The refectory always smelled a little bit like boiling grain and wet stone. It was the only spot in the Church of Radiant Mercy where people could talk loudly. Not for free, but enough to remind the kids that they were still people. The wooden benches scratched against the floor. Spoons hit bowls. There was a gentle murmur of talk under the high ceiling, like wind far away.
It was easy to make breakfast. Always easy.
A ladle full of thin porridge. A piece of rough bread. A piece of apple that was saved from the fall stores on rare mornings. Harry stood in line with Rav while Brother Halven carefully divided up the food. No child got more than another. Even if justice wasn't done, fairness was shown in public. Rav took his dish and leaned in closer to Harry as they moved away. "I can almost pretend it's thicker if I close my eyes."
"It isn't," Harry said.
"Using your imagination helps."
Harry wasn't sure about that.
They went to their normal spot on the far wall. Yvanna sat across the aisle from the other girls. She sat up straight, even though she was carefully breaking her bread into smaller pieces.
Before she did, Harry saw the bruise on her wrist.
It was faint, with yellowing edges and a darker center. Partially obscured by the cuff of her sleeve. It was hard to see, but his jaw tightened. Rav looked where he was looking and noticed it too.
"When?" Rav asked in a soft voice.
Harry shook his head a little. Not here.
The Church taught people to be thankful for what they had. Hunger was seen as a sign of spiritual weakness instead of a serious problem with the system. People who complained about food or comfort were seen as morally wrong.
The bread was still hard enough that some boys soaked it in oatmeal to make it easier to chew. Rav bit into his directly, and he just winced a little. Brother Halven strolled between tables with his hands behind his back.
He told them to "eat with purpose." "Food is a present."
Harry ate carefully, even though he wasn't as hungry.
The kids were given their morning chores after breakfast. Harry and Rav were told to go to the storage cellar below the main hall and bring bags of flour to the upper kitchen. It was cooler in the cellar than in the dorms. The air smelled like dirt and grain. There were rows of shelves along the walls, full of preserved items.
Rav lifted a bag onto his shoulder with ease.
"You saw it too," he whispered when they were alone with the containers.
"Yes."
"She didn't say anything."
"She wouldn't."
Rav let out a quick breath. "They're getting tougher."
Harry changed how he was holding the bag. "With everyone."
That's what happened.
Discipline had gotten stricter over the past few months. Offenses that used to get sharp lectures now face harsher punishments. Extra work to do. Public scolding. Sometimes, physical punishment was given in the name of teaching.
It wasn't unusual to have bruises.
But the bruise on Yvanna's wrist looked like a set of fingers.
They quietly took the bags up the small stairs.
Later that morning, the older guys were told to fix a section of the deteriorating courtyard wall. The job involved moving large stones and placing them in a different location under supervision.
Harry worked diligently, making sure that each block was in the right place. Rav moved with more force, and his anger turned into strength.
At one point, a younger youngster dropped a stone since it was too heavy for him to hold.
The pebble hit his foot.
He yelled.
Brother Halven turned quickly. "Keep your cool."
The boy's apology came out in a rush.
Halven moved closer and grabbed the boy's arm, squeezing it hard enough to make him gasp again. Harry felt something move in his chest.
Not mad. Not yet.
Recognition.
Halven let the youngster go after a moment, but the mark of his hand stayed on the boy's frail skin.
Halven said in a calm voice, "Discipline builds character," and then he left.
Rav's grip on the stone he was holding got tighter.
He murmured, "That's not discipline."
Harry spoke softly. "Not here."
"You keep saying that."
"Yes."
Rav put the stone down harder than he needed to.
The morning went on and on.
Harry looked for Yvanna near the well where the girls were supposed to get water when the bell rang at noon, signifying a short break before instruction.
He walked over slowly, knowing that people were watching him from all over the yard.
When he reached her, he murmured, "You're hurt."
She looked at her wrist and then moved her sleeve. "It's nothing."
"It's not."
She looked at him steadily. "Sister Arlena said I wasn't paying attention."
"You weren't."
"That doesn't matter."
He knew that too well. A few moments later, Rav joined them and looked around the yard before speaking. "We need to be careful."
"We already are," Yvanna said.
"Not careful enough."
Harry looked at her face closely.
There was no pity for oneself there. No drama. Just acceptance on top of something harsher.
He said, "It won't happen again."
She gave him a harsh glance. "You can't make that promise."
"I can try."
"That's not the same."
He was sure it was. The lessons in the afternoon were tense and quiet. There was far less whispering among the boys than normal. Sister Arlena walked among the rows during scripture reading to correct people's posture and diction. She stopped next to Yvanna's desk for a moment and put her hand on the girl's shoulder.
Too tightly.
Harry's fingers curled a little bit against the edge of his desk.
He made them calm down. Being reckless wouldn't help at all. As the sun went down and the last chores were done, the kids met in the Church again. There were fewer candles tonight, and the Light was dimmer.
Malrec talked about being humble.
"Pain," he replied easily, "is the tool that the Light uses to make us better."
Harry didn't say anything.
Rav moved his weight a little to the side.
Yvanna stayed still across the aisle.
The kids were sent home quietly after prayer.
Rav slowed down as he walked along the hall that led back to the dorms.
He added quietly, "I don't care what they call it." "It's not right."
Harry didn't say no.
"But we can't fight them face to face," he remarked.
"Why not?"
"Because they have everything."
Rav's jaw got tight. "So we just put up with it?"
"For now."
Rav stopped moving.
"For now," he said again in a low voice.
Harry looked him in the eye.
"Yes."
The word meant more than it seemed to.
Harry lay up again that night while the dormitory sank into an uncomfortable sleep.
He couldn't stop thinking about Yvanna's wounded wrist. The younger boy flinched when Halven grabbed him. The controlled tone of Malrec's lecture as he turned grief into virtue.
Bread and cuts.
Giving and punishing.
The Church provided enough to keep them alive. It also made sure that everyone remembered who was in charge of survival. Harry moved his head a little to the side and watched Rav's steady breathing across the aisle. Rav still believed in good, even though he didn't trust the folks who said they were good anymore. Even when people were watching, Yvanna still handled herself with quiet strength.
Harry felt something change deep inside him.
Just seeing wouldn't be enough forever.
He didn't know what kind of action would happen yet. He didn't know when. But he began to see more clearly that holding on without a plan would eventually lead to giving up.
At daybreak, the bells would chime again.
The bread would be cut into equal pieces.
The sermons would talk about mercy.
And somewhere underneath it all, bruises would turn yellow and green before fading away completely, only to be replaced by new ones.
Harry shut his eyes.
He would not forget.
Every bruise.
Every name.
Every time money and scripture were exchanged.
For now, silence was still his shield.
But shields weren't made to last forever.