Anointed

by Charity B.

  “Welcome, children of Zaaron. We have been blessed with such a lovely day for this most joyous occasion. Today I will take a new wife. Laurel Ann, please stand.” My face heats up at the mention of my name, and I am shaky as I obey. I keep my gaze upon the wooden floor when the room flares up in applause. “I hope you will all stay for our binding ceremony and celebration immediately following today’s service. The rest of you may stand.”

  The room is loud with the shuffling of feet while one of the Prophet’s younger daughters takes her place at the piano.

  I sing along with the hymns and say the prayers, though I’m not feeling anything I say. I’m simply going through the motions, numb to the presence of Zaaron. I watch the Prophet perform the ritual of blessings at the sanctorum altar, holding up the Anointed sigil to the heavens in prayer.

  I don’t know what the Prophet teaches in his sermon. I think it may have had to do with the blessing of servitude. I just hope nobody asks me about it.

  We stand for the closing hymn, but I can’t find the words with the pounding vibrations in my veins. The Prophet releases the followers, reminding them to take a candle on their way out. Family by family they file out until it’s just me and the Fitches. I look at the Prophet for the first time. I’m not above admitting he looks nice. His black hat is new and matches the crisp jacket he’s wearing over his white, button down shirt. His boots are freshly polished, and his face is clean shaven. The family lines back up in their order, and everyone over the age of understanding takes a candle, with the exception of myself and the Prophet.

  We walk out of the tabernacle to find the entire compound waiting in four circles, one inside of the other, the outside one being the largest. They break hands to allow us through each ring. The Prophet and I walk to the now lit binding pyre as the Fitch family creates the smallest circle around us, holding hands to close it.

  The Prophet performs all of the binding ceremonies, including his own. His cold hands wrap around my clammy ones.

  “Zaaron has chosen Laurel Ann for me and me for her. Our souls are to be bound in His presence for all of you to bear witness. It has been prophesied that as children of Zaaron, we are to multiply under His holy guidance, preparing a population for when He burns this world to ash and brings us home to the Paradise Star.” He looks right at me, his eyes wide and kind. I see the Prophet that I have come to love and respect. His finger traces my chin in a moment that should be touching and intimate, but instead it makes my gut turn inside itself. “Our union will bring forth many children born with holy blood, and our immaculate descendants will one day help lead us all back to Zaaron.”

  I get it, all right? I’m going to have a million babies. I just wish everyone would stop reminding me.

  I force my lips into a smile, hoping it doesn’t look like a snarl. He squeezes my hand before he walks me around in a circle to present me as unbound for the final time. Turning us to the fire, he places his free hand above the flames. He drops his head back to face the sky, and his lips move with murmured prayers. Once the fire is blessed, he picks up the two candles from the ledge.

  He gives me one, never releasing his grasp on my hand. We hold our candles over the blessed fire until the flame licks them to life. Two by two we light the candles of my almost sister-wives and children.

  When I stop in front of Zeb to light his candle, I can’t keep myself from looking at his face. It proves to be an unwise decision for the sake of my heart. He glares at me in a way that makes me queasy. I don’t understand what’s going on with him. He knows this isn’t my fault, so why does it feel like he’s mad at me? I plead with him as much as I silently can within the split moment it takes to light his candle. The time comes to move on to the next until the circle encompassing us is a ring of holy flames.

  Dispersing to the rest of the compound, the Fitch family uses their candles to begin lighting the next ring. Once this sacred ceremony is protected by the five rings of fire, the Prophet wraps a satin white ribbon around my wrist and up my hand.

  “Laurel Ann Henderson, I vow that the purity of your soul will be my utmost concern. I will lead you and our family down the holy path prophesied by Zaaron. I vow to be a righteous husband and Prophet to you and our family. Your best interests will always be my intent in whatever I do. I will obey our God and do whatever is within my power to assure that you and the rest of the children of Zaaron arrive at the Paradise Star.”

  I wish I had more faith in myself than I do. It is my turn to say my vows, and while I was somewhat confident about them this morning, now I wish the earth would quiver and split, allowing me to fall in.

  My grip on the ribbon is shaky as I wrap the other half around the Prophet’s wrist just like he did with mine. I take a deep breath, and the air vibrates down my throat. I am about to make a promise in front of Zaaron, my Prophet, and fellow followers that I don’t want to make. I had hoped the nerves the Johnson wives had spoken of would have dissipated by now, but in this moment, they are worse than ever.

  Please don’t let me cry in front of everyone.

  I make the mistake of looking up, meeting the angry gaze of Zebadiah. I don’t know what he expects me to do. I push with everything I have to keep the tears down.

  Will you tell him I’m sorry? That I am just being obedient to you? Please, Zaaron, will you help him understand and forgive me?

  “Hiram Fitch, my Prophet, I vow to serve Zaaron, our gracious Messiah, by honoring you in all things that I do. I will obey you without question and join you in our task in populating the Paradise Star. I will bear your holy children and lead our family down its righteous path. I vow to accept your words as Zaaron’s words and absolute truth.”

  The few that have tambourines shake them in a unified beat while we tie the ends of the ribbon together.

  He walks us around the final circle and says, “On this day and every day, our souls are bound, never to be separated or broken.”

  I lick my lips, allowing the needed moisture into my mouth. The words I am about to promise become razor blades in my throat.

  “Though our bodies may parish into the ground, our souls will remain together with Zaaron, for all of eternity,” I finish.

  Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a silver cuff bracelet with intricate vines carved into the metal surrounding a small pale stone. He slips it over my free wrist. “We are now one.” Allowing his fingers to slide between mine, he holds our bound hands in the air. “Let us celebrate in the glory of Zaaron’s many blessings!”

  The booming of cheer makes my chest squeeze so tight that, for a moment, breathing is impossible.

  That’s it. It’s over.

  I’m bound…to the Prophet.

  The guests place the candles in the holders on the tables, switching them for fistfuls of flower petals to throw at us. The food is brought out, and while it looks delicious, eating isn’t going to happen right now.

  Though the term being ‘bound’ is in reference to the spiritual sense, in this moment, it’s one hundred percent literal. Our wrists remain tied together through the entire celebration, abolishing any chance of getting a moment alone with Zeb.

  All night it’s been one congratulation after another. My family greets me with open arms, my father smiling at me for the first time since before I received the blood of innocence. Mia goes on about how pretty I look, and my heart aches at how much I will miss her. My muscles relax after seeing them. I allow myself to try and enjoy the festivities, and it works…if I don’t look at Zebadiah.

  All the girls are acting like I landed the prize husband. I suppose by logical standards I have. It’s just to me, my prize husband is now my son. Still, I giggle as they swoon over my dress and bracelet. Being the center of attention has its perks, and I am enjoying them until the Prophet’s voice whispers in my ear.

  “It’s time to show you your new home.”

  It’s as if the ribbons snake from my hair and wrap around my neck when he pulls us to standing.

 
“Children of Zaaron, I am humbled by your love and kindness this night. Please stay. Enjoy the evening while my new bride and I continue our binding night.”

  Forming a pathway, every person in attendance stands to send us off, throwing flower petals until we pass.

  Cheers and applause fades into the background, pushing me into silence with my new husband. I’ve never been alone with him for more than a few moments.

  “You did well tonight. I am pleased. As is Zaaron.”

  I can’t decide between ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘thank you’, I just know I’m grateful he isn’t angry with me. “I am relieved to hear you say that, Prophet.”

  “That was the very lesson I was teaching in my sermon this morning. There is freedom in servitude. You will quickly see that relinquishing your trust and decision making to me is a powerful type of deliverance. And please, you are now my wife. To you, I am Hiram.”

  I don’t know what to say, but compliance is always honorable. “Of course, Hiram.”

  We walk in silence. I am about to speak to relieve the awkwardness of it all when he sighs.

  “I do know things started out rough between us. Understand, I can be a fair and just husband as long as you live within spiritual law.”

  “I desire to be a holy woman. I want you to know that.”

  “I do know, Zaaron has told me as much.”

  His fingers squeeze my hand, and we take the dirt road that leads to the Fitch ranch. This is the biggest house on the compound, by far. To even call it a ‘house’ doesn’t do it justice because it’s closer to three houses that are attached together.

  We walk into what appears to be the main entrance of the home. He ushers me across a dining room that leads to a kitchen, and then through a seating area. I wonder how long we are going to stay tied together as we keep going through this never-ending house.

  Stopping at a door, he pushes it open. The evening has begun to ascend, painting the sky in dark violets through the floral curtains. The room is smaller than the one Mia and I shared back home.

  He lights a match to ignite a lamp, placing it next to a copy of The True Testament on the nightstand. There is an open closet, but I don’t have any clothes to fill it besides my binding dress. The white vanity table begs me to sit down on the matching stool. I yearn to run my fingers over its golden accents and the designs carved into the wood. The quilt and pillows adorning the bed look fluffy and soft.

  The bed.

  The bed brings back the fear with a force so harsh, I am grateful for the ribbon’s part in keeping me standing.

  “These are your sleeping quarters. On the nights you sleep alone, you are to be in this room at ten o’clock and must remain here until you are told you may leave the next morning. Use of the washroom is permitted during these hours. However, I suggest you keep the frequency to a minimum.”

  It’s not uncommon for a husband to give his new wife strict rules when first bound, but this narrows my chances of getting time alone with Zeb.

  I nod. “I understand.”

  He holds up our bound hands and unties the ribbon, freeing me from him for the first time in hours.

  “Though tonight there is no need to worry about that.”

  The room begins to shrink around me. The walls are going to squish me flat. He closes the door, removing his hat and jacket before hanging them on the pegs on the wall. When his thumbs hook under his suspenders to pull them down, I can’t stop the tears from blurring my vision.

  He stands in front of me, lifting my chin. Not looking up at him is impossible, and when I do, the kindness present in them moments ago has vanished.

  “Do not cry. This is your duty.”

  Please, help me be strong. I don’t think I can do this.

  The more I try to quell the tears, the quicker they fall. His fingers unbutton his shirt as he barks, “Turn around.”

  I do what he says with my tears refusing to subside. The dress loosens while he works his way down the back of the gown. I push the sleeves off my arms and step out of it before turning to face him. My ears burn when his gaze moves across my exposed flesh, and I instinctively lift my hand in an attempt to cover myself.

  He rips the beautiful dress from my grasp, tossing it on the vanity chair as he closes in on me. Reaching into his pocket, he removes a hunting knife and presses the sharp edge of the blade against my shoulder.

  “It is told to us by our God, Zaaron, in The True Testament: ‘Blood is the most sacred form of love. As a husband takes the blood of his wife, he takes her into him, forevermore.’” He swipes the blade across my skin, and I gasp. Lurching forward, his tongue traces along the wound before he suckles at the split flesh. When he becomes satisfied, he stands straight and hands me the blade. My blood is bright on his lips when I push the sharp side of the knife against his chest. He continues, “’Furthermore, as the life force of the groom is ingested by the bride, the Anointed bond becomes unbreakable—an impenetrable circle.’”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I pull it across his flesh. Slowly, I open my eyes and watch the crimson blossom from his skin. His impatience wears thinner with every passing second, so I lean forward, pressing my mouth to the cut. Once the metallic taste hits my tongue, I suck out the warm liquid until he seems appeased.

  Pulling back, a large sob jumps from my lips. “Stop crying!” He raises his hand and brings it across my face. “Ungracious bitch.”

  I cry again at his curse, hating that I’m not stronger and more obedient.

  “I apologize, Pr- Hiram.”

  He grabs my arm, pushing me on the bed before he undoes his trousers. I crawl up the quilt when he grabs my ankles and yanks me back to the edge. Ripping off my boots, he pushes up my petticoat and tears down my bloomers.

  “I had wanted this to be more pleasant, but regardless, you will serve your purpose.”

  He pushes my legs so far apart I fear they will dislocate from my hips. I sob as he lies on top of me. The heaviness of his weight is suffocating me…crushing me. I claw at his back, begging for the air to reach my lungs, when my body is ripped down the middle. I open my mouth to release my scream, though it’s cut short by his hands around my throat.

  “This is a divine gift!” He hits me once more, and the pain is so excruciating, I wonder if I’m dying. “I won’t tell you again. Stop crying or I will fucking make you.”

  His sigil pendant rubs against my chest, and I accept that my rebellion is making this worse for me. While the tears continue to fall, I stop fighting, lying still.

  I let him take my body and soul as I stare at the beautiful white vanity with the golden accents.

  THERE AREN’T ANY DRY SPOTS on my pillow. Not that it matters. Sleep isn’t on my side and wants nothing to do with me. His back expands with his steady breathing. I shouldn’t feel this way toward my husband and Prophet, but in this moment, I hate him.

  My first time with a man was the worst experience of my life. It hurt more than I could have fathomed, and when he finished, he didn’t speak a word. He climbed off of me to roll over and go to sleep, leaving me to silently weep.

  Your unwillingness to obey is revolting.

  His words slide around in my mind causing tears to sting my eyes. My ribs ache and my thighs burn. I just want to stop crying. A rooster crows, and Hiram stirs. I need out of this room before I choke. I need away from him. I lift the heavy quilt off my legs and slip from the bed. Picking up my binding gown and bloomers, I adjust them as much as possible and sneak into the hall. Every step hurts, and I have no idea where the washroom is.

  “Laurel Ann.”

  Zebadiah’s voice, even as a whisper, is unmistakable. I don’t know what to expect from him, I just know I can’t handle his anger right now. I turn to him, and his head falls before he shakes it back and forth.

  “Fuck.”

  His curse shocks me, and I cover my mouth to quiet my gasp. “Zeb—”

  “He hit you. He couldn’t even wait to let your binding night pass.” I don’t u
nderstand how he could know that. As if reading my mind, he answers my unasked question. “Your face, it’s bruised.”

  I touch the tender spot beneath my eye.

  Stop crying! You are being touched by holiness!

  I know I don’t have much time to speak with him. I don’t know what I’m going to say, even as the thoughts are forming in my head. Last night isn’t something I can keep reliving. The realization of that makes the words almost too thick to speak.

  “I can’t stay here…with him. I’m going home.”

  My statement hangs in the air between us, and now that I’ve said it aloud I know it’s what I have to do. I don’t want to ever feel the Prophet’s touch again.

  His eyes stretch out so wide I think they might pop out. “What are you talking about?!”

  I use my hands to shush him. “It was horrible, Zeb. I’m going to ask my father to take me back.”

  He shakes his head like he’s organizing my words in his brain. “It doesn’t work like that. You said your vows. You’re his forever.”

  I’m surprised I can still produce tears, yet they pour out in a stream. “I can’t live this way. I’m sorry…maybe I’ll become un-boundable.”

  He rubs his forehead in frustration. “Un-boundable? That’s not a thing! You have to accept this.”

  “I…I can’t.” I ignore the aching in my body and wrap my arms around him, laying my head against his chest. “I’m sorry.” I don’t know how this is going to turn out, I just know that anything is better than repeating last night over and over again. I lean back to cup his face. This is a sin and I know it. So is leaving my new husband. I pull him down to me as I push up on my feet, pressing my lips to his. My heart patters violently in my chest, and I pull back to look in his bewildered blue eyes. “Goodbye, Zeb.”

  I turn back the way Hiram led me last night with Zebadiah following after me, pleading with me to stay until I reach the front door. He can’t leave his house; this is his time of questioning. I lift my skirt and run. Standing in his doorway, he no longer attempts a whisper, yelling my name.