Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I expected the woman to run out of the cellblock and fetch the guards. I did not expect her to step further into the room and place the basin on the ground. Her eyes fell upon Rider, and she shook her head, tears brimming in her eyes. I noticed bruises and marks on her skin too. A sudden jolt of fury settled in my chest. Is everyone here getting hurt? What is happening to our people?
The woman crouched down next to Rider. “This man attacked the prophet.” Cold infused my senses and my eyes widened in shock. “He was called to meet with Prophet Cain, to repent his sins. Instead he attacked him.”
“What?” I said in a disbelieving whisper.
The woman nodded her head. “I heard the guards boasting about their beating of him. The prophet ordered them to truly make him pay.” She sighed. “This man was only trying to protect his people, I know he was. He was trying to keep us safe . . . and the prophet did this to him.”
The woman’s voice trembled. I bent down and placed a hand on her arm. She looked at me, staring at my veil. Confident that I could bare my face to her, I reached up and unclasped it. I drew back my headdress too, allowing my long blond hair to tumble down my back.
The woman did not look away. Her bottom lip quivered and she said quietly, “You are certainly a Cursed. You are so very beautiful.”
I frowned. “You are not afraid of me? Repulsed by my evil nature?” The people in our faith were meant to fear me. No Cursed was ever embraced with open arms.
“No,” the woman said and turned back to face Rider. “I do not fear you. I know that Curseds are not truly cursed after all.” I could hear the pain in her voice. I searched the woman’s face. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her if she had ever met any other Cursed, but I did not do it. I did not dare push her tolerance further.
“You care about him?” the woman asked.
My heart seemed to miss a beat. Ducking my head, I said, “Yes.”
The woman nodded and a flicker of a smile pulled on her lips. “He is a good man,” she said, and then her smile faded. She looked straight into my eyes. “He is good, you must remember that. No matter what. He is not a bad man. He is like us, beaten down and confused about how we have all been raised . . . but he is good. No matter what you hear.” She huffed a mirthless laugh. “I have encountered the opposite, the bad one, and know with crystal clarity the difference.”
I shook my head in confusion. But the woman suddenly jumped to her feet when music began playing from the speakers outside—the Lord’s Sharing call. “I must go,” she said. “I am needed in the Sharing hall. You must hurry. The guards may be a long time in their meeting, but you do not want to be caught.” Her eyes fell on the scissors. “You are going to cut his hair?”
“He needs more cleaning than he has been getting. He can barely breathe or see through this hair and beard. The heat is too much for him to bear.”
She cast her eyes down. “I will tell them I cut it. I will tell them today’s beating made it essential for his hair to be cut so I could tend to his wounds.”
“Why?” I asked. “Why would you do that for me . . . for him?”
The woman shrugged. “Because, despite it all, he deserves this help. He has been kept in this terrible state for too long for doing what was right.” She smiled a weak smile. “There is not much else they could do to hurt me anyway. One more punishment would not be so hard for me to bear.”
My heart broke for her.
“Thank you,” I said as she went to leave.
She paused in her step, and looking over her shoulder, said, “Remember, he is not bad.”
I opened my mouth, wanting her to explain what she meant, but she was gone. Rushing to finish the task, I cleaned all the blood from Rider’s arms, stomach and chest. I moved to his face. His eyes were shut, and on more than one occasion I had to put my ear to his mouth to check he was still breathing. He was so still I worried that he would pass.
I needed to move fast.
Sister Ruth and Brother Stephen stood watch at the doorway as I tried to wash Rider’s hair and beard. Sister Ruth eventually came to hold up his head when she saw I could not both hold him and clean his hair. It took four washes to loosen the knots and clumped strands of hair into manageable pieces. Taking the scissors, I cut inches off his hair, then proceeded to comb it through. When I was done, I helped Sister Ruth guide his head to my lap. I smiled at the feel of him so close. My heart felt like it was swelling to an impossible size as I stroked my finger along his clean cheek—I was pleased to see that it looked as though the bruising and swelling was mostly on his body. His face appeared mostly unharmed.