Demon Lust

by Raisa Greywood

  But she couldn’t bring herself to lift her head and watch her friends and neighbors turn their backs on her. It was too much. Maybe it would be easier once she started walking to the Holy House.

  The whip cracked against her bottom, making her scream. She took a step forward, hobbled by the chain between her feet, but a hand on her braid jerked her to a stop.

  “I told you to keep your head up,” the tall one hissed. “If you won’t do it on your own, we’ll fix it so you don’t have a choice.”

  He jerked her hands up, forcing her to bend forward to relieve the sudden strain on her shoulders, then tugged hard on her braid.

  “Please, I’ll be good,” Ruth whispered, her voice broken with shame and pain from the whip.

  “Too late for that now. You should have obeyed when you were told,” he snapped. Latching on to her braid, he pulled until she saw nothing but the sky. Another Sentinel moved behind her, and she felt her hair sweep across her hands. A moment later they let her go and she sent a prayer of thanks to the Lord.

  Yet when she tried to lower her hands, she realized what they’d done. They’d tied her hair to the chain connecting her wrists together, forcing her to keep her head high. Letting out a soft whine of despair, she tried to lift her hands, but couldn’t get enough slack to allow her to lower her face.

  Ruth heard a snap and the whip connected with her bottom, driving her forward. Her bare feet crunched in the snow, the sharp bits of ice cutting into the tender soles.

  People lined the sidewalks, silent as they watched her march of shame down the center of the street. When she closed her eyes, the whip cracked again, biting into her thighs. She forced her lids to part and focused on a crow watching her from its perch on a signpost.

  It called out, the harsh croak loud in the silent air as it announced her sin.

  Two blocks later, there were more strangers and fewer friends, but their expressions didn’t change. They wore the face of judgment.

  In Leviticus City, accusation was equal to guilt for a woman. One step away from mortal sin, any deviation from perfection would be punished harshly.

  Although it was part of her penance, the Sentinels walked her down the center of the street as a lesson. She was to be pitied and scorned now, and the sight of her naked and bound would inspire piety in everyone who saw her.

  Instead of stopping at the Seventh Street Holy House, they goaded her further. And the crowd of people never diminished. The whole city had turned out to watch her penance. The neighborhood was closed to traffic, freeing the streets for her parade of shame.

  Thankfully, she never saw her family. She didn’t think she could bear watching their expressions as they watched her disgrace.

  Ruth’s feet grew numb and she stumbled with almost every step. Her shivers had stopped three blocks past, and she felt almost warm now. Drowsy and languid, she kept moving forward. The goad continued to fall, yet the sting didn’t register on her frozen skin. The crowds filling the sidewalks turned into a blur of black and white, their faces pale blobs floating above the concrete.

  A spoiled tomato hit her in the chest, the rancid flesh warm as it split and dripped down her belly. She didn’t see where the missile had come from. One of the Sentinels strode forward, his low growl of displeasure making the milling crowd waver and disappear like mist, scouring the empty sidewalk clean. Without a word, he wiped the glistening red pulp from her skin before driving her forward yet again.

  He stopped her when she reached white marble steps leading upwards farther than she could see. Producing a piece of red fabric, he let it fall open and laid it over her head.

  The sheer cloth covered her to her ankles, hiding nothing. It was the dress of a harlot, used only to protect the righteous from her sins.

  Sentinels took her arms, one on each side, and bore her up the stairs. She thought it must be leading her to heaven for a moment, then recognized the iconic statues lining the steps of the Basilica of the Lord.

  Ruth had walked by the most famous Holy House in the world many times, but had never been inside. Hot tears welled in her eyes. One day she might have come here as a worshipper. Today, she was a penitent.

  Chapter 3

  And the daughter of any priest, if she profane herself by playing the whore, she profaneth her father: she shall be burnt with fire.

  Leviticus 21:9

  “You couldn’t have given her shoes?” a man’s voice asked.

  “Forgive us, Father David. The processional had already begun and she resisted arrest.”

  “Fascinating,” the dry voice murmured. “The three of you couldn’t control a woman half your size?”

  “I didn’t say she resisted for long, but we’ll clean up the blood, if you wish.”

  “I do wish. Reverend Gabriel won’t be pleased by her condition, but it can’t be helped, I suppose.” He snapped his fingers irritably, the sharp sound making Ruth flinch. “Bring her along. We’ll get her hearing over with, so she can begin her sentence.”

  Although the red veil was sheer, it distorted her vision, turning everything ruddy like it was coated in a sheen of blood. The Sentinels walked her forward, their hands still tight on her arms.

  They gave her one blessed moment to glimpse the splendor of the Basilica. Arched ceilings painted with angels rose above her head, gilded by multicolored sunlight streaming in from stained glass windows. The altar was an unreachable distance away, set high on a dais in the chancel. The ornately carved wood was surrounded by candles in tall pillars, and the scent of incense tickled her nose, sweet and cloying.

  Ruth was grateful for the help. Warmth trickled into her limbs, making prickles dance up and down her arms and legs. She gritted her teeth at the discomfort and kept up as best she could, but every step was torture. The cuts on her feet from walking so far without shoes were making themselves known with wet shards of agony. She slipped in the blood she left behind, her feet unable to gain traction on the smooth wood floor.

  She didn’t dare ask, but wanted know why they were bothering with a hearing if her sentence had already been determined. Instead of thinking such unworthy thoughts, she ought to be thanking the Lord they weren’t taking her straight to the whipping post in Punishment Square. And perhaps her sentence would be more lenient since she’d never touched herself with her hands.

  Their boots loud on the polished wood floor, the Sentinels marched her away from the sanctuary and down a long corridor. She was surrounded by them. One Sentinel on either side of her, and a third at her back, following so closely that she felt his body heat. Father David walked in front.

  Her lips moved under the veil, distorted by chattering teeth as she mouthed the words to every prayer she knew. Ruth prayed for lenience, and for Reverend Gabriel to have pity on her. She prayed for her penance to be over quickly so that she might have an opportunity for a husband.

  But what man would have her now? Even if she was allowed back into the city as a full citizen, no man would want a sinful, disobedient wife. She would always be a harlot. Tears spilled from her eyes, washing her dreams away as the Sentinels followed the priest to a wooden door at the end of the long hallway.

  Father David knocked twice, then opened that heavy door, revealing a wide room with men seated behind a long wooden table. Shivering, she recognized the Lord’s Servants, seven men tasked with interpreting the Lord’s Word and giving His laws to the people.

  She recognized them from the television, and each man had a sign bearing his name on the table in front of him.

  Ruth didn’t understand this at all. Who was she that the Servants would take an interest in her crime? They only sat in judgment of…

  Terror iced her, freezing her bloody feet to the floor, and she let out a soft whine. The Servants only presided over capital sin, when the penance would be execution. “But I never used my hands,” she whispered.

  Ignoring her choked words, the Sentinels pulled her forward, then forced her to her knees in the center of the room. The red veil
spread out around her in a cloud, protecting the Servants from her immodesty.

  Her shoulders ached from her bonds, seizing painfully when she tried to lower her head. Giving up, she relaxed and closed her eyes, hoping they couldn’t see through the veil.

  “Sinful woman, open your eyes,” Servant Abraham snapped, his gravelly voice rough in her ears. “Look upon the face of your judgment.”

  A Sentinel snapped his goad at her back, sending a line of fire across her shoulders. Ruth forced her eyes open, but couldn’t make herself look into the Servants’ eyes.

  Except one man’s gaze drew her like moth to flame. Reverend Gabriel sat at the center of the group. Strangely, though everything was tinged red by her veil, his eyes were still as brown as they’d been on the television.

  Unlike the other Servants, his unlined face was clean shaven. He looked young and pure, as close to the divine as it was possible to get in Leviticus City. He didn’t smile, but his eyes were kind as he gazed at her. He didn’t spare a glance for her body; his eyes remained firmly on hers.

  He must see every sin in her soul.

  “Six hundred and forty-two lashes,” Servant Noah pronounced. “One for every time she’s allowed the devil into her body.”

  “You’ll likely be flogging her corpse before she makes it halfway through her penance,” Reverend Gabriel replied dryly. “Her hands are pure, are they not? Does her crime truly deserve execution?”

  “So?” Servant Abraham said. “Divide it up over time. Ten a day until she pays for her sins.”

  “Is sixty-four days enough penance?” Reverend Gabriel asked. “Two months is but a moment of time compared to how long Ruth Tyler has sinned.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “No, that’s not nearly enough.”

  “Ten a day for sixty-four days, plus two years hard labor,” Servant Noah replied.

  Ruth trembled, her terror growing with every word from the Servants. Six hundred lashes? Nobody could live through that. It was the harshest penance she’d ever heard of. She bit back a hysterical laugh when she heard the last proposed penance.

  Hard labor meant the mines, and she wouldn’t last six months down there. The television had shown her what lay beneath the Lachian Mountains two hundred miles east of Leviticus City. Naked and feral, penitents and the unclean scratched coal from the unyielding stone. They died early, choked by coal dust, blinded by lack of light and the poison air.

  It was just a slower method of execution, and the people who went there never came back.

  “Yet her hands have not sinned. Should they pay penance for the crimes of her body?” Reverend Gabriel asked. “No, her hands are pure. Her body has invited the devil, but I believe Ruth Tyler can be redeemed.”

  “With all due respect, Reverend Gabriel,” Servant Abraham said, “she has demonstrated a long history of self-rape. We cannot allow this wickedness to spread!” He stood and banged a fist on the table, his face twisted with disgust. “We’re fortunate that her impiety hasn’t infected everyone in her neighborhood!”

  “You’re quite right, Servant Abraham. Ruth Tyler must pay her penance, but I have a better idea.”

  His lips parted in a smile as he gazed down at her. She shivered under his stare, blinking away the vision of red flickering lights in place of brown irises.

  “Fine,” Servant Abraham snapped. “But I demand at least twenty lashes for tonight’s broadcast. She needs to be an example for women contemplating sin.”

  “Of course. We mustn’t let an opportunity for an object lesson go to waste. In fact,” he said, tapping his chin, “air it just before vespers for the next six days.”

  Ruth shuddered at the satisfied, acquisitive gleam in Servant Abraham’s eyes. He anticipated her punishment. The remaining Servants bore expressions of disgust mingled with impatience, but Servant Abraham’s glare made her feel sick with shame.

  It was as if he was touching her, and her skin crawled. But that was silly. A Servant would sooner cut off his own hand before he sullied himself with a fallen woman.

  As one, the Servants rose, chairs scraping as they stood. The Sentinels hauled her to her feet, holding her up when her knees buckled.

  Ruth closed her eyes as they filed from the room, whispering prayers of thanks to deaf ears. She didn’t know what penance she would suffer after her public flogging, but she wasn’t going to be executed or sent to the mines.

  Her life in Leviticus City was over. She’d never be allowed to marry. No one would hire her to work, and she’d be ineligible for government charity.

  She’d be sent into the Outworld with seed and tools, and enough training that she could feed herself if she wasn’t eaten by a wild animal or killed by one of the Godless. That was the normal punishment for a woman who self-raped over a long period of time. A woman had been sentenced to the Outworld the previous year, and hadn’t been seen since.

  Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. She’d be like Jonah in the belly of the whale. Her faith would sustain her. And if the Lord chose to take her, she wouldn’t complain.

  Her stride lengthened, stretching out to the span of the chain binding her ankles. She straightened her shoulders, filled with sudden purpose.

  She would take her penance with joy and forbearance. And when Leviticus City turned its back on her, she would go into the wilderness and speak the Lord’s word unto the Godless.

  Chapter 4

  Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.

  Luke 6:37

  The frigid air struck her, blowing through the thin fabric covering her body. She tried to ignore the cold as the Sentinels marched her two blocks north to Punishment Square.

  A whipping on cold skin was going to be horrible, but she’d bear it with as much grace as she could muster. Twenty lashes weren’t so bad when it could have been so much worse. She shuddered, remembering Servant Noah’s cold voice as he suggested six hundred.

  The witnesses had already gathered. Women, modest and perfect in their white dresses and bonnets, their husbands and fathers stern in black suits, lured by the sound of her name and sins read in a repeating loop through loudspeakers all over the city.

  Mother Judith read her shame in a voice filled with disapproval and Ruth winced. To have her crimes read by a woman noted for her piety and grace made her feel nauseous.

  Renewing her determination, she walked toward the post. Two Sentinels, their hoods edged in the red stripe that marked them as Disciplinarians, stood on either side, black whips coiled at their waists.

  They stepped forward and took custody of her from the Sentinels who had arrested her, then marched her to the post. Turning her to face the crowd, they paused while Mother Judith read her sins one last time.

  “The penitent Ruth Tyler has committed the crimes of self-rape and fornication. She is hereby sentenced to receive twenty lashes and penance served under Reverend Gabriel until he deems her fit to rejoin society.”

  Mother Judith paused, and the crowd murmured uncomfortably. Ruth knew why. Her punishment was unheard of. No one had ever received such a vague penance.

  And no one ever came back from the crime of fornication. She’d held her silence through her arrest and sentencing but couldn’t hold her words back now.

  “Why do you lie?” she shouted. “Why do you tell these people I’ll come back?”

  “Be silent, penitent,” one of the Disciplinarians growled.

  Ignoring him, Ruth called, “Tell them I’m not going to come back. Tell them—”

  He struck her face, and she cried out as she fell to the stage. Her jaw ached from the vicious punch and her head swam as she tried to stay conscious.

  Hauling her to her feet, he spun her around to face the post and lifted the veil to expose her back. Instead of removing it, he tossed it over her shoulders to drape in the front, leaving her head covered.

  She heard a click and her hands were freed for the scant few seconds it took t
o attach them to the ring set high up on the post. It wasn’t so far up that Ruth had to stand on her toes; it had been built with women in mind, after all.

  The other stepped close to her, his warm breath moving the cloth over her face as he laid her braid over her shoulder. He traced her bruised jaw with a gloved hand.

  He had beautiful, kind eyes. She thought they might be green, but it was hard to tell with the veil coloring everything red. His short beard was brown and threaded with gray.

  And he smelled good. Like oranges and something spicy she didn’t recognize. His scent was fresh and sweet, and she inhaled deeply before she could stop herself.

  In a soft voice, he said, “Open your mouth, Ruth. The rope will help you bear your penance.”

  Ruth parted her lips and didn’t struggle as he wedged a knotted piece of rope between her teeth and tied it firmly behind her head over the veil.

  She let her head fall until her forehead met the stained wood as the Disciplinarians’ bootsteps sounded behind her. The hiss of leather falling to the stage was almost drowned out by the excited murmurs of the crowd.

  Cold air blew across her skin, raising gooseflesh. Ruth clenched her teeth on the rope, trying to stop her shivers. Mother Judith’s voice rang through the loudspeakers, making her flinch.

  “Good people of Leviticus City, bear witness to the beginning of this woman’s penance and search your souls for sin. Stomp it out!” Mother Judith shouted. “Raise your voice in prayer to drive the devil from your bodies!”

  Ruth waited for the final words she knew would come, yet Mother Judith was silent as thousands of voices raised up in catechism for the damned. She shivered uncontrollably and tried to relax her body as much as she could, knowing it would help her control the imminent pain.

  Too soon, the fateful words came and the crowd fell silent.