Excerpt: The Box

Suong had lived in the Right Lily orphanage for five years. His parents had both been executed for treason. The Matron was good to him, whipped him when he failed, and according to official policy, he recieved the same public education afforded to all children.
For his part, he conducted himself admirably, finished assignments on time, and didn't draw attention to himself.
The night his life changed, he had an assignment due before the field trip to the Imperial palace to see the Box – the Ionic encapsulator. He'd bee assigned a paper on the false Messiahs. The Messiah was the one the Faithful believed would free God from the Box where the Imperial Scientists has captured him. He would be marked by his whiteness and eyes like lotus blossoms, prophecy said.
First was Fitz Ghent, who'd had straw-gold coloured hair and pale blue eyes. He'd gathered the Faithful under him and they had treated him like a king. He'd enjoyed it too, until it was discovered that his light colored hair and eyes were comon in the land from which he'd come. The Faithful themselves had turned on him and he'd fled the land.
The other was Heng, and he had hair of a golden colour too, but dark eyes like everyone else. He claimed the lotus eyes were a metaphor for having one's eyes ever on the seat of God in heaven. He had not allowed the people to worship him as Fitz, but rallied them in a rebellion against the reigning colleges. The rebellion was put down harshly, and Heng was taken prisoner. In prison, within a few weeks it became obvious that the colour of his hair was not a mark given from God, but the result of a lye rinse.
His thesis was to be to prove that the false Messiah's had themselves proven the prophecy of the lotus eyed messiah to be false. The difficulty Suong was that Suong, like his parents, believed it was true.
In the end he handed in his paper and scored well. He always did. In the high ceilinged hall-way of the public school after class, he pushed to the front of the crowd to check his mark - twenty-four out of twenty-five. He would have to wait for the paper to be handed back after the rest day.
Suong started home down Salmon Chrysanthmum street in high spirits. The Matron would be glad, though she would do no more than purse her lips and nod, and perhaps give him an extra spoonful of rice for supper.
He cut through the park and stopped at the footbridge to toss a few crumbs from his lunch into the pond for the glittering carp that sucked expectantly at the surface. His parents used to come to this park, and he liked to remember him there. They'd taught him the ways of the faithful, and how to pray silently, so no one knew. How to be kind, and serve others, and that when the Messiah freed God, they would welcome him home in Heaven and kneel at his feet in his light.
And perhaps that wasn't far away. The same year he was born, rumours circulated that a child had been born who matched the description the prophet gave for the Messiah two hundred years ago. The Captain of the Imperial Guard had turned faithful, and fled the Imperial city – some said the Messiah was his own child and he'd hidden it away in a village of the faithful in the mountains, where the Imperial Guard wouldn't bother to look for them. Now that child would be seventeen, the same age as Suong. He imagined what it would be like to have all the hopes of the faithful laying upon his shoulders and shivered. He had enough trouble making certain there was never anything colouring an essay or project, or answer to any question that would suggest that he was not a wholehearted follower of Imperial Science.
Suong pushed off the railing of the bridge and turned for narrow Box Cart lane that would take him home to the orphanage. Many of the children his age or younger had moved out of the orphanage to persue their lives, or been thrown out for shaming the orphanage by theiving, fighting, or getting bad marks in school. Suong stayed to help with the younger children, tutoring them.
As he came to the lane, a large hooded man blocked his way. He stopped. “Pardon me sir,” he said, and moved aside to let the man pass.
But the man wasn't trying to pass. He thrust out a hand to block Suong's path agian and Suong backed away. There were other streets that would take him home. He held his books, heart pounding, ready to run. Was this man an inquisitor, come to force him to confess his faith? His back met something solid behind him and he whirled around.
A second man blocked his way out of the alley. “Suong Jinhai?”
“Yes.” Suong immediately regretted admitting his name, but if they already knew who he was, he supposed there was no cause to mark his soul with more dishonesty than was necessary.
“Come with me, boy,” he said.
“Who are you? What do you want? I haven't done anything untoward or unusual,” Suong pleaded.
“Come with me, or you will be forced.”
“Are you inquisitors? Do you work for the Imperial Guard? If you do, show me your (mark of rank) and I'll come.” Suong glanced back and forth for an opening to run.
“No arguments. The Master wishes to speak with you.”
“You're nothing but ruffians then,” Suong snapped, knowing it probably wasn't true. The inquisitors did not have to give credentials or reasoning for arresting someone. And once they arrested someone, they usually confessed, whether the confession was true or not. Suong was furious that he'd worked so hard to hide his beliefs – who might have sent them? He'd told no one; not one of the children at the school or the orphanage, not the matron. He didn't even go to any of the secret meetings of the faithful, though he knew one person who could tell him where they were held if he asked. So long, so much work to keep himself hidden, so many sacrifices of his own principles of honesty, the ones his parents taught him, and someone he'd somehow crossed unintentionally must have sent the inquisitors after him. What had he done?
But it didn't matter now – all he could do was run. He ducked left and bolted. The man in front of him grabbed his wrist and Suong brought his books down on his fingers and twisted out of his grip, rolling away. But before he knew it, a third man was upon him, pinning him to the ground with a knee on his back.
How was he so important that they had sent three men to catch a seventeen year old boy, Suong thought, fighting to breath as the men stuffed a wadded handkercheif in his mouth. Then still pinning him to the ground, they pulled his hands behind his back and tied them there. Finally they pulled an empty rice sack over his head and dragged him to his feet.
With a hand holding each of his shoulders and legs that felt like pudding, Suong stumbled forward where they led.
“Into the cart,” one said gruffly
Suong climbed awkwardly into a low cart and heard two of the men climb in after him, and the other climb up to the driver's seat to whip whatever beast was hitched to it.
They trundled through the streets, turning too many times for Suong to tell where he was going. He huddled blind in a pile of hay praying silently that he would wake up and this would all be a dream. In just a few moments, his whole life had fallen to shambles, and this would very likely be the end of it. He prayed for the honour of standing next to his mother and father to welcome God home when the Messiah freed him.
When the cart stopped, the men got off and helped him off the cart. Suong could barely walk, but they held him up and guided him inside a building and down a set of stairs into a basement, dark through the burlap of the rice sack. Through the fabric, he could see a single light bulb shining in the middle of the room, but people were nothing but outlines. They shoved him forward into the middle of the room where he crumbled to his knees and bit his lip to keep from sobbing. He steadied himself and and recited a mantra under his breath to calm himself.
I am blissful, I am Immortal. I am blissful, I am Immortal. I am blissful, I am Immortal.
Somewhere above, Suong could hear a lound clanking, steady and repeating. First a louder deep clank, and then a higher pitched clink.
“Do you know why you're here, Suong?”said a new voice.