Sympathy flooded Sister Ruth’s eyes. “I know, angel.” I smiled at her tenderness, but that smile faded when she added, “But the prophet has commanded that you wear it.”
I flattened my hands over my long dress, which was the same shade of pale blue as the veil. I thought of the new prophet. I had heard he was ruthless and strong. And he must have been, because he had found me. I had managed to live in peace until a few weeks ago, when one of Prophet Cain’s disciple guards came to help with closing our commune. I was discovered when he called each member to report to his quarters.
Discovered and branded . . . A Cursed Sister of Eve.
*****
“I must come out?” I asked Brother Stephen as he opened the door to my room. I could see the regret and sadness etched in his brown eyes, but he nodded his head.
“They will come for you if you do not. They are assessing each member of the commune,” Brother Stephen informed me.
A pit formed in my stomach. I had to lock my knees together just to try and stop the shaking of my legs.
“Come,” Brother Stephen said gently and held out his hand. I placed my trembling hand in his, keeping my head low, so as not to see the sympathy in his gaze.
Brother Stephen led me outside. I squinted as the bright sun speared its blinding light into my eyes. The commune was deathly silent, my feet sounding like cracks of thunder on the ground.
“Harmony, this is Brother Ezrah,” Brother Stephen said.
I drew in a shaky breath. My fingers still trembled, my legs still shook, my breath came short . . . but I remained standing. I stood strong.
Two heavy-booted feet came into my sight. My heart beat too fast to be normal, pushing my blood too fast through my ears. Then a finger landed below my chin and roughly forced my head up. I heard the quick inhale of breath from the guard before me.
A warm gentle breeze brushed across my face, sending Brother Ezrah’s scent into my nose. Musk. He smelled of something musky. Subtle . . . familiar.
“Lift your eyes,” Brother Ezrah ordered. His tone brooked no argument. I silently counted to three, then lifted my head.
The minute our gazes collided, I saw a fire light in his eyes. He shifted his hand from my chin and ran it over my long blond hair. His fingers brushed delicately over my face, his blue eyes studying my dark brown. A slow smile tugged on his lips.
Brother Ezrah turned to Brother Stephen. “What is this? Why was she not declared sooner? The new prophet sent word to each commune asking for their girls to be assessed weeks ago. She should have been declared for our inspection.”
Brother Stephen feigned ignorance. My stomach dropped as Brother Ezrah turned to a lesser guard. “Contact the prophet. Tell him we have found a potential Cursed.”
My eyes fell closed. A Cursed. My stomach swelled with flutters of fear. But I knew it was hopeless to argue. His mind would not be changed. His eyes had confirmed what he believed to be true.
I was a devil’s whore.
“No. She is not,” Brother Stephen argued, but Brother Ezrah walked away, a new kind of determination in his steps.
I looked at my guardians, and a meaningful stare passed between us. I breathed deeply, knowing that the time had arrived. Yet fear still trickled into my veins like a thick poison. My family’s peaceful life here in Puerto Rico was over. We always knew the time would come. But it did not make it any easier.
My life was about to change forever . . .
*****
“I hate that he has me veiled,” I said, feeling every ounce of that hatred in my bones.
“If you are declared a true Cursed by the prophet, he plans for you to be kept from the congregation. He wants to introduce you to the people only when the time is right. They have no idea of your existence, Harmony. The prophet has revealed this time to be the end of days. The prophesized marriage between our leader and a Cursed has not yet come to pass. The people fear that without it we are all doomed to hell. Prophet Cain wants to wed you to show that we are the chosen people of God. That He has not abandoned us.”
Nausea clawed up my throat at the very thought of being married to the prophet. I had never met Prophet Cain. I had no idea what he was like. Our people in Puerto Rico were always the last to hear of any news from New Zion.
I expelled a humorless laugh. I would soon be married to a man I did not know. Even though it was my duty, what some would regard a privilege, all I felt was complete and utter disgust. My past experience with men like him was still scarred onto my heart . . . onto my skin.
My soul.
Sister Ruth tapped my arm. I blinked to clear my vision. I turned to see what she wanted, and she pointed out of the small window beside her.
I leaned across her body and peered down. All I could see were white clouds. Sister Ruth held up her hand. “Wait, they will clear again soon.”
I waited patiently, then just as she predicted, the clouds cleared. My heart raced as I viewed the green patchwork quilt below. Buildings stretched out for miles. My eyes widened at the sheer enormity of what I was seeing.
“New Zion,” Sister Ruth announced, no emotion in her voice.
I swallowed hard as I cast my gaze over as much of the sacred lands as possible. The plane began to turn, offering me a full view of the great commune. “It is so big,” I whispered, my eyes widening.
“Bigger than I could ever have imagined,” said Sister Ruth.
My hands began to shake on my lap. New Zion was huge. Our home in Puerto Rico comprised no more than ten acres. New Zion was vast . . . and it was completely secluded, out of the sight of prying eyes.
The perfect place for our people to exist well away from the outside world.
“Brother Stephen, do you want to see?” Sister Ruth asked. He kept his eyes forward and shook his head.
His lips were pursed and his eyes were narrowed. I looked back out of the window; the ground was approaching quickly. I guessed we were only minutes from landing.
I sat back in my seat and clasped my hands tightly together on my lap.
You can do this. You must.
The wheels of the plane suddenly hit the ground. The engines screamed as we began to slow.
We were here.
The gravel road crunched beneath the plane’s heavy tires, the sound filling the small cabin. I focused on keeping my fear at bay, but it seemed impossible. “I am scared,” I whispered. I shook my head, hating that I could not push that weakness away.
I felt Brother Stephen tense—I knew he felt guilty that I was here, in this position. Sister Ruth placed her hand on my shoulder and began straightening my veil and hair.
I watched her as she made sure I looked perfect—just what the prophet wanted. She sat back. “You really are beautiful, Harmony. He will not dispute Brother Ezrah’s claim, I am sure.”
I nodded, but all I felt was repulsion.
In Puerto Rico, I was never made to feel evil or devil-tainted by my guardians and our friends. And I knew that was not the norm. The scriptures we adhered to enforced the people’s fear of those branded a Cursed. Passage upon passage was written about the Cursed Sisters of Eve and their demonic allure. How they tempt innocent souls into their traps. Even worse were the chapters in Prophet David’s writings of how to rid them of that sin.
The physical tortures . . . the celestial joinings from the age of eight . . .
Cold shivers raced through my blood.
I knew here in New Zion I would be feared just as much as if the devil walked among our lands. I would be detested. Only when I married the prophet would I be given any mark of respect. If the prophet had thought this veil would protect me from the people’s judgment, he would be very much mistaken.
I would only stand out more.
The pilot entered the cabin and opened the plane doors. Humid air drifted in from outside. I heard the sound of vehicles rushing toward the plane. We had a few vehicles in Puerto Rico, but when I saw these ones stopping by the plane, I could see they were much bigger
.
My pulse was hammering in my neck as the pilot let down the stairs. I heard the low murmur of voices, then footsteps jogging up to the cabin. A man appeared at the top, dressed all in black, holding a gun across his front. His assessing eyes roved over the small cabin, until they landed on me. I felt Sister Ruth and Brother Stephen tense.
The man, who I guessed was a disciple guard, smiled in my direction. His smile instantly made me feel as if I needed to bathe. His eyes lit up with excitement.
The guard quickly dropped his smile and addressed the people behind us. “I am Brother James. The front row will be leaving last. Everyone else must leave now. You will be taken to your new quarters and assigned your duties.”
The people did not need to be asked twice. They gathered their belongings and quickly disembarked. Our commune’s own disciple guards, Solomon and Samson, spoke to Brother James, and he issued them separate orders. They fit in perfectly next to the New Zion guards. They appeared physically menacing and lethal—exactly how the old prophet liked his harshest disciplinarians to look. Looking at Brother James, I was convinced that Prophet Cain was no different.
I stayed completely still, until the plane was empty. The guard flicked his chin. “Follow me.”
I stood on trembling legs and straightened my dress. Brother Stephen led the way, dressed in his best tunic, his black hair cropped and smart. I followed. Sister Ruth, dressed in her finest long gray dress and white headdress, brought up the rear.
The air became stickier and hotter the closer we got to the door. When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw a large black vehicle at the bottom. Four guards waited in front of it . . . all with their eyes fixed on me.
I ducked my head and made my way down the stairs.
When I reached the hot asphalt, I glanced up at the guards. “It is true, there is another Cursed,” one said, excitement flashing across his face. “The prophecy will be realized.”
I could feel the building excitement pulsing from the men in waves. Brother James gestured for the other men to move aside. He opened the door of the vehicle and ordered, “Get in.”
Brother Stephen, Sister Ruth and I climbed in. Brother James got into the driver’s seat. I turned my attention to the window to escape the scrutiny of the guard, who was staring at me in the mirror.
We traveled down a gravel road, lush green trees blurring past. Everyone in the vehicle was silent. It seemed as if we had been in it for an eternity before we stopped outside a block of stone buildings.
We were led into a small stone building set to the left of a longer gray one. As we entered, two men, dressed in black, rose from their seats behind a table. Immediately, their eyes focused on me.
My stomach lurched when I recognized that they were in charge. They were the men closest to the prophet. The darker of the two stepped forward and spoke to Brother Stephen. “You are the brother who lived with her?”
“Yes, sir,” Brother Stephen replied. “And so did Sister Ruth.”
The guard raised his eyebrows. “But neither of you declared that you had a Cursed in your commune? You kept it from the prophet? You ignored a direct order to turn over any potential devil-whores to New Zion for inspection?”
“We did not suspect Sister Harmony of being a Cursed,” Brother Stephen explained.
The guard pushed past Brother Stephen and unclipped the veil from my face. The humid air kissed my bare cheeks, and I felt them pale as the disciple guard’s eyes drank me in. He pushed the headdress from my hair, the blond, waist-length strands cascading down my back. The guard stepped away, his head tilted to the side.
Keep calm, I reminded myself. Do not break.
An angry expression set on his face. “Not once did you think that this woman was a Cursed? I have been in her presence less than two minutes yet I can see her unrivaled beauty and feel her sinful pull. Her innate evil practically pollutes the purity in this room.”
Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth were silent. The guard stepped closer to me. “How old are you?”
I swallowed the nervous lump in my throat and whispered, “Twenty-three.”
His eyes flared. “The perfect age. The prophesized age.” The guard glared at Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth. “The Cursed Sister will be kept in seclusion until she is needed. We cannot risk her tempting the men of the commune before her wedding to the prophet.” The guard’s eyes drifted back to stare at me and travel down my body. “She is far more attractive than even Brother Ezrah divulged. The prophet will see this and brand her with the official Cursed status, I am sure.” The guard flicked his wrist. “You will both be secluded too, as punishment. Armageddon approaches, yet you hide our only chance at redemption in your grasp.” He shook his head in fury.
Turning to a lesser guard, the disciple guard ordered, “Take them to the cells. One has been prepared for the potential Cursed. Put Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth in another.”
A slimmer man pushed Brother Stephen toward the door. Sister Ruth quickly fixed my veil and headdress in place before we walked outside. I felt the guard’s eyes on my back the entire way as he took us to the long stone building. As we entered, I almost choked on the dank humid air that filled its every inch.
The guard opened a door. “You are in here,” he said to Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth. Sister Ruth squeezed my hand gently as she passed. I squeezed hers back. The guard shut the door behind them and said, “You will be given your orders soon.”
He walked to the next door. It was already open. Inside there was a bare mattress on the floor, a curtained-off toilet and basin, and a high window, with bars. My heart fell. I was to be trapped.
“Quarters fit for a Cursed whore,” the guard snapped, his voice dripping with disdain. He flicked his head toward the room, silently ordering me to get inside.
I stepped forward, and the door slammed shut behind me. I could hear the dripping of water from behind a wall to my right, which was separating me from what I assumed was another cell. I stood in the center of my cell for too many minutes to count before I walked to the makeshift bed. I sat down on the hard, stained mattress and leaned my back against the rough wall.
I closed my eyes trying to chase away the distress that was threatening to rise. I reminded myself of why I was there. I had to be strong. People were depending on my strength. My family was depending on me.
You will not fail. You will not fail your family . . . not again.
So I kept my eyes shut, chasing the claws of fear from my mind.
I was here.
To marry the prophet.
And that was simply that.
Chapter Three
Cain
A large wooden door opened and the guards threw me forward. My legs gave way at the unexpected push and I fell to the ground. A searing anger flooded through my veins. My hands balled into fists as I forced myself to lift my torso off the ground. I tasted blood in my mouth and realized I had hit my lip as I fell. I barely felt it. Every damn part of me felt numb. It felt as if no time had passed before the guards had come for me again.
I’d passed out. When I’d awoken, I was being dragged back to this building.
I struggled to see in front of me; my matted hair and beard covered most of my face. A flash of white caught my attention just as the door behind me slammed shut. I knew the guards had left me, but I wasn’t alone. I could feel someone else was with me.
I pushed my hair aside. I flinched at the bright light above me, but tried to focus on that flash of white. After four blinks, the shape of a person came into view . . . a person I knew as well as I knew myself.
Or at least that was what I used to believe.
Judah sat on some high steps at the end of the room, a smirk on his face. His arms were draped casually over his bent knees. His long, brown hair was groomed, and his beard was now the length that I always wore mine. My stomach fell. I had been holding on to the vain hope that our people would see through his disguise. But he looked exactly like me. Sitting before me
now, a small proud glint in his eyes, he knew I was seeing it too.
Judah’s plan had worked.
Judah was Prophet Cain.
Spurred on, unwilling to forfeit the will to fight, I made my weak arms lift me until I was sitting up straight. I breathed heavily, my energy depleted, but my eyes never left my brother.
His hard, unyielding eyes never left mine.
A confusing mix of emotions swelled inside my chest. Judah was my brother, born into this life as I was. We were made to be the leaders of The Order. We were taken from our parents when we were young, too young to remember them. All we’d ever had was each other. He was my lifeblood, my best friend . . . he was my twin. But as I looked at him now, he felt worlds apart from the brother I kept in my heart. The twin to whom I was once so close was drifting away from me. I knew how to stop it, but I just . . . couldn’t.
“Judah,” he said, his voice echoing off the thick stone walls. Despite my tiredness, my head snapped up.
Judah.
He’d called me Judah. His delusion was worse than I’d feared.
My body vibrated with anger at the sound of his own name coming from his mouth. I licked along my dry cracked lips. I swallowed, just to allow some liquid into my throat, and rasped, “Cain.” Judah’s dark eyes flashed with fury. It only urged me further on. “Cain,” I repeated. “My name is . . . Cain.”
Judah’s smirk dropped and his entire body tensed. I slowly placed my hand over my chest. “I am the prophet . . . not you . . . not . . . you . . . ”
Judah’s cheeks flooded with redness. I dropped my hand, unable to keep it lifted. Judah watched my limb fall limply to my side. His flush faded and he leaned forward. The tension thickened as he stared me down, the air feeling too hot to breathe.
He didn’t say anything for several seconds, simply keeping our gazes locked. Finally, a wide, cruel smile set upon his lips. “You know, brother, when we were children, I was convinced you were the greatest person in the world. Even above Uncle David.”