The Prophet's Daughter (18 page)

I watched the door for a moment, my gaze hovering on the door. I half expected the knob to turn and someone to burst in at any moment. After a few long moments filled with only the sound of my breathing, I turned towards the bath. I wanted to step into water and let it warm my chilled body, but I did not wish to bare my skin in that place. I wanted to remain clothed, but I could not ruin my outfit and a bath was very tempting.

With a sigh, I s
lipped off my tank top first and threw it to the side, followed by the rest of my outfit – my black, now torn, leggings and other items. I looked at the pile of towels and night clothes, picking out a pine green towel and laid it beside the tub. The less time I had to be nude the better.

I stepped into the bath, fists clenched as the warm – almost too warm - water lapped at my ankles and then my legs and torso. I laid against the back of the tub, the water coming just above my chest with bubbles almost touc
hing my chin. I’d never bathed before, from what I could remember; the strange, tingling feeling rippling around my body sent chills up my spine. I was encased by such welcoming, clean, warm water with no need to swim or struggle to keep my head above in fear of drowning; it was something I had never expected to be a possible thing for anyone, let alone myself.

“Olive would love this,” I thought, running my fingers through the bubbles and leaving trails. I popped the larger bubbles, tears coming to my eyes.
I shook my head and blinked a few times, swallowing back the sadness as best as I could stomach.
I can’t think of her now.

Running the warm, soapy water along my arms, I sighed and leaned my head back against the tub, staring up at the ceiling above
me. It was a spiral-like design, winding and twisting until it met in the middle where a small stained glass window let in little light. Despite the near magic of running water, the building did not have any electricity – I doubted anywhere had electricity anymore. Most backup generators would have burned out years ago.

I reached behind me and grabbed the same green bottle that I had been observing earlier, flipping the cap open to smell the shampoo within. It was a different scent than anything I had smell
ed before, but I liked it – to my surprise.

Squeezing out a large pile into my hand, I ran it through my hair, scrubbing. It was harder to massage it into my scalp rather than the rest of my hair, which was sopping wet from being underneath the water.

“You’re using too much soap,” croaked a familiar voice. “And you need to wet all of your hair first. I gasped in surprise at the sudden speaker and spun around, keeping my body hidden in the water. I hadn’t heard the door open, and in came Lovelock, a wisp of a smirk on his face.

“What are you doing?” I asked and glowered at him. I wiped a line of soap off of my face, the white foam slithering down my forehead.

“I came to see my daughter,” he said and closed the door, “to speak in private.”

“I’m not comfort
able speaking to you in this state,” I responded.

“I’m staying up here,” he reassured as his gaze raked the water, head shaking. “This pool has been the place for many baptisms. It is the purest of water.”

“It’s just water.” I moved my legs, keeping my body as close to itself as I could, pressing against the wall of the pool, as he had called it.

“Holy water,” he pointed out. “You know, we never got the chance to christen you.”

“Good.” I watched as he approached the pool, looking into my eyes, a patient look on his face.

“Stay over there,” I ordered, pointing to the door.

“Come, now,” he said, opening his arms. “I just want to see my daughters face.”

“You see it? Good. Now go back there,” I said, moving backwards as he came closer. Before I had the chance to
move any further, however, he grabbed my head, holding tight to my hair. I cried out and pulled away, but his hand was clenched too tight in my hair for me to pull away.

“Having been commissioned by Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, o
f the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen,” he said loudly before pushing me under the water, holding me there for a moment that felt forever. My eyes stung and water filled my nose and mouth, the taste of the soap foul. I tried to scream, but I only wasted the little air in my lungs. He lifted me up, releasing his grip from my head and tore his fingers through the knots, stepping back from the pool with a pleased grin on his face.

“What the hell?!” I cried, coughing and spluttering, blinking water out of my s
tinging, reddening eyes.

“It is done,” said Lovelock, bowing his head. “You are almost ready for the ritual. Soon enough, everything will be set up and soon you will be delivered to our Father and he will right this world.”

“Your father can go to hell!” I spat, grabbing a shampoo bottle and throwing it at him. It hit him hard in the chest and he heaved, stumbling backwards, gripping his chest.

“Child,” he wheezed a hint of anger in his tone. “Enough.”

“Screw you!” I responded, coughing. He turned around, black cloak swaying behind him as he scurried out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him. I heard him shouting outside in the corridor and waited until his voice faded before I allowed myself to breathe again.

I closed my eyes and clenched my fists,
holding back tears. Everything in the world was wrong, he was wrong – he was evil, not that it was any sort of a surprise to me. It was at that moment that his face flashed in my vision, a smirk playing on his snow-haired face and I knew - I knew had to do it, no matter what the outcome would be for me. I had to kill him for Olive, for my parents, for Felicity and all the other people he had ever hurt and all the people he would hurt if I did not succeed.

If I had to die, so be it. At least my parents would
not have died for nothing if I managed to take him down before I died.

I dunked my head under the water, holding my breath as I washed out as much soap as I could, his face plastered in my mind. I crawled out of the tub and wrapped a towel around my body,
sitting down and burying my face in my hands.

“Why?” I whispered to myself, shaking my head. “Why did it have to be me? Why did it have to be my family?” I shifted, holding my knees to my chin and pressing my face against them, holding that position for a
good long moment. It wasn’t until my body had dried and my hair dangled beside me, tickling my bare legs, that I bothered to stand.

I grabbed the first article of night clothing I saw – a long, light blue, silk nightdress with thick straps and a high neck
line. I threw it on and wiggled until it fell to my knees. It was a little baggy and big, and the straps sagged at my shoulders, but otherwise it was quite comfortable. At that time, it didn’t even cross my mind how my father had gotten a hold of it – just that it covered me.

I stood up and looked at the clothes I had discarded on the floor, the moist towel sitting in a heap. I then looked at the other options I had for nightclothes but, instead, I turned around and picked up my
old, tattered outfit. I paused for a moment before heading towards the door. I didn’t need the new clothes, I didn’t need his offerings. It was bad enough I bore the clothes he had already given me.

I twisted the knob and pulled open the door, stepping into the corridor and closing i
t behind me. I had expected to walk back to my room alone, but sitting against the wall and staring at the one opposite was the girl with the broken glasses from earlier.

“Miss,” she gasped, struggling to her feet. “You’re done?”

“Yes,” I breathed, eying her as I spoke. “Have you been waiting here the whole time?”

“As were my orders,” she said, her voice soft. “Your guard wanted me to bring you straight to your room once you have finished bathing.” The girl gestured towards the end
of the wall, taking half a step away before peering back at me, though her eyes still did not meet mine.

“You don’t have to,” I said, wringing my hands.

“I do,” she muttered and reached toward me, grabbing my clothes from my hands.

“I can carry those,” I
insisted and reached to grab them, but she stepped away and shook her head.

“No, I will,” she said again, her voice more solid now as she met my gaze for a brief moment before looking away. “Come on, let’s not make your guard wait any longer.”

I followed behind her, silent as the short girl shuffled down the corridor a few steps ahead of me. Her hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail that shifted with her movement, and I could see her jeans were a bit too long for her, dragging against the ground.

The w
alked down the corridor which dragged on for what seemed like forever, listening to my footsteps echoing in my ears. Every time I blinked, I heard the sound of Lovelock’s gasp of pain as the bottle connected with his chest. Each blink of my eyes greeted me with the sight of Olive, small squeaks of pain escaping her as she cradled her bleeding stomach. I heaved a shaky breath, looking down at my feet. I put my hands together and followed the girl, trying to focus my thoughts on the sounds of her feet dragging against the carpet.

I ran my hands through my hair as if to comb it, moving it all to my left side. Black, thin strands stuck to my fingers as I pulled through the knots that remained in my hair, and I directed all of my attention into my hair, almost st
umbling into the girl when she came to a sudden halt.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she said, taking a shocked step away from me.

“I should have warned you before we arrived.”

“Don’t apologize,” I began with a stern shake of my head. “It was my fault, not yours.” She g
lanced up at me with shaky eyes before she looked down and turned towards the door. I caught a glimpse of a small smile appearing on her face as she turned to the door knob and entered the bedroom, making sure to hold it open for me. Her other hand, which held the clothes, moved out to the side, gesturing for me to enter.

“Thank you,” I said, forcing her to hold my gaze for a brief moment. It was only then that I got to see the true color of her eyes – a strange colored blue with a lightning-like appearance
. “You have beautiful eyes.”

“I am not to accept compliments, ma’am,” she whispered, turning her gaze to the ground. “Thank you,” she whispered and closed the door behind me and shuffling off to tend to my clothing.

I turned away, unable to keep the smile off my face as I slipped inside, shifting my dress. I spotted Isaac who sat in his chair, legs crossed. He looked up at my entrance and closed an old black book before standing up. I could not make out the name, but it had a strange picture of a golden pin on the front. He set it behind him on the chair before I could make it out, the pages torn and loose.

“You can read?” I asked, feigning surprise as I raised my hand to my mouth, giving a fake gasp.

“Of course,” he snorted. “I’m not stupid.” “Debatable,” I began, but he shook his head.

“We have to talk,” he turned to the girl with the glasses. “Ava.”

“Yes, sir?” she responded with a jolt, dropping my clothes onto the dresser. She spun to face us, arms at her side.

“Tell me again what had you so shaken earlier,” he began. “What you heard and saw in the kitchen.”

“Must she know?” she questioned, glancing over at me.

“Yes, she must,” argued Isaac. “Now, before anyone comes.”

“Of course, sir, my apologies,” she breathed and gave a light cough, rubbing her right arm in a fervent manor. “I overheard the plans for the ritual. Our Prophet has asked the chef to put a special ingredient in the wine, grape juice, for the children.” She paused and glanced over at me and then at Isaac, her gaze locking with his.

“It’s alright, Ava. Continue, you will not be punished for this,” he insisted, motioning for her to continue with a roll of his hand.

“O-Okay,” she stuttered with a soft, slow nod. “Well, he… It was cyanide; he is going to pour cyanide into the ceremonial drinks.”

“Are you aware of what cyanide is?” Isaac said, pivoting to look at me for a moment, before glancing at Ava, who nodded a slow nod, a look of terror crossing her face.

“No,” I responded, wringing my fingers with a shake of my head.

“I don’t, I’m sorry.”

“It’s a poison and when it is consumed, it will kill you – and I have read of it before in the libraries,” he informed with a shrug. “The ones my dad used to take me to, when we found ones that hadn’t crumbled during the riots or had all of their books burned.”

“Oh,” I coughed, unable to keep the surprise off my face. Isaac had never seemed to be interested in reading and the fact that he did, that he enjoyed the types of
books that I always passed over for fantasies and tales of terror. “What do you plan, then?”

“I do not know if he will offer the drink to you, but it will be offered to Ava and I, and it will be mandatory to drink. If we don’t, he will see it as a sign of
rebellion and have us executed.” Isaac looked at Ava, who stared down at her feet, continuing to rub her arm, shaking. “Ava, come here,” I ordered, keeping my voice soft. I stepped towards the girl, but I didn’t have the option to move far before she scurried over to us, keeping her gaze on the floor. “Look at me.”