In my quick exhale I could hear a faint husky whistle, evidence of the toll my beatings were taking on my body. My throat was raw and sore, but what hurt most was the pain in my heart as I heard the nostalgia in Judah’s voice. Because I remembered it. I remembered how, when we were children, he would look at me as we lay on The Pasture’s perfectly manicured lawn under the summer sun. We would talk about how I would one day ascend, with my brother by my side. Always by my side, as God had designed it. I squeezed my eyes shut. We were innocent children then, looking at the world through rose-tinted glasses. We had no idea of the path that lay before us, the treacherous roads that we would travel.
It was strange. I could still feel the excitement we both felt back then surging within me. I remembered my fear of my personal path: becoming the prophet.
But I’d always known I could do it, because I had him.
Our unbreakable bond had been shattered mere months after my ascension. Shattered by his greed. Obliterated by his pride . . . destroyed by his need for revenge.
Jaw tightening, muscles growing rigid with hate, Judah continued, “But as we got older, all you did was frustrate me. We both studied the scriptures, yet I grasped the lessons more easily than you. We were brought up in the same way, yet only you were ever punished. You made mistake after mistake, stumbling through sermons and fumbling over our sacred passages like a blind fool.” Judah’s head tipped to the side, and his narrowed eyes ran over my inked sleeves. My Hangmen ink. I knew he hated that I had them. I knew he hated that I had been picked to carry out the task our uncle had deemed so important.
He hated that he wasn’t me.
A strange expression came over his face. For once, I couldn’t guess what he was thinking.
“Then Uncle sent you to infiltrate the devil’s men.” Judah sighed. He ran his hand down his face, just the way I did. He shook his head . . . just like I did. He must have studied my habits and mannerisms.
A question circled in my head: how long had he been planning this takeover? Enough time to have studied my every move. Long before I gave him cause. My blood chilled. My brother, my twin . . . seemingly he had doubted me all along.
“You know, when you were taken from The Pasture and placed with those men, I was relieved,” he said. “My days were spent in isolation. I studied and studied, and every day I became stronger in my faith, more knowledgeable about our movement. I strengthened my ability to lead our people.” Judah got to his feet. I had to tip my head back to look at him as he towered over me. I was on my knees, looking up at Judah above me. In his eyes, I saw the rush of power it brought him. The true prophet kneeling at the feet of the brother cast aside.
He smirked, a smug expression engulfing his face. He crouched down to meet my eyes. “I could never understand why Uncle had sent you, his ‘chosen heir’, into Satan’s grasp.” His hand dropped to trace the tattoo of Hades on my forearm. “But now I know.” Judah nodded, as if he was convincing himself whatever theory he had in his head was true. “He was testing you. He was seeing if you could resist evil’s pull.” Judah dropped my hand and shrugged nonchalantly. “It turns out you could not.”
“I did,” I spat back. “I lived among them for five years. I gathered intelligence, I made us strong. Without that information we would have failed in our mission!” I winced as my throat throbbed with pain. Pushing through it, I added, “You would have died in a matter of weeks of being amongst those men. You are too weak. I stayed strong. I did what I had to for our cause.” I gritted my teeth. “I killed for them. I took lives, innocent lives. You would have crumbled!”
Judah’s expression didn’t change, yet I saw by the tightening of his eyes that my words had hit their target.
“You did not stay strong, brother,” he said in a taunting voice, pulling his anger back from the brink. “You fell. You held a Cursed in your grasp and let her go because you believed you loved her.” He tipped his head to one side. “In reality, you were cast under her spell like everyone else. Like all the weak men that had fallen before. Your weakness led those men to our commune and got our savior killed.” Hatred for Judah swirled inside me. He had no idea what the hell he was talking about!
Judah leaned forward. “Then even when I brought all three to you, a gift on a silver platter, you still could not secure them. Instead you let them go. You were blinded by their beauty again, ruled by your lust and sin. That, brother, is not the mark of a prophet.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but he interrupted me. “It became clear to me on that journey home why you had been sent to the Hangmen.” He was toying with me, making me wait on my knees for his conclusion. “Because our uncle knew you would fall. He knew you would be swayed by evil.” Judah’s eyes gleamed with righteousness and he nodded his head. “He took you away so I could remain in seclusion. He knew you were a distraction to me.” A slow grin pulled on his lips; my veins turned to ice. “I was the destined prophet after all. This was all meant to be mine. I see that now.”
My hands balled into fists. Losing my already frayed composure, I said, “You preach nothing but hate! I can hear you from my cell. You have announced The Rapture to the flock. You have signaled the end of days. You have sent them into hysteria!”
“Because it is, brother. The time has come,” he replied calmly.
I shook my head in frustration. “That would have been revealed by God. You would have had a direct message from our Lord. You cannot just announce that on your own! You cannot put innocent lives in danger because of your need for Hangmen blood!”
Judah smiled wider, and my heart dropped. “I have,” he said proudly. “The moment you deserted your faith by freeing the Cursed Sisters from that mill, I felt the change in me. I felt the burden of leadership fall on my shoulders, transferring from yours. And I have since received revelation after revelation from the Lord, just as our uncle did for so many years.” Judah nodded slowly. “And I have been told to prepare our people for The Rapture. It is time, brother. The time we have prepared for our entire lives has come.”
My eyes widened in shock, and I studied Judah’s face. I searched for his deception, for evidence that he was lying.
But all I saw was truth and conviction on his face. I shook my head, unable to believe it. He couldn’t be . . . no, it wasn’t possible . . .
Judah’s hand landed hard on my shoulder. “Brother,” he said softly. In an instant, his eyes had changed from hard to kind, angry to loving . . . from the prophet’s to my brother’s.
I wanted to speak, to throw off his hand and tell him I knew he was lying. But I didn’t. Because I knew him. I knew when my twin lied . . . I didn’t know . . . I couldn’t focus . . . he looked like he was telling the truth . . . my head was too sore, my instincts failing me . . .
“Brother,” Judah tried again. This time, I tiredly met his gaze. “Today is the fortieth day of your punishment. You have atoned for your weakness and misjudgment.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s been thirty-five.” I didn’t know why I was arguing the point—how many days had passed wasn’t even important. But I just needed something to be real. Nothing was real to me anymore. Nothing.
I had thirty-five tallies on my wall.
Not forty.
Thirty-five.
“You have not always been conscious, brother. Some of your punishments kept you out cold for a long time. More in the beginning, when your desertion from us was fresh and the punishments were harsher. It has been forty days and forty nights, as required by our holy books. I stayed away from you while you faced your punishment. Your sins had to be atoned for, just like when we were children. In isolation from those you love. I am here today to see you repent and bring you back into the fold.” His face softened. “To my arms and trust.”
“Repent?” I asked, confused. Every part of me felt numb: skin, flesh and bones. But my head began to throb again at everything he was telling me.
“Yes,” Judah said gently. “For your sins. For losing faith in The
Order . . . in me.” My stomach clenched as he stared at me with such compassion. As his features softened toward me. As he looked at me like a brother.
Judah’s hand reached down and clasped hold of mine. I stared at our joined hands—mine dirtied and injured, his unmarked. I choked back a cry when his fingers gently squeezed mine. I let my gaze drift to his. His brown eyes were glistening. “Judah,” I rasped, feeling the fight drain away from my heart.
“Repent, brother, please. Please . . . I . . . ” He cleared his throat. “I need you beside me.” He laughed softly. “Like we always were . . . like we are always meant to be. Brothers bound by God, blood and faith.”
I was tired. I was so tired. His hand lay in mine, the warmth of his affection seeping onto my skin. I didn’t want to be alone anymore. I was sick of being alone.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” I whispered.
Judah’s forehead pressed against mine. “Then do not be, brother. Come back to us. Free yourself from Satan’s grip and come back to us. You have a home here with me. A home that is waiting for you to return. Repent, brother . . . simply utter those two liberating words.”
My lips twitched as I felt my resolve flutter away. I wanted a family again. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be whole again.
Judah held his breath as my mouth opened . . . but nothing came out. Instead, my mind raced with images. Flashes of activities I’d seen here in New Zion. Judah’s videos of children dancing seductively. Judah inviting me to choose one to take as my consort. The awakenings that I knew Judah had participated in. The taking of young girls. The sex, the acts of endorsed depravation. I could see the Cursed Delilah’s scarred face as if she were before me, could see her fearful, terrified gaze.
“Brother, listen to me,” Judah continued, his grip growing tighter and tighter on my hand. “We just had it the wrong way around. I am the prophet and you are the Prophet’s Hand. It was why you struggled to cope. Because we were meant for different roles.”
Judah sat down before me, meeting me at my level. At this height he appeared my equal once more. But I knew that wasn’t possible. Too much had happened, too many things had blotted stains on my faith to ever make things return to the way they were before.
Nothing could be the same. The knowledge I had now made sure of that.
“No,” I whispered dejectedly, before I even realized I had spoken. I lifted my eyes to see Judah watching me intently. “No,” I said again, stronger this time, feeling adrenaline surge through my body, bringing life to my bones and clarity to my mind.
“No, what . . . ?” Judah asked, frowning.
“No to it all. I won’t repent.” Judah tried to snatch his hand from mine but I held on tight. “And repent for what, for saving us? Keeping the Cursed Sisters would have led to the Hangmen raiding our commune again. The Cursed Sisters are all betrothed, married or bearing children. They are no longer spiritually pure enough to be the prophet’s bride, even if we did get them back.” I took a much-needed breath and continued. “And I won’t stand by and allow children to be violated by grown men, Judah. I still believe in all of this, in our cause. But I will stop the practice of awakenings. It’s . . . barbaric. It’s just plain wrong!”
“No,” Judah replied through clenched teeth. “It is the way of the prophet, revealed to him by the Lord!” He pushed to his feet, ripping his hand from mine.
I fought with what to say next. I knew the impact it would have . . . I decided to say it anyhow. “I do not believe that practice was revealed by God. How would any God condone that?”
Judah’s eyes widened. “Now you choose?” Judah said and staggered back to sit on the stone steps. His eyes narrowed as he watched me, as though he was staring at a stranger. His face clouded over. “Now you choose to question the scriptures, at our most crucial and significant time? When I need you with me most?”
I stayed silent and stared back. Judah’s lip twitched in agitation. “Tell me,” Judah said and paused, drawing it all out. “If you had succeeded in getting the Cursed Salome to stay in the commune, would you be feeling these things?”
I felt as though my twin had punched me in the gut. He knew how I had felt about Mae. Now he was using it against me. Judah leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Well? Would you?”
I thought about his question, truly thought about it. I pictured Mae’s beautiful smile, her long dark hair and her ice-blue eyes—always my favorite feature. But then I closed my eyes and I saw her in Styx’s arms. I saw the way she looked at him. I saw the way she now looked at me. Pity, maybe even hatred.
Never love and respect.
What the hell was I doing?
Everything was a mass of confusion in my brain. I tried to imagine being married to Mae here in New Zion. I would never have taken another. But Mae would have never have suffered this life. She hated this place, and I had once loved her enough to not want it for her.
Hell, I had no idea what I felt anymore. The longer I had stayed in that cell, hurting and in pain, the more my feelings for her had dimmed. Who wanted someone who despised you? Who wanted a woman who was repulsed by everything that you are?
Mae had wanted me as her friend, and all I had done was stab her in the back. A dull, unbearable ache settled in my stomach. Besides my brother, she had been my only friend.
I needed a friend right now.
Sucking in a slow, labored breath, I met my brother’s eyes. “I would never have kept her.” Judah’s head drew back. I’d shocked him. And just as I sensed no deception in his revelations, I knew he sensed no deception in mine. “She was never meant for our world.”
Judah seemed to radiate rage. It started as a low ember, growing to a molten fire. “Why?” he shouted, rising from his step like a demon from hell. “Why are you being this way? We were made for this life, but you are turning your back on the path, your people. Your brother! For what?”
I didn’t speak. Judah walked to where I sat and grasped my arm, sending pain ricocheting down toward my fingers. But Judah’s eyes were on my ink again. “I never let myself believe it. But you were truly corrupted. If you were still pure in your beliefs, you would not be fighting this with such venom.” He bent down and asked coldly, “Do you want to be put back in that cell? Do you want the punishment to continue? Do you want to be alone for the rest of your sinful life?”
A flicker of the old Judah sparked in my brother’s eyes. Buried beneath all of the power he held, below the faith that protected him like a shield, he was sincerely imploring me to repent. In that moment, I saw that he was just as afraid of failing in his leadership as I had been.
Judah’s hand slipped down my arm and landed in my palm again. I swallowed back the rush of emotion that came flooding forth. For the longest time I had been starved of faith in others. His hand was a lifeline. I was drowning, and he was trying so desperately to save me.
We’d only ever tried to save each other.
“Repent, brother,” Judah begged, his voice soft and pained. “Together we can make our people great. We can prepare the faithful for The Rapture. Heaven will be ours.” His fingers tightened around mine and he dropped a kiss on my head.
“If the end of days has come, then we will perish regardless. We have no pure Cursed Sister to save us through marriage. We’re doomed either way, Judah. All is lost. It is over.”
Seconds passed in silence. “No, it is not,” he said. I froze. Judah sighed in excitement. “I have found another.”
I reared my head back and searched his gleeful face. “What?” My voice was raw with shock.
Judah’s hands landed on my shoulders. “Repent, brother. All is not lost. Everything is going exactly to plan. Our people are training. They are learning how to fight. The devil’s denizens will not take us before we rise.” Locking eyes with me, he said once more, “Repent. Repent and return to stand beside me. It was always meant to be you and me. Let us finish this as we began. Together.”
Shock rendered me speechless
. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to agree. I wanted to bathe, to sleep, to eat in the mansion. I wanted everything my brother did . . . but not how he wanted it.
I couldn’t.
I pulled away from his touch. “I won’t repent for what I’ve done. I was right. Our practices must change. The Cursed Sisters don’t belong here with us.”
In a flash, the loving brother I knew was gone and in his place was the pretender prophet once more. Standing, he turned from me, only coldness in his stance. “Brother Michael! Brother James!” Judah called. The door behind me opened. My heart was breaking, but I held still. Judah addressed the men behind me. “He refuses to repent. He is a sinner and his punishment must continue.”
“Yes, Prophet,” Brother Michael replied. I stared at my brother, willing him to look at me again. He didn’t. He walked out of the room, never looking back.
Large hands wrapped around my arms and I was yanked to my feet. I bit my tongue to stifle a shout of pain. The disciple guards dragged me to the punishment room, struggling to carry my limp body. I was taller and broader then both these men. But I was weak. I couldn’t fight back.
Like every day, I was made to stand, and the punches came. Fists plowed into my ribs, kidneys and chest . . . but I didn’t feel anything.
I forced myself to remain standing. They left my face alone today, but with every strike and blow to my body, they smiled, and I could see the disdain on their faces. But I could not hate them. I had been like them once. They believed in our cause, one hundred percent. In their eyes I was a sinner that had been swayed by the devil.
Maybe I was.
I knew the devil was real. Panic whipped around me. Maybe I had fallen victim to evil. Maybe my soul was destined to burn in hell.
I just didn’t know. As the questions circled in my head, I realized that, in that moment, I didn’t even care.
Brother Michael delivered one final rapid punch to my back and I fell to the floor, my knees buckling with the pain. My palms pressed down on the stone floor as I fought for breath.