Volithur shivered at the head of the line as the Steward of the Lord General scrutinized him. Invisible strands of power, strong as steel cables, hauled Volithur about in a lurching circle, turning him like an animal on display. Each tug came without warning and threw him off balance. Volithur barely managed to stay upright as the Steward scowled down at him.


    The inspection of the youths had lasted all of that morning. They had been roused from whatever fitful slumber they had managed on the marble floor of the packed county courthouse, then sorted by the rough hands of soldiers into various lines. The very young were placed into the hovering transport ships of the invaders and flown away with promises that they would receive new families soon who would be stronger than their old ones.


    If that hadn’t been sufficiently problematic, the most attractive of the young women were rounded up and taken away by a hungry-looking officer to a fate Volithur preferred not to imagine. The youths with the sturdiest frames were pressured into volunteering to enter into military service with the foreigners who had killed their parents, destroyed their homes, and stolen their futures. Most succumbed to the pressure to sign on with the invaders. After all, they had all seen how pointless resistance against these terrifying gods was.


    Volithur, however, found himself sorted into another group altogether. One that marched to a nearby cathedral to be appraised one at a time by a representative of the enemy general. Those who were deemed worthy left the chamber through the rear entrance. Everyone else had to retreat to the antechamber, where sneering officers selected from among their numbers.


    The night of poor sleep, without blankets on cold marble, had been poor preparation for a day of standing. Volithur barely kept his feet as invisible cables at one shoulder and the opposite foot tugged him to squarely face the Steward once more. “This one will be presented to the Lord General as a potential ward. Exit to the rear.”


    Volithur stumbled forward at an invisible hand to the back, then continued towards the rear door on momentum. Before he could question the turn of events that saw him as part of a tiny minority, one of the soldiers waiting in the back room seized Volithur by the wrist and pulled him inside. He found himself sitting on a rug with his back against the wall, a glass of water in his hands and a ration bar placed in front of him. Only three other children were there, two boys and a girl, all on the cusp of adulthood like himself.


    The soldier eyed Volithur with naked skepticism. “Congratulations, young man. You are to be the ward of a great man. If you are mindful of your place and work hard, you may even rise in rank to join the Lord General’s army. A bad attitude will see you out on the streets or six feet under. Drink and eat for now. You will need your strength soon.”


    It was the first time one of the invaders had ever addressed him as a human. “My parents are dead,” he said. “Their heads crushed when they tried to surrender.”


    The soldier snorted, then turned and spat. “The Jinn would have done worse. Eat up now.”


    After a moment, Volithur did so. The last several days had been difficult. First, explosions had rocked their neighborhood. Then the power went out, cutting off any source of news. A day later, public water stopped working. Volithur’s parents had a small amount of canned drinks and bottled water, but it didn’t last long. The local stores had been looted before they even thought to stock up.


    They had gotten in their car to leave the city, then had to turn back for home when it became clear that roadblocks had sealed off every means of escape. Piles of vehicles, tanks, and concrete barriers were erected as if by magic to create strategic choke points. Traffic jams were everywhere.


    Back home, they heard the intermittent sounds of explosions and gunfire. No one knew what was happening. Then their door had been ripped from its hinges and they had been forced outside to kneel in the street with all their neighbors.


    Soldiers with hard eyes in unfamiliar uniforms had gone down the line of sobbing civilians and executed the majority. Volithur’s parents wailed their surrender and begged mercy for their child. Their second request had been granted, at least. Volithur was brought to the courthouse with the other youths. And now he was to be ward to some ‘great man’. Volithur wanted to fight back against the invaders, but he had no power to resist them. All he had was grief and fear. And physical needs. Volithur drank the entire bottle of water down in desperate gulps before tearing into the ration bar. Then he closed his eyes, numb, as he drifted into a dark sleep.


    Volithur startled awake at the sound of a loud clap. The soldier who had given him food and water stood in the center of the room. Around the perimeter sat six youths now, counting himself. Four boys and two girls. The soldier motioned for them to stand. “You will be formally accepting your wardships in a few minutes. This may be the only time you interact with the Lord General in your entire lives. Do not make a bad impression. He is a great man and does not tolerate disrespect. If any of you are entertaining ideas of refusing his offer, tell me now and we will arrange for you to join the military recruits instead.”Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    No one said a word as they slumped against the walls in defeat. “Good,” the soldier said. “The ceremony is simple. You come forward when called for, take a knee and keep your eyes low in respect. Look at the feet of your betters, as they say. When you are asked if you agree to be his ward, you say ‘yes, Lord General’. Very simple. Three words. If he asks you any other questions, answer with as few words as possible, always ending with ‘Lord General’. Once you are told to stand, you sign a contract. If you are offered congratulations, at that time you would respond ‘thank you, Master Thrakkar’. Slightly different form of address to reflect your new relationship. Simple stuff. Do not mess it up.”


    The six of them were lined up and marched back into the main chamber, where a middle-aged man with stern, sharp features sat upon the velvet chair of the holy avatar. The seat kept eternally empty at the front of the cathedral for the god of Volithur’s people to claim upon his descent from heaven. To sit in it was blasphemy of the highest order. In ages past, people were executed for the offense. In the modern age, it was punished with a hefty fine and social ostracization. Yet what could anyone do? With the power the invaders held, they might as well be gods.


    Beside the seated man, the Steward stood with a bundle of paperwork spread over the alter. “First child, step forward,” the Steward intoned. A girl stumbled forward a few steps, no doubt prodded by the man’s power, and collapsed to both knees, where she remained.


    “She has the looks favored by your thirty-second son,” the Steward said, this time with a smooth obsequiousness rather than the commanding tone he used with others. “I had thought to place her as a ward with your first household, placed under the castellan.”


    The Lord General’s eyes bored into the girl. “Agreed.”


    “Your name, child?”


    “Liavon,” she whispered.


    The Steward made a note of that. “Liavon, do you agree to serve Lord General Thrakkar Shaocheth as a loyal ward, obeying all orders from his Lordship and his representatives?”


    “I agree,” she whispered.


    The Steward paused. “My words were on behalf of the Lord General. You are to address him.”


    “I agree, Lord General,” the girl whispered.


    “Stand and sign,” the Steward commanded. The girl climbed to her feet, scribbled her name with the offered pen, and then allowed herself to be guided away.


    “Next,” the Steward said and one of the boys began to walk forward.


    “Him next,” the Lord General said.


    Volithur glanced up and froze like a mouse faced with a snake. The Lord General’s finger pointed directly at him. He swallowed once, then took shaky steps forward and took a knee. His eyes fixed on the Lord General’s bare feet as had been suggested.


    “Look up at me,” the Lord General commanded.


    Volithur obeyed, almost losing his balance on his one knee in the process. His armpits were absolutely soaked, dripping cold droplets that ran down his arms all the way to his wrists.


    “He has the look of Harridan,” the Lord General mused.


    The Steward nodded. “He bears a startling resemblance to your late footman, Lord.”


    “Does he have potential to match?”


    “As much as any of these primitives display,” the Steward said.


    “What is your name?”


    “Volithur, Lord General.”


    The man pondered that from his seat. “No more. You are now Harridan. Where did you plan to place this one? It would be insensitive to bring him to the second household where Harridan’s mother still lives.”


    “I had thought the fifth household, Lord. Placed under the marshal there.”


    “That is reasonable,” the Lord General agreed. “Make a note that I want him to be educated.”


    The Steward brought pen to paper. “It is done, Lord.”


    “Swear him in, then.”


    The Steward made eye contact with Volithur. “Harridan, do you agree to serve Lord General Thrakkar Shaocheth as a loyal ward, obeying all orders from his Lordship and his representatives?”


    “Yes, Lord General,” Volithur managed.


    “Stand and sign,” the Steward commanded. The man held a pen out for Volithur to take, then surreptitiously pointed out the name at the top of the contract so that Volithur could correctly spell his new name. He printed the moniker on the paper and handed the pen back.


    As a soldier came to remove Volithur, the Lord General spoke.


    “Congratulations, Ward Harridan.”


    “Thank you, Lord General,” Volithur said.


    The Lord General nodded as if bestowing a great honor and turned his attention elsewhere. The soldier dragged Volithur into the back room once more. He found another bottle of water and ration bar. “You’re lucky,” the soldier said. “You’ll be eating good and receiving a true education.”


    Volithur stared at the cheerful face of the soldier. “I already have an education. I was going to be an electronics technician.”


    The soldier’s eyes went wide. “Oh my, you should not share such facts. Electronics are the type of thing the Jinn mess around with. If you go around talking about electronics, people will think you are an enemy sympathizer.”


    Volithur slumped down to slurp his water and eat the hard ration bar. He didn’t know what sort of life he had been dragged into. The future hid behind a shroud of ignorance. He was something called a ward now, and was going to live in the ‘fifth household’ of a man revered by soldiers who could crush skulls with a thought. Everything he knew of these people suggested it would be a terrible existence for him.


    At the moment, though, he was numb and tired and hungry. Thoughts of rebellion would have to wait for later.