Taste of Darkness

by Maria V. Snyder

  “Dally? Seriously?”

  His expression darkened. “Avry.”

  “All right. No dallying and no more lecturing.”

  Kerrick pulled an orange leaf from my hair. “Sorry. It’s...difficult for me to remain behind. You have my heart, my soul, my life. I’m an empty shell without you.”

  Emotions lodged in my throat. I squeezed him tight. “You’re never alone, Kerrick. You and I are linked. Inside you is all of me. And I’ll be there forever.”

  He tipped my head back and kissed me with such passion that I forgot about the mission and all the world’s problems in that moment of utter bliss.

  “Hey, lovebirds,” Quain called. “Stop raking the leaves. It’s time to go.”

  I broke off the kiss. “Raking the leaves? Is this one of those guy euphemisms?”

  Kerrick sighed. “No that’s a Quain-ism. He has many of them.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  We returned to the campsite hand in hand. The others had shouldered their packs and waited for me.

  “I’ll be at that southern exit,” Kerrick promised, whispering in my ear.

  “I’ll see you there.”

  Kerrick and I shared one more kiss before he pulled power and we appeared normal.

  Odd frowned at us. “We need to leave now or we’ll miss the shift change.”

  I squeezed Kerrick’s hand before letting go. Picking up my knapsack, I slung it over my back. “I’m ready.”

  The monkeys and Flea said goodbye to Kerrick. I tapped my chest over my heart in a silent goodbye to him. He smiled.

  Setting the pace, Odd walked in front with Flea next to him. I stayed between Quain and Loren, and the rest of the odd squad followed behind. After a few steps, I glanced back. Kerrick stood in the same spot, watching us. His hand rested on the center of his heart.

  Unable to stop the silly grin from spreading over my face, I faced forward. Who’d have thought Kerrick had a sentimental side? Not me.

  “Uh, Avry, or rather, Irina. You’re supposed to be contrite and repentant,” Quain said.

  “I will be once we get closer.”

  “As long as we’re not surprised by a patrol. Without weed boy, we don’t— Ow!” An acorn clipped Quain’s forehead, leaving a red mark.

  “You were saying?” I asked.

  “Forget it.” Quain rubbed his temple and glared into the woods.

  We continued on in silence. Before we reached the city’s gates, I tucked a few essential items into the various pockets of my robe and clothes underneath. They’d probably confiscate my pack and search it.

  A two-story-high cerulean-blue marble wall surrounded the city of Chinska Mare. Thin white veins snaked through the smooth marble. According to Ives, the city had two gates, one on the west side and the other on the east.

  A line of people and wagons waited to enter the city. Odd led us to the end of the queue. A few of those waiting nearby turned and stared at us. I gazed at the worn cobblestones as if dejected. We shuffled forward until it was our turn to state our business.

  Odd started to explain, but the guard waved us through with an impatient gesture, just like Ives had predicted. Ives and the men who knew the city the best moved up to the point position and led us through the narrow unmarked streets.

  The rows of buildings leaned against each other. Skinny houses mixed with businesses in a haphazard way. Factories sprawled in all directions as if plopped there from high above. I imagined old buildings squashed underneath them. The odor of rotting garbage dominated. A plume of gray smoke engulfed us. We choked on the acrid fumes that burned our eyes.

  The citizens hustled by, avoiding eye contact. Red-robed acolytes patrolled the streets. They peered at us with suspicion, but no one approached. It took me more than a few moments to figure out what was off about the tight and cramped city. Even though it was a large city filled with people and industry, it was quiet. No one laughed, talked, yelled, or said much of anything. Even their footsteps were muted, as if they wore rubber-soled shoes and boots. Creepy.

  After an hour, I’d lost track of the turns we’d taken. The sunlight faded and the lamplighter crews lit the city’s lamps. Even they went about their work with hardly a word. After a few more hours of navigating the dark streets, Ives stopped us and warned the monastery was around the corner.

  We checked our disguises one more time, and I adjusted my hidden contraband. Turning the corner, we all stopped and stared. Made of pure white marble, the building stretched for blocks in either direction. No windows marked the walls that stretched upward in multiple tiers. Each tier was smaller than the one below like layers on a giant wedding cake. Halfway up the eight-story structure, towers soared above the monastery, resembling candles. And this was just what we could see in the semidarkness.

  This humongous structure made a fortress look tiny in comparison.

  * * *

  I stared at the monastery as my heart did flips in my chest. I’d be lucky to get out, let alone find Melina. Our plan seemed too simple for this monstrosity. Plus we only had a week at most before Estrid and the bulk of her army returned. Kerrick had sensed her in the forest along with many others just before we crossed Ozero’s border.

  After I lectured Flea on staying out of trouble and made him promise to be careful, Flea and Ives said goodbye and slipped away. I met Odd’s questioning gaze.

  “It’s not too late to back out,” Odd said.

  “No. We’ll stick to the plan. Make sure you don’t lose that container.”

  He gave me a tight smile. “Yes, sir.”

  “Ready, boys?” I asked the monkeys, holding out my elbows.

  Quain grabbed my right arm. “Kicking and screaming?”

  Loren latched onto the other. “Dragging your feet? Perhaps dead weight?”

  “I’m going to go for the full-out, desperate struggle,” I said.

  “Ah, a little bit of everything.” Loren’s tone held approval.

  “Nice.” Quain tightened his grip.

  As I fought with all my strength but not my magic, they hauled me up to the single entrance. Two lamps burned brightly within a few feet of us. Iron hinges connected the oversize oak doors to the marble walls. A huge oval door knocker was the only thing on this side. No knob. No keyhole. Not even a peephole.

  Odd used the door knocker. A heavy clap reverberated through the oak. After a few moments, Odd knocked again. My skin prickled with the feeling of being watched. I glanced up and spotted a couple guards peering over the edge of the roof of the first tier.

  They didn’t say anything, but soon the door creaked open. A priest stood in the threshold. I increased my struggles to break free.

  He frowned at the monkeys. “Subdue her.”

  Quain pulled both my arms behind my back. Loren backhanded me across the cheek. He faked the amount of force so it was a glancing blow. I pretended to be hit harder, spinning to the side and collapsing to my knees with a cry of pain—just like we had practiced.

  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 an
d 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.

  We entered a dining room already half full of women. After going through the chow line to collect my breakfast—an unappetizing bowl of mush—I found an empty seat. My stomach almost revolted at the pulpy smell as I tried a mouthful. A gritty cold paste coated my tongue and tasted like a wad of wet parchment. Yuck. I pushed the bowl away.

  The others at my table watched me in amusement as they shoveled the mush into their mouths. I scanned the faces of those around me, searching for Melina. The ages of the women ranged from sixteen to fifty years old. Some met my gaze, while others quickly looked away. And a few kept their attention fixed on their bowls of mush.

  All wore the brown robes and most had dark stains down by their knees. Their long hair had either been braided, pulled back into a bun, or hung loose. No one had short hair. And no Melina, either. Did we eat in shifts? Or were there more dining rooms? Based on the size of this place, I guessed it had plenty of room for everyone to eat at one time.

  Guards patrolled around the edges of the tables with their reed sticks in hand. I followed the others’ example and didn’t make eye contact with them, but I kept track of their locations. So it wasn’t unexpected when one man stopped next to me. However, the sharp line of pain across my shoulders surprised a yelp from me.

  “Eat,” he said, pointing to my bowl with his weapon.

  “I’m not—” Another sting landed on my upper arm.

  “Eat.”

  I pulled the bowl toward me and took a bite. The disgusting texture hadn’t improved.

  “More.” He remained by my side until I choked the rest down.

  After we finished, we lined up to use the privy before heading to the prayer room. I paused at the threshold, amazed by the immense square room. Penitents streamed in from multiple entrances and formed long rows facing the same direction. Well over two thousand people. Pushed from behind, I followed the woman in front of me until a guard yanked me from the line.

  “New penitents stand in the front until they learn how to pray.” He escorted me to the front row.

  I stood next to a young woman who flinched any time one of the guards came close to her. Nothing was between us and the stone wall. I’d expected an altar or a religious artifact.

  Once the shuffling noise of bare feet on stone stopped, a priestess arrived in a silky robe that flowed around her as she moved. She reached the front and gazed at us.

  “You are filthy sinners who do not deserve the creator’s forgiveness. Get on your knees and beg for it,” she ordered.

  Everyone knelt. The collective thump echoed off the walls. I quickly complied, joining them.

  The priestess spread her arms wide and raised them. “Look upon the creator’s glory and pray for forgiveness.”

  The skittish girl next to me craned her neck back and stared up. So did the others. I copied them. Far above, the sunlight struck a beautiful square staine
d-glass window. The intricate design showed a progression of pictures, and I guessed it must be the story of the creator. The monastery’s boxy tiers framed the window. Each upper tier smaller than the one below it. Like being inside a wedding cake.

  Believing there would be more orders, I glanced back at the front. The priestess had disappeared and a guard stood in her place.

  He strode over to me. “Keep your gaze heavenward while you pray. This will be your only warning.” He touched the reed hanging from his belt.

  I returned to contemplating the stained glass window. It had enough detail to keep my interest for a while. However, my neck soon protested the strain caused by the angle. I bent my head to rub out the kink. Big mistake.

  Thwack. The reed cut across my cheek and brought tears to my eyes. The guard raised his arm, pointing up. I gazed at the window again. It didn’t take long for the muscles in my neck to cramp and I had to decide between that pain and being whipped by his reed. Enduring as long as possible, I tried to keep still, but as the day continued without any new orders I had to relieve the strain from time to time, earning another slap with each infraction.

  Eventually my legs trembled from kneeling for so long. My lower back ached as if I’d been shoveling stones. And my skin burned with multiple welts.

  The angle of sunlight changed at a snail’s pace. Sounds of others getting slapped broke the silence from time to time. The ladies in the front row fared the worst. As the new sinners, we hadn’t built up the endurance to stay in one position for hours.

  When the sunlight faded and the colored glass turned black, the priestess returned and allowed us to stand.

  Relieved, I straightened. My legs cramped and at first refused to hold my weight. The other penitents in the front row also staggered to their feet. Fresh blood stained many of their robes at knee level, including mine.

  We returned to the dining room, ate another bowl of wet parchment, lined up for the privy, and were ordered to our towers. All the while I searched for Melina. And because I hadn’t been paying attention, I’d no idea which way to go to find my tower.

  Asking a guard resulted in yet another welt. I had to suppress the desire to zap him and take his reed.