Broken Princess Page 7

  I go back to working the dough, but stop when I feel the man’s eyes on me. He’s staring at my upper arm, his expression darkening. I look down at myself and cringe. By rolling up my sleeve I’ve exposed the bruises covering my skin. Andros always makes sure they stay in areas usually hidden beneath my clothes, but now I’ve made a mistake.

  I look at the table and tug at the sleeve until it falls to my elbow again. The relaxed silence between us has turned uncomfortable and I’m tempted to leave. Everybody knows how Andros treats me, but most people haven’t seen the evidence of it. Least of all the novices.

  I wait for him to say something, but he stays quiet and we fall back into our rhythm of kneading the bread, turning it, stretching it.

  “I’m Noran,” he says finally, surprising me.

  “Laya,” I answer.

  “I know.”

  Silence again.

  He clears his throat. “How long have you been here?”

  “Since the beginning.” I smile at the memory of how we found this place, how we bought the land, how Andros and I planned the layout of the village. We were so full of hope and enthusiasm back then. Everything was new.

  “Of course, you’re his wife.” He nods, more to himself than to me. “Did you marry before you came here or after?”

  “After,” I answer before I realise that we shouldn’t be having this conversation. It’s too personal. “Are you liking it here?”

  He doesn’t comment on my change of topic. “It’s very peaceful. It’s different than I expected though.”

  “Different how?”

  “People are so… normal. I was expecting – please don’t take this in the wrong way – hippies and alternative folks, not people of all ages and backgrounds who wouldn’t stand out at all in a normal crowd.”

  I shrug. “The Angel’s call can reach anyone, no matter who they are. That’s the beauty of it.”

  “True, otherwise I wouldn’t be here,” he says, putting his dough to one side and pulling a stack of baking trays from a shelf beneath the table. “Can you make six equal balls?”

  I nod and get on with my task, meticulously separating my big ball into six smaller parts. I’m a bit of a perfectionist sometimes. Noran takes them and forms them into loaves before placing them on the trays and using a knife to cut a pattern onto the top. “Makes the crust nicer,” he explains.

  Without warning, the door opens and Connor steps in. When he sees me, he stops in his tracks and looks at me wide-eyed. I must be covered in flour, just like Noran, and my sleeves are still rolled up.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, confusion and a trace of anger colouring his voice.

  “I was helping,” I stutter, before quickly patting off my clothes and heading towards the door. “I should go.”

  “Yes, you should,” Connor mutters and I almost run out before he can say any more.

  I shouldn’t have done this. I shouldn’t have been there. I should never have stayed. But inside of me, a spark of happiness is dancing wildly and I can’t suppress the smile curving my lips. I hurry home before someone can see it.

  12

  Andros doesn’t mention the bread incident when he visits me at night, so maybe Connor didn’t tell him. His whipping isn’t more forceful than usual, but that doesn’t mean it stops me from screaming in pain.

  “Do you think this will feel just as good when we’re in Paradise, little dove?” he asks when he has finished and kneels by my side, softly running his hands over the wounds he’s inflicted. I don’t reply. It doesn’t feel good, not to me. And if it does to him… it’s only more proof of how depraved he is. I get that I need to be punished, but he shouldn’t be enjoying it.

  He doesn’t seem bothered by my silence.

  “I think it will be magnificent. Maybe the Angel will watch. Maybe he’ll even take part. Wouldn’t you like that, sweet girl? Being taken by the Angel, that would be the highest honour imaginable. Maybe he’d even give you a child. You’d be like Mary.”

  I whimper at the thought. In my mind, the Angel is benevolent, gentle, kind, not at all like the Angel Andros is describing right now.

  “Do you really think he’d do that?” I whisper, my voice hoarse from screaming.

  “I do,” Andros says enthusiastically. “He’s been showing me more and more visions of how I’m punishing you, so I believe he’ll want to watch once we’re in Paradise for real. Maybe we should bring forward ascension. Everything is ready, there’s no point in waiting. Yes, let’s do it tomorrow. The sooner we ascend, the quicker I can watch the Angel take you.”

  He keeps running his hands over my burning back, increasing the agony of the bloody streaks he’s painted on my skin.

  I thought the pain would end once we’ve ascended. Now, it seems like it’ll never be over. I’m always going to be the Prophet’s canvas, always in pain, always suffering.

  “We’ll do it tomorrow,” Andros whispers as he lies down beside me and squeezes a hand between my legs. “Tomorrow we will leave this Earth and become immortal.”

  I didn’t sleep, of course I didn’t. Andros left in the early hours of the morning to prepare everything, telling me to pray and ready myself.

  By the time the sun starts to rise, my ankle is hurting painfully. I’ve been thinking about running away too much. All this time I’ve been working towards ascension, but now, I am scared of it. Not because of the process of ascending, but of what awaits me once we’ve stepped into Paradise. I imagined a peaceful, happy existence under the loving guidance of the Angel. Now, everything has changed. That image has been twisted and turned into a nightmare that I won’t be able to escape from. Paradise is final, there’s nowhere to move on from there.

  Someone knocks on the door and I expect Rose, there to clean my wounds.

  “Come in!” I rasp, but nobody enters. I wait for a minute, but curiosity is stronger than my pain and I stumble to the door. I don’t care that I’m naked. Right now, I don’t care about anything.

  A small plate waits for me on my doorstep, a sandwich on top, made from two thick slices of the bread I baked yesterday. I quickly take it inside, hunger spreading in my belly.

  I know it’s probably not just food though, and when I pull the bread slices apart, my suspicion is confirmed. There’s a note hidden inside, wrapped in clingfilm.

  WE KNOW. HELP IS COMING. DON’T TAKE IT.

  It’s no longer just one messenger. We. More than one. Don’t take the help? Or don’t take the poison that Andros is preparing? Probably the latter, it doesn’t make sense otherwise.

  I hide the message in the usual spot and start to nibble on the sandwich, but I don’t even notice the taste. Help is coming. Do I want help? Do I need it?

  For once, I know the answer.

  Yes, I do. I want to get away. I no longer want to stay here, and I certainly don’t want to ascend to an eternity of pain and humiliation.

  My ankle begins to throb again, but I ignore it.

  I’m getting out of here, no matter the cost.

  I was expecting this day to be different from our usual routine, but when I go outside, nothing seems to have changed. People are going about their daily business, one of the babies is screaming somewhere to my right, and the sun is shining, warming the ground beneath my naked feet.

  It’s a day like any other. Nobody knows yet that it’s going to be their last day on Earth, unless someone intervenes. I’m not sure I want them to stop the ascension for everyone. It wouldn’t be fair. Just because I no longer want to do it, doesn’t mean that the rest of the believers shouldn’t get the chance.

  “What are you doing here?” Andros is suddenly in front of me, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes flaring with anger. “You shouldn’t be outside.”

  “I wanted to see if they need help in the office,” I mutter, automatically bowing my head and taking on a demure position. He’s trained me well.

  “They don’t. Go back home and stay there until midday prayer when I anno
unce the ascension. I don’t want anybody else to know yet.”

  I nod and head back to my house, but not before I can hear him whisper, “I’m going to punish you for this later.” I’m not sure if he means before or after the ascension.

  At home, I sit on the floor, staring at the statue of the Angel. I have nothing to do, not even books to copy. Nothing to read, either. All I have are my swirling thoughts in my head and the Angel looking down on me.

  I stare back at him defiantly.

  “You won’t have me,” I tell him. “Not if you’re like Andros.”

  I search his features for any sign of the benevolence I saw in them in the past, but all I see is stern lines and hard eyes. I could easily imagine him raising my husband’s whip. No, I won’t let him. I won’t be their victim any longer.

  I get up and turn the statue around until he looks at the wall. I don’t want him to watch me. Something catches my eye on its pedestal and I take a closer look. There’s something small and black wedged into a crack in the wood, just below the Angel’s flowing gown. I pick at it with my fingernails until I manage to pull it out. It’s a tiny microphone with a short antenna, no bigger than my finger nail. A bug. My house is being bugged. No wonder they knew that the ascension has been pulled forward.

  I should be angry, but it’s actually a relief to know that someone has been listening in. They’ll know what Andros has been doing. There are witnesses. Even if they will never tell anybody, it feels good to know that I’m not alone. Someone cares.

  I smile and push the bug back in its old position, before turning the Angel statue around again. I hate him seeing me, but I don’t want anyone else to find the microphone. It’s my little secret.

  Now I’m back to not knowing what to do. I look around the room. It’s been my house for years, but it’s never quite felt like home. There are no pictures on the walls, no decoration at all. My white robes are hanging from hooks on the wall, and my simple white and beige clothes are folded neatly on a shelf that was once a shoe rack. That, a mattress on the floor and a small sink in a corner is the extent of my furniture. Even prisoners have more. I smile grimly. I’ve never thought that before. I’m changing, my thoughts are getting more rebellious. I should be scared of that, I should be repenting, confessing to Andros, praying to the Angel, but all I do is sit there, smiling and waiting for what’s going to happen next.

  13

  The Prophet doesn’t mention ascension until the end of the midday prayer. Only when everyone is ready to leave, does he lift his voice again, surprising everyone.

  “We will be ascending tonight,” he announces. Gasps and shouts are all around me, and it takes a moment for Andros to get their attention again. “The Angel has told me to do it this evening, which is sooner than expected, but he in his infinite wisdom has decreed that we shall join him on this very day. Everything is prepared, so now it’s time for all of us to meditate and pray that the Angel will let us sit by his side. I have written a letter to the authorities to explain that we have ascended in good faith. I have also sent the words of the Angel to supporters and libraries across the world, so that other people may find the true path and follow us, the very first believers.” He smiles and opens his arms wide. “Are there any questions?”

  I think most of them are dumbstruck and surprised, but one woman, Jasmine, steps forward. “What about the children?”

  Andros’s smile widens. “They will ascend with us. They will grow up in Paradise, guided by the Angel’s wisdom and grace.”

  I swallow hard. That had never been the plan before. The babies were supposed to stay behind, not ascend. Jasmine nods and steps back into the line of women, but her expression has hardened into an unreadable mask. I wonder if it’s fear or determination that she’s trying to hide.

  “Will it hurt?” one of the men asks, but I can’t see who it is.

  “I’m told it’s painless,” Andros explains. “But even if it does, it will be a small price to pay.”

  “I’m not asking for myself, Prophet,” the man continues after a moment of silence. “But my wife is very sensitive to pain, and I’m worried she might suffer.”

  “Suffering is peace,” Andros recites warmly. “But if it reassures you, I will have my own wife ascend first to show you all the way.”

  It’s like he’s kicked me in the chest. Me, first. No, it can’t be. He said we’d ascend together, the last ones, and I was hoping that help might arrive in time that everybody else can ascend and then help me escape. I want them all to reach the Angel, I really do. They deserve to be in his light.

  Other questions are being asked, but my ears are buzzing and I’m fighting the bile rising up in my throat. I want to be sick, I want to run, but all I can do is stand there and wait for the inevitable end.

  * * *

  We’re told to wash ourselves and put on new clothes. I do it in a haze, going through the motions like I’m not really there. I shower, shave my scalp one last time, slip into my cleanest robe. I don’t worry that my wounds will stain the cloth. I will never have to wash it again.

  When we’re all washed and cleansed, we assemble in the community hall for prayer.

  Discipline leads to redemption.

  Suffering brings peace.

  Obedience inspires happiness.

  Pain is salvation.

  The Angel is our shield and our refuge.

  We repeat the mantra over and over, my lips forming the words automatically. Then Andros stands, preaches about what awaits us on the other side, repeating the visions he’s told us about over and over, before we’re back to mantras. In a way, they give me comfort. They’re familiar, soothing.

  We kneel for hours until the light shining through the high windows begins to turn a light shade of red.

  Andros stands and the mantra ends, the echo of our voices still reverberating through the room.

  “Novices, you will have to decide now whether you are ready or whether you want to stay on Earth for a while longer, before ascending on your own. I believe you have learned enough to successfully ascend, but I’m leaving the decision to you.”

  The three men in their red robes stand in the front row and I watch as they turn to each other as if they’re taking the decision together.

  “We will ascend.” It’s Martin who replies, the doctor. His voice is clear and determined, so unlike the way I feel.

  Andros smiles. “Good. I’m proud of you.” He turns to me and holds out a hand. “Princess, it’s time.”

  I stay where I am, frozen, unable to move. This can’t be happening. It’s too soon. I’m not ready, I never will be.

  “Laya,” he says, his smile still there but his eyes have grown hard. “Come here.”

  I know what’s expected of me. I need to be a role model, unafraid, strong, determined, the perfect servant of the Angel. Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe the Angel will be as good as I imagined him.

  I force my shaking body to move to Andros’s side. He puts an arm around my shoulders, pressing me close to him, more shackles than embrace.

  “Be strong,” he whispers, before turning to the other side where Connor has appeared with a crate of bottles. Andros takes one of them and holds it up so all can see. “This is our way of ascension. Drink at least half a bottle, then lie down and pray. It won’t take long. If you need help, let me know. I will be the last to go so I can make sure you have all ascended safely.”

  He removes his arm from my shoulders to open the bottle. Now would be my chance to run, but I can’t move. My legs are shaking so much that I’m threatening to fall, but then Andros’s arm is around my waist again, steadying me.

  “Pray with me as my wife ascends,” he hollers and puts the bottle to my lips, tilting it until the liquid kisses my lips. I don’t open them and the poison pools around my mouth.

  “Drink,” Andros hisses so only I can hear. I just look at him in defiance. I’m not going to. He frowns and suddenly pinches my side so hard that I gasp and open my mouth �
�� and drink the liquid he’s now pouring down my throat. It tastes like apple juice, fruity and sweet, not at all like something that’s about to rip me from my mortal body. I swallow as more and more of it fills my mouth, drinking the poison while watching a smile spread across Andros’s face.

  My vision is going blurry much quicker than I expected, and my legs finally give in. Andros gently lowers me to the ground, his lips brushing against mine. “See you soon, little dove. Wait for me.”

  His hand cups my cheek, but then it’s gone and he’s no longer there. Everything is spinning, I can’t see, the sounds are disappearing, but I can still feel a sharp pinch in my arm and hear the loud bangs that are like drums welcoming me to Paradise.

  Part II

  14

  The Angel never comes to take me home. Instead, the tubes and beeps keep me alive, just about, edging on the far rim of life.

  At first, I’m not aware, but slowly, I notice more and more of what’s happening around me, even if I can’t move or reply. I’m in a strange twilight land, not quite awake, not quite asleep.

  They’re talking about me. First, wondering whether I’ll make it. Then, asking how long it’ll be until I wake. They want to ask me questions, so many questions, but all I want is sleep. In sleep, I’m happy, alive and far, far away from all that’s happened. My dreams are set in the times before I met Andros, showing me memories I’d thought I’d buried deep away. My parents, my family.

  The day they take the tube out of my throat is when I almost wake up, but I’m not quite ready yet. I don’t think I’ll ever be.

  When my eyes open for the first time, I close them again. They know I’m awake, they talk to me, they try and make me eat. I refuse it all. I don’t know what I want to happen. Do I want to ascend, leave it all behind? Fulfil the destiny I’ve been working towards all these years? Or do I want to live in a world without the Angel, without the Prophet and his guidance?