The servers spread out among the tables, setting a tiny cup in front of each woman. The moans of the Beater quieted, but it paced in its cage, shaking the bars. The effort of ignoring the sounds appeared to be too much for some of the women, who pressed their hands over their ears and squeezed their eyes shut.
When everyone had been served, the servers retreated with the last of the cups. Everyone watched Mother Cora expectantly. Her face bore the placidity of the devout, a serene smile tilting up the corners of her thin lips.
“Prepare to drink,” she commanded, and the women moved as one, lifting their cups as though for a toast. Cass held the tiny cup between a finger and thumb, surprised that it was chilled.
“And so we pray,” Mother Cora continued, and the voices of hundreds of women filled the stadium. Cass glanced at Monica and saw that she alone did not join in, a look of disgust and anger on her face.
Dear Lord, it is our duty and salvation, always and everywhere to give You thanks for Your sacrifice.
For our blood is Your blood, imbued with the healing spirit of life.
In Your name we bless the fallen, in Your house we welcome them.
By drinking we proclaim Your greatness and implore you to make us whole.
“And so we drink,” Mother Cora said.
Two hundred hands brought two hundred tiny cups to waiting lips, and Cass followed suit. But as the cold plastic touched her lips, Monica suddenly set her cup down hard on the table, splashing the wine.
“Don’t.”
The single word carried on the still night. Hundreds of eyes turned their way. A guard posted at the edge of the tables turned, searching for the voice of dissent. Cass tossed back her wine in a single gulp, hoping to distract her, and it was on her lips to say something, anything, so she wouldn’t notice the spreading red stain in front of Monica—
But the taste in her mouth was wrong, it was all wrong, it was metallic and harsh and familiar and unfamiliar. She felt her stomach heave and turned to spit on the ground but she caught sight of the deacon’s angry expression and forced herself to swallow instead, swallowing down bile and the bitter filth she’d drunk.
Angry whispers erupted at their table.
“Monica, what did you—”
“All you had to—”
“This time you’ve—”
But it was too late. Guards were headed for their table; the first was already dragging Monica from her chair; Monica, who struggled, her expression both defiant and terrified. “Don’t let them make you, Cass. It’s their blood. The Beaters’ blood. It isn’t blessed, it isn’t anything—”
Before Cass could absorb her words, the other guards reached Monica, yanking her arms behind her. She kicked at the table, crockery falling to the ground and shattering. Adele rose halfway out of her chair.
“Don’t, Adele,” Monica cried as she was dragged from the table. “Don’t get in trouble for me. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
One of the guards hit her on the side of the head with something—a stick, a club, Cass couldn’t tell in the dark—and Monica’s words were abruptly cut off, her head lolling forward.
All around the table, women averted their eyes, refusing to watch as Monica was dragged away, toward one of the dugouts. Cora began to pray again and in a moment other voices joined in, until everyone was chanting and the servers began to spread out among the tables, collecting the cups.
Adele sank slowly down into her chair, her face pale in the flickering light. “Where are they taking her?” Cass whispered. “Is she going to be all right?”
Adele didn’t answer. Her lips quivered, and she stared straight ahead, but in a moment her eyes drifted closed and she began to chant along softly with the others.
Near Cass was a glass with a few inches of tea left in it. She reached for it and drank deep, wished for another. She wanted to kneel in the dirt and push her fingers down her throat until she vomited up not just the blood but everything she’d eaten, not just tonight but since waking in the field. Every drop of water, every kaysev leaf, the food Smoke had shared in the school, the hoarded delicacies in the Box. She wanted to purge and purge until everything was gone, including her memories, not just of Ruthie but of Smoke and the way he’d touched her, of Monica’s thin brown shoulders and ready smile, of the Beater in the cage and the tiny cups of blood.
The women gathered in this stadium had all drunk blood. Blood from a Beater, blood that ran through the veins of a being that was no longer human, no matter what they taught here in the Convent. Cass had seen the creatures feast; had seen the ravaged flesh of the Beater outside Lyle’s house, jerking and twitching in death spasms as the last of its blood spilled into the earth.
But only Monica had protested, only Monica had rebelled, and she was immediately silenced. The ranks had closed behind her, as though she never existed. How long had it taken for the women to become inured to the horror, Cass wondered. How long until the liquid that passed their lips was no more evocative than communal wine?
How long until they believed?
Mother Cora let silence hang in the air at the conclusion of the prayer. In the cage, even the Beater was still, lying in a heap on the floor of the cart, one hand wrapped around the bars of the cage. Perhaps it had been drugged, so as to appear to be calmed by prayer. Slowly, Cora brought her elegant arms down to her sides, and then she smiled serenely out at the crowd. “This concludes our blessing. The Lord’s grace be upon all of you, sisters, and good night.”
Cass felt herself beginning to shake as the Beater cart was wheeled back into the enclosure and women began to rise from the tables, conversation starting up again as though nothing had happened.
“It’s going to be all right.” Adele leaned in close and whispered. “I’m going to tell them Monica didn’t mean it, she wasn’t feeling well. I’ll tell them I told her not to drink. I’ll tell them it was my fault. I don’t have any warnings yet, I can afford one.”
One of the other neophytes paused in front of Cass and gave her an unconvincing smile. “It’s really hard at first. I mean…for all of us. But you’ll get used to it. I promise.”
“And even if that doesn’t work, the worst they’ll give her is solitary time,” Adele continued, as though she hadn’t heard. “Last time they put her in for a couple hours. If they’re mad enough they might make her stay there overnight.”
Before Cass could respond, she felt a hand on her arm and turned to see Sister Hannah. “Ready, Cassandra? We need to get you your new clothes before you go back to the dorm.”
Cass touched Adele’s shoulder as she followed Hannah away, but Adele seemed not to notice, her lips moving soundlessly as she calculated what she could trade for Monica’s punishment.
Hannah led Cass to an office near Lily’s and set her lantern on a desk, where it cast long shadows around the room. She opened a metal cabinet that contained a stack of folded white clothes, selected a skirt and shirt, and shook out the wrinkles before handing them to Cass.
When she reached for them, Hannah held on.
“As you know, neophytes dress only in white. You will receive a fresh change of clothes twice a week. I will take your old things.” She let her gaze travel slowly down Cass’s body. “What size are you…a four? Six?”
Cass tugged at the clothes, stiff from being line dried, and finally Hannah let go. “I’m not sure, anymore. Where can I change?” she asked as neutrally as she could, trying to keep the panic from her voice.
“Right here is fine.”
“Isn’t there… I thought—I mean, in the dorm, we use the changing rooms.”
“It’s all right. I’m ordained. Besides—” Hannah’s smile turned predatory “—it’s just us girls here, right?”
Cass swallowed hard. She stood and backed away from the chair, and skimmed off her pants, keeping her back to the wall. She folded them and set them on the chair, keeping her eyes lowered. She could feel Hannah’s gaze on her, and the blood rushed to her face in both embarrassm
ent and fear. She pulled on the white skirt; it was baggy on her despite the elasticized waist and came down past her knees.
Cass drew her shirt over her head, and then she was standing in front of Hannah in only her bra, the same plain white one the women had given her at the school.
“You act like you’ve never undressed in front of anyone before,” Hannah murmured hoarsely and Cass hesitated in the middle of unbuttoning the folded blouse. Hannah was regarding her with frank appraisal, her gaze traveling across Cass’s breasts, the expanse of smooth, taut skin of her torso, her hipbones visible above the sagging waistband of the skirt. “But I bet you have. A girl like you…I bet you have, plenty.”
It wasn’t the first time Cass had been the subject of a suggestive appraisal. It wasn’t even the first time from a woman. But it was so unexpected, here in the Convent. Her heart thudded a panicked rhythm, terror of discovery making a metallic taste in her mouth. Her fingers remained frozen on the buttons of the white blouse.
“Turn around so I can see you,” Hannah continued in a silky tone. Her hand played at the V-neckline of her shirt. All of you.”
“I…I can’t,” Cass whispered, her lips numb with fear. She had to keep Hannah from seeing her back.
“Yes, you can,” Hannah encouraged, but with an edge. Because I say you can. And what I say goes in here.”
And there it was, the relationship that Cass had been foolish enough not to consider. The powerful and the powerless. The hungry and the helpless. Why should it be any different here, where schemes masqueraded as faith, where trades made in the shadows fueled devotions pledged in the light?
How many bosses had tried something like this with Cass, grabbing her ass in the break room, asking her out for a drink to discuss a promotion or a raise? And how many times, Cass remembered, her face burning with shame as she twisted the fabric of the blouse in her hands—how many times had she simply gone along, because going along was easier than resisting?
“No,” she said, frantically trying to figure out a plan. “I mean I…if you just let me get dressed I can…we can…”
A knock at the door silenced her. Hannah’s eyes went wide and startled. “Get dressed,” she hissed. “Now. You’re not supposed to—”
But it was too late. There was the sound of a key turning in the lock and then the door swung open.
Mother Cora stood in the doorway holding a sheet of paper and a ring of keys. Her gaze took in the scene, and her eyes narrowed.
“Oh, Hannah, again?” She sighed heavily. “I thought after the last time—”
“It’s not what it looks like. Not this time.” Hannah’s tone had turned from domineering to supplication. “I was onlyhaving her change in here because there was, there was someone using the common room—”
Mother Cora raised an eyebrow and frowned as Cass scrambled to jam her arms into the sleeves of the blouse, but it was buttoned shut. Frantically she worked at the buttons with shaking fingers.
“Here, dear,” Mother Cora said, taking several steps into the room and reaching for the blouse. “Let me.”
Cass backed away, and her foot struck something and she tripped. She tried to right herself but when her hand came down on the back of a chair it rolled, taking her with it, and she fell, hitting the trash can she’d stumbled over, and landed on her knees.
She scrambled to her feet, but it was too late.
“Oh good Lord,” Mother Cora exclaimed. “Let me see you, child.”
She put a hand on Cass’s shoulder, her fingertips cool and her touch light. Cass flinched, but there was nowhere to go. Hannah, do you see?”
Silence. Then, tentatively: “See what?”
“Don’t be afraid,” Mother Cora said. “You’re the new girl, aren’t you?”
Cass nodded.
Very gently, Cora took Cass’s arm and turned her so that Hannah had an unobstructed view of her back.
Hannah gasped.
“She was attacked,” Mother Cora said. “By the fallen. You were attacked, weren’t you, dear? And yet here you are. You found your way here. The Lord brought you to us.”
Cass said nothing. There was something chilling in the contrast between Mother Cora’s soft, gentle voice and the sparking intensity in her eyes. Despite the kindness of her words, Cass now felt more afraid of her than she did of Hannah.
“You were healed. Weren’t you.”
Cass didn’t dare speak.
“Healed through prayer?”
“I, um, don’t know…” What answer would serve her best?
“Were others praying over you? When you were bitten? Did they save you?”
“I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything after I was attacked, until I…woke up.”
Mother Cora put out a finger, and touched it to the edge of one of Cass’s wounds. The touch felt strange and uncomfortable, but not painful. She traced the shape of the wound, the skimmed-over layers of healing skin sensitive to her touch.
“You woke up,” Mother Cora repeated. “And were people praying, then?”
“I…” An idea occurred to her. “Yes.” It was a reckless idea, but if it worked, maybe it would let her see Ruthie one more time. “I was in and out of consciousness for a while, and when I was awake, there were children praying over me. Young ones. They were saying… They were chanting something and then I slept and when I woke up again they were gone. And—and I was healed.”
Cora sucked in her breath. “Where?” she demanded, excitement making her voice shrill. “Where did this happen? Where were the children?”
“Outside of town. In a field,” Cass said, desperately hoping she wasn’t making a terrible mistake. If this worked, she would get to see Ruthie. And then—Dear God, I promise—then she would leave the Convent, leave Ruthie in the hands of women who could at least keep her safe.
“She’s lying,” Hannah snapped. “Let me get Brenda, she’ll get the truth out of her—”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Mother Cora scolded. “Come here, Hannah. I want you to see this. Here. And here…the flesh is rebuilding itself.”
She bent close to Cass’s back. Cass stood very still. The women’s scrutiny was a unique and burning mortification, but one she would endure.
“She could be contagious,” Hannah protested.
“Nonsense. She’s been prayed back to health, isn’t it obvious? It’s what I’ve said since the start. We just didn’t know about the children. We didn’t know it had to be children. It’s as it says in Psalms—Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the children.”
“She’s making that up—she’s—”
“Oh, dear Lord, this is a day I’ve been waiting for, a day I’ve prayed for.” Mother Cora clasped her hands together and pressed them under her chin, beaming.
Cass looked from one woman to the other, their disparate expressions magnified by the shadows cast by the lantern light. Mother Cora’s rapt excitement. Fear and disbelief on Hannah’s face. Reluctantly, Hannah joined Mother Cora in examining the wounds. Cass tried to stay calm despite their proximity, barely breathing.
“I need to decide how best to share this news,” Mother Cora mused. “There is so much to do. Oh, Cassandra, you are such a gift to us. A reward for our faith.”
She turned to Hannah. “For tonight, I think it’s best we keep her away from the others. I want to make the most of this. We’ll convene later, and figure out what to do, but for now let’s keep her in one of the reflection rooms. But make her comfortable. Do you understand me, Hannah? Comfortable.”
“Yes,” Hannah said reluctantly, casting a malevolent glare at Cass.
“I’m sorry,” Mother Cora said, taking Cass’s hand in hers and squeezing it. “I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here—when you are so much more. Oh, Cassandra…you are going to bring such a great gift to all of us. Do you know what that is?”
Cass shook her head, afraid to speak, afraid to make the wrong guess.
“Faith,” Mother Cora whispered
, and that single word was like a coin tossed, its bright-burning and dark sides flashing in the air, and Cass knew that no matter which side the coin landed on, something terrible would follow.
40
ONCE MOTHER CORA LEFT, CASS FINISHED dressing. Hannah stared stonily out the window into the night, arms crossed, biting her lip in barely masked fury.
When Cass was ready, Hannah opened a desk drawer and took out a gun. “I know how to use this, so don’t get any ideas,” she said, slipping it into a pocket of her skirt.
They walked through the echoing corridor, now silent, nearly all the women having gone to their rooms for the night. They followed the corridor past the entrances onto the field and descended a ramp to the level below the field. They passed locker rooms and physical therapy facilities and, finally, a series of storage rooms and small offices.
“Here we are,” Hannah said with fake cheer. “I’m sure Cora would like me to give you the honeymoon suite, seeing as how she thinks you’re the second coming and all. But she never comes down here, so I wouldn’t plan on submitting any complaints if you don’t like the accommodations.”
She stopped in front of a steel door.
“Don’t worry,” Hannah said. “It’s perfectly adequate. At least, we don’t hear many complaints.”
She pulled the chain from her neck, a half-dozen keys jangling. But instead of opening the door she balled the keys in her fist and stepped closer to Cass. “Look. I don’t know what happened to you, who made those marks on your back, and I’m sure it would be awfully convenient for everyone if you really were miraculously healed. But guess what—I don’t believe you.”
She leaned in so only inches separated them, her hot breath on Cass’s face.
“I. Don’t. Believe. You,” she repeated, pausing for emphasis on each word. “I don’t know what your angle is and I don’t know how you figure you’re going to work it. But there’s no such thing as healing. Don’t you think that if there was, we would have found it?”
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