I can’t look away from her, the mad sparkle in her eyes, the sheer weight of belief in her voice, and the violence in her arm as she swings the crop right at my vulnerable sex.
My scream rips through the room as the most intense pain I’ve ever felt rushes through me. I cross my legs, but my wrists feel like they’re shredding as the leather digs in. I have to put my feet back down, leaving myself vulnerable. Tears well, though I try to fight them back.
“You see, Maidens? Disobedience, wickedness, or a return to your fallen ways will not be tolerated.” She swings again.
I can’t get enough air, and I pull my knees up to try and defend myself, even though I can feel blood trickling down my forearms.
“Soon, you will speak the truth of the prophets! ‘Let me die the death of the righteous, and may my final end be like theirs!’”
“Amen!” shout the Spinners.
My legs give out, everything in me vibrating to the frequency of agony, and the Head Spinner draws back. When her arm flies forward, my wail comes from a deep reserve of suffering somewhere inside me. One I didn’t know was there. A primordial well of terror and hurt.
“‘The Lord rewards everyone for their righteousness and faithfulness.’” The Head Spinner’s voice is full of rapture. “I will make each one of you righteous and faithful.” She pulls up my chin, forcing me to meet her stony gaze. “Even you, sinful Delilah.”
She releases me, and tears leak freely down my face as my body goes limp. I lean forward, my shoulders twisting as I let the leather tear into my wrists. Deep sobs wrack me. I don’t know how long I hang there, my tears dripping onto the floor, but I feel when someone lifts me, their shoulder under my stomach. Then hands gently release the leather at my wrists.
Someone carries me over to one of the waxing tables. I blink away my tears to find an older, stout woman hovering over me. I recognize her from the microchipping. She’s Abigail, the oldest Spinner I’ve seen.
“I’m going to tend to your wrists and your maidenhood.”
I glance around wildly, looking for the Head Spinner through the haze of tears.
“She’s gone.” Abigail scowls. “Likely to do some sort of high and mighty business. Who knows. Now just lie still, and I’ll fix you right up.”
Sarah stands next to me, her face pale. Chastity assists Abigail with bandages as the other Spinners bark at the women to return to their “studies.”
“I’ll stay.” Sarah pushes my hair from my forehead.
“I didn’t do anything.” The words bubble up, as if my guilt or innocence matters in the least.
“I know. I know you didn’t.” She wipes my cheeks with her palms. “It’s not your fault.”
“Sarah!” A Spinner barks. “Do you need another demonstration of what happens to those who disobey?”
“Go. Please go.” I close my eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers.
“It’s okay.” I don’t want her to suffer. My pain is plenty.
Her warmth fades as she leaves, and then Abigail’s shadow falls over me. She mumbles under her breath, none of her words particularly Spinner-appropriate. I want to ask her how she got here. She clearly wasn’t a passed over Cloister Maiden like so many of the others seem to be. She is too old, too smart, too clear-eyed.
“This is going to sting.” She presses something cold against my wrist. Then the burn sets in. I clench my eyes shut.
“You aren’t too bad off. The leather only tore your skin in a couple of places. With a little salve, you won’t even scar. Thank the Lord. Scarring would send you right to the Chapel when your year is up.” She resumes grumbling. “Could’ve used … and there are padded cuffs…damn sadist.”
She cleans first one wrist and then the other as I wonder what the Chapel is and try to keep from crying out. I stare up at the rustic logs, each one forming an elaborate lattice above me. Planned, perfect, and built with human hands. Just like the Cloister. But instead of holding up a structure, the Cloister is designed to rip a person down to the barest foundation.
“Your maidenhood will recover just fine.” She bends over my crotch.
Only a week ago, I would’ve felt uncomfortable with someone hovering so close to my private area. Now, I sigh with relief as she applies some sort of cooling gel to the skin, easing the burn of the crop.
“Are you all right?” Chastity stares down at me, her voice barely a whisper.
“I think so. And … thank you for …” For helping me with the dead man. The words are there, but I can’t seem to utter them.
“You’re welcome.” She moves down the table and begins wrapping my wrists.
The rest of the room continues with training as Abigail and Chastity tend to me.