Chapter 5
five
Avonna
One Month Later
Master Prophet’s carriage rolls through the compound on a windless afternoon.
The dust doesn’t rise, it hangs in the air like judgment suspended.
Everyone stops to watch, even those who pretend not to. A bucket clangs against a well stone. A baby starts to cry and is shushed. No one speaks or moves unless they’re spoken to.
He steps out first. White robes, dark boots, the weight of his authority carved into every movement.
Brother Gideon follows.
His bones creak. His beard is long and uneven. He limps from an old knee injury, but stands tall when he spots our door.
Everyone in our village knows what they’re here for.
Me.
After Mother tidied the house this morning, she laid a new blue dress across my sleeping mat. The only new piece of clothing I’ve ever worn. When she braided my hair, my sisters all watched with wide eyes. She didn’t speak to me at all, let alone tell me what was happening.
Why would she? In my religion, a woman’s life is not her own.
They’re here to assert ownership over me. I huddle behind the curtain separating the front room from the kitchen and watch as my father opens the front door. The Elders enter and chairs scrape as they sit down.
“Thank you for welcoming us into your home.” Master Prophet’s tone is commanding. “We’ve come to confirm what has been ordained. Brother Gideon has chosen your eldest.”
I close my eyes, trembling. I knew it was true, but hearing the actual words is devastating.
Mother shoves me from behind the curtain, “Go on now.”
I stumble into the room.
The blue dress hangs awkwardly on my frame, too snug in the shoulders, too short at the ankles. My shoes are scuffed. My hands won’t stop shaking.
“Turn,” demands Master Prophet, not gently.
I obey.
The group of men circle me like I’m a calf being weaned.
“She’s small,” Gideon says. “But not too small.”
“She’ll grow into the role,” Master Prophet answers. “Her voice will soften with obedience. Her inner light is strong, but unshaped. This is the husband’s duty.”
Gideon’s eyes move down my arms, to my hands.
“She’s a worker,” he speaks to the other men as though I’m not there. “Good hips. Hands like a farmer’s daughter. She’ll carry.”
My skin goes cold. I fix my gaze on the wall above the Prophet’s head, willing myself not to cry.
“Any signs of rebellion?” Master Prophet narrows his eyes.
My father answers, “She sings too freely. Questions too much.”
“She won’t once I’m done with her.” Gideon smiles wickedly. “Silence and obedience are virtues.”
He touches my chin. Tilts it upward.
“She’s got a pretty face. Shame to see her prideful.”
Mother says nothing.
I meet his yellowing eyes and hold his gaze for a second. Then I look away.
It’s over. I’m done for.
When they leave, the house falls silent except for a wind rattling the windows like the bones of something long buried.
“I won’t marry him,” I vow.
No one looks at me.
“You’ve been chosen.” Mother begins to busy herself with house chores.
“I don’t care.”
My father stands forebodingly. “You’ll do what you’re told.”
“No.” My throat closes. “He’s old.”
“Daughter.” Mother grips my arm. “You don’t have the luxury of preference.”
“I don’t belong to him.”
“You don’t belong to yourself,” Father says.
The words split me open.
“I don’t want to be property,” I whisper.
The slap knocks the air from my lungs. My head snaps sideways. My cheek burns. I blink to find the room tilting.
“Enough.” Father raises his hand to strike again. “You shame us.”
“I won’t do it,” I say again.
He grabs my arm. Mother doesn’t intervene. He drags me toward the pantry room.
I fight, but I’m not strong enough. The door slams shut behind me. A bolt locks into place.
Darkness.
The air is thick with the smell of onions, stored grain, and old soap. I scream. Shriek until my throat shreds.
No one comes.
I pound on the door with both fists. “Let me out!”
I claw at the wood. I sob. I beg.
I yelp again. Until I can’t.
Time passes differently in the dark. There’s no light except a sliver under the door. Sometimes I hear footsteps. A cup of water appears once. Then a heel of bread. Then nothing.
I think about Master Prophet’s voice and become determined.
They will not shape me.
Over the next few days, the dark becomes familiar. I begin to count breaths. Sing to myself in a whisper, notes and melodies flow through my body. I feel them in my chest, in my bones.
My name becomes a prayer. I press my hands together and promise:
I will not belong to them.
I will not marry Gideon.
I will get out.
When the door finally opens however many days later, my eyes sting as they adjust to the light.
Mother stands there. Pale. Empty. “Have you calmed?”
I nod.
She thinks my acknowledgement means surrender.
It doesn’t. Inside me, something sharp has taken root. Something permanent.
Not rage. Not fear.
Resolve.
They want me quiet so I’ll be quiet.
Careful.
They want me small, so I’ll be smaller than a speck of dirt.
Invisible.
One night soon…I will disappear.