CHAPTER 28 FAE #2
The imbalance is huge. It always has been.
If I had enough brain space, I would have tried to figure out why the women outnumber the men so much.
It feels deliberate, like this isn’t just a human phenomenon but something darker, more sinister, more calculated.
Maybe if I wasn’t trying to survive, I could have figured it out.
Now, not only am I trying to survive, but I am also trying to find Robyn and take down a sex trafficking ring.
Finding out why they can only birth one son is so far down my list of things to care about.
I move to the right side without hesitation.
My trainers echo too loudly against the stone.
The other women barely look at one another.
Some bow their heads, some stare straight ahead, a few glance towards the men searching for something.
Reassurance, maybe? Ownership? All I know is that a minimum of fifteen women will automatically be signed to the compound by nightfall.
If Roman is to be believed, it means I have somehow been thrown a life raft.
My palms are damp. My pulse thuds heavy against my throat. I almost convince myself it is loud enough for the women beside me to hear it. The scent of candle-wax and old stone fills my lungs, but beneath it is that faint metallic tang I will never forget.
I have an advantage of sorts. I have stood here before, but it was never like this.
I keep my chin high, but something inside tightens.
This place doesn’t just test loyalty, it consumes it.
The crucifixes loom at the far end, candlelight flickering across them so the shadows look like they’re moving.
I count to five minutes in ten-second increments, my pulse beating in time with the count. I shuffle my feet on the concrete floor, stealing glances at Roman as he stares straight ahead at me, never breaking contact.
Just then, the door slams open. A haunting noise I know so well flows through the air as the women around me shuffle and fidget.
Women enter, their white dresses giving me flashbacks to a past life.
Unlike before, they have masks on. Not enough to cover their whole faces but enough to make them unrecognisable.
Gold metal adorns their faces; it covers one eye, slanting diagonally across.
When they get closer, I see the metal is shaped like a bird taking flight. No. Not a bird… a Swallow.
I swallow.
Now I know why I never recognised these women. These aren’t just any women; they are from the compound.
Their voices flow together, rising and falling as they sing in a language I still do not understand. I have tried to, tried to study even one word, but nothing comes up. The closest I’ve got is people speaking in tongues at an altar.
Following the women are men, I can tell by the build of their bodies. Instead of white dresses, they are wearing religious robes you might find on a priest. Unlike a priest who usually rejects the devil, these men wear the same masks I saw Jack wearing all those years ago.
Black, with red eyes and devil horns that poke from the top. Someone behind me whimpers and I try hard not to roll my eyes. Even at twelve, I didn’t whimper. No, at twelve, I stood brave, sucked it up and did anything to survive. Today is no different.
Ten men separate from the group, moving in front of the crucifixes. The founders. Their masks are slightly different from the rest. Rather than black, theirs are gold like the Swallows, their red eyes a sharp contrast against the cold metal.
The singing comes to an abrupt stop when everyone is in position. The tension is palpable. Roman knows what is going to happen; I made sure Felix told the rest but seeing and hearing are two very different things. Father’s voice booms across the haunted room and silence descends upon us.
“Welcome recruits, today is the start of a new journey. A journey with great honour and even greater history. You may not win any awards. Your name will forever be a secret, but every member of the public owes their lives to the people who take the oath. Blood is a small price to pay for an eternity of freedom.”
I want to scoff, or scream, or shout. To call him out for his lies, for his hypocrisy.
I wonder what the general public would think if they knew we were snatching virgins off the street.
How would they feel if those missing kids on the news were being used in a factory that destroys their innocence?
That their freedom is an illusion built by the elite to keep them down.
I doubt very much that a red carpet would be rolled out at our feet.
Father spreads his arms as if he is blessing us.
“You stand here burdened, burdened by the sins of your past. The filth of the world. The weakness of your former selves.” A murmur of approval ripples through the masked crowd.
“But tonight, you will be cleansed. Cleansed through blood and cloth. You will be washed of corruption and purified in body and spirit.”
My stomach twists.
“You will be reborn. Rebuilt. Any disease, any flaw carried in your immortal flesh will be stripped from you and replaced. Medicine flows through this family as surely as devotion. We do not let our own rot.”
I revolt at the word medicine. If it wasn’t so grotesque, I would laugh. Virgin blood is not medicine. It is theft. It is violence dressed up in scripture.
Father turns to the men standing against the wall. My breath stutters as I see him lift his hand and point towards my group.
“We begin with the first offering. Felix, please declare your promised.”
“Rebecca and Angela.” Felix’s voice booms across the cavern and I cringe.
Felix moves before I can think, his shoulders squared, his jaw tight as he walks forward like he isn’t marching towards a blade.
My beautiful, perfect twin. We shared a womb, survived on the same heartbeat before we even had a name, and now he walks towards the centre crucifix like it’s just another duty.
The women’s song rises again, low and vibrating, filling the crypt with something ancient and wrong. It presses into my skull.
Felix is pulled up first and strapped to the middle crucifix.
Leather binds his wrists, and a knife slices through his shirt, leaving his chest bare within seconds.
I want to look away, but I can’t. It’s like a car crash in real time.
Rebecca and Angela stand in front of him as Father’s voice cuts cleanly through the chanting.
“Kneel,” he growls aggressively and Angela whimpers as I cringe, knowing Father will hate that. I’m sure if I could see his face, there would be a sneer on it.
They kneel as the Swallows descend on them. Their clothes are removed with ritual efficiency, leaving them naked and bare in front of us. I can’t see who, but one of them lets out a broken cry as others around me tense up.
The women descend immediately, their hands everywhere, cloth and water and murmured chanting blur into one.
Washing them like me. Scrubbing them pure.
I remember that part vividly. The humiliation described as holiness.
The chanting continues as they pour water over the girls’ bowed heads, wiping away tears like they’re impurities.
When they are finished, white dresses are forced over their trembling bodies.
I look at Roman. Horror must be written all over my face because his is carved from stone. Not from fear or confusion, but rage. It smacks me in the chest. He knows. He knows I stood naked once in front of people in this very room. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
When I look back, the girls are already strapped to the outer crucifixes. Felix’s face is impassive, his gaze fixed firmly in front of him. Head up, chin out, looking anywhere but me.
“You are cleansed,” Father cries out.
Two men step forward to the girls. Blades flash in the candlelight, I wince. They descend on their left arms, carving something into their skin as cries and screams echo through the chamber. Blood pours from the wounds as a bowl catches it.
Once it slows, more people arrive, attaching an IV into their right arms and it takes everything in me to stay still. To see this through. Red liquid pushes through quickly as a man steps up to Felix and starts cutting into him. Father’s voice echoes out again, narrating it like a sermon.
“Sin out. Strength in. Your corruption is purged and your legacy is secured.”
When the girls are finished, they are removed from the crucifix, each given their bowl as Felix stays strapped to the wood. The chanting grows louder, vibrating in my ribs as both girls kneel at Felix’s feet.
Rebecca lifts her bowl as an offering before looking at my brother, her voice shaky as she says, “I bleed for you.”
Angela follows, barely audible this time, “I bleed for you.”
Their bowls are removed, poised and waiting to be mixed together.
Felix’s eyes flick, scanning the crowd before they land on me and my lungs expand with air.
We say everything in one look. He grits his teeth as his gaze flicks quickly back to the girls at his feet.
I see as his chest inhales a deep breath before his loud voice echos around the crypt.
“You bleed for me.”
“Now we take the bowl and mix together the blood of the four that are bound,” Father’s voice carries out steady and precise.
He picks up the two bowls filled with Angela and Rebecca’s blood before holding them like an offering to the congregation.
“The blood of the two promised,” he continues as he pours them one by one.
“The blood of the warrior who stands before us,” he picks up Felix’s mixing it in with theirs.
“And finally… the blood of a virgin, whose name will never be known but always remembered. For her sacrifice knows no bounds.”
A gasp ripples out across the room and my gaze finds Roman’s whose nostrils flare. A drop of sweat falls down the back of my spine as I bite my tongue to ward off the memories.
Drip, drip, drip.