Deep Redemption
Page 32
As Phebe moved to wash my other arm, I flipped my hand and gently took hold of her wrist. The touch was soft, but Phebe jumped as though I had just slapped her across her face. I frowned as she tried to pull away.
I kept hold.
“Phebe,” I said quietly, my eye drifting to the door. She was beginning to panic. I didn’t want the guards to hear her. “Phebe,” I tried again. “Please . . . I won’t hurt you.”
At my words, Phebe seemed to come back from whatever nightmare she had drifted to in her mind. Her head was still turned away from mine as she tried to control her breathing. I gently pulled on her wrist. Her body grew stiff. Confusion and concern fogged my mind. Phebe was not herself. Not at all. She was drawn in and flinching at my every touch.
I wondered what Judah had told her about me to warrant this kind of response. Deciding to find out, I leaned forward and lifted my free hand to place my fingers under her chin. Phebe’s breath caught in her throat. She was a deer caught in the headlights. As gently as I could, I turned her face toward mine. She tried to resist at first, but then finally submitted.
Just like every woman in the commune would naturally do.
My eyes widened in shock. Her face was heavily beaten, her pale skin awash with black and blue. Fading yellow bruises laid the canvas for more recent cuts and wounds. Phebe kept her blue eyes facing down to the ground.
“Phebe, look at me,” I ordered. Her shoulders sagged in defeat, and she looked up at my face. Tears tracked down her marred skin. “Who did this to you?”
Phebe’s gaze dropped once more, but I tilted her chin up higher. “Tell me,” I insisted. Phebe closed her eyes, her bottom lip quivering with emotion. When her lids opened again, she stared right at me.
“Prophet Cain,” she said softly and my stomach flipped over. I opened my mouth, to ask her to confirm that my brother had done this, when I realized that her voice had carried a strange inflection—she wasn’t answering my question at all . . . she was addressing me. She was letting me know that she did know who I was. She knew what Judah had done . . .
. . . she knew.
I nodded, not wanting to speak in case Harmony was listening.
A small, relieved smile tugged on Phebe’s split lips. She pointed to my tattoos, hidden under blood and dirt. “It was confirmed by these, but I knew what he had done before that, because you are so different.” I glanced back to the gap in the wall. I turned back to Phebe, placing my finger over my lips. She nodded in understanding.
“Who did this to you?” I asked again.
Phebe picked up the discarded rag and dipped it into the water. As she cleaned me, she whispered, “The prophet pulled me from my duty as a sacred sister many weeks ago. In fact, he has pulled all of the women back who were recruiting in the outside world. He has grounded us all. We practice with guns like everyone else now. We are Rapture-focused.” She rinsed the dirt off the rag and brought it back to my chest. “At least, all of commune . . . but me.”
The pain in Phebe’s voice was evident. “You are no longer his consort at all?”
Phebe shook her head, keeping her focus on the job at hand. “Sarai did not want me there. The prophet does anything she asks of him.” Her hand stuttered on my skin. Phebe quickly righted herself, and said, “So he discarded me from his side.” She breathed deeply. “I was nothing more than a frivolous fancy for him anyway. I was skilled in seduction and sex; that is all I have ever done for this commune. I have outgrown my purpose.”
A tear from Phebe’s eye dropped onto my skin. “A man, from the outside world, came to stand at the prophet’s side. I do not know where he is from, but he stays close to the prophet, along with Brother Luke, Prophet Cain’s right-hand man. The new man has no hair, and is very strongly built. I heard whisperings when he arrived that he was supplying the guns that will be used in the oncoming holy war.” Phebe released the rag and pointed at my tattoos. I understood what she was saying. The man had tattoos. “Though they are different.” From yours, I silently filled in for her.
“He . . . he took an interest in me during one of the Lord’s Sharings I was made to attend.” Phebe’s face paled. “He has since claimed me as his. He . . . ” More tears fell from her eyes and she struggled to breathe. I reached out and held her arm. She flinched again, even though she knew that I was no threat. “He expects me to do certain things with him that I do not want. But the prophet has ordered me to stay with him. He said he is important, essential for the coming holy war. I do not know his name. He makes me call him Meister.” Phebe leaned forward and whispered, “Prophet Cain is planning an attack on the devil’s men.” Her blue eyes implored me to understand. “He wants to attack them, before they attack us. That is why the people are training so hard. We are to bring the wrath of God to their gates. Prophet Cain has received a revelation that we are to strike as soon as the order comes from God. We must be ready.”
I kept hold.
“Phebe,” I said quietly, my eye drifting to the door. She was beginning to panic. I didn’t want the guards to hear her. “Phebe,” I tried again. “Please . . . I won’t hurt you.”
At my words, Phebe seemed to come back from whatever nightmare she had drifted to in her mind. Her head was still turned away from mine as she tried to control her breathing. I gently pulled on her wrist. Her body grew stiff. Confusion and concern fogged my mind. Phebe was not herself. Not at all. She was drawn in and flinching at my every touch.
I wondered what Judah had told her about me to warrant this kind of response. Deciding to find out, I leaned forward and lifted my free hand to place my fingers under her chin. Phebe’s breath caught in her throat. She was a deer caught in the headlights. As gently as I could, I turned her face toward mine. She tried to resist at first, but then finally submitted.
Just like every woman in the commune would naturally do.
My eyes widened in shock. Her face was heavily beaten, her pale skin awash with black and blue. Fading yellow bruises laid the canvas for more recent cuts and wounds. Phebe kept her blue eyes facing down to the ground.
“Phebe, look at me,” I ordered. Her shoulders sagged in defeat, and she looked up at my face. Tears tracked down her marred skin. “Who did this to you?”
Phebe’s gaze dropped once more, but I tilted her chin up higher. “Tell me,” I insisted. Phebe closed her eyes, her bottom lip quivering with emotion. When her lids opened again, she stared right at me.
“Prophet Cain,” she said softly and my stomach flipped over. I opened my mouth, to ask her to confirm that my brother had done this, when I realized that her voice had carried a strange inflection—she wasn’t answering my question at all . . . she was addressing me. She was letting me know that she did know who I was. She knew what Judah had done . . .
. . . she knew.
I nodded, not wanting to speak in case Harmony was listening.
A small, relieved smile tugged on Phebe’s split lips. She pointed to my tattoos, hidden under blood and dirt. “It was confirmed by these, but I knew what he had done before that, because you are so different.” I glanced back to the gap in the wall. I turned back to Phebe, placing my finger over my lips. She nodded in understanding.
“Who did this to you?” I asked again.
Phebe picked up the discarded rag and dipped it into the water. As she cleaned me, she whispered, “The prophet pulled me from my duty as a sacred sister many weeks ago. In fact, he has pulled all of the women back who were recruiting in the outside world. He has grounded us all. We practice with guns like everyone else now. We are Rapture-focused.” She rinsed the dirt off the rag and brought it back to my chest. “At least, all of commune . . . but me.”
The pain in Phebe’s voice was evident. “You are no longer his consort at all?”
Phebe shook her head, keeping her focus on the job at hand. “Sarai did not want me there. The prophet does anything she asks of him.” Her hand stuttered on my skin. Phebe quickly righted herself, and said, “So he discarded me from his side.” She breathed deeply. “I was nothing more than a frivolous fancy for him anyway. I was skilled in seduction and sex; that is all I have ever done for this commune. I have outgrown my purpose.”
A tear from Phebe’s eye dropped onto my skin. “A man, from the outside world, came to stand at the prophet’s side. I do not know where he is from, but he stays close to the prophet, along with Brother Luke, Prophet Cain’s right-hand man. The new man has no hair, and is very strongly built. I heard whisperings when he arrived that he was supplying the guns that will be used in the oncoming holy war.” Phebe released the rag and pointed at my tattoos. I understood what she was saying. The man had tattoos. “Though they are different.” From yours, I silently filled in for her.
“He . . . he took an interest in me during one of the Lord’s Sharings I was made to attend.” Phebe’s face paled. “He has since claimed me as his. He . . . ” More tears fell from her eyes and she struggled to breathe. I reached out and held her arm. She flinched again, even though she knew that I was no threat. “He expects me to do certain things with him that I do not want. But the prophet has ordered me to stay with him. He said he is important, essential for the coming holy war. I do not know his name. He makes me call him Meister.” Phebe leaned forward and whispered, “Prophet Cain is planning an attack on the devil’s men.” Her blue eyes implored me to understand. “He wants to attack them, before they attack us. That is why the people are training so hard. We are to bring the wrath of God to their gates. Prophet Cain has received a revelation that we are to strike as soon as the order comes from God. We must be ready.”
