Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
He lifted his hand, about to lay it upon my head, when the sound of a guard’s boots echoed down the hallway. I placed the tray back in Brother Stephen’s hands just as the door opened. Disciple Guard Solomon stood in the doorway. I relaxed.
“I was delivering her food,” Brother Stephen informed him.
Brother Solomon nodded. He stepped back, waiting for Brother Stephen to place the tray on the floor. Brother Stephen did so, then got to his feet. He nodded at me, looking into my eyes.
I breathed deeply and nodded my head, letting him know I was fine.
When Brother Stephen left, Solomon also nodded at me. A tight smile pulled on his lips, then he shut the door. I looked at my tray. Vegetables and bread. I knew I should eat it to keep up my strength, but I could not stomach it. The fear of being here was still too raw.
“Harmony?” I jumped when I heard Rider’s low, husky rasp.
Moving the tray out of the way, I slumped back down to the gap in the wall. I rested my head on my hands. “I am here.”
This close, I could hear Rider’s crackled breathing again. I winced, now understanding why it sounded so strained. He was being punished daily. Badly.
“Who was that?” Rider asked. “Who . . . who came to you?”
“He is called Brother Stephen,” I replied. “He is a friend.”
Rider was silent for several seconds. I turned my ear to the gap, fearful that he had lost consciousness, but then he asked, “He is to care for you in here?”
Relieved that he was okay, I replied, “Yes. He and Sister Ruth care for me. They protected me from something they should not have.” I paused, debating whether I should reveal anything more. I found myself adding, “They are being punished. They share the cell next to mine, but they have been assigned to clean and maintain this block of cells as their penance. They bring me my food and clothes. You will hear them coming in and out of my cell several times a day.”
“They are being punished for protecting you?”
“Yes.” The sound of shuffling sounded again from his cell. “You are in pain.”
Rider’s sharp inhale was all the answer I needed. The anger that I had kept hidden for so long began to build, bubbling in my blood. Rider was silent.
“Yes,” he eventually answered. “I’m in pain.”
My hands balled into fists. Yet another person hurt. “What are they doing to you? Why?”
I counted four deep inhales and exhales from Rider, before he said, “They beat me.” My eyes closed and I shook my head. “They feed me only minimal food, and clean me, only to start again the very next day. They are trying to make me break.”
“Rider,” I whispered, not knowing what to say.
I heard the sound of rain hitting the roof of the cell. I lifted my head to look out of the tiny window at the top of the far wall. The sky had darkened, and fat drops of rain were falling from gray clouds. As I stared out of the window, my mind drifted to what the prophet had announced a short while ago. The Lord’s Sharing. Disgust built in my stomach as I pictured the depravity that would be happening in that hall . . . the pain and suffering of the women that would be caused by the guards and the disciples.
I cursed the day Prophet David wrote the scripture that endorsed such events. I cursed the day he revealed to the people through his letters that the Cursed Sisters of Eve were to be celestially cleansed by the purest of his chosen men . . . ritually cleansed from the age of eight. Every time I would read our holy books I would almost burst with fury.
“They want me to repent.” Rider’s voice made me turn back to the wall and refocus.
Resting my head back down on my cupped hands, I asked, “That is why they beat you? To make you repent?”
“Yes.”
“But you will not repent?”
The low rumblings of distant thunder echoed above us, but I blocked them out, straining to hear Rider’s response.
“No,” he finally confessed. “No matter what they do, I will not repent.” He dragged in a labored breath. “I cannot . . . I cannot agree with what they want me to agree with, the actions they want me to ignore.”
My heart sank at the pain, the cutting rejection in his deep voice. My head lifted from my hands, and even knowing he could not see me, I pressed my palm against the wall. I knew what that level of pain felt like. I recognized the sadness in the way he spoke.
“What did you do?” I pushed myself to ask.
My fingers pressed harder against the stone wall as I waited for him to speak. “Too much,” he replied vaguely. “Too many unforgiveable things.” He sighed. “I deserve these beatings and more, Harmony. The things I have done . . . ” I could feel his sorrow passing through the thick wall. “I should be here. I should be getting this treatment.” He took a deep breath and whispered, “I am beginning to think it should be worse.”