Taste of Darkness

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.