Revisiting Old Wounds #2
The great riot shall spread across the sky, and the old gods shall tremble in their weary courses. The firmament shall crack, and the land shall bleed with light and fire.
Fear shall become law, and hunger shall be the world’s teacher. Brother shall turn against brother as the wastelands devour life.
Yet even then, the faithful shall not be left without a guide.
For from among the Chosen one shall rise.
Marked and refined in suffering.
Bound to both flesh and spirit.
Born of sacred sacrifice, knowing ruin and rebirth alike, a maiden shall carry the remembrance of what was and the burden of what must yet be.
Through her, the remnants of mankind shall be led across the valley of ending, toward whatever light remains, into the hereafter.
For though the world be forsaken, the Chosen shall ensure humanity endures.
And though Heaven be silent, the appointed shall stand—even against His decree—in the final days after the dawn of judgment.
I close my eyes, and contentment settles deep in my bones. This is as I thought.
The words work their way through me, refusing to be silenced. They press against my mind and chest, heavy with implication. Fear rises slowly, creeping into places I didn’t know it could reach.
But still, I open my eyes and read it again.
And again.
I force myself to commit every line to memory, every deviation from the Good Book, every subtle fracture in doctrine. I trace the passages with my gaze until the shapes of the letters imprint behind my eyelids.
Only when I’m certain I can carry it with me do I reach for the page.
My throat tightens as I swallow. I draw a steadying breath, then tear the paper free from the notepad.
The sound is too loud in the quiet room.
I hesitate for a heartbeat, then lean toward the candle and touch the edge of the page to the flame.
The fire catches quickly. The room begins to smell faintly of smoke and hot parchment as the paper curls inward, blackening as the words vanish in soft orange light.
I watch until nothing remains but ash. I close the book with careful hands and rise to return it to its place in the cabinet.
However, my gaze is immediately drawn to the stone wall beside it as the stone itself begins to ripple like waves.
At first, I believe exhaustion has finally caught up to me.
My vision is swimming, and the candlelight is playing tricks.
But the wall does not settle. It’s as if it’s made of a cloudy liquid or shifting matter, and as I watch, it darkens, the edges blurring as though shadows move inside it.
The surface softens, warping inward, and something like smoke coils through its center.
Grand Minister Judiah steps through.
Darkness clings to him as he emerges, stretching and folding back into the stone behind him like water sealing over a wound.
He stands there for a long moment, unmoving, his presence filling the space as the gravity of his presence sets in.
His gaze fixes on me immediately, then gradually drops to the book in my hands, then to the key clutched in my fingers.
Whatever warmth he once carried for me drains from his face. His expression smooths into something controlled and severe. Fear floods me so fast my knees threaten to buckle.
I move slowly, deliberately, setting the book back on his desk. Then the key beside it. My hands tremble as I place them carefully in front of me and bow my head, as though my obvious fear and remorse might undo what I’ve done.
He crosses the room in measured steps.
He lifts my chin and then his fingers close around my jaw without warning, forcing my face upward to meet his eyes. His grip is firm, unyielding, his thumb and forefingers pressing hard beneath my cheekbones.
“Explain.”
My pulse pounds in my ears. My throat tightens until it feels impossible to speak.
“I—I was worried,” I manage, the words breaking as they leave me. “You were gone. The passages didn’t align, and I thought—”
“You thought,” he repeats quietly.
I nod, tears already blurring my vision. “I only wanted to understand. I swear it. I didn’t take anything. I just needed to see it again.”
His jaw tightens. The silence stretches, heavy and oppressive. Something flashes behind his irises, as if the candlelight’s eerie glow flickers there.
“Turn around.”
My body obeys before my mind can catch up.
“Hands on the desk.”
I do as I’m told, fingers spreading against the cool wood as he guides me forward until I’m bent slightly at the waist. He picks up the candle and moves it to the far side of the desk, then pulls up my gown and lays it over my shoulders so it’s draped safely in front of me.
Cool air greets my backside, and gooseflesh ripples across my skin.
I hunch down and dig my fingers into the wood.
My breath comes shallow and uneven. My chest tightens.
I hear him cross the room, and my gut twists into a tight knot because I know what he’s grabbing from the corner.
“How many lashes do you think it will take for this lesson to stay with you?” he asks, his voice low and measured. “How many before you remember never to cross this threshold again without an invitation?”
My throat tightens. “I don’t know.”
“How many?”
“Twenty.”
“No, I think not. Thirty feels more appropriate,” he says calmly. “You need to learn that your constant disobedience has consequences.”
He steps closer, close enough that I feel his body heat, and his breath falls against my spine.
“Count.”
The first strike steals the breath from my lungs.
Pain detonates across my back, sharp and blinding. My body jerks forward as fire races along my nerves, my fingers digging into the edge of the desk.
“One,” I gasp.
The second lands lower, across my thighs, and a sob tears free before I can stop it.
“Two.”
“Ahh. Thr-ee-ee.”
I groan on the next lash. “Four.”
Each blow comes harder than the last. My muscles seize with every impact, skin burning, spine screaming. The room narrows to pain and the sound of the cane cutting through the air.
He does not slow or gentle his hits.
Tears begin to drip onto the desk. My voice fractures. Between numbers, I beg—whispered apologies, broken promises, half-formed prayers.
“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. Please.” I gasp and try again. “Please,” I sob. “Please forgive me.”
By twenty-five, I’m shaking uncontrollably and sweating profusely, with my forehead pressed to the desk, as tears streak down my cheeks. My body feels split open, every nerve exposed, every thought reduced to survival only. My knees buckle, and I sink a little closer to the floor.
“Stand up,” he growls harshly.
I take a couple of deep breaths and gather my strength to pull myself up. He waits only a moment before delivering another punishing strip to the crease between my butt and thighs.
“Twe-twenty-sssix.”
“Twenty-twenty se-seven.” The numbers are whispered and barely audible as they tumble from the spittle coating my lips. I promise him everything. Silence. Obedience. Faith. I swear I’ll never question his orders again, never enter his quarters, never touch another forbidden thing.
The final strike is the worst yet and lands with brutal finality across my lower thighs.
The word “Thirty” is a whispered prayer that I will, in my lifetime, feel this kind of pain again.
The room falls quiet except for my broken sobs and harsh breaths. I remain where I am, shaking, sweat cooling against burning skin, my heart pounding with shame and terror. My fingers are red and numb as the blood rushes back into them.
I sink to the floor and curl in on myself, leaning against his desk, letting my tears soak into the wood.
The words I stole are burned into memory now, and the knowledge—the truth they hold—had better be worth it. Because I fear Grand Minister Judiah will never look at me the same again.
If he decides I’m no longer worthy… what then?
What will I become if not this?