Free Seraphs by Faith Hunter

out posthaste.”
    The smell of smoke blew through the old sanctuary on a gust of cold air as a brazier was carried into the room from one of the doors at the front. Once upon a time, a choir would have proceeded through, robed and singing praises. Now it was five burly, brown-robed elders, all armed, acting as bailffs. Two carried long poles with a portable brazier suspended between, the iron brazier glowing red-hot. The others held Bibles and branding irons, all in the sign of the cross.
    Oh, saints’ balls, they were going to do it right now . I looked at Lucas in alarm but he was already turning Ciana into the crook of his shoulder. “No. I wanna see,” she said, resisting, her shrill voice rising. Lucas quieted her with a murmured word, and though she stopped fighting, she hissed, stubbornly, “It’s not fair.”
    The brazier was set on the stage and the five elders, all young postulants, went to the pew set aside for the condemned. The clink of chains echoed in the still air. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation. I stared at the cloak over my knees, the leather burned and scorched. I’d suffered a lot for this town, yet many wanted to see me brought forward in chains, a cross brand set aside for me.
    Scuffling and cursing came from the dais, the words quickly muffled. Shamus said, “Now Mack, watch your mouth. You don’t want to be punished twice in one day. Mack here is charged and found guilty for cursing, lewd speech, and propagandizing in front of a schoolyard and the kirk. Because this is a first offense, you have the right to address the assembled. If we take off the gag, you can even repent, which might cause this court to go easy on you, but if you cuss again, I’ll have you duct-taped for the rest of the proceedings.”
    Mack started speaking as soon as the gag was removed. “I’m not being punished by the kirk because I cursed. I’m being punished to suppress the EIH.” More scuffling ensued while Mack shouted, “You know it’s true. The Most High isn’t real. The seraphs came from another planet and took our world. It’s a plot, a ruse to claim the Earth, to enslave us. We have to fight them—”
    “That’s enough of the conspiracy claims,” Shamus interrupted, sounding tired.
    The rest of Mack’s words were muffled into grunts, unintelligible noises, and sounds of struggle. Vibrations thudded through the wood floor. “May you find absolution and forgiveness in the countenance of the Most High,” Shamus said.
    We were sitting close enough to hear his skin sizzle. I stared hard at my knees and managed not to quiver when Mack’s half-stifled scream echoed dully off the church walls. The reek of burned human flesh combined with the sour stink of the room. My stomach rebelled. I pressed a fist hard into my midsection.
    Two of the brown-robed elders dragged Mack by his shoulders off the platform and out, this time taking the aisle through the church, within inches of me. I couldn’t help myself. I looked up. Mack was sagging between them and one of the men held him by the hair so the crowd could see his face. A two-inch cross had been burned into his left cheek, the top bar near the outer corner of his eye. The brand had pressed deep enough to sear bone, and the cross was blackened, flesh puckered and blistered.
    Tears of Taharial. My fingers started tingling, my breath too fast. Unable to act, not permitted to fight, panic mode wrestled through my muscles. I closed my eyes.
    Up front, another prisoner was brought forward, also a member of the EIH, a repeat offender. This wouldn’t be his first punishment; his original brand had been poorly done, the flesh on the left side of his face drawing up, pulling his mouth into a leering half grin and permanently exposing his molars. Such men were outcasts, wearing rags, persecuted for speaking out against the High Host of the Seraphim, the ruling council of seraphs.
    From the corner of my eye, I saw him struggle, cursing the elders, fighting.