Pippa
The white gown I wear transforms me into the bride I’ve never been. I giggle. No, that’s not right. The dress is all wrong for a wedding. It’s boxy and loose, more like a nightgown. “Am I dreaming?”
My words sound strange, like they’re coming through a tunnel. Forming them takes more effort than speaking should. I blink slowly and deliberately to clear my head. Something isn’t adding up. “Where’s Shemaiah?”
I need my groom. Another giggle parts my lips. It feels as if the world is spinning happily around me, but I’m standing too still.
A hand curls around my upper arm.
I track the appendage up to Anna, who’s holding onto me like her life depends on it.
“Your dress looks like mine,” I say, taking in the rough, undyed fabric.
It hangs from her shoulders with no form or adornment, just like mine.
It’s worse than the hospital gowns. Scratchy, so scratchy, with nothing underneath.
Not a scrap of undergarments. Oh! That’s definitely not right. “W-what’s going on?”
Anna frowns, glancing at my dress before her eyes jump up to my face. “Drugged.”
Her grip tightens.
“Ouch,” I whine, but focus on the sound of the word and repeat it slowly. “Ooouuchhh.” I like the way it feels in my mouth.
Wiggling, I try to free myself from Anna’s grip. She hangs on, shaking her head like an animal caught in a trap. She seems sad, and I don’t know why. I feel… happy… no. That’s not right. I shouldn’t feel happy. But I just can’t remember exactly why. “Where’s Shemaiah?”
“This way,” a dour voice commands, capturing my drifting attention.
I look up from Anna’s hand and see an ocean of white-gowned women around us. “Kay!” She’s on my left side. I take her hand as Anna takes my right. “We’re all together.”
“Don’t… like… this.” Anna squeezes my hand.
“Where’s Zarah?” Kay searches the moving current of women. “Zarah?!”
“Shut your trap!” Someone slaps her. Kay cries out, pressing closer to me.
“Keep moving!” That same horrible voice without a face shouts.
My manufactured happiness cracks. Everything about this is wrong.
“Pippa?” A woman in front of me turns. “You’re back!”
“Fiona! My friend! You’re here.” I want to grab hold of her, but I can’t because my hands are locked in Kay and Anna’s. That’s okay. “Where are we going?”
The room spins a little as we walk, like everything is rocking, unstable. My toes and fingers tingle pleasantly, but my heart beats too fast.
“I don’t know.” Fiona stops, forcing us to stop as well. “How are you here? I thought—”
“Shut up,” that voice snaps, and Fiona closes her mouth, turning to face forward in the crowded hallway.
The group slows as we come to a dark opening in the wall ahead.
The crowd thins to single file, but Kay and Anna don’t let go of me.
Kay ducks through the small doorway first, and I follow with Anna right behind me.
When I straighten, we’re in a dark, rocky corridor that leads to a set of metal stairs spiraling down into the unknown below.
The rounded stairwell is surrounded by rock walls, the cavern illuminated by flickering torches.
We slowly descend, down, down, down into the darkness.
It’s quiet but for intermittent whispers of women and the creak of footsteps on metal.
The torches cast quivering shadows that seem to coalesce into creatures with claws and teeth.
There’s a faint hum of sound in the distance, an ebb and flow, like the oscillation of a breath.
The further we descend, the clearer the sound becomes.
It’s water, the roar of waves crashing against rocks.
We’re on the coast. Inside the cliffs!
A dreamy image comes to mind of Shemaiah holding me on the rolling waves. Shemaiah. Where is he? I shouldn’t be here. I should be with him. Shaking my head, I try to loosen my drug-captured mind, but can’t.
When we reach the bottom of the stairs, we’re herded into a clump in a large, open-faced cavern.
The entrance faces the fury of Lake Nettor.
A storm surges, lightning cracking over the waves.
My eyes unfocus as the space before me blurs.
I blink, and everything returns crisper.
Directly in front of us, there’s a raised altar-like rock stained with foreboding brown marks.
I squeeze Kay and Anna’s hands tighter to keep them close.
We shouldn’t be here. This is all wrong.
Anna’s nails cut into my wrist, the sharp pain enough to draw blood and reorient my mind. I’m certain now that we’ve been drugged. The women around me wear placid, blank expressions as they take in the space. Is that what I look like?
It takes another sharp cut of Anna’s nails before I can extend my focus to the figures surrounding us.
They wear white robes made from a fabric similar to our gowns, but terrifying masks cover their faces.
They mimic a grotesque depiction of the sharp-toothed grimace of a hungry Mavarri.
A shiver works down my spine. I’ve seen these masks before.
“We invoke the goddess,” a man calls from the altar. The steady hum of voices stops, leaving only the crash of water behind us. He’s dressed in white, standing tall and proud, without a mask. Dr. Reter. His smile is predatory as his gaze slides over our huddled group.
I swallow and shake my head, trying to focus. The effect of the drug isn’t as strong now, but it’s still difficult to hold on to a thought for too long.
“We have to get out of here,” I whisper to Anna and Kay.
“How?” Anna hisses back, blinking heavily.
“All praise to the goddess. All praise to Mirrav. All praise to the new Mavarri.” Dr. Reter’s chant is echoed by each masked being.
Again and again they repeat the words like an incantation, a blessing or a curse, I’m not sure which.
The rhythm flows over me, and I almost want to join in.
“All praise to the goddess. All praise to Mirrav. All praise to the new Mavarri.”
“They’re a cult,” I whisper.
“What gave them away?” Anna replies.
“The robes,” Kay giggles.
“No, the masks,” Fiona says in an airy voice, only half present.
“Not the chanting?” I scrunch my nose at the hysterical giggle working its way up through my chest.
I’m lightheaded, and the realization sobers me.
Anna and Kay press into my sides, clinging.
The tight clutch of their fingers is the only thing that keeps me from floating away.
With each passing moment, I feel more alert.
Wherever we are, whatever they have planned for us, it’s not going to be good.
Dr. Reter suddenly cuts off and raises his hands up like a conductor coordinating a symphony. The other voices finish their chant and fall silent.
“Tonight, on Summer Solstice, the celebration of our goddess, the night we can become as she is, I bring you good news.”
The masked figures press in closer, eager to hear what he’ll say next.
“Too long have we tried and failed to invoke the goddess to create a new Mavarri. But each failure has led us here.” There is a sharper edge to his voice.
“We have worked tirelessly to prepare these women as the first wave, filling them with the blood of the Mavarri homeland, cleansing them from that which keeps them mere mortals. We have done this, hoping that the Goddess will smile on us and do as she did before. Bless us with her power. Until recently, we thought we had failed. But tonight, I will present to you our greatest success. The first in a new line of Mavarri, and a plan for the future. Bring me the mother!”
I glance around, waiting to see who he’s ranting about. The women separate like ripped silk as several masked acolytes walk toward us, stopping in front of me.
I shake my head.
Someone behind me pushes me toward the masked creature before me.
“No!” I gasp. “No!” I can’t let the monsters take me.
“Stop!” Anna and Kay fight, holding on to me for dear life, but they’re ripped away.
I scream, reaching for them, kicking and flailing.
An acolyte grunts when I get them in the shin. Their grip loosens, and I twist away, but I don’t make it more than two steps before I’m caught again, too weak and disoriented to make it far.
“Cease!” a woman’s voice echoes through the cavern. “I have your son.”
My head swings to the side. Mrs. Darning wears the robes of the others, but no mask, and there, in her arms, is my boy.
“Mama,” he whispers.
Tobias.