Page 44 of Whispers of Fire

Why would I even try to argue? It's already been decided for me.

Opening a drawer, I take out a bowl, ready to make my oatmeal. As I sit and eat my breakfast, I can't help but remember the last time I saw a bridal gown in our community.

It was supposed to be a happy day.

Yet, it became one of the many memories haunting me at night.

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1 year ago, at the Chapel.

My thighs were itching as I was waiting, sat next to my parents on our family bench at the Chapel. We were waiting for the bride to enter the room and marry one of our Elder members, Paul Atkins, a forty year old man who was looking for a woman to care for his five children after his wife died 6 months ago of cancer.

To my surprise, Savannah has been chosen as a replacement. I didn't really know her but she was quite popular at the Institute, always surrounded by large groups of girls, laughing and smiling a lot, her red shining hair like fire as her signature. She was known in the community for volunteering a lot, especially with disabled children. She was nineteen, only two years older than me, still had braces and pimples on her creamy light face. She had been chosen because she was from a large family, with six siblings, so they assumed she wouldn't have a hard time caring for Paul's children.

The organ rang, and all the members rose to their feet, looking over the large doors. She started walking toward the altar, her father by her side, all eyes on her. Her long white dress was hiding her whole body with long sleeves and a shapeless cut, making her disappear under the fabric. Her hair was loose, like it is traditionally done on a wedding day, just like she was also barefoot, a reminder of our birth and how marriage signifies a rebirth for us women. I swallowed hard when my eyes found her face.

The smile that I used to see glued on her face had disappeared, her eyes puffy like she had spent the whole night crying. Her jaw had a strange blue shade, like, oh god, it couldn't be a bruise, right? Her lower lips were carrying a significant fresh red scar as if it had been open a few moments ago. She was walking strangely slowly, and then I noticed her dad wasn't really taking her arm like you'd expect a father to do it on your wedding day.

No, he was dragging her there. Her feet tried to stop walking but the pressure of her father's arm made her carry on to the altar, while her shoulders were fidgeting like she was trying to get away.

At the altar, her father gave her hand firmly into Paul's and turned back to his bench next to his wife. Paul didn't acknowledge Savannah; he only seemed to be annoyed by her distress attitude with the way he tilted his head on the side, one of his feet tapping on the floor.

The Shepherd, who stood at the higher step of the altar, settled himself in front of the bride and the groom, opening his arms.

“To cleanse our sins…” he said, with his loud, strange high-pitched voice.

“…We must obey,” the whole room answered. He lowered his arms in a sign for all of us to sit down on our bench.

“We are gathered today to repair the loss of Paul's Atkins wife, Anna. Sickness, coming from the outside world, has taken her from you and your children. But the Divine has chosen to reward you for your suffering with a new bride.” The Shepherd has a stern face, putting one of his hands on Paul's shoulder, his mouth wincing like he can feel Paul's pain.

I wondered why they were not talking to Savannah.

She didn’t look happy to say the least.

Something seemed off with those three standing on the altar.

“Paul Atkins, the Divine has chosen for you this woman. Open your palm to me as a sign of your willingness to make her worthy of you and the Ascension.” Paul raised his arm and opened his palm to the Shepherd.

“Child,” the Shepherd said, ordering Savannah to do the same. But she didn’t do it, trying to turn around and flee the altar before Paul managed to grab her shoulders and turn her towards our leader, forcing her to open her palm to him in a firm hold.

“And with his blood, she becomes him, his wife, his eternal shadow,” said the Shepherd, before taking a knife from a pocket of his large white gown and slicing a cut in each of their palms, then uniting their hands into one hold, affirming their unity.

I always thought this was the most romantic part of the ceremony, but right now, it was hard to look at.

“Now is time to make your bride your wife and give her the holy water bath. If she's worthy of you, she'll become your wife. If she's not, she'll die and will never reach the Ascension.”

Murmurs echoed in the room. People were usually a bit tense when this part of the ceremony arrives. Tense or excited, I don’t want to know. I've only been to three other weddings before. Children are not allowed until the age ten. Each time, it felt like a small part of me was dying, watching those girls go through the holy bath. I kept on waiting for someone to interrupt the ritual, but it'd never happen. Thankfully each time the girls managed to survive, so I'm confident she will succeed too.

That's traditional, and we must embrace it.

Right?

The Shepherd nodded at Paul and walked to the side of the stage, behind a wood pulpit, letting us see the small pool in the middle of the stage, with one transparent glass aimed at our side for all of us to witness the ritual. The pool isn't large but it's big and deep enough to hold a woman's body fully underwater.

Grabbing Savannah's hand, Paul tried to make her walk to the pool, but she didn’t follow, keeping her ground and fighting his hold.

“No, no! I won't go in there, Dad! Dad! Please!” she yelled, thick tears in her throat. Looking at her parents, they didn’t even flinch at her distress while my heart started to pound more and more in my chest.

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