Taste of Darkness (An Avry of Kazan Novel - Book 3) (18 page)

“It’s not too late to back out,” Odd said.

“No. We’ll stick to the plan. Make sure you don’t lose that container.”

He gave me a tight smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Ready, boys?” I asked the monkeys, holding out my elbows.

Quain grabbed my right arm. “Kicking and screaming?”

Loren latched onto the other. “Dragging your feet? Perhaps dead weight?”

“I’m going to go for the full-out, desperate struggle,” I said.

“Ah, a little bit of everything.” Loren’s tone held approval.

“Nice.” Quain tightened his grip.

As I fought with all my strength but not my magic, they hauled me up to the single entrance. Two lamps burned brightly within a few feet of us. Iron hinges connected the oversize oak doors to the marble walls. A huge oval door knocker was the only thing on this side. No knob. No keyhole. Not even a peephole.

Odd used the door knocker. A heavy clap reverberated through the oak. After a few moments, Odd knocked again. My skin prickled with the feeling of being watched. I glanced up and spotted a couple guards peering over the edge of the roof of the first tier.

They didn’t say anything, but soon the door creaked open. A priest stood in the threshold. I increased my struggles to break free.

He frowned at the monkeys. “Subdue her.”

Quain pulled both my arms behind my back. Loren backhanded me across the cheek. He faked the amount of force so it was a glancing blow. I pretended to be hit harder, spinning to the side and collapsing to my knees with a cry of pain—just like we had practiced.

When Loren hauled me to my feet, I hung my head. Cradling my cheek with my hand, I acted as if cowed.

“Better,” the priest said. “Who are your traveling companions?”

Loren explained.

The priest nodded. “We’ve heard the good news about the High Priestess’s return. Come inside, Brothers.”

We entered a long hallway. When the door thudded shut behind us, the sound hit me harder than Loren’s blow. My mouth went dry and I swallowed a knot of fear. It took me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight. The priest led us to another set of doors. These had thick iron bars and two guards on the other side waiting.

“They are servants of the creator,” the priest said to the guards.

I wondered if it was a password. The guards unlocked the doors and we passed through the first of many such barriers. Narrow corridors cut between them. It reminded me of a maze. After each well-guarded double door made of bars or steel or thick wood, we turned left or right. Other plain doors marked the walls, but we didn’t stop. We crossed six such barriers. Odd barely concealed his panic.

After the seventh set, we stopped at a chamber where two priestesses worked behind massive desks piled with folders. An open door on the other side revealed a dark corridor.

“Another penitent for you to process, Sisters,” the priest said.

The woman on the left rose and disappeared down the hallway. The other continued with her work.

“There is no escape,” the priest said to me. “You are here to beg for forgiveness from the creator. Behave or suffer the consequences. There is no forgiveness from us. Only the creator can grant that.”

Lovely. The priestess returned with four guards. Satisfied, the priest led my companions away. Odd glanced back. He kept his expression neutral, but his gaze showed his fear.

“Sit,” the priestess ordered, gesturing to a wooden chair in front of her desk.

The four guards stared at me. What would happen if I refused? They were armed with long sticks made from a reed. Bamboo maybe? No cutting edge, but I’d bet they’d sting when slapped against skin. No sense causing trouble. Not yet. I sat.

Tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear, she pulled a sheet of parchment and asked me my name.

“Sergeant Irina of Gubkin Realm.”

“Wrong answer,” she said, snapping her fingers.

Fire raced across my back. The force of the blow sent me to the floor, gasping in pain. Two guards yanked me back into the chair. I hunched over until the burning eased.

“Your name is Penitent Two-Five-Nine-Seven.” She nodded at the man behind me.

He grabbed my left arm, pulled my sleeve up and slapped a metal cuff around my wrist. It clicked into place, pinching my skin. He released me and I examined the inch-wide metal. The numbers two, five, nine, and seven had been etched on it. Were there 2596 other penitents incarcerated here? I shuddered at the thought.

“What’s your name?” she asked again.

“Penitent Two-Five-Nine-Seven.”

“Good. I hope this means you’re a fast learner. It will save you a lot of pain and punishment.” She leaned forward. “The rules are simple. Obey and pray for forgiveness.” The priestess stood. “Follow me.”

I hurried after her, and the four guards stayed close behind me. She escorted me to a washroom. With the threat of the armed men right outside the door and under her watchful eye, I removed my clothes and the layers of grime. When I finished, she handed me a clean brown robe and undergarments. She wouldn’t let me put on my travel clothes or boots. So much for my hidden contraband.

Barefoot, I followed her through a maze of corridors, chambers and a half dozen locked doors. She finally stopped at a double-barred door guarded by four men.

“This is your sleeping quarters. Tower number ten. After supper, all penitents report back to their towers for the night. There are bunks on every level. Find an empty one. Prayers start at dawn.”

She left me with the door guards. They wrote my number down on a list, opened the doors, pushed me inside, and relocked the heavy metal doors.

Locked in a tower. I almost giggled at the thought.

I stepped deeper into the dark room. Bunk beds four high had been stacked around the circular room. The light from the guard station reflected off a dozen pair of eyes. The occupants of the beds stared at me. Was Melina here? Doubtful.

“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 cramps, 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?”