His furrowed, dark look jerks me to life. “I’m fine.” I pull away from him. “I was just praying, that’s all. I didn’t hear you come in.”
His skepticism is still clear on his face. “I called your name three times.”
I rise up and straighten my robe. “Sometimes, I fall deep into talking to the Lord. I’m sorry.”
His face relaxes. “That’s nothing to be sorry for, son.” He nods in approval. “I had a feeling God brought you to us for a reason. Men of strong faith are a blessing to the community.”
I dip my head in what I hope is meek acknowledgment. So far, so good. Although my vision is still echoing shivers through my body. Was it just a subconscious fear, given life in the fugue, or was it real? I don’t even know what I mean by real in that context, but if the fugue gives me information about how to get out of this place, I’m taking it—whether I can explain it or not.
Nathaniel edges closer. He’s wearing a robe now, the same as mine. He pulls back a sleeve to show me a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. There are five symbols inked there; they look like a language, but I don’t know which one.
“I have a feeling you’ll earn this soon enough,” he says with a serious look.
“What does it say?” I ask.
“It’s Hebrew. The language of God’s first people. It says belonging to God.” He lets the sleeve drop to cover it. “You already do, whether you realize it or not, but it seems your heart is yearning for the fullness of that truth. Once you’re purified, you’ll understand. And join the brotherhood. We aren’t the first people to belong to God, Elijah, but we will be the last.”
“The last?” I frown, easing a little away from him.
“The day is coming,” he intones in a way that heightens the chill down my back. “You and your girl should make haste to purify and wed. God willing, you’ll increase our number. But our season on earth is soon going to end.”
This end-of-times talk is making my stomach clench, but it will work for my purposes. “Then I don’t want to waste any time. How soon can I be with Kamali again?”
“As soon as is right by the Lord.” But he smiles, and it’s actually warm. “It won’t be long, Elijah.” He sweeps a hand to the door. “Come, break bread with me, and we’ll begin your instruction.”
I duck my head and stride toward the door. Back down the hallway, we take a turn that brings us to a common room with several tables and a small kitchen attached. The room is empty except for one brown-robed figure doing something in the kitchen. Nathaniel motions for me to sit opposite him, and when I do, the robed person approaches carrying a wooden board topped with a tiny loaf of bread. I can’t see his face, but I assume it’s a man since the cult is clearly into keeping males and females separate.
Nathaniel rips the bread in two and hands one piece to me. I try not to stuff it too quickly in my mouth, but my stomach is still grumbling from the mush, and I’m going on a full day without much food. A small window in the kitchen lets in a waning, red light: the sun’s starting to set. Darkness would make a great cover for an escape.
While I chew, Nathaniel talks. “Our rules are simple, Elijah, and being a man of faith, I’m sure you’ll see the purity of it: give all of your mind, heart, and body to the Cleansed and take no more than the gifts given to you in return.”
“What do you mean by gifts?” I ask around a mouthful of bread.
“Anything from an elder such as myself. I gave you that bread; therefore, it is right that you eat it. Your daily share of food is a gift from the community, one we all work to give one another. Zachariah took more than his share, but the elders released him from that sin by gifting him with a mechanical hand.”
The bread suddenly tastes moldy. I swallow it down anyway. “So any gift from an elder, you are required to accept.”
“The elders maintain their purity. They know which gifts are righteous and just.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, treading carefully. “Exactly what do you mean by purity?”
“Every thought and action should serve the Lord. Any impure one needs to be excised. You’ll spend most of your time in prayer like you were now. I’m truly heartened to see you already so taken with talking to the Lord, Elijah. It’s the only true way to staying pure at all times.”
Behind me, the sound of hard-soled shoes on wooden planks scuffles up to us. “Nathaniel, the brotherhood is waiting to hear—”
“I’m breaking bread here, Jacob.”
The admonishment shuts Jacob up pretty fast.
I twist around to see him dressed in a robe with the hood thrown back.
He gives me a narrow-eyed glare, then drops his gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry, Brother Nathaniel.”
“You are forgiven.” Nathaniel says it like it’s a release from some kind of punishment. “But I understand. The men will want to hear everything.”
Jacob looks up. “There’s talk of taking another party, larger this time, to ensure we reach the camp. Now that the soulless ones and their pets have reaped what they have sown, there may be supplies left that would benefit the community.” He glances at me. “And there may be others who will be in need of purification.”
My heart rate kicks up a notch. We won’t have anywhere to go—much less message for help from the other Resistance cells—if the cult’s men reach the camp first.
Nathaniel nods. “Agreed. I’m sure the council will approve another party. If so, we’ll leave at first light. Tell the men to take to their rooms and pray that we will have even more success on our second expedition than our first.”
Jacob scowls at me. I don’t think he counts finding me and Kamali as a success. And I have to agree with him there.
“Jacob.” The admonishment is sharp, and Jacob rips his glare away from me.
“I’ll tell the men,” he says, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to leave.
I finish chewing my bread, watching him go and trying not to panic. Kamali and I need to get out tonight—and with enough of a head start that we can warn any survivors in the camp that Nathaniel’s men are on their way.
“You needn’t worry, Elijah,” Nathaniel says.
I whip back to face him. “Worry about what?”
“Worry about going back. It wouldn’t be right to force you to return to the scene of your spiritual captivity.” He tips his head to me. “Besides, with God’s perfection, you may be wed tomorrow.”
Yet another reason not to stay. I just nod.
“Which means we need to make haste for your discernment as well,” he says. “Normally, we give our initiates time to prepare. Meditations and prayers. A purging if they wish. Anything that will help ready them for the discernment.”
“What exactly is the discernment?” All this talk of making haste is ramping up my nerves.
“A test of your purity, son.” His voice has turned grave again. “Purity of heart and mind and body.”
My heart lurches, but I keep a cool face. I have no idea what kind of test these people do, but the chances of me passing it are exactly zero. “Maybe I need a little preparation time after all.”
He nods. “I know. Purity is a daunting challenge. And the discernment is difficult for the best among us. But the Cleansed want nothing more than for you to reach perfection in time for the coming day, and the first step is to purify. If you fall after the purification, like Zachariah, remedies are simple enough.”
I put down the last piece of my bread uneaten, my throat suddenly too closed up to swallow anything. Chopping off Zachariah’s hand was the remedy after purification. There’s no way I’m making it through the initial process.
“I really think I might need more time,” I choke out.
The hooded figure that brought us our bread has returned. He has two wooden cups, which he sets down before us, then he picks up the breadboard with my uneaten piece.
Nathaniel grabs hold of his wrist, stopping him. “Finish your bread, Elijah.”
His dark look
brooks no dissent, so I do, picking it up and stuffing it in my mouth.
Nathaniel looks up to the hooded figure. “Show your face to our new initiate.”
The man slowly pushes back his hood, and I nearly choke on my bread. His head is shaved.
“Turn around,” Nathaniel instructs, and the man does. At the base of his skull is an ugly red scar that tears across his stubbled skin. “There is more than one way to achieve purification, Elijah, and I’d rather you didn’t have to take this route.”
I have to fight to swallow my bread so I can speak. “What is that?” I ask even though I know. The vacant expression on the man’s face verifies every horrible thought conjured by my vision: neural implants.
“Your thoughts, Elijah, are the source of all impurity. The implant assures that your mind will always be pure. And if your mind is pure, all else follows. The implant hastens the passing time, brings you over to the Lord sooner, but for some, that’s a blessing as well—better to die without sin than be caught in your fallen state at the exact moment you need to be pure.”
“But… it’s the devil’s tech. You said so.” The quaver in my stomach threatens to bring up the mush.
“Sometimes you have to use the devil’s tools to fight him.”
I nod, shakily, convinced more than ever that Nathaniel and his cult are straight-up crazy. But this is some kind of weird ascender tech—it has to be, along with the mechanical hand. I have no idea why a cult like the Cleansed has it.
Nathaniel waves off the blank-faced man still hovering over us. “For some of the fallen, this is the only path that will save them. I don’t think it will come to that for you, Elijah, but know this: only the pure will be taken. Only the pure will ascend when the holy one comes back to smite the soulless creatures who have taken over our world. He will pluck the righteous out of the world and deliver them to heaven, laying waste to all those on earth who have sinned. And I don’t want to count you among the fallen, Elijah. I can already see you are destined for greater things than that poor fate. Far better to lose a hand or an eye or even the wicked free will of your mind and be made pure again than to be riddled with sin when the judgment day comes.”
I shut my gaping mouth because there is absolutely nothing I can say that won’t give me away.
Nathaniel picks up his cup and gestures to mine. “Drink your wine, son. Along with the bread, it will fortify you for the discernment.”
I pick up the cup, but my hand is shaking. And my mind is scrambling for a way to stop this headlong rush into something I can’t even begin to contemplate the horrors of. “When will it start?” I ask.
“It’s already begun.” He drinks back the wine and stares steadily at me.
My hand’s shaking so bad, the cup bangs against my lips. The wine is bitter and makes me choke, but I manage to get it down.
The world blurs a little, and too late, I realize: it’s drugged.
I blink too fast, and my head slowly sinks to the table.
I’m being dragged down the hallway.
Nathaniel and the hooded man, the one with the implant in the back of his skull, have me by the shoulders, dragging me backward. I’m not resisting because my arms feel like they belong to someone else, and the world is fuzzing in and out of existence in front of my eyes. I have this strange lack of fear, a disinterested distance from what’s happening. I’m observing it, just like back in my room with the vision of the implant being inserted into that man’s head.
My boots bump along the rough flooring of the hallway in a random, jerky kind of way. I laugh at my own feet, then frown because… this is bad. I blink. Part of me knows this is very, very bad. I loll my head back to look at Nathaniel, but he’s staring straight ahead.
We pass through a doorway, and the men deposit me in a straight-backed chair. I slump into it and almost slide out. Nathaniel catches me, then ties me with a really thick rope to the back of the chair. It’s ridiculously thick, like the size of my wrist. Way more than needed to hold me up. He ties my hands together as well, binding them to something on the chair between my legs. Probably to keep them from flopping around like they were.
I look up. Nathaniel has a very serious face. I smile, because I feel good, and why not? The room does that shifting thing again. Nathaniel’s clothes disappear and are replaced by black military garb, but not like the Resistance uses. I blink, my smile fading. Nathaniel’s a soldier for someone else’s army? I didn’t know that. But then his hooded robe is back again, only with the hood thrown back, and it’s like I’ve missed some snippet of time.
I frown at the missing seconds. Missing seconds mean something.
“Elijah.” Nathaniel’s voice is very serious. “Son, I’m going to ask you some questions, and it’s important for you to tell me the truth.”
“Okay,” I say, but my tongue is thick. I lick my lips with it, and it feels fuzzy. So strange.
“Confession is good for the soul, Elijah.” He looms over me.
I glance around, but the implant guy is gone. It’s just me and Nathaniel in a small room with the chair. I smell smoke. I scrunch up my nose.
“Elijah.” Nathaniel’s voice brings me back, and he’s holding something now: a long iron poker with a wooden handle and a red-hot tip. I lean back because I can feel the heat on my face. The acrid smoke of the heated steel singes my nose.
I look up at him with wide eyes. “What’s that for?”
“The discerning drug will loosen your tongue, Elijah. And it’s important for you to tell me all of your sins. All of them. So we can purge them from you now, before the reckoning.” He leans back, taking the red-hot poker with him. “I know how hard it is to let loose your secrets, but I will find them eventually. The quicker you come clean, son, the faster you can pay for them. The discernment won’t allow you to keep them, regardless, so it’s better not to fight.”
I blink. Something inside me is fighting. The world shifts again, just slightly, and Nathaniel is back in his soldier uniform. “I don’t have any secrets,” I lie to his face. Then I smile because this is funny. I have so many secrets, I’m not even sure where I would start in telling them.
Nathaniel sighs, and his robe reappears. “Everyone has secrets, Elijah. Everyone sins. But it’s as I told you: I will discern them whether you want to confess or not. But it’s better for you if the confession comes from the heart.”
I nod my head because in that moment, it kind of makes sense. Like an apology isn’t really an apology if you don’t mean it. I can see that.
“We’ll start with purity of the body,” he says.
I frown because I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.
“Have you already had sexual relations with your girl?” he asks, giving me a stern look.
“No.” The word is out of my mouth before I have time to think. It’s the truth, but somehow it makes me angry. Because that’s none of his business.
“Or any other person?” he asks.
“No.” I scowl at how fast I respond, and the warm fuzzy feeling that’s tripping through my body dissipates a little. I lied before, but now the words are coming out without my control. And I know what that means: I really will tell him my secrets. And then what happens? I try to concentrate on that line of thinking, but it evaporates like mist.
Nathaniel nods. “I expected as much.”
This focuses my anger again—I’m not sure why—but it sharpens my thinking. If Nathaniel discovers I’m lying, the ruse is off. And then I’m done for. I look down at my hands tied to the chair: there’s not much I can do in this state. And Kamali—
Nathaniel leans near my face with the poker. “Next is purity of heart.”
I stare at the glowing tip, and my anger flares with a heat of its own. He would hurt Kamali. He wouldn’t hesitate, either—I know this as surely as I know Nathaniel and his cult are flat-out crazy.
“Do you love the Lord with all your heart, Elijah?”
Oh man. I clamp my teeth on my thick tongue
before it can betray me. The room shifts a third time, and Nathaniel is dressed in military gear again. It’s shabby, handmade like his brown robe. Suddenly, he pulls my head back, holding my hair in one hand and the poker in the other. The heat of the tip sears the air next to my skin. I hear screaming, but it’s not mine. This is a vision of another man, another initiate, in the chair in my place, having the sin burned out of him. My heart pounds, but I realize: I’m in the fugue state. At least, partially.
Reality snaps back.
“Elijah, answer me!” Nathaniel is back in his robe, and the poker is gone from his hand—it rests in a bucket of coals that I just now notice behind him. Missing seconds. Leftover fear sharpens my mind.
I look up at Nathaniel’s angry face. Breath heaves in and out of my chest.
“Answer me,” he says again, low and dangerous. “Do you love the Lord?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. A lie.
“With all your heart?” he demands, leaning closer.
“Yes.” Somehow… the fugue is… a haze closes in on my brain again. I fight it, but it’s like pushing against a thick fog. I forget why I’m fighting.
Nathaniel leans back, nodding. “I knew your faith was true.” There’s approval in his voice. This lifts me a little, but I don’t quite smile.
Part of me knows there should be no smiling in this room.
“But every man has impure thoughts, my son,” he says. “We all sin in our minds long before our bodies follow the wickedness of our thoughts. And now is the time to purge those sins, to purify your mind, so you can enter the brotherhood of the cleansed.”
I just stare at him, breath still heaving. My body knows to be afraid—it coils snakes of lightning along my legs and arms, making them twitch even in the heaviness induced by whatever drug Nathaniel has given me. My mind is still detached, watching him go back to the bucket of coals. The grating sound as he pushes the poker through the charcoal makes my legs jump. He comes back with it in hand.
“You may not have sinned in the flesh with your future wife, Elijah,” he says, “but surely you have dwelled upon lustful thoughts about her. It’s not righteousness in the Lord that has drawn you to her, is it?”
The Duality Bridge (Singularity #2) (Singularity Series) Page 11