The Prophet's Daughter

by Kilayla Pilon

  “My mother,” I hissed. “Will you explain why she was killed, too?”

  “She was against our cause,” he explained, his voice rather convincing as he spoke – he was telling the truth. Mum had been in the way, she had been against his cause. He spoke then in true honesty, the kind lacking in any of his pathetic lies. He frowned, however, and pulling his arms to his chest, clasping his fingers into a single fist. “She had to be removed, though it did bring me great sadness.”

  “She was -” I began to argue, but Isaac squeezed my hand, pain shooting up my arm and causing me to cringe, closing my mouth. He shook his head, and took a step forward. This time, I nodded and followed close behind, blinking and staring up at Lovelock, a burning hatred in my gaze. He just smiled, blue eyes twinkling with delight.

  “Very much like your mother, my child.” He let out an airy laugh, shaking his head and turning away. The faint scent of lavender drifted towards me as we approached him, but the scent only helped to fuel my anger. “Come, come.”

  “Yes sir,” Isaac said, touching my arm. I pulled away from him, jerking my head side to side, my gaze not leaving the swaying form of my father as he walked towards a wooden door. He took a key from around his neck and bent down, unlocked the room and pushed open the door.

  “No one has touched this room in some time, aside from those who have kept it clean in waiting,” he sighed, taking a match candle from beside the doorway and carrying it into the dark room, giving it minimal lighting. “It is just for you, my dear; a haven for you to remain until the time for the ritual has come.” He continued talking as he went further into the room, more light flooding from the open door as he fell silent.

  I glanced at Isaac and he nodded, a sharp dip of his head, and motioned for me to go forward. I snatched hold of his arm, dragging him behind me as I entered the room, refusing to let go even as I felt him flinch, my nail sinking into his flesh.

  “Not so hard,” he grumbled, and I softened my grip, moving my hand down to his and holding tight to it. Like before, I knew I couldn’t do it alone. My stomach ached, and I placed a hand over my mouth, exhaling a deep breath as nausea washed over me.

  “Sorry,” I breathed, stepping into the room. I took a look at the pictures on the walls, watching as Lovelock pulled back the curtains that covered the windows, coughing as the settled dust was disturbed by his movement. He looked over at me, standing in the sunlight and opening his arms.

  “Welcome home, my dear,” he said, clearing his throat and bringing his arms together at his hips. “I will organize a bath for you and arrange for some clean clothing. Tomorrow you will be fitted for your dress, and in the eve we shall perform the ritual.”

  “Fun,” I sighed, pivoting around to look at Isaac, who stared at me with an intense, sorrowful gaze.

  “Isaac,” Lovelock began his voice light, “you will watch over my daughter while she remains here, yes?”

  “I would be honored to, my Prophet.” Isaac answered in a robotic, monotone voice, dipping his head in acceptance. I struggled to bury my smile, turning back to face the cloaked man that was my father. It was hard to see him as such, but each time I rested my gaze upon him, I was reminded that this man – a monster – was my true father, if what I had been told was true, and the way he spoke to me was not just an act.

  “Good,” Lovelock wheezed, wrinkling his nose. He shuffled towards us and placed his hand on my shoulder, peering into my eyes. “You have grown to be very beautiful, my dear,” he said, before turning and swaying out of the room, closing the door behind him.

  “You’re not going to see me naked, by the way,” I stated, stepping away from a blushing Isaac, and looking around the room, taking it in. It was well decorated, with a large, green chair sitting in the corner and pictures hanging along the walls. Many of them were old and tattered paintings. A large bed sat in the center, pushed against the back wall between two windows. It resembled that of a stereotypical. fantasy princess bed, bright pink and clean, but missing the canopy that would have hung above it. It, instead, had wooden head and footboards – mahogany, from the looks of it. A bedside table sat with a small picture frame containing a small picture, but from where I stood I couldn’t make it out.

  Tap, tap. Soft knocking caused me to spin around. Isaac had position himself in the green chair, and was staring at the door. It creaked open and a small, white face peeked inside, glancing around the room. Brown gaze settling on me for a brief moment, a short young girl with broken glasses situated on her face came forward and stood in front of me, head bowed. In her arms she carried a myriad of colored fabrics.

  “Your bath is ready,” she said in a soft, trembling voice. “Here are your towels and possible nightwear for you to sleep in.” She held them out to me, waiting for me to take them.

  I looked at her, murmuring words of thanks as I took the offering into my arms. I was about to brush her off when I noticed the way she held herself. Fear was obvious in her stance, her gaze dancing every which way to avoid meeting me own.

  “Are you alright?” I asked and tucked the clothing and towels under my arms.

  “Yes ma’am,” she answered, somewhat louder than I expected. I couldn’t help but keep the look of surprise that crossed my face from showing. “Sorry.”

  “It’s fine,” I said, offering her a small smile. “Will you show me to where my bath is?”

  “After that, I want you to return here,” interrupted Isaac, standing up from the chair.

  “Y-Yes,” stammered the girl, nodding at the both of us. “Follow me.” She turned around and scuttled forward, shuffling towards the door. I glanced back at Isaac, shooting him a questioning look.

  “It’s fine,” he mouthed, “I just have a few questions.” He waved and motioned for me to leave. I turned around, noticing the girl had disappeared from sight. I started towards the door just as her head popped back in to see if I was following. I followed close, pulling the door behind me until it clicked shut.

  I trailed closely behind her, each footstep echoing down an empty corridor that was to the left of my bedroom, due north of the altar. I hadn’t noticed it before, the entrance a small arch way leading into the candlelight path, soft red carpet beneath cushioning my foot falls. It wasn’t long before we came to a room, the small girl pushing open a wooden door and holding it open for me. I stepped in and gasped.

  “This place is magnificent,” I breathed, looking around the area. A large tub, at least ten feet wide, sat in the center of the room – in the ground - with steaming water filled with bubbles, the walls lined with dozens of golden candle holders filled with candles of varying sizes and colors. The only windows in the room were very high up, at least twenty feet from the ground.

  “The Prophet had it constructed a few years ago,” whispered the small girl, shuffling up behind me. “He uses it for baptisms most of the time, though.”

  “And it has running water?” I asked and turned to look at her, unable to contain my amazement.

  “Yes,” she said and nodded her head. “This is where he does to baptisms so the waters have to be clean. He had a lot of people working on its construction and was very demanding that it had to have running, clean water – he didn’t want to baptize God’s children in dirty lake water.”

  “Makes sense,” I said, stepping towards the large tub. She followed, walking ahead of me and pointing to an assortment of colored bottles.

  “He has supplied you with soap and other cleansers,” she whispered. “You are very lucky.”

  “Why is that?” I asked and bent down to pick up a green bottle that read ‘Green Apple Scented.’

  “Because he would never be so kind to anyone else.” She looked at me and added, “Only to you.”

  “Well,” I said, raising my eyebrow. “I’m also going to die in the next few days.”

  “Oh,” she murmured, glancing away. “I forgot. I’ll leave you to your bath.” She turned away and shuffled out the door, closing it behind her before I ha
d even the chance to say another word.

  Chapter 15

  I watched the door for a moment, my gaze hovering on the door. I half expected the knob to turn and someone to burst in at any moment. After a few long moments filled with only the sound of my breathing, I turned towards the bath. I wanted to step into water and let it warm my chilled body, but I did not wish to bare my skin in that place. I wanted to remain clothed, but I could not ruin my outfit and a bath was very tempting.

  With a sigh, I slipped off my tank top first and threw it to the side, followed by the rest of my outfit – my black, now torn, leggings and other items. I looked at the pile of towels and night clothes, picking out a pine green towel and laid it beside the tub. The less time I had to be nude the better.

  I stepped into the bath, fists clenched as the warm – almost too warm - water lapped at my ankles and then my legs and torso. I laid against the back of the tub, the water coming just above my chest with bubbles almost touching my chin. I’d never bathed before, from what I could remember; the strange, tingling feeling rippling around my body sent chills up my spine. I was encased by such welcoming, clean, warm water with no need to swim or struggle to keep my head above in fear of drowning; it was something I had never expected to be a possible thing for anyone, let alone myself.

  “Olive would love this,” I thought, running my fingers through the bubbles and leaving trails. I popped the larger bubbles, tears coming to my eyes. I shook my head and blinked a few times, swallowing back the sadness as best as I could stomach. I can’t think of her now.

  Running the warm, soapy water along my arms, I sighed and leaned my head back against the tub, staring up at the ceiling above me. It was a spiral-like design, winding and twisting until it met in the middle where a small stained glass window let in little light. Despite the near magic of running water, the building did not have any electricity – I doubted anywhere had electricity anymore. Most backup generators would have burned out years ago.

  I reached behind me and grabbed the same green bottle that I had been observing earlier, flipping the cap open to smell the shampoo within. It was a different scent than anything I had smelled before, but I liked it – to my surprise.

  Squeezing out a large pile into my hand, I ran it through my hair, scrubbing. It was harder to massage it into my scalp rather than the rest of my hair, which was sopping wet from being underneath the water.

  “You’re using too much soap,” croaked a familiar voice. “And you need to wet all of your hair first. I gasped in surprise at the sudden speaker and spun around, keeping my body hidden in the water. I hadn’t heard the door open, and in came Lovelock, a wisp of a smirk on his face.

  “What are you doing?” I asked and glowered at him. I wiped a line of soap off of my face, the white foam slithering down my forehead.

  “I came to see my daughter,” he said and closed the door, “to speak in private.”

  “I’m not comfortable speaking to you in this state,” I responded.

  “I’m staying up here,” he reassured as his gaze raked the water, head shaking. “This pool has been the place for many baptisms. It is the purest of water.”

  “It’s just water.” I moved my legs, keeping my body as close to itself as I could, pressing against the wall of the pool, as he had called it.

  “Holy water,” he pointed out. “You know, we never got the chance to christen you.”

  “Good.” I watched as he approached the pool, looking into my eyes, a patient look on his face.

  “Stay over there,” I ordered, pointing to the door.

  “Come, now,” he said, opening his arms. “I just want to see my daughters face.”

  “You see it? Good. Now go back there,” I said, moving backwards as he came closer. Before I had the chance to move any further, however, he grabbed my head, holding tight to my hair. I cried out and pulled away, but his hand was clenched too tight in my hair for me to pull away.

  “Having been commissioned by Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen,” he said loudly before pushing me under the water, holding me there for a moment that felt forever. My eyes stung and water filled my nose and mouth, the taste of the soap foul. I tried to scream, but I only wasted the little air in my lungs. He lifted me up, releasing his grip from my head and tore his fingers through the knots, stepping back from the pool with a pleased grin on his face.

  “What the hell?!” I cried, coughing and spluttering, blinking water out of my stinging, reddening eyes.

  “It is done,” said Lovelock, bowing his head. “You are almost ready for the ritual. Soon enough, everything will be set up and soon you will be delivered to our Father and he will right this world.”

  “Your father can go to hell!” I spat, grabbing a shampoo bottle and throwing it at him. It hit him hard in the chest and he heaved, stumbling backwards, gripping his chest.

  “Child,” he wheezed a hint of anger in his tone. “Enough.”

  “Screw you!” I responded, coughing. He turned around, black cloak swaying behind him as he scurried out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. I heard him shouting outside in the corridor and waited until his voice faded before I allowed myself to breathe again.

  I closed my eyes and clenched my fists, holding back tears. Everything in the world was wrong, he was wrong – he was evil, not that it was any sort of a surprise to me. It was at that moment that his face flashed in my vision, a smirk playing on his snow-haired face and I knew - I knew had to do it, no matter what the outcome would be for me. I had to kill him for Olive, for my parents, for Felicity and all the other people he had ever hurt and all the people he would hurt if I did not succeed.

  If I had to die, so be it. At least my parents would not have died for nothing if I managed to take him down before I died.

  I dunked my head under the water, holding my breath as I washed out as much soap as I could, his face plastered in my mind. I crawled out of the tub and wrapped a towel around my body, sitting down and burying my face in my hands.

  “Why?” I whispered to myself, shaking my head. “Why did it have to be me? Why did it have to be my family?” I shifted, holding my knees to my chin and pressing my face against them, holding that position for a good long moment. It wasn’t until my body had dried and my hair dangled beside me, tickling my bare legs, that I bothered to stand.

  I grabbed the first article of night clothing I saw – a long, light blue, silk nightdress with thick straps and a high neckline. I threw it on and wiggled until it fell to my knees. It was a little baggy and big, and the straps sagged at my shoulders, but otherwise it was quite comfortable. At that time, it didn’t even cross my mind how my father had gotten a hold of it – just that it covered me.

  I stood up and looked at the clothes I had discarded on the floor, the moist towel sitting in a heap. I then looked at the other options I had for nightclothes but, instead, I turned around and picked up my old, tattered outfit. I paused for a moment before heading towards the door. I didn’t need the new clothes, I didn’t need his offerings. It was bad enough I bore the clothes he had already given me.

  I twisted the knob and pulled open the door, stepping into the corridor and closing it behind me. I had expected to walk back to my room alone, but sitting against the wall and staring at the one opposite was the girl with the broken glasses from earlier.

  “Miss,” she gasped, struggling to her feet. “You’re done?”

  “Yes,” I breathed, eying her as I spoke. “Have you been waiting here the whole time?”

  “As were my orders,” she said, her voice soft. “Your guard wanted me to bring you straight to your room once you have finished bathing.” The girl gestured towards the end of the wall, taking half a step away before peering back at me, though her eyes still did not meet mine.

  “You don’t have to,” I said, wringing my hands.

  “I do,” she muttered and reached toward me, grabbing my clothes from my hands.<
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  “I can carry those,” I insisted and reached to grab them, but she stepped away and shook her head.

  “No, I will,” she said again, her voice more solid now as she met my gaze for a brief moment before looking away. “Come on, let’s not make your guard wait any longer.”

  I followed behind her, silent as the short girl shuffled down the corridor a few steps ahead of me. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that shifted with her movement, and I could see her jeans were a bit too long for her, dragging against the ground.

  The walked down the corridor which dragged on for what seemed like forever, listening to my footsteps echoing in my ears. Every time I blinked, I heard the sound of Lovelock’s gasp of pain as the bottle connected with his chest. Each blink of my eyes greeted me with the sight of Olive, small squeaks of pain escaping her as she cradled her bleeding stomach. I heaved a shaky breath, looking down at my feet. I put my hands together and followed the girl, trying to focus my thoughts on the sounds of her feet dragging against the carpet.

  I ran my hands through my hair as if to comb it, moving it all to my left side. Black, thin strands stuck to my fingers as I pulled through the knots that remained in my hair, and I directed all of my attention into my hair, almost stumbling into the girl when she came to a sudden halt.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” she said, taking a shocked step away from me.

  “I should have warned you before we arrived.”

  “Don’t apologize,” I began with a stern shake of my head. “It was my fault, not yours.” She glanced up at me with shaky eyes before she looked down and turned towards the door. I caught a glimpse of a small smile appearing on her face as she turned to the door knob and entered the bedroom, making sure to hold it open for me. Her other hand, which held the clothes, moved out to the side, gesturing for me to enter.

  “Thank you,” I said, forcing her to hold my gaze for a brief moment. It was only then that I got to see the true color of her eyes – a strange colored blue with a lightning-like appearance. “You have beautiful eyes.”