The Church

by Celia Aaron

  “Grace, take her back with you. Teach her to be obedient. Once she’s ready, send word, and I’ll let the senator know.”

  “Yes, Prophet.” The smugness in her voice is another wound.

  “Now, children, come give me hugs and kisses. I must be on my way.” His voice is so calm, warm even.

  I have no doubt his children rush to him with love in their eyes.

  Grace leans to my ear, her whisper more of a hiss. “Welcome back to the Cloister, whore.”

  Chapter 6

  Adam

  The sun is going down, hiding behind the trees. I lick my dry, cracked lips. My skin prickles from sunburn, the cold air causing aching goosebumps to rise along my flesh.

  No one has come to see me since Noah. I’m glad. I can’t be strong anymore. My will is still intact, but my body has given up on me. I can’t blame it. At least I can’t feel my toes anymore. I shredded them on the edge of the small shelf when I was trying to hold myself up. Now I hang. And if I stay completely still, the pain in my hands is just a dull, never-ending ache. It’s hard to breathe, but I keep pulling in air.

  I’m going to die up here. I accepted that fact the moment my father left the punishment circle. When he turned his back on me, it was with finality. I’ve known him for far too long to misread his signals. He left me here to die. I was too chickenshit to tell Noah the truth, to tell him goodbye. Besides, if he knew, he’d try to save me. I won’t let him kill himself for me. No matter how fucked up things are, I still hold onto hope that he has a chance. Somewhere outside of this fucked up prison, maybe he can have a life. He just needs to be strong enough to choose it for himself.

  My Emily ghosts through the trees, her white dress at the edge of my vision. I blink hard. She’s not there. A long day of blood loss, sun poisoning, and cold can do that to a person, I suppose.

  My eyelids droop closed again, and I retreat to where I can find the real Emily. In my memory. Her gray eyes haunt me, and I hope they never stop. Did I ever tell her how soft her skin is? I can’t remember. Doesn’t seem like something I’d be forthcoming with, no matter how true. But it is—soft and warm and so real I can almost feel it under my blood-crusted fingertips.

  Some scuffling in the woods draws my attention. I force my eyes open and stare into the deepening gloom. Nothing there. Except another hint of Emily’s white dress.

  White. I want to see her in another color—all the colors. I bet she shines so bright no matter what she wears. She certainly catches my attention naked. I try to imagine her in a sunny yellow dress, her hair flowing down her back. God, what a stunner. She smiles at me and takes a few steps into a green field. I follow. She moves farther away.

  “Come back.” I chase her, her skirt flying up and showing me her long pale legs. She laughs, the sound light and sweet, drizzled honey on my tongue.

  More scuffling pulls me from my daze. The woods are dark now. When did the sun go all the way down? Something gleams in the darkness. Eyes. A deer walks into the punishment circle, its ears flickering as it sniffs the air. In the faint moonlight, it looks white, the shadows along its coat painted in shades of gray. No antlers. I’m pretty sure it’s a doe.

  It moves closer. Am I dreaming? I can’t tell anymore.

  Its tail twitches as it walks to me, then pauses beneath my cross. With snorts, it scuffs the dirt, the sounds verging on disapproval. Mad that I’m here or mad that I’m still alive?

  Movement catches my eye—the guard is creeping closer into the circle, his gun raised. Nothing pure can survive here.

  Not this time. I split my parched lips and let out a guttural yell. The deer startles, its white tail lifting straight up as it darts away, its hooves light on the cold earth as it disappears into the trees.

  “Motherfucker.” The guard marches over, gun still drawn.

  “Going to shoot me and put me out of my misery?” I grin down at him.

  It’s Gray, his nose still bruised from the last time we had a run-in. He aims at my leg. “No. But putting a few more holes in you won’t matter.”

  “Aim for my side. I want to get this look just right.” I’d like to spit at him, but I barely have any moisture in my mouth. No need to be wasteful.

  “Sacrilegious piece of shit.” He moves the barrel up until he’s pointing at my chest.

  “Just playing the role I’ve been given.” I try to put my feet down, but I can’t feel the board beneath me anymore.

  “The Prophet should have killed you straight up.”

  “Second-guessing the Almighty? Better watch out for the lightning bolt.”

  His eyes narrow, his finger closing on the trigger as the muzzle lifts even higher until he’s aiming at my face.

  “Do it, coward.” I close my eyes and wait.

  Maybe I’ll see Faith again. I’d give anything to hold her one more time, to tell her how much I love her. Even with that happy thought of reunion, regret stings in my chest at what I’m about to lose. Goodbye Emily. Her white dress flutters away from me, gone beyond my reach.

  A thunk and a groan pull me back into the now.

  Gray lies face down on the hard earth, not moving.

  A woman stands next to him, a pistol in her hand. “He’s out, but he’ll live.” She’s wearing a black mask, but her voice is familiar.

  “I know you.”

  “No shit.” She motions toward the trees and two more women—also in masks—run out with a wooden ladder.

  “He’ll kill you for this.” I can’t tell if this is real or I’m already dead. But if I were dead, wouldn’t I be seeing Faith instead of these masked people?

  They steady the ladder against the wood and the first one climbs up. She brandishes a hammer, the claw end pointed toward my right hand. “This is going to hurt.”

  “Pain? That’s a new one. Changing it up a bit for me. I like your sty—” My words cut off on a yell as she hooks the nail in my hand and yanks it free.

  “One down.” She drops the nail to the ground and climbs another step, leaning out so she can reach my other hand.

  “Don’t.” I can’t see through the gloomy streaks in my vision.

  “I have to. I’m sorry.” She grips my wrist and uses the claw hammer again.

  I can’t breathe through the agony, and I don’t understand why I’m still conscious. Bad luck.

  She saws through the leather straps at my arms. I can’t stand, can’t even feel my feet. Maybe I’m floating, Jesus come back to earth on a trash heap of pain instead of a cloud of glory. That has to be it.

  With a grunt, she leans my body against her. Everything hurts.

  “I need help.” Her words are strained. “He’s like a bag of fucking bricks.”

  “Lower him.” The other two women stand beneath me, their hands up.

  I don’t know how she manages not to drop me. Her muscles shake as she slides me down her body toward the women below. At the last moment, the ladder gives, sliding sideways. I fall, the women catching me roughly, my back scraping against the hard earth as I slip from their grasp.

  “Fuck!” She leaps off the tumbling ladder and lands on her ass.

  “You okay?” one of the women calls to her.

  “Good. Just going to have a sore tail for a while.”

  “So, the usual.” The third woman kneels in front of me and inspects my body. “Shit. Look at these toes.”

  “The Prophet will kill all of you.” I turn and stare at the first woman, her eyes black dots in the holes of her ski mask, though I know from memory that her irises are a deep green. “This won’t go unpunished. Why are you doing this?”

  She huffs out a sigh, her breath a white plume in the cold night, then pulls off her mask. “I can assure you this wasn’t my idea, but you’re valuable.” Jez rolls her eyes at me, no love lost between us. “Apparently.”

  Chapter 7

  Noah

  I sit in my father’s office even though my thoughts are about a mile away in the punishment circle where Adam remains. It’s
already dark, and Adam won’t last long in the dropping temperatures. I have to talk Dad into bringing him down. Fuck, I want another drink, or maybe more than just one.

  Castro sidles in, his rifle slung across his shoulder like he’s some sort of GI Joe wannabe. I flex my fists. Taking him down wouldn’t be hard if we were just man to man. But there’s no point in me being pissed at him. He’s just a tool in every sense of the word.

  “Noah, I have business to attend to, so make it quick.” Dad walks in, his steps unhurried despite his words.

  “Adam.”

  He sits behind his desk and peers at me. “What about him?”

  “He has to come down. Now.”

  “No.” He pins me with a glare. “Adam made his choice, and now I’ve made mine.”

  “Dad.” I lean forward, trying to find some connection between us. “Please. It’s Adam. He’ll die—”

  “He knew the consequences of what he did with that Maiden.” Dad speaks about killing his firstborn with an air of easy acceptance. “He has to pay for his sins, just like we all do.”

  I shake my head. “But, Dad—”

  “He disobeyed his Prophet.” He drums his fingers on the desk. “I am an emissary of the Lord, of the Father of Fire. To disobey me is to disobey them. That can’t go unpunished.”

  “He’s been punished!” I stand.

  Castro fidgets on the couch, his hands going to the rifle.

  “You’ve left him up there all day. He’ll be lucky if he doesn’t lose any fingers or toes to frostbite. Dad, please. He’s had enough.”

  “Son.” He lets the word hang, beats passing by as he stares up at me. His dark eyes are familiar. But they’re so hard now, even more so than I remember. “I’ve made my judgment. Adam will remain on the cross.”

  “He’ll die!” I step toward him, and Castro rises.

  “And that’s his own fault!” my father roars and slams his hand on the desk. “He ran headlong at this punishment, and I had to give him what he deserves. I am the Prophet, Noah! Not just a man, not your father, not anything except the direct emissary of the Almighty! My judgment is final.” His chest heaves as he glowers at me.

  My righteous anger recedes until all I’m left with is desperation. “Dad, please.”

  “Get out.” He leans his head back and closes his eyes. “I have meetings.”

  “Dad, you—”

  “You heard him.” Castro steps toward me, his gun cradled in his arms like a baby. “Move.”

  I stare at Dad, but he doesn’t look at me. I’ve been dismissed, and Adam’s death warrant signed. There is no changing any of it.

  “I do have one task for you.” His voice is calm now, the mask back in place.

  I don’t respond, just stand outside his door and wait. Zion leans against the wall near the main staircase, his smug smile a punch to my gut. I hate that guy.

  Dad continues, “Delilah needs a new Protector. She’s returning to the Cloister. I’m assigning you.”

  More weight piles onto my back, but I don’t care anymore. I’m about to make some mistakes, big ones—so a little extra bullshit from my father barely makes a dent.

  “Go to her tonight. Use a firm hand. She’s gotten out of control. Adam went too easy on her, and now she’s a feral bitch. Get her back in line.”

  I walk away, my steps hollow in the gilded foyer.

  “Don’t fail me, son.” His cold voice follows me. “There’s always room for more on the cross.”

  I creep through the trees, my dark clothes warding off the cold and prying eyes. The icy wind reminds me that I need to hurry, to get to Adam as quickly as possible. But if I’m not careful, one of the guards will bust me, and then there’ll be no saving anyone. So, instead of rushing toward the punishment circle, I ease through the underbrush, keeping my eyes and ears attuned to any noises. A few animals scuttle through the dry leaves, and the wind knocks some of the trees together. Other than that, the night is still.

  The crosses finally come into view. I’m on the backside of them, and I squint into the dark to try and find Adam’s figure on the middle cross. I can’t see him. Must be the angle. I circle around a bit, edging nearer and peeking toward the road. The guard is out of view, but I know there’s at least one stationed at the entrance to the punishment circle. Dad wouldn’t leave Adam’s death to chance. I swallow the thought; it scrapes down my throat like a tangle of thorns. For the hundredth time today, I think about how badly I need a drink.

  Keep it together. You owe him that much.

  I reach into my pocket and palm my pistol. Killing has never been something I’ve wanted. But now, I see no other way around it. If the guard catches me, I’ll have no other option. I just hope that I can get Adam down without anyone seeing.

  Easing closer, I hug the edge of the circle. The clouds strangle what little moonlight there is, leaving the ground shadowy. But I think I see a lump near the foot of the cross. I still haven’t spotted Adam, which seems wrong. I’m far enough to the side to have a view of him, but … maybe my eyes are deceiving me, because it seems like he isn’t there. Did Dad change his mind?

  I bury that little spark of hope and ease closer. But it isn’t a trick. The cross is bare. No Adam. The lump on the ground groans and rolls over.

  The fuck?

  “Gray?” I take another step and turn my head to the cross. He’s gone, and from the looks of Gray, it wasn’t my father’s decision to bring him down. I slide my pistol into my pocket and try to process what the hell is going on. Someone saved Adam before I even got here. Who?

  Gray sits up and rubs the back of his head. “Shit.” When he lifts his eyes to the empty cross, he spits a litany of curses, then turns to me. “Was it you?”

  “Was it me what?” I smirk. “I just came out here to say my goodbyes and found your dumbass on the ground. Where’s Adam?”

  He scrambles to his feet and stares, slack jawed, at the cross. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

  I laugh, unable to bottle my glee. “You lost him.” My laughter invades the frosted air, out of place but so, so good. “You had one job, asshole. One job!”

  “Shut up. I—” He stares around as if he’ll find Adam just standing there waiting to be hammered back into place. “He has to be somewhere.”

  I pull my phone from my pocket. “I’ll just call up Dad and let him know that you—”

  “Wait!” He holds up his hands and eyes my phone like it’s a live grenade. “Just wait.”

  I, of course, have zero intention of sounding the alarm. Not yet. I want Adam to have a chance to get as far away as possible before my father finds out. But relief is making me fuck with Gray more than I should.

  “We have to tell him. You know that.” I poise my thumb over the screen.

  “Just give me a goddamn minute. Let me think. Let me think. It had just gotten dark.” His voice shakes as he whirls and stares back at the road. “I saw a deer. That’s right. And then I … I was going to take it out. And then … Adam scared it off so I couldn’t shoot it.”

  That’s the one thing I know about Adam that he doesn’t even know about himself: he has a good heart buried underneath all the darkness and dirt.

  “And so I—” He glances at me, his eyes shifty. “I walked over here and was talking to him.”

  “Just talking nicely, huh? After he scared off your deer.” I grin. “Sure.”

  “And someone.” He raises his hand to the back of his head. “Hit me.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Never saw him.” His shoulders seem to slump even more. “Didn’t even have a chance.”

  I clap him on the back. “Oh, I’m sure the Prophet won’t hold it against you. Being distracted by the deer and then my brother, turning your back on your post—he won’t be mad. Come on, let’s go tell him.” I take unnatural joy in the terror that fleets across his stupid face. Maybe I’m more like Adam than I like to think.

  His eyes narrow. “It could have been you.”

&nb
sp; I shrug. “Could have. But wasn’t. I was with my father at dusk, not over here cracking your skull like an egg.” Elation like I’ve never felt ripples through me in waves. I don’t know who took Adam, but whoever it was saved his life. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Come on, we can head back slow. Give you time to come up with what you’re going to tell the Prophet.”

  When his lip quivers, I hold back a laugh.

  He knows what my father does to people who disappoint him. And this? This is a disappointment so epic that I doubt Gray will come out of it alive.

  Chapter 8

  Adam

  Emily whispers around me, her dress brushing against my leg. I want to reach out for her, but I can’t seem to move. My mouth forms her name, but no sound comes out. I try to blink and look around, but there’s something covering my eyes.

  “He’s awake.” It’s not her. Who is it?

  “Sort of. I only have one more syringe of the strong stuff. I almost got caught the last time I went to visit the doctor, so I’m low on supplies.” An older woman. Her voice is familiar, but I can’t place it.

  “Well, he’s going to need it. These two toes have to go. They’ll rot and poison him if we don’t cut them off.”

  My toes? I want to scream, “Don’t touch my goddamn toes!” but only a weak exhalation of air makes it out.

  Hands probe me, sliding along my aching skin until they press and prod along my sides. “He seems okay. What about his hands?” The older woman leans over me. I can sense her slow breaths.

  “I did the best I could. He’ll have permanent damage from the tendons they wrecked, but the bones seemed intact. I cleaned and stitched them.”

  “This thumb doesn’t look so good. Frostbite got it, too, maybe?” The older woman squeezes my right thumb.

  I try to move and get nowhere.

  “Adam, just relax. We’ve got you tied down so you can’t hurt yourself.” I know her voice. It’s Jez.