"No!" The Matron looked horrified.
"Yes. So not knowing what else to do, of course, we took them to Lord Rohan."
"What did he say?"
"He seemed puzzled, too. They're speaking the English, so they can't be Muradi. And unclean, so you'd think they'd be married, but with no marks…" The Matron gazed at us while he was speaking, her face growing more and more shocked, as if we were sprouting multiple heads in front of her. Jancy shrugged. "He wanted us to bring them here. He's thinking, you see, that if they're run-away wives, they still would have come here for schooling at twenty and that someone was sure to recognize them."
The Matron nodded her shrouded head and led the way away from the door. "Something to that, I suppose." She squinted at us. "Though I'm not knowing either one. But with over three hundred girls coming each session, there's bound to be some you don't see." She looked at Jancy. "Unclean you say? And bottoms completely unmarked?"
He nodded solemnly, verifying what was obviously to both of them an astonishing state of affairs, and she shook her head in complete bafflement. "Well, I can't wait to get a look at that, I'll tell you."
I felt my face flame as we walked along behind the Matron and Jancy. The unabashed way in which they discussed what seemed terribly intimate topics astonished me. Apparently, as much as I'd been able to put together, women in this society carried some sort of marks, on the flesh of their bottoms, that could be used for identification purposes. Incredibly, from what I had heard, the mark was permanent, because from Rohan's comment it seemed any removal attempt would leave scars. Scars? My mouth went dry as I wondered again what sort of nightmare Christy and I had been dropped into.
We entered the stone building, its high ceilings lofty around us, and walked through a short passage, then immediately out through the back. Stretching in front of us was a very large, open park-like area, surrounded by numerous other stone buildings, all of two or three stories, all with architecture similar to the one we'd just walked out of. Between buildings, a high stone wall rose at least twenty feet in the air. The whole park was totally enclosed. Was this a prison?
The sight that met my eyes was overwhelming. A very large number of young women, several hundred at least, all dressed in white tunics with white trousers emerging below, were congregated in front of me. Every one had long braids wrapped in a neat coronet. Several groups played at various games: I saw one game that looked exactly like volleyball and another, played with a stick and a small ball that seemed like an archaic one I'd read about in history texts. I searched my memory. Batball? No, that wasn't it. Baseball.
Others sat quietly under trees or on benches, some sketching, some painting, some doing something that looked like the decorative handiwork a few of the older Earth women I knew did as a hobby. A few played instruments softly, a guitar here and there, a flute, a small violin. But the majority were just sitting in clusters of two, three, or four chatting and laughing. Here and there the black-robed women also stood, typically in groups of two. From my quick glance, all of the women in black seemed older and physically large.
Many of the young women saw us and stared, and as those their nudged companions, we were soon the focus of virtually every eye in the park, with the exception of a few groups quite distant who were engrossed in their games. My face blazing, I followed along behind Jancy and the Matron. With the girls in their pristine white and neat hair, the entire scene was something out of a fairy story, and wrapped in a ragged blanket, my short hair tousled, aware that under the blanket my jumpsuit and panties were both torn away from my bottom leaving ragged flaps of material and a gaping hole, I'd never felt more messy or conspicuous in my life.
Finally, our trek across the park area was ended, and we entered another building. With its wide corridors and doors closed at precise intervals, this was obviously a classroom building. Although this one was made of wood and stone, it had a certain aura about it. On some level it seemed hardly different from the plexi and steel classroom buildings in which I had both studied and taught. Interesting, I noted, how certain things seemed uniform across millions of miles of space and centuries of time. My earlier guess about progress seemed confirmed as I realized that the whole thing was lit by some sort of artificial lighting, small but bright flames behind glass globes.
The impression that this was a classroom building was verified as, farther down the hall, we passed an opened door. We could see several rows of students seated quietly at double wooden desks, most with their heads down studiously. A Matron sat at a desk in the front of the room, supervising. Jancy, his armor jingling, followed the large Matron through a small door on the other side of the hall, directly across from the classroom.
I took a long moment to look at their faces. It was hard to judge their ages, but to my eye they looked about the same age I had been when I entered University: nineteen. I knew it would be impossible to calculate any ages here with complete precision because "years" on Gamma Rigel were only ten Earth months long, but "days" were the equivalent of twenty-five Earth hours.
We entered an office, of sorts, or perhaps more accurately, a waiting room. There was a desk, behind which sat yet another Matron, and around two walls, straight wooden benches. Two of the white-garbed maidens sat quietly waiting, their eyes downcast, hands folded in their laps, feet flat in front of them on the floor. One lifted her face to examine us and I was shocked to see that she was flushed and her eyes looked red-rimmed and wet, as if she'd been crying.
One of the soldiers behind us snickered. "Wonder what they're waiting for."
His companion laughed outright. "Can't imagine."
Christy and I looked at each other, completely lost. How could the soldiers possibly know why they were sitting there? They'd not set eyes on them until moments before. But at the soldiers' words, both girls just slumped more dejectedly.
"Yes, can I be helping you? Oh, greetings, Matron Marcelle." The Matron behind the desk looked up casually, then started, her eyes popping wide, as she caught sight of us.
"Where's Head Matron, Matron Trina?" Matron Marcelle asked. "Lord Rohan wants her to look at these women. They were found this morning, wandering alone in the countryside, and they're not bearing any identity marks. The Lord's thinking, apparently, that the marks might have been removed somehow, and he's wondering if Head Matron's ever seen them."
"No marks." The Matron repeated it stupidly, saying it with same inflection as someone might use to say, "no head." I rolled my eyes slightly. Whatever these marks were, they obviously carried an importance beyond anything I could comprehend. "That's amazing." She peered at us. "Nope. Never saw either one, and I've been behind this desk twenty years. I'm knowing more of them than Matron." She laughed, a cackling chuckle. "I'm seeing their faces while they're waiting, you see. Matron sees mostly their bottoms." The men grinned at this comment, and Christy and I looked at each other, mystified. Did they check everyone for the "marks" on a regular basis? This whole thing was horribly odd and getting odder.
Matron Trina sniffed and looked at Jancy matter-of-factly. "Do you still be wanting to see her?"
The first Matron looked back at Jancy and nodded, confirming Matron Trina's words. "Trina's right. If she doesn't recognize them, it's not likely Matron will."
Jancy looked unsure for a moment, then shrugged. "Lord said he was wanting Matron to see them. I'd not be wanting to go against his wishes. If she's here, and it's not being too much trouble, I'm thinking she should see them. He'll probably be wanting to discuss with her what's to be done with them, anyway."
Matron Trina looked us up and down as she spoke. "Matron's in the infirm. One of the girls took quite ill a couple of hours ago."
Jancy snapped his fingers. "Lord, I almost forgot. Your speaking of the infirm brought it to mind. Rohan says he wants the doc to look at them, too. Thinks maybe he'll be able to tell him something."
"Fine. It seems a good idea. Doc'll be able to tell if they're open, that's certain. Why don't you take them r
ight to the infirm? Then Matron…"
Our conversation was interrupted abruptly by a rather strident voice from the classroom across the hall. Through the two open doors, we had had a perfect view of the front of the classroom and the Matron's now-vacant desk.
"Cheat in my classroom, will you?" Inadvertently, our eyes were pinned to the open door and I felt a shiver run up my arms. For a moment I could see no one, but within seconds the Matron reappeared, the upper arms of two separate girls grasped in either hand as she hustled them along in front of her. Not at all gently they were pushed with their backs against the front wall, so they were facing the Matron and all the other girls in the classroom. From my angle, I could see everything clearly.
"Please ma'am, we weren't cheating," one pleaded.
"I saw you passing a note during a test. Are you denying it?" The girls hung their heads and said nothing. "Fiona? Mareen? Are you denying it?" she repeated.
"Fine." The Matron walked towards the door, directly towards us, and I found myself shrinking from the hard look in her eyes. Around me, though, the two soldiers and Jancy were also openly watching, chuckling with rueful amusement and seeming to enjoy the scene. Reaching up, she took something from the wall directly next to the door. As she walked away from us, back towards the pupils, we could see that she had in her hand a black rectangle, about fifteen inches long and three inches wide, grasped by a brown wooden handle. Although I had never seen such a thing in my life, my historical studies clued me in quickly enough as to what it was: a punishment instrument of some sort, and it dawned on me, with a horror that I found almost nauseating, that the young women were apparently going to be struck.
The woman faced her classroom. "Ladies, pencils down, eyes front. We'll all soon be knowing what happens to cheaters in my classroom." Quickly, she took her chair from behind the desk and placed it to the side of her desk. She sat, smoothed her black tunic in front of her, and motioned angrily to one of the girls. "Mareen, you first."
Mareen wrung her hands and looked terrified, nevertheless she walked without delay over to the Matron. The woman made her stand next to her lap, then, almost so quickly we did not see the motion, she grabbed Mareen's arm and flipped her forward over her thighs.
The woman was large, her lap ample, and the chair was fairly high; flipped forward, her feet did not touch the floor and flailed back in space helplessly. Without a word, the Matron pushed up the back of the split tunic top over her back. My eyes almost popped from my head as I saw that below the tunic, her trousers were split up the middle. Although I certainly knew almost nothing about garment construction, nevertheless I realized that to make a garment, pieces of fabric needed to be attached together… sewed was the archaic word. The garment that this girl wore, unlike the trousers of my jumpsuit, had legs that were open through the entire crotch, from her waist in the back through, I assumed, to the waist in the front. Bent forward over the Matron 's lap, Mareen already was partly bared, the fabric gaping slightly. With a few deft jerks, the Matron parted the back of her trousers even more widely, then snapped, "Open yourself."
It was obvious she knew what to do. Although I could hear faint whimpers of fear, nevertheless, she slid forward slightly, balanced herself with her hands on the floor, and parted her legs wide.
My jaw dropped in spite of myself. I didn't know what it meant, but Mareen's bottom was in fact "marked." Her left cheek bore a perfect, full-color picture of blooming rose, as big as my open hand, with the stem winding down into the crease where her bottom met her thigh. It contrasted vividly with the white skin. In addition, I thought I finally understood all the references to being "unclean." She was facing perfectly away from us, and the distance across the hall into the next classroom was not long, ten or fifteen feet, no more. We had, in short, a perfect view, and when Mareen separated her thighs, it became obvious to me that all her curly hair, at least that on her plump labia, was completely gone. She was as smooth as a child, but she was a darker-skinned woman, and the slash of her sex was boldly red. She might be bare as a child, but this was no child.
The Matron pinned the girl firmly with a forearm across the small of her back, then raised her arm, and brought the punishment instrument down fully onto the girl's round bottom with a loud crack. It flexed, and I could see that it was not wood, as I had first thought, but a stiff leather of some sort. As the Matron raised her arm again I could see that the first blow had left a pink streak, and as her arm fell and raised at an incredible speed, the bottom quickly went from pink to bright red.
The expression on the woman's face was grim, but not furious; really, as I watched, I realized she seemed almost matter-of-fact about it, as if she punished girls like this on a regular basis. Mareen took the first ten or so blows stoically, but by the time the Matron reached fifteen, we could hear moans, then pleas, that were soon accompanied by frantic kicks and high-pitched squeals and promises of better behavior.
Christy did not seem to be coping with her view of the spectacle any better than I was. I could hear her muttering, "Oh my God, oh my God," over and over, under her breath. As we watched, Mareen's legs began churning, then kicking out, spreading widely, desperately, as she attempted to squirm away from the splatting leather. At one point, her hands left the floor and snatched out in front, frantically grabbing air as she rocked her bottom from side to side, trying to escape the relentless cracking of the leather.
But the woman, who was large and appeared very strong, seemed to hold the girl effortlessly and deftly continued to bring the leather strip down with full arm strokes and a snapping wrist. The leather fell everywhere, high up on the crest of her bottom, low down so the blows seemed to fall across her spread sex, even on her thighs. The whole area was, barely two minutes into the discipline, a brilliant dark red.
So riveted was I by the terrible spectacle that when Matron Marcelle reached around and slammed the door, I was jolted to my toes. "Can hardly hear yourself think over that," she muttered with a snort that was both disgusted yet faintly amused at the same time. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "You'd think they'd learn but they never do."
Jancy grinned at the other two soldiers. "Mighty fine little tail on that one, wouldn't you say? Mareen, wasn't it? She pinked up awful quick…" He raised his eyebrows. "Won't both of you be picking brides from the current class?" At the soldiers' slightly sheepish nods, Jancy continued, chuckling, "And from Rose Clan. You boys might want to remember that name."
Through the closed door, the girl's howls were still audible, and I was dumbfounded by their total lack of concern over a child's being tortured nearly to death in the next room. One glance at Christy showed me that she shared my emotion. She was pale as a ghost.
Jancy looked back at the two Matrons. "But cheating seems pretty serious. Will that," he inclined his head towards the door, "be the end of it?"
Matron Trena shrugged. "Depends on if they've been in trouble much before. They'll sit on the bare for the rest of the day and be spanked again by their ward Matron and put to bed on a hot bottom tonight, that's without saying. Beyond that…" She shrugged again, her expression clearly saying it was not a matter for much concern. Outside the door, there was a silence, then the cracking started again; obviously, Fiona's turn had commenced.
"Anyway," Matron Trena looked at us. "Back to these two little liars." She addressed us directly for the first time. "Wouldn't want to be in your shoes when your husbands find you." She looked at Matron Marcelle. "Will you take them down to the infirm?"
The Matron nodded, and, after Jancy opened the door, we found ourselves hustled into the hall again. My eyes widened as I saw what was now happening. Fiona was being punished identically to Mareen, over the Matron's lap, bare bottom visible through the parted opening in her trousers, her thighs widely spread. The only difference was that where the first girl's bottom had borne a rose, this girl's presented cheeks carried the picture of a golden star.
Mareen had been sent out of the classroom; obviously as part
of her punishment, she had to stand in the hall, with her nose to the wall next to the classroom door. Her tunic top was lifted, held around her waist, and with her hands, she held her white trousers parted. Her punished bottom glowed like a ruby, the red of the rose barely visible now, and she was snuffling miserable. She was squirming a little, rocking her hips back and forth slowly, and I noticed that she held her feet in an odd position, toes in, heels spread out.
The men glanced at the sight, again grinning unabashedly. I was taken again, though, by their reactions. They were amused, certainly, but treated what we had just seen without much real emotion, as if the whole thing was interesting and funny, but not that unusual.
I looked at Christy. Her blue eyes were as wide as mine felt. "We have to get out of here," I mouthed silently.
"How?" she mouthed back, looking desperate.
How indeed? We were guarded by three burly soldiers plus a hardly-petite Matron. This was obviously a prison of some sort. We'd come several hundred yards through it and had seen well enough that it was crawling with the Matron/guards. Before that we'd walked through a not-insubstantial town that resembled a maze more than anything else. To think that we could just sprint off and somehow find our way back to the ship was a prospect so ludicrous that it wasn't even worth contemplating. Intellectually, I knew that our only hope was to wait for a better opportunity. We'd had no training for situations like this… hostile encounters with locals. But common sense told me that I had no choice but to seem as docile as possible; it was the only way they might let down their guard.
We turned a corner, and walked on through the dimly lit classroom building. As we walked on, I also saw further evidence of our captors' barbarism. Outside of several other classrooms I saw red-bottomed miscreants standing in the hall, just we'd seen Mareen. One here, one there, and in front of one classroom, five sniffing girls stood in a row, holding up white tunics, cherry red cheeks glowing. All stood with the same odd stance, leaning forward, noses to the wall, bottoms poking out, with their toes turned in, heels spread apart. I realized that the position caused not only their punished bottoms to be on show, but it caused their female parts to display partly open as well. Every single one bore on her left cheek an emblem of some sort. All were full color and just my quick, horrified glances told me that the markings appeared to be permanent, right into the skin.
Betrayed (Hidden Worlds Book 1) Page 5