The men don't say anything, but they all nod to show that they've understood. That will please Andros. He doesn't like it when people ask questions.
"Sit," he tells them, pointing at an empty row at the front. It's reserved for novices and nobody has been sitting there for a long time. "I don't expect you to take part in our worship tonight, as you don't know the words and rituals yet, but I do expect you to study hard so you can become part of our community quickly."
Again, they remain quiet. They seem like the perfect recruits: silent, eager to learn, pliable. Andros will like them.
2
My husband was too tired last night to continue his painting, so I got to sleep without new streaks of blood staining my bedsheets. When I wake up, his arm is wrapped around my waist, pressing me to him possessively. His chest is hard against the broken skin on my back. When he wakes, there will be blood on his chest. He will punish me for it.
I close my eyes and try to get back to sleep, get some rest before the new pain arrives, but it's a fruitless endeavour. I'm awake, and the anticipation of his next beating is rising up in me, choking my heart.
Suffering brings peace, I recite in my head, focussing on the words the Angel teaches us. Once we've ascended, we won't even remember all the pain we had to endure on the way to his kingdom. We will never feel pain again.
I concentrate on that thought, imagining the Paradise waiting for us. The endless pastures of golden grass, the two suns in the sky, the sounds of angelic choruses caressing my ears. That's how it's written and that's how it will be. This pain is just a test, nothing more. I have to get through it. I have to be stronger.
Andros grunts in his sleep and his grip on me loosens slightly. Is it worth trying to get up without him noticing? No, that might just increase the punishment. I stay where I am, feeling the movements of his chest on my sore back, breathing as shallowly as I can so he doesn't wake from the sound of my breath.
I open my eyes again and look around. The floor is rough, the wood taken straight from the forest without having been polished. When I first moved here, I loved the natural feel of it all, but once I got the first splinters in my bare feet, I rethought that sentiment. Dust is dancing in the sunlight streaming through the windows, and I make a mental note to clean the house later on. If Andros leaves me alone and without further injuries, I'll be able to sweep the hut, maybe even wipe the windows. Their plexiglass always looks dirty and streaked, no matter how much I try and clean them. Still, I won't give up trying. I'd love to have windows I can look through and not see impurities.
Andros grunts again and I stiffen.
Is he awake?
"Little dove," he whispers and his hand on my stomach moves, slowly running over my skin. I shiver in frightened anticipation of what's to come. This doesn't happen often, not anymore, but when it does... I close my eyes again and withdraw deep into myself, willing it to be over quickly.
He breathes in deep as his fingers reach between my legs.
"My frightened little bird..."
He chuckles and drives two fingers into me, surprising me. I'm not wet at all and it hurts. I never get wet for him anymore. I gasp and he takes that as an invitation to wrap his other hand around my head and stuff his fingers into my mouth. His erection presses against my back, hard and ready to invade me.
I picture the Angel in my mind as he flips me onto my back and begins to take me like I'm his property.
Which I am. We all are.
We missed breakfast, but while Andros gets himself something from the communal kitchen, I have no such privileges. I've not felt this bad in ages. Hungry, in pain, dirty. I want a shower, but it's not shower day today. Tomorrow, I think. Until then, I will have to make do with washcloths and cold water. It amazes me that Andros wants me to be clean for him, but only allows us a shower every four days. I'm sure there's a reason for it, though.
I hurry to the office building. It's one of the more elaborate huts; it was built as a community effort and not by just one or two people, like most of the other houses. It also contains the library and a room for Andros to meet visitors. We don't get a lot of them, but sometimes there have been random family members coming to check on their relatives. Often, they think we're some kind of cult and want to 'rescue' their siblings or children, but Andros is good at explaining that we're not a cult. We're a community living in simple ways, working together towards a better tomorrow.
Andros is great with words. He knows exactly how to convey his messages in the best possible way. It's no wonder he charmed his way into my heart when we first met.
"You're late," Heather tells me as I step into the office.
"I'm sorry," I say quietly and take my seat next to her. My bum hurts when I sit, the bruises making themselves known. There's an ache between my legs, too, but I try to ignore that one. I should be grateful that Andros paid me attention this morning; many women in the community would be happy to be his partner. I know he visits some of them, and they see it as an honour to lie with the Prophet. For me it's different though. We're married and we used to have a romantic, loving relationship full of sweet gestures and gentle touches. That's gone now and the man sharing my bed and owning my body is a new one. Not my husband, but the Prophet.
Heather hands me a leather-bound book and a stack of paper. "We need to be quick, we only have one copy left and there are three new arrivals."
I nod and get to work, copying the Angel's message in my neat handwriting. We don't have electricity here, and therefore no computers and printers. We copy our books by hand, like the monks of old used to do. Heather and I were chosen because we have the prettiest handwriting.
I know the book by heart, but I still make sure to check every sentence before I write it down. If I make a mistake, I will have to start that page again. The three new men will want to start learning soon, and they won't be able to do that without their own copy of the Angel's words.
The sun warms my back as it ascends higher behind the hills and flows through the window behind me. It's a gentle embrace that I savour and commit to memory. I store all the beautiful moments and sensations in a large chest in my mind, to draw from in difficult times. Maybe I'll be able to keep these memories once I've ascended.
I only make a mistake once, and by the time the midday bell rings, I am about a third into the book I'm copying. Heather is slower than me, and she scowls when she sees how I have more completed pages lying on my table.
"I'll check for errors later," she announces and leaves the office hastily. I'm not sure why she wants to be at the prayers before everybody else, but she's always been a bit strange.
I righten my golden circlet and run a hand over my shaved head. Tomorrow, after my shower, I'll have to shave it again to make sure I stay clean for the Angel. He wants us all to be pure, not focussed on outer beauty but on the beauty within our hearts. The men are allowed to have short hair because they're not expected to be vain, and Andros can have his hair however he wants to. He's already proven to the Angel that he's ready to ascend and only stays behind for us.
When I leave the hut, I'm struck by the amount of activity going on outside. People are hurrying back and forth, bearing bowls and crates, and it takes me a moment to remember that they're preparing for the new arrivals' cleansing ceremony. The three men Andros chose last night will be helping the Prophet administer the cleansing, but everybody is expected to help with the preparations.
I head to the main square where the figure of the Angel is looking down on us from the pedestal he's standing on. Lacey, one of the first followers of the Prophet, was an artist in her previous life and made the statue for us, following Andros's precise description of the visions he'd seen the Angel in.
It's a beautiful statue and it always reminds me why we're living the way we do. To get close to him. To be with the Angel. To be worthy of his attention.
His golden hair is shimmering in the sunlight, giving him an even more divine appearance.
The bell ri
ngs again and slowly, people are forming a circle around the statue. Some are whispering the mantra, others have their eyes closed in meditation. Some days, Andros is too busy to lead us in prayer, but we all know the scriptures and rituals anyway, so we conduct the midday prayer ourselves.
Today though, he is here, together with the three new men in their bright red robes. They're looking at the Angel in wonder; it's probably the first time they've seen him.
When everyone is assembled, Andros sweeps his arms wide as if he's about to embrace us all.
"My children, welcome into our midst your new brothers: Martin, Noran and Owen."
He points at the three men one after the other. I suppress a smile. He's continuing his strange tradition of naming new arrivals in alphabetic order. He says the Angel tells him what to call new members of the community, but sometimes I suspect he just looks them up in a dictionary. I wonder what the name Noran means or why he's chosen that one. It's unusual. With women it's easy; most of us are named after flowers. Petal, Heather, Rose, Jasmine...
Not me, though. He called me Laya because it means music, and he met me when I was singing karaoke in a club. I've never been a particularly good singer, but he told me my voice was divine and reminded me of the music he heard in his visions of the Angel.
Yet another reason why I'm different from the other women in the community.
"I would like to introduce you to some of my brothers and sisters," he tells the new men loudly. He points at me and beckons me to the centre of the circle. I hurry to follow his command and take my position by his side.
"My wife, Laya, the Princess of our family."
"Nice to meet you," one of the men says. Owen, perhaps? I'm not quite sure who's who. Andros frowns but smooths his expression immediately. The men will learn soon enough that no man is to address me. I'm Andros's and his alone.
"I have tasked her to copy the sacred texts for you. When will they be ready, dear?" Andros looks at me sternly and I swallow hard.
"Tomorrow, my Prophet," I reply, my eyes fixed on the ground.
"Make that tonight," he orders. I don't even try to protest. His word is what will be, even if I have to sit there and write faster than I've ever written before.
"Yes, my Prophet," I say demurely, but he's already ignoring me again.
He points at several people of the community and they all come forward and get introduced to the newbies.
I zone out, already picturing the pages I will have to copy. They won't be as beautiful as I would like them to be, but I will need to do what Andros commands.
The Prophet ends our session by reciting the sacred mantra. I say the words loud and clear, fervently hoping that they're true.
Discipline leads to redemption.
Suffering brings peace.
Obedience inspires happiness.
Pain is salvation.
The Angel is our shield and our refuge.
The afternoon passes quickly and by the time the sun is beginning to set, I finally finish copying the final page of the book. My right hand is cramping, but the satisfaction I feel at managing to fulfil Andros's expectations is more important. He will be proud of me.
I put the pen to one side and get up, stretching. The healing wounds on my back are protesting the sudden movements, but after sitting in the same chair for hours, my muscles need the exercise.
Heather still has several pages to do. I wonder if I should offer to help her, but Andros wouldn't like it if there were two different styles in one book. He likes things orderly and accurately.
"See you later," I mutter, not wanting to disturb her.
I'm almost out of the door when she says, "Ooops," and the sound of a glass tumbling onto wood makes me swirl around.
Water is running over the table as if in slow motion, sinking deep into the paper I wrote on, letting the ink flow freely. I run back, ripping the ruined pages away from the water, but it's too late. Blue ink is dripping down on the table and on my robe, leaving stains that look a lot like the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.
"Such a pity," Heather says cheerily. "You'll have to start again."
Angel, give me strength. I let the paper fall back onto the table. My luck has it that a few blue ink drops fall onto Heather's page and she snarls.
"I'm going to tell Andros," she announces and gets up, taking the pages she's finished with her. As if I was going to destroy them like she did mine. No, I'd never do that.
I don't know why Heather hates me this much. Or is she this evil to everyone? Maybe it's because we're all supposed to be equal, but I'm the only one to wear a golden circlet on my head. Well, she can have it. I don't want it.
I stare down at the ink. A few words can still be made out on the soaked paper, but it won't be of any use to the new men. I'm beginning to change my opinion on their arrival. It's not exciting, not a happy occasion. No, it's going to end up in a lot of pain and trouble for me. They should have stayed where they came from.
The door opens again and this time, heavy footsteps follow the soft sound of Heather's bare feet.
I lower my gaze, not wanting to look at Andros. He's going to be so angry. It's his reputation that I'm ruining by not having the books ready for the new men. He told everyone they were going to have them tonight. Now, only two will have theirs, if Heather manages to finish hers on time.
"Leave us," he tells the other woman and she hurries away, the door closing behind her with a threatening crack.
He's not saying anything, and I keep my eyes fixed on the floor. There's a pool of ink gathering around one of the table's legs, forming a little blue lake. Andros took me swimming to a lake once, when we'd only just met. He'd surprised me by going in naked, but I found his lack of any kind of embarrassment endearing.
Without warning, his hand lands on my left cheek and my head is thrown to the side. It takes a moment for the pain to reach my brain, but then it's intense. Tears sting in my eyes, running over the sore skin of my cheek. Another slap, my right side this time.
He hits me again and again while I stay standing in my place, not daring to move. It will only make things worse, I've learned that the hard way.
When my head is spinning and I need to grip the back of the chair beside me to keep me from falling, he stops. My cheeks are swollen already, making it hard to keep my eyes open.
I sense him coming closer and prepare for the next slap, but he doesn't do anything. Is he looking at his handiwork? Is he admiring the bruises that are likely beginning to form?
My legs are beginning to shake, but I stay upright. I can't show weakness, he doesn't like that. As soon as he's gone, I can collapse to the floor and let the pain overtake me, but not yet. I just have to hold on a little while longer.
"Take off your robe," he finally says, his voice toneless, passive. He's not showing any emotion, so I will aim to do the same. This isn't personal. It's just a punishment he has to do for the Angel. He's helping me become a better believer.
It wasn't my mistake, it wasn't me who toppled the glass and ruined my work, but maybe if I had been nicer to Heather, if I'd tried to befriend her more, she wouldn't have done it.
He's right to punish me.
I do as he asks, wincing at the movement. I'm not wearing anything beneath the robe and am acutely aware of my nakedness. There is nothing between him and me, no barrier to keep his eyes from devouring me. Is he going to take me again?
Something cold touches my chest. His fingers are wet. I force open my eyes and look down to see what he's doing.
He's writing on my bare chest with the same ink that is covering the table.
Six letters, bright blue on my pale skin.
S I N N E R.
That hurts me more than the pain in my cheeks.
I'm not a sinner. I'm a follower of the Angel, I'm one of his chosen few. I follow all the rules, I pray, I believe.
I'm not a sinner.
"Go back to your house and wait for me," he tells me, and just to make
sure that I know what he means, he picks up my robe from the floor. I'm not going to get it back. He wants me to go back naked, so that everyone can see the words on my chest.
He wants them all to know.
"Please..." I begin, but I stop as soon as he slaps my cheek again. Arguing with him is fruitless.
I take a deep breath and step outside, hoping that there won't be many people around to see me like that.
Of course, I'm not that lucky. There's far more activity out there than normally; preparations for tonight's rituals are involving most members of the community.
They look and stare, but nobody says a word. My skin is on fire with pain and embarrassment and I run across the square towards my own little hut. Tears are blocking my vision, but I know the way by heart.
Just when I think I've left everyone behind, I crash into a hard body and almost fall back, but he grabs me just in time and hold me upright.
"What the..."
I look up, straight into bright blue eyes hidden underneath a red robe. One of the new men. There are little specks of silver in his eyes, making them lighter than their azure blue really is.
"Are you alright?"
His voice rings in my ears and I rip my gaze away from his mesmerizing eyes, back to the safety of the ground. I can feel him stare at me, but all I look at are his bare feet looking out from under the robe.
That's when I remember that I'm naked. No wonder he's staring at me. I step back hastily and he lets me go.
Without looking at him again, I run, reaching my hut in a few steps.
Only when the door has completely closed behind me, I sink to the floor, hugging my legs to my chest, and cry.
3
He didn’t come to me last night. Maybe the Angel took mercy on me and gave him the desire to sleep with one of the community’s other women.
The letters on my chest are still just as bright and blue as they were last night. I tried washing them off with a cloth and some soap last night, but it didn’t work. They’re etched into my skin, a reminder of what Andros thinks of me.
Broken Princess Page 2