Conscripted: Stained, #1

By Roxanne Venter

The Church has dictated my whole life. Now I've been found unworthy, condemned to an existence of violence.

My new world is a mess of torment and suffering. Hope is almost impossible to find in the fog of bullying, torture, and agony.
What must I do to survive?
How much of myself must I leave behind?
Who must I become?


Perfect for fans of the Divergent, Red Queen and Shatter Me series, this slow-burn, deeply introspective debut novel follows Daphne Jensen as she enters adulthood and is forced to face the harsh realities of the world around her. 

Set in a world destroyed by war and greed, where countries have been obliterated and reformed, and where natural resources are worth going to war over, Daphne Jensen is ready to find her place in adult society. Ocia, Daphne's country, is run by the power and wisdom of the Church and stands as a light against the darkness of the surrounding heathenistic nations.

Like every other Ocian citizen, Daphne has completed the aptitude, physical and religious testing that has formed part of her education and is now ready to be assigned her position for the mandatory three years of national service. She is horrorstruck when the Church then rips her from her family and the agricultural community she has known her whole life and assigns her to a service position in the military. 

Daphne quickly realises that the world is a darker place than she had ever imagined and that, before having to survive her missions as a soldier, she first needs to make it through basic training. What must she do to survive?  How much of herself much she leave behind?  Who must she become? 

Don't miss the second installment of the Stained series, Apostate, coming July 2022!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roxanne Venter
• Release date: Jul 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780620934077

Book preview

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ROXANNE

VENTER

CONSCRIPTED

A Stained Novel

Dedicated in completion to my Ouma.

Even gone from this world, I still feel your love.

© Roxanne Venter 2021

Conscripted: Book 1 of the Stained series

Published by

Roxanne Venter

Sandton, Gauteng, South Africa

[e-mail]

ISBN 978-0-620-93407-7

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the written permission of the copyright owner.

Author retains ownership of all original characters contained within this work. This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner.

Layout by Boutique Books

Contents

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

Epilogue

1

I inhale, forcing away the nagging fear that I’ll soon be separated from everything I know. At least it’s Friday. At last. Next week will be my last week of college before I’m assigned to my service role. I thought I would be done with academic studies after I finished secondary school. I thought that college would be more focused on personality and aptitude testing than secondary school had been, but I was wrong. Academia, I realised after starting college, is like a bad cough that always sneaks up on you. At least, I remind myself, by next week it will all be over, and I’ll be assigned my service position. Yes, next week I’ll receive the results of my final academic testing and carry out the last of the personality and physical testing.

Then I’ll be finished with school.

Then I’ll be an adult.

I’m excited.

I’m terrified.

At least it’s Friday. I’ve always looked forward to the weekend. It’s not that I don’t enjoy school, it’s just that I’d rather spend that time with my family. Walking homewards after school, I pause when I reach the stretch of colourful wall that runs next to the road that will take me home. Like all the artwork found in public spaces in Farrowton, this mosaic is from a scene from the gospel of the Saviour’s life. I reverently touch the faded iron palm leaf on the string around my neck, using this moment to remind myself to be grateful for the sacrifices of the Saviour and how, by renouncing His mortal life, He saved us all from an eternity of pain and suffering.

Soldiers, standing on either side of the mosaic, nod casually as I kneel in prayer. These soldiers have the respect of the community around them and are regularly thanked with words, deeds, or gifts for the service they provide in keeping our sacred images protected. Finishing my prayer, I bow my head at one of the soldiers, careful not to make inappropriate eye contact. It wouldn’t do to speak to them; there is nothing I have to say which they would value to hear. I quickly continue my walk homewards, finally heading down the road that leads through the fields where I know my father will be diligently bent over his crops, and in the direction of the hall where I know my mother will be packing jars of preserves.

I’m just about to crest the last hill between me and the small cottage I grew up in when I pause. A wild hoot and a tumble of feet break the peaceful stillness around me. I ground myself, bracing for action, as a swift figure crashes headfirst into my stomach. It’s only from years of daily practice that I don’t land up in the dust.

Help! A wild goat! I raise my voice in a teasing panic.

Daph! Theo drags out the syllable of my nickname with a high-pitched whine. Why am I always a goat?

Because you’re still short, I answer flippantly. Luckily, you’re skinny, otherwise I’d have to call you a potato.

Theo groans as usual at my comment. I used to envy his build, characteristic of our laborious lifestyle, whereas I’ve always been atypically larger in shape. Now I try to avoid such vain thoughts. Our banter is a welcome ritual for us both. He always waits for me, even though primary school finishes two hours before college does. He usually doesn’t have anyone to talk to until I get home. I worry what he’ll do when I get posted into my service role. I worry because I know how scared he is of the time when his own service role will be assigned. I worry because I don’t want my brother’s playful spirit to be crushed under the burden of hard labour. My concern for my brother eats at me, leaving a trail of doubt, because I understand too well the selfish fears that Theo sometimes finds the courage to tell me.

I gulp a breath and force my worries aside. I assure myself that everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. We’ve been taught that the Saviour has preordained it so. Until then, I’ll try to keep my faith and value every passing moment with my little brother. Ruffling his hair with one hand, I slump my heavy bag onto his shoulder with the other. He groans under the weight but doesn’t say anything, a smile playing on his sun-marked face.

We continue our walk home in silence, taking in the beauty around us. We both know how blessed we are—not only to live in Ocia, but that Ocia is such fruitful land. After the earth heated and all the technological crutches of past civilizations failed, the world was redivided. The result of years of violent and bloody warfare. Ocia stands out in the reformed world as a model of virtue and faith. We are blessed to live under the protection and leadership of the Church and to live with the valuable resources that come from the arable land and drinkable water bestowed on us by the Saviour.

Yet ... I still can’t help but worry about Theo. I know I shouldn’t worry. I know I should redirect my concerns into faith, but I can’t help it. Theo is the most sensitive person in the family but also the most outspoken. Neither of these qualities are valued by the Church or the aptitude tests that he will face as soon as he starts secondary school. I’m so lost in thought as we walk up the pathway to our front door that I almost crash into him when he freezes in the doorway.

Daph, I forgot to tell you! He bounces. A letter came from Andie. Mom says we can open it tonight at dinner.

His eagerness is contagious; our older sister is eleven years his senior and has always been a curiosity to him. He thrives on her affection, even though her service role as a researcher keeps her too busy for frequent visits. She writes as often as possible. When it comes to me, however, it sometimes seems as though the seven years that separate Theo and me are just enough to make us close friends, but not enough to establish the respect that he is expected to give to his older sister.

Theo and I work at preparing our family’s evening meal while our parents wash up after their day’s labour. As per usual, the whole family sits down at the scrubbed wooden table and prayers of thanks are offered to the Saviour before the meal is eaten in relative silence. It is only after the meal is finished that family bonding begins. I used to think that we were quiet during dinner so that no one could complain that they wanted more food. Now, I understand that even the food we have is a blessing that many don’t receive. The ongoing wars over natural resources have left many people in other countries to starve, helpless despite their leaders’ selfish wealth and materialism.

The Church works tirelessly to spare us from the same fate. That’s why we don’t have a government. Governments are controlled by people who lead for selfish reasons. The mislead societies of the past proved that when they ignored the changing of the weather, mutating diseases, and the starving of those they deemed lesser members of society. The Church leads us with love and compassion, to be closer to the Saviour. They see that every adult in Ocia is provided with a vocational calling to suit their potential. Since the formation of Ocia, and the empowerment of the Church, no one has fallen victim to apathy or indifference. While food and resources in Ocia may be sparse, at least everyone has something to eat. And, I remind myself, at least our food is fresh and flavourful since my parents serve in Agriculture; those who live further away from the farms often have to make do with less flavourful preserved food.

After a dinner of savoury bread, buttered potatoes, and green beans, Theo retrieves Andie’s letter from the counter and presents it to our father. Accepting this role as part of his patriarchal duty, my father opens the thick paper with a labour-calloused thumb. While my father is barely past fifty years old, the years he has spent fulfilling his service in the potato fields have left him permanently tired and hunched over. Despite his sun-aged skin and the permanent exhaustion, I see his eyes light with joy as they skim over the words of his first-born child. Andie brought honour to the family and to the Saviour when she was placed into the Academia stream for her Societal Vocational Division. It was no surprise to anyone when she decided to extend her three years of mandatory service into a career; to do otherwise would have meant returning to the farms and spending her life in the heat and sun of the fields.

I tense eagerly as I wait for my father to relay my sister’s words. I know my family secretly hopes that I will be placed in an equally esteemed vocation. I don’t have the heart to tell them that I doubt I’ll even test into Agriculture. Honestly, I won’t be surprised if I only test into Public Works, even though those service roles are usually reserved for those who have either committed crimes against the Church or been shunned. Usually the tasks of sanitation, mining, or city maintenance are left to the blasphemers, outcasts, and apostates. I cringe as I feel the shadows of uncertainty and panic begin to scale the walls of my faith.

Tim, my mother whispers gently, calling my father’s attention back to his present task.

Yes, Blair. My father’s eyes pass respectfully to my mother. He is the patriarch and leader of the family; but, in the privacy of our own home, he is always happy to defer to my mother and her deep sense of faith and duty. My father moves his eyes to the top of the page and takes a deep breath.

Dearest family, I can almost hear the sophisticated musical grace of my sister’s voice shine through my father’s warm tenor...

"I trust you are well. I wanted to write to wish Daphne good luck with the final aptitude tests before her service is assigned. I remember how nervous I was back when it was my turn. Just remember, Daphne, to trust in the Saviour and to trust that the Church works for the benefit of everyone. Everyone from my year ended up exactly where they needed to be; from those of us that were assigned to Academia to the people assigned to Public Service, even the one that was assigned to the military. We all chose the career option because the Church knows us better than we know ourselves and it is by their wisdom that we work to contribute to society in our own equal, albeit different, roles. Mom, thank you for all the care you give us. Dad, thank you for your guidance. Daphne, thank you for your helpfulness. Theo, thank you for your joy. I can’t wait until I can hold you all in my arms again. Under the Saviour’s grace,

Andie Jenson."

My mother’s eyes are misty by the time my father finishes reading the missive. She holds absentmindedly to the palm leaf talisman around her neck; it is identical to the one worn by every other citizen of Ocia. Her hand closes around the leaf as she mutters a prayer of love for her eldest daughter. When she opens her eyes again, they are clear and she stands to start clearing the table, a sign that we are to help her do the washing up before Theo and I will be allowed to excuse ourselves.

My father stands, cracking his neck from habit as he does so. He is not obligated to help with the after dinner washing up, but he probably will anyway. My father has the most generous and helpful spirit of anyone I’ve ever met. He is every kind thing the Saviour asks us to be. This is why, when next he speaks, I know that he is overwhelmed.

Roper came to see me again today, he says to my mother, eyes downcast.

I see my mother’s spine stiffen, she forces a polite neutral voice for her response. About what, dear?

Same as always, my father huffs, rubbing his tired hands together. The weak light from the single electric bulb in the kitchen makes his ruddy skin look so much like the soil in which he works.

Timothy, my mother’s sigh is its own kind of exhaustion. She knows the pattern of this conversation. It happens regularly.

I know, Blair, he almost sounds annoyed with himself. Their conversation happens over Theo and me as we do our best to remain unobtrusive. My father pinches the bridge of his nose before continuing, It just seems as though Arthur Roper has actively worked against me since you and I got engaged. You know he still loves you, right?

Nonsense, dear, she soothes him as the tips of her ears flush. Arthur and his wife have been happily married for almost thirty years. Arthur just wants to feel more included in the community, that’s all.

Well, then he must— My father stands up straighter, his voice becoming fuller.

Timothy. With a single, stern word my mother’s reprimand ghosts through my father’s features. Theo and I both look away as my father hunches over again. Dear, my mother continues more gently, you should focus on the positive. Remember, Confession is coming up. It wouldn’t be useful to hurt anyone’s feelings.

My father nods, cowed in on himself. Theo and I both try to finish our chores as quickly as possible. Neither of us enjoy seeing my father doubting himself or the Church, and we both know that my mother’s stern reprimand was made from love. She does not want any of us to be obliged to report on his negative thoughts at Confession.

My mother wipes her hands on a faded towel before shooing Theo and me to our beds.

Saturday’s volunteer service passes like it always does, with hard-working hands and quiet mouths. Sundays are by far the most social day of the week. Sundays are for Church. Sundays are the one day a week where, for half the day at least, the entire community lays down their tools and comes together in worship. It’s always been strange for me to see the members of our Agriculture community washed and scrubbed from our weekly baths and dressed in freshly washed clothes. As a whole, the Agricultural communities are usually easily identifiable by our sunburnt skin, and soil- or produce-stained hands and clothes.

Once we arrive at the humble building we meander towards the doors, greeting friends and neighbours as we go. The crowd splits from habit as it approaches the two doors: the men and boys over ten head to the door which will place them at the seats closest to the pulpit; the women, girls, and young children head towards the further door which will place them in the gallery, where mats have been arranged for floor seating.

My mother squeezes my shoulder gently and nudges me towards the small group of girls from college who are talking softly amongst themselves. I join the group and smile at my classmates, receiving some smiles in return.

As long as I can serve my community, Elea Pritty, a petite brunette, continues with the conversation. Just from that clue alone, I know that the topic of conversation is our service announcements. We’ve been having more and more tentative conversations about our hopes and speculations for service for weeks.

I just don’t want to go down a Division, Michelle Mdingi whispers reluctantly, against the shame that darkens her cheeks. We all go silent. We usually don’t voice our fears. We’re supposed to have faith in the Church. Michelle’s eyes widen as she realises she’s voiced her concern aloud. She quickly adds, But I will do anything to serve the Church! Her eyes plead with us to believe her and to forget what she said.

Conversation awkwardly resumes in our little group, but I don’t join in. I can’t say out loud that I’ve been feeling the exact same way. Agriculture is a middle tier Societal Vocational Division. The only lower Divisions are Public Service, Domestic Service, and Public Works. While I know I’m unworthy of entering the Religious Leadership Division, and that I’m not smart enough to enter Academia, like Andie did, there are still the Media and Artisan Divisions. Although, if I’m honest with myself, I’d rather just stay in Agriculture. I want to stay close to my family. I want to serve the community, the Church, and the Saviour in the ways in which I’m familiar, surrounded by my loved ones. I stop my thoughts. Such thoughts are a sign of doubt and doubt, I have been taught, stems from an absence of faith.

The gong sounds to start the service. I force myself away from my doubts and give the Bishop the attention to which he is entitled.

Welcome, by the grace of the Saviour. His warm voice calls out as he stands at the pulpit. He is framed by flags of the familiar palm leaf.

By the grace of the Saviour, the congregation echoes back to him in unison.

Knowing that the older children in our midst are about to finish their schooling and join our society as contributing adults, I feel my cheeks warm with humiliation for my doubts as the Bishop glances around, it is time, once again, to revisit the events that lead to the formation of our blessed nation and destruction of the godless societies that existed before.

The Bishop moves around the pulpit to stand closer to the men seated on the chairs before him.

In the past, he intones, countries were run as businesses. The goal of living was to have more than your neighbour. There was no compassion. No morality! He raises his hands, gesturing to the palm leaves. The so-called leaders of the past were so obsessed with status, with power, that they ignored how they were damaging the natural world. The temperatures climbed, sickness spread, animals died, plants withered away, and still... he paused, closing his eyes as if in pain, still the leaders did nothing!

A tremor runs through the collected masses. The harsh lives we lead are one of the lingering effects of the inaction of our predecessors.

It was only when the weapons of war interfered with the technologies of the times, the Bishop continues, when they destroyed the satellites, when the electromagnetic systems of the world were destroyed, that the so-called leaders, the great pretenders, were forced to examine the extent of the damage their greed and apathy had caused!