself from her throat.
Then Cyrus stooped down and pulled her into a side-hug, careful not to brush against her burn wound. “I’m proud of you. That was hard to do.” Erica felt her heart swell even as she tried not to throw up from the pain.
Cyrus had set the bar into a bucket of water. Now he carefully wiped her blood off the branding-end and, almost reverently, set it back into the carved box.
“I’ll leave you to recover for a few minutes. And then we’ll bandage that together.” Cyrus left the cabin and Erica sagged against the wall.
xxx
Erica sat on her cot in the cabin she shared with Zoe and Svetlana, listening to the mindless chatter of her friends as they returned from their hike. They were entering the little room everyone used as a kitchen and hang out space. No doubt they were opening cans and cooking for lunch. Sometimes they played card games, although Erica didn’t usually join.
She was going to have to meet up with the others at some point, before they got suspicious. And sooner rather than later. She was sure Ben was already worrying over her- it had been almost four hours since they’d left and she wasn’t back yet. The last thing she needed was for them to find her hiding in her cabin, licking her wounds like a pathetic little animal.
Erica had forced herself to stop crying almost an hour ago, lest her face be all red and puffy. The piercing sensation near her shoulder had yet to fade, throbbing horribly with her pulse. Darkness flooded her vision if she moved too fast or stretched the skin surrounding her wound.
All in all, she wanted to die.
She had always wondered whether Cyrus would follow through on this particular tradition. He hadn’t with Alexander, although that could be explained by obvious reasons. He had never spoken of branding and she never mentioned it out of hope that he had forgotten. Maybe someday Erica would be able to look at the mark with pride and gratitude the way Cyrus said he did. For now all she saw was an ugly, shameful mess.
Cyrus had said he was proud of her, though. That comforted her more than she wanted to admit. She had done well. Probably screamed and squirmed less than other people in her position.
Erica rubbed her eyes with her right hand, trying to erase any leftover puffiness. Ben and everyone else would come looking for her soon, she reasoned. It was now or never.
Easing herself off the cot, she made her way to the mess room.
Ben met her at the doorway, smiling. “Oh. Hi, I was just about to go look for you. We’re about to eat.” His eyes must have found some chip in her facade because his smile faded. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”
“I’m fine,” she said, brushing past him. She could feel Ben’s eyes roving over her, analyzing and trying to solve his newest puzzle, as she made her way over to the beat-up couch they had bought outside of Juneau. The other teens were making lunch, grilling strips of bacon on a battery-powered skillet and opening a can of beans.
Ben sat on the other end of the couch, eyes flickering over to her every few seconds. He looked worried, but that wasn’t abnormal. She almost didn’t notice his subtle staring, more focused on how her shirt rubbed against the gauze which rubbed against her wound.
The smell of cooked bacon reached her nose and bile crept into her throat. Sweat beaded on the back of her neck as the sizzling sounds seemed to grow louder. The fact that her own flesh was a similar kind of meat had never been more clear as Erica was once again confronted with what had taken place earlier.
The bacon made a loud popping sound and Erica sucked in a sharp breath. Fucking hell, she couldn’t do this. She needed to get away. Far away.
Ben put his hand on her arm before she could leave. “Wait, don’t go. What’s wrong?”
Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me. “Nothing,” she snapped, prying his hand off. Dark spots danced in her eyes as she stood up too fast. The door was only a few paces away. She could make it.
“Woah. Hang on, don’t leave. Is it the bacon?” Mike asked from across the room.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” she managed, her own voice was starting to sound distant. Ben took her arm again, stopping her. This time more insistent. He normally wasn’t this touchy. Why did he keep touching her?
“You know you do not have to eat it, right Hale?” Svetlana added. “I think there is still some salad mix…” her voice trailed off as she looked Erica up and down. She tilted her head, brows knitting together. “Are you injured?”
Silence seemed to fall over the room, save for the sizzling bacon, and Erica became painfully aware of four pairs of eyes scanning her for flaws. Ben’s grip tightened on her arm, worry etched into his face. Erica hated that she was the cause for that, but how could he not understand? She needed to get away.
“No. I just need to-“ She finally pried Ben’s fingers off her arm. “I just need to go out.” Was she even speaking anymore, or was it just in her head? Blood rushed in her ears as she shoved open the door, stumbling outside.
Fresh air replaced the scent of things burning, but her chest still felt too tight. She couldn’t get a good breath, lungs still full of cooked meat. Cooked flesh. Erica leaned against the cabin, pressing her head against the wall.
Why couldn’t she breathe right? The brand hadn’t been on top of her lungs and even then it was just a flesh wound. Not even that large of one- it was maybe only four inches long. And she could walk around and lift her arms if she needed to. What was wrong with her?
She tried to inhale, but it was as if she couldn’t stop exhaling. Something was wrong with her lungs, with her throat maybe? They must have somehow gotten burned, too. What else could explain this? Tears burned in her eyes. Why couldn’t she fucking breathe? Did her grandad do this on purpose? Was this another test?
Someone’s hand was on her shoulder and she flinched. Erica turned to face them and there was Ben, wide-eyed. He looked so shocked, she almost told him to sit down. Instead she slapped his hand away. “Stop touching me! Why won’t you-” Her voice broke as a sob wrenched itself from her throat.
Ben stepped back, a little stung, but she barely noticed. Tears slid down her face. When had she started crying? The others trailed out of the cabin, mouths open at the sight of her. No. No, she couldn’t cry in front of them. Her breaths still rushed in and out of her, all wrong. Pathetic.
She slid down the wall until her legs were folded against her chest. She pressed her head to her knees until all she could smell was fabric and the chemicals Cyrus had used to clean her burn. Erica could hear her friends talking, but she wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying- more focused on forcing her lungs to cooperate.
Something was horribly wrong. She couldn’t get enough air, her head was spinning. What would happen if her grandad saw her like this?
Distantly, over her ragged breaths, Erica could hear Svetlana. She must be leaning over her. “Hale, you need to breathe slower.” Her Russian accent bled into her words, the way Erica’s British one once had. “Slower,” Svetlana repeated.
Erica tried. Her wound was throbbing and she focused on the pain instead of her lungs. It took embarrassingly long to slow her breaths even marginally. Even more embarrassing was the feeling of tear tracks on her face.
She became aware of how close Svetlana was, kneeling next to her. Even with her head hidden by her legs, arms folded to shield her face, Erica could spot Svetlana’s boots out of the corner of her eye. Her panic returned. “Don’t touch me,” she bit out, the words fragmented by the little gasps that come with crying.
“I won’t,” Svetlana quickly promised.
When she could mostly breathe again, Erica rubbed her hand across her eyes. She really had been crying. Determined not to make eye contact with anyone, she shoved herself up and would have marched straight into the woods if Svetlana hadn’t immediately blocked her path.
“Stop. What is this?” Svetlana patted the spot next to her own collar. Erica felt heat rise into her cheeks. Her shirt must have shifted while she was crying. The others crowded around, eyes wide.
“You are hurt,” said Ben, looking upset. He must be mad at her.
Erica adjusted her shirt to hide the bandages peeking out. “I’m fine,” she told them, but wasn’t sure why she tried. No one would believe her after all her theatrics.
Mike scoffed at that, but Ben just looked angrier. “What did he do?”
“Nothing. It’s a scratch.” Erica tried to back away again.
“Then show us.” Svetlana stepped closer again, but must have noticed how Erica shrunk away from her because she stopped. Her eyes softened with pity and Erica hated it.
“Leave me alone,” she snapped. “I don’t have to let you examine me just because you saw me crying and…“ She glanced at the ground she had been hyperventilating on moments ago. “And whatever the fuck that was.”
“That was a panic attack,” Ben supplied.
“I don’t get panic attacks.” She leaned against the cabin again, crossing her arms. The others wouldn’t let her walk away, but she could wait them out.
She expected her friends to get upset, to start muttering about how bitchy and stubborn she was. What she didn’t expect were worried glances.
“Erica, please show us,” Ben started after a moment. “We just want to know you’re okay.”
“You wouldn’t understand even if I did show you.”
“What wouldn’t we understand?” Zoe demanded.
Erica shrugged. “I wanted it to happen.” She didn’t sound convincing.
“You wanted to get hurt?” Erica hesitated to respond.
“Yeah, okay.” Mike stepped forward until he was only a foot away. He crossed his arms so they matched. “You are going to go in there,” he pointed at her cabin. “And show us what happened. And then we’ll leave you alone and you can go skulk in the woods or whatever.”
“Get back.”
“I’m not touching you.” Mike shrugged. “What are you so afraid of?”
The thought of getting to be alone outweighed her stubbornness. It wasn’t like anyone would be letting this go, either. She would have to reveal her wound at some point, either now or as a scar in a few months. A big, ugly scar.
Erica rolled her eyes and stalked into the cabin. Her legs were shakier than she would have liked.
Once inside, she pulled her shirt off quickly, determined to get this over with. She could have gone faster, but was limited to using one arm. The other teens filed inside and Erica found she was more embarrassed for them to see her hurt than in a sports bra. They had all seen each other in various states of undress the past few months.
She gingerly unwound the bandages, her face annoyingly hot. First crying, then panicking, and now blushing. What was happening to her? Under the bandages was a cotton patch, spotted with blood. She’d have needed to change it anyway, Erica reasoned. Peeling off the patch, Erica didn’t want to see her brand again so soon, but it was too late. She stood with her shoulders bare, clutching the mess of bandages.
Her friends were horrified. Erica knew what that emotion looked like- large eyes and hands flying to mouths. But then they were angry and she was confused again. Were they angry at her? Erica reasoned they must be. It was somewhat her fault; she hadn't fought against the brand.
“Is that a burn?”
“What the hell happened?”
“It’s huge.”
“Cyrus did that?”
Her skin looked worse than before, irritated and bleeding and discolored in some spots. Tears pricked her eyes, but Erica forced them away. She took a deep breath. “It’s just a burn. It doesn’t hurt too badly and you’ve all seen it now. Can I put my shirt back on?”
Svetlana glared at her shoulder. “That’s not just a burn. That’s a brand.”
“It’s tradition,” she said coolly. “Doesn’t your family do this?”
“No! That is horrifying, are you okay?”
Erica shifted her weight. The shifts from anger to concern left her uneasy. “I’m fine. I wanted this to happen.”
“Erica, you almost just passed out! You did not want this to happen,” Mike shouted.
Ben’s hands were clenched into fists, but he also had tears in his eyes. Mike sighed and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” Ben cleared his throat. “I knew something was wrong, I shouldn’t have left.”
Erica blinked. “You aren’t mad at me?”
“What? No.”
Zoe looked incredulous, “You think we’re mad at you.” They all stared at her.
“I don’t know. You’re all upset.” Erica twisted the bandages in her hands.
“Well we’re mad at Cyrus. Did your parents know about this?”
“They’ve seen his brand, so yes. My father never had it happen.”
“Of course. Because it’s some fucked up honor thing, right?” Mike bit out.
“I thought it was outdated. My grandad never brought it up.” Her first aid kit was in the corner. “I’m going to rebandage this and go, if that’s alright.” Her tone was cold.
“Wait, you should sit down. Let me.” Svetlana was already grabbing the kit.
Erica, tired of arguing, settled on the end of her cot. Svetlana loomed over her, opening the first aid kit. She grabbed disinfectant, even though her burn had been cleaned a few hours ago. She sprayed it onto a strip of cloth, but hesitated before touching Erica’s shoulder. “Is this okay?”
Erica nodded, eyes fixed on the floor. The spray stung and Svetlana apologized even though she didn’t flinch. Even though both girls were long used to disinfecting wounds.
She avoided Ben’s gaze through the whole process. He had looked seconds away from a panic attack of his own when she first revealed her wound, and now watched Svetlana bandage her up with puppy dog eyes, fidgeting nervously.
Svetlana finished and handed her her shirt, packing up the kit. Erica wondered if she should thank her. She could have done it herself, she reasoned, but it had been nice not to. Clenching her jaw, she said a quiet thank you and Svetlana beamed at her.
Erica started to leave, uncomfortable with four pairs of eyes trained on her. The door to the mess cabin shut with a bang and she froze. Cyrus was back.
The air seemed to have been sucked from the room. Mike pushed past her and out the door, Zoe and Svetlana trailing behind.
Erica started to follow, wondering if she could disappear into the woods for a few hours, but Ben spoke up. “Hang on, maybe we should stay here until…all of that blows over.”
“Why? They’re just talking.” She winced as the sound of shouting traveled through the walls.
Ben nudged the door shut. “He’ll be upset that you told us. I don’t want him to scream at you for crying.” He rubbed his face, “I wish Catherine were here.”
Erica also wished her mom was here, but she wasn’t going to admit to that.
“Does it hurt?”
“It’s fine, I’ve had worse.” She gave him a small smile, but he didn’t look less concerned. The shouting next door increased. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
“Don’t be. I shouldn’t have…I was just worried.” She nodded and silence stretched between them. “Can I hug you?” Ben asked, after a moment.
“Okay,” she said, steeling herself. Ben looked like he needed it. He was careful not to jostle her shoulder, pulling her in tightly. The hug was nice and warm. Erica forced her muscles to relax until she could breathe easier. The noise from the next cabin faded, she felt safer. It was odd to think that she had felt unsafe. She could always defend herself. Could shoot and cut and kick and punch. But this felt better than that knowledge.
So when Ben started to pull away, she hung on tighter. Tucked her face into the side of his neck. She felt his thumb rub against her back, up and down. She felt safe.