“Uh...hello,” I tried.
One woman slipped from a lowest bunk and approached me. She put a finger to her lips. “It’s lights out,” she whispered then pointed to the guards. “There’s an empty bunk on level five. We’ll talk tomorrow after supper.” She hurried back to her bed.
I climbed a thin corkscrew stairway, counting levels. Lanterns had been set into barred alcoves in the walls of the stairwell. They illuminated the steps while still being unreachable. Which meant I couldn’t use fire as a diversion.
No one on level five said a word or even moved when I entered. I found an empty bunk and lay down on the hard wood. No mattress, blanket, or pillow on mine or any of the other beds. Guess penitents didn’t deserve comforts.
I didn’t sleep that night. The guards tromped up the tower at various times, checking on us. They counted, too, making sure we were all there.
As the night wore on, a queasy lump swirled in my stomach. I’d been optimistic in our chances for success. Overly optimistic.
* * *
Morning arrived. Not in the usual way with the slow brightening of the light, but with the gruff voices of the guards, yelling at us to get our lazy asses out of bed. We filed out of the tower and down a corridor. None of the penitents spoke a word. Remembering what the woman had said last night about talking after supper, I kept silent.
We entered a dining room already half full of women. After going through the chow line to collect my breakfast—an unappetizing bowl of mush—I found an empty seat. My stomach almost revolted at the pulpy smell as I tried a mouthful. A gritty cold paste coated my tongue and tasted like a wad of wet parchment. Yuck. I pushed the bowl away.
The others at my table watched me in amusement as they shoveled the mush into their mouths. I scanned the faces of those around me, searching for Melina. The ages of the women ranged from sixteen to fifty years old. Some met my gaze, while others quickly looked away. And a few kept their attention fixed on their bowls of mush.
All wore the brown robes and most had dark stains down by their knees. Their long hair had either been braided, pulled back into a bun, or hung loose. No one had short hair. And no Melina, either. Did we eat in shifts? Or were there more dining rooms? Based on the size of this place, I guessed it had plenty of room for everyone to eat at one time.
Guards patrolled around the edges of the tables with their reed sticks in hand. I followed the others’ example and didn’t make eye contact with them, but I kept track of their locations. So it wasn’t unexpected when one man stopped next to me. However, the sharp line of pain across my shoulders surprised a yelp from me.
“Eat,” he said, pointing to my bowl with his weapon.
“I’m not—” Another sting landed on my upper arm.
“Eat.”
I pulled the bowl toward me and took a bite. The disgusting texture hadn’t improved.
“More.” He remained by my side until I choked the rest down.
After we finished, we lined up to use the privy before heading to the prayer room. I paused at the threshold, amazed by the immense square room. Penitents streamed in from multiple entrances and formed long rows facing the same direction. Well over two thousand people. Pushed from behind, I followed the woman in front of me until a guard yanked me from the line.
“New penitents stand in the front until they learn how to pray.” He escorted me to the front row.
I stood next to a young woman who flinched any time one of the guards came close to her. Nothing was between us and the stone wall. I’d expected an altar or a religious artifact.
Once the shuffling noise of bare feet on stone stopped, a priestess arrived in a silky robe that flowed around her as she moved. She reached the front and gazed at us.
“You are filthy sinners who do not deserve the creator’s forgiveness. Get on your knees and beg for it,” she ordered.
Everyone knelt. The collective thump echoed off the walls. I quickly complied, joining them.
The priestess spread her arms wide and raised them. “Look upon the creator’s glory and pray for forgiveness.”
The skittish girl next to me craned her neck back and stared up. So did the others. I copied them. Far above, the sunlight struck a beautiful square stained-glass window. The intricate design showed a progression of pictures, and I guessed it must be the story of the creator. The monastery’s boxy tiers framed the window. Each upper tier smaller than the one below it. Like being inside a wedding cake.
Believing there would be more orders, I glanced back at the front. The priestess had disappeared and a guard stood in her place.
He strode over to me. “Keep your gaze heavenward while you pray. This will be your only warning.” He touched the reed hanging from his belt.
I returned to contemplating the stained glass window. It had enough detail to keep my interest for a while. However, my neck soon protested the strain caused by the angle. I bent my head to rub out the kink. Big mistake.
Thwack. The reed cut across my cheek and brought tears to my eyes. The guard raised his arm, pointing up. I gazed at the window again. It didn’t take long for the muscles in my neck to cramp and I had to decide between that pain and being whipped by his reed. Enduring as long as possible, I tried to keep still, but as the day continued without any new orders I had to relieve the strain from time to time, earning another slap with each infraction.
Eventually my legs trembled from kneeling for so long. My lower back ached as if I’d been shoveling stones. And my skin burned with multiple welts.
The angle of sunlight changed at a snail’s pace. Sounds of others getting slapped broke the silence from time to time. The ladies in the front row fared the worst. As the new sinners, we hadn’t built up the endurance to stay in one position for hours.
When the sunlight faded and the colored glass turned black, the priestess returned and allowed us to stand.
Relieved, I straightened. My legs cramped and at first refused to hold my weight. The other penitents in the front row also staggered to their feet. Fresh blood stained many of their robes at knee level, including mine.
We returned to the dining room, ate another bowl of wet parchment, lined up for the privy, and were ordered to our towers. All the while I searched for Melina. And because I hadn’t been paying attention, I’d no idea which way to go to find my tower.
Asking a guard resulted in yet another welt. I had to suppress the desire to zap him and take his reed.
Another penitent took pity on me and gestured for me to follow her. After we’d all been accounted for and the tower doors locked, we were allowed to speak until lights out. Everyone but me and the woman who had spoken to me the night before retreated to the upper levels.
She introduced herself as Fydelia and I told her my name. One of my many concerns disappeared. I’d worried everyone called each other by their number and since I didn’t know Melina’s it’d be impossible to find her.
“Let’s go up a few levels and have a chat.” Fydelia glanced at the guards.
We climbed up to level three. The others already on that level stared at me with curious expressions, but seemed content to let Fydelia do all the talking. I guessed her age to be around forty.
“Whatcha think of your first day?” Fydelia asked.
“It was horrible,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. It throbbed.
“You’ll get used to it or...”
“Or what?”
“Or go insane. Some do.”
My thoughts reeled over the whole getting used to it or going insane bit. “Is that—”
“Yep. Every single day is the exact same routine. If we didn’t have these few hours to talk, we’d all be insane.”
“Who says we’re not?” one woman called.
A few laughed.
“Yeah, well, we help each other out here. There’s no fighting among ourselves and we don’t form gangs. We’re not going to make anyone’s life harder than it already is. I’ll show you some exercises to ease the cra
mps, but first tell us what’s going on? We haven’t had any news in months.”
I filled them in. They listened intently, leaning forward to hear every word.
“The High Priestess is returning?” Fydelia asked.
“As we speak.”
“Damn.” Fydelia exchanged a glance with another woman before returning her attention to me. “The war’s going badly, isn’t it?”
“Yep.”
Her forehead creased and she asked me a few more questions about Estrid’s retreat. At one point a low whistle sounded and everyone dispersed. Fydelia pulled me to sit next to her on a bunk. Soon after two guards arrived to check on us.
When they left Fydelia said, “They do random checks and if they see us grouped together or doing our exercises, they come more frequently. And if it seems we’re too friendly, they’ll break us up and assign us to different towers just in case we’re planning something.” She huffed.
“Exercises?” I asked, hoping to prompt her in that direction. My legs ached and even though I healed faster, I still felt pain.
Fydelia gave me a hard look. “If you’re thinking to rat us out to curry favor from the guards, think again. They’ll punish you just as hard as us and then you’ll be branded a traitor. If you think it’s bad now...having over two thousand penitents pissed at you is a hell you don’t want to experience.”
“I won’t say a word.”
She studied my expression for a few seconds. Then she led me up to the sixth level of the tower. Women stretched their muscles in a variety of ways. Fydelia showed me how to relieve the cramps in my neck, lower back, and thighs.
“It’s not a miracle cure,” she said. “It is just a matter of building up your endurance and stamina. It’ll get worse before your body adjusts. After that each day will be a little bit better. And once you get through the physical trials, we’ll help you with the mental.”
“Mental?”
“Once the pain in your body no longer occupies your thoughts, it’s a long day staring at that window.”
“Oh.”
I repeated the exercises Fydelia had demonstrated. From time to time a thump sounded from the level above. More exercises, or something more?
* * *
Hard to believe, but the next day was worse than the first. My neck cramped as soon as I tilted my head back. And all my aches and pains flared anew. Keeping still proved almost impossible. A guard stayed by my side the entire day.
When the day’s prayers finished, my legs refused to unbend. Fydelia appeared by my side and helped me to my feet. On our way to the dining room, I not only searched for Melina, but for Odd or the members of his odd squad. I needed a sign that our crazy scheme might work. Otherwise, I’d go insane. Too bad I didn’t recognize any of the guards.
Later Fydelia joined me as I stretched in the tower.
“Hang in there, Irina. A few more days and then it’ll be better,” she said.
A few more? Not a pleasant prospect. “What happens if I refuse? Will the guards just whack me all day?”
“No. They’ll take you down to the crypt, and...” Fydelia wrapped her arms around her chest.
“Kill you?” I asked in a whisper.
“I wish. The crypt is a place of punishment. Refusing to pray will get you two days down there. The bigger the sin, the longer the stay.”
“Do I want to know—”
“No. Trust me.”
I debated pressing her for details. My imagination tended to run rampant. With those dire thoughts swirling around my head, I about jumped out of my skin when a thud sounded from the level above us.
“More exercises?” I asked Fydelia.
She pressed her lips together, considering my question. “When you’re ready, I’ll show you.”
“You mean when you trust me?”
She smiled. “There’s that. And I’d like to know who you’re looking for.”
Busted. No sense waiting any longer, I had planned to ask her soon. “Melina from Mengels in Sectven Realm. Do you know her?”
“Depends.”
“I’m a friend.”
“So? It’s not like you’ll have a chance to chat and catch up.”
True. “I’d like to know she’s okay... Well, as okay as you can be in here. And, I’ve a message from her mother.” Which wasn’t exactly true, but Melina would be glad to know her mother worried about her.
Fydelia stared at me for a moment then she fiddled with the frayed hem on her robe. “She had a rough start and ended up in the crypt. But like most of us, after one trip down there, she learned her lesson and hasn’t given the guards a reason to take her back. Melina’s surviving.”
Better than being insane. Another worry off my shoulders. “Do you know which tower she’s in?”
“No.”
Now it was my turn to study Fydelia. She’d answered too quickly. “Are you trying to protect me? Keep me out of trouble?”
She huffed in amusement. “You’re a sharp one, aren’t you? Of course I’m trying to help you. I told you that before.” Fydelia pulled a thread from the hem, wrapping it around her finger. “I’ve been here longer than most. I’ve seen a few penitents disobey the rules over and over. Their stays in the crypt stretch longer and longer until they never return.”
The lump that had been my supper rolled over, threatening to push bile up my throat. Fear and uncertainty churned inside me. I’d panic, except I trusted my guys. The vision of Odd’s expression flashed before me and I repeated the words to myself. I. Trusted. My. Guys.
“What’s the message for Melina?” Fydelia asked.
“Why? She’s in another tower. You can’t talk to her, either.”
Again Fydelia hesitated.
“What else are you keeping from me?” I asked.
“I’m not telling you everything for a reason. When you’re taken to the crypt, the guards ask you questions. Lots of questions. They sense we’re not as obedient as we act. Weaker penitents will blab and we’ll all suffer.”
Ah. “And you don’t know if I’m the type to blab.”
“Right.”
I mulled over what I’d learned so far. They had some type of silent communication system in place. “All right. Can you please tell Melina that I have a message for her?”
“And just how are you going to deliver this message?”
“I figured she’d arrange that. It’s obvious you trust her.”
“How do you know that?” Fydelia demanded.
“You didn’t ask me how you’d get my message to her, which means she didn’t blab to the guards.”
Fydelia tapped a finger on her temple. “Too sharp, Irina. That will get you into a whole heap of trouble.”
Funny, I already thought I was in a whole heap of trouble.
* * *
Over the next two horrible days, I spotted Odd and another man on his squad among the guards, bringing me a bit of mental relief. I kept track of the times when the shift changed. No Quain or Loren, but I hadn’t seen any priests. No Melina, either. I worried Fydelia hadn’t delivered my message in order to save me and Melina from getting into trouble.
Day four in hell, Odd caught my attention while we filed in for prayers. He gestured, using the signals we’d developed for the times silence was needed during a patrol. Too bad I’d forgotten most of them. I shook my head.
After the torture of staring at the stained glass window, I shuffled to the dining room. Halfway there, Odd yanked me out of line. The others didn’t miss a step as they kept moving.
“Did I hear you talk, Penitent?” he demanded.
“No, sir.”
He struck me on the arm. It sounded painful, but didn’t even sting.
“Who gave you permission to speak?”
This time I kept my mouth shut.
“That’s better. Next time I hear a sound from you or your friend, I’ll take you both down to the crypt. Understand?” He gave me a significant look.
I nodded. Odd wanted me and Meli
na to get into trouble together. Perhaps he’d worked out an escape route from the crypt.
When, I mouthed.
“Before prayers,” he whispered then pushed me back into line, disrupting the flow.
Cheered by the thought of getting out of here, I ate without gagging at the taste of the food. Now I needed to convince Fydelia to deliver that message to Melina. And if she wouldn’t, I’d try another tactic.
However, in the slight confusion of visiting the privy before reporting to our towers, Melina found me.
She grabbed my hand and pulled me aside. No guards lurked in this section of the corridor, but it wouldn’t last.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered. No time for niceties.
“I came to rescue you. Again.” I couldn’t resist adding that.
Incredulous, she gaped at me.
“Get taken to the crypts before prayers tomorrow. Trust me, we have it all worked out.” I hoped.
“Rescue me?” she asked.
“Of course.”
“No.”
Now it was my turn to gape. “You want to stay here?”
“No, but I can’t leave them, Avry. You’ve seen what goes on in here. We have to rescue them all.”
KERRICK
For the third time since he’d known Avry, he watched her walk away, heading right into danger. Each time, he’d felt powerless and sick to his stomach despite the very good reasons for him to stay behind. Or, in the case of her going undercover in Estrid’s holy army, for them to split up. Ignoring the logic for a moment, Kerrick wished he could go all caveman on her. Drag her to a safe location, order her to not leave his sight, and protect her.
Of course, she’d fight and he’d only get two steps before she’d zap him. And if he’d been attracted to meek women, he’d have married that beautiful mouse his mother had tried to push on him ten years ago. Not for him. And those qualities he loved about Avry—smart, independent, selfless, and stubborn—were what drove her to risk her life for others.
Kerrick had followed Avry and the others until they’d reached Chinska Mare. Then he stood at the edge of the forest as they waited in line to enter the city. After they passed through the gate, he returned to the horses.
Taste of Darkness (An Avry of Kazan Novel - Book 3) Page 19