The Maiden (The Cloister Trilogy 1)

He’s left no room, no way to stop whatever horror he intends to visit on our mother. Noah and I are supposed to accept it as an appropriate punishment for whatever slight my father feels—whether real or imagined. Just as with the women, he expects perfect obedience from his sons. I bow my head and pretend to give it.

What he doesn’t know is that I’ll kill him for this. For all of it.

Chapter 29

Delilah

First thing the next morning, we all settle into the TV room for more edification from the Prophet. My mind still has a thin film coating it from the drugs. I try to remember everything that happened the previous night, but all I can see is sparks of light, neon travelling from me to the other Maidens, and a straight line of white-hot energy shooting across the crimson floor and binding me to Adam. I’d never done drugs before the Cloister, and I already wanted to stop. But if the starving us on Tuesday was any indication, we would be forced to partake in the weekly ritual.

Abigail flips on the projector, and we’re greeted with Miriam Roberts in a white skirt suit with red-bottomed heels and a too-white smile. “Maidens, it is so lovely to be able to speak with you today. The Prophet was kind enough to ask me to share a few words about my wonderful experience at the Cloister.” A woman in black maid’s attire sets an iced tea on the small table to Miriam’s right, then hurries away. “Now, I realize the first few weeks are the hardest. You feel like you’re in the wrong place, or perhaps that the Prophet has forsaken you. But I can assure you that this couldn’t be further from the truth.” Another poised smile. She blathers on, and I cast a glance at Sarah’s empty chair.

Where is she? I try to recall last night. Was she with us on the bus back to the Cloister? Try as I might, I can’t remember.

“…your education is preparing you to be in perfect obedience to your husband. This is the way to please the Prophet and God. The world is a terrifying place. The Prophet is the only one who can keep you safe, so give thanks to him at every opportunity.” She sips her drink. “Now that you’ve fully invested in what we do here at the Cloister, it’s time to talk about your future.”

I perk up at this.

She smiles again and folds her hands in her lap. “Being a Maiden is more than just learning how to be in perfect obedience to your future husband. That is important, of course.” She leans forward, looking directly into the camera. “But your relationship to the Prophet is far more important than any other in your life. Pleasing the Prophet is your reason for being here, and he’s the reason you are chosen above all other women.” She nods, agreeing with herself. “There are many ways you can serve the Prophet. The Prophet will decide the correct one for you when the time comes. But, no matter where you go, you must always remember that the Prophet is the head of your life, the head of your household, and the head of your heart. Whatever information you learn from the people around you—even if you find it trivial—must be reported back to the Prophet. And this is doubly important for Maidens such as myself. Powerful men hold even more powerful secrets. The Prophet needs to know these secrets in order to keep you safe.”

Ideas begin to click into place as she continues her propaganda. I already knew that some of the Maidens went on to marry politicians and rich businessmen, but I didn’t realize the Prophet was using these connections as a clandestine spy network.

I lean back, digesting this information and trying to decipher what it might mean about Georgia’s fate. Did she cross the wrong man in a quest for information? I’d originally suspected the Prophet of her murder, especially given the ritual desecration of her body, but could it have been a smokescreen to hide an even more insidious plot?

We sit through her smooth propaganda for an hour or so—the cogs in my mind clanking and spinning the entire time—then break for the training room. It’s my day on the table, so I assume the position as Abigail applies the enema. I don’t even feel the humiliation anymore. I just accept it. Maybe all the brainwashing is working on me.

“Hey,” Susannah whispers from beside me.

“Yeah?”

“Do you know where Sarah is?”

I glance back at Abigail who is busy at the sink. “No. Haven’t seen her.” And I’m ashamed to admit that I was too preoccupied with thoughts of Georgia to focus on Sarah’s absence.

“Shit.” She props her head on her hand. “Something’s happened.”