Page 27 of Stroke of Shadows

Wyatt didn’t say anything else, and Harper was thankful for it. He usually liked to berate her, knowing she couldn’t speak back while she wore the robe. He’d become crueller the last few years, even more so than his father. He didn’t hide his disdain.

The drive to the church took longer than usual, the traffic busy towards the centre of the city. The Church of the Light was modest compared to other beliefs, with only a handful of churches that practised the faith. It was what she’d been brought up believing, the honour of being born pure, human. It taught her that those that could access their chi, therefore their magic, were unfavoured by the Gods, and it was those Gods that set the individuals path in life. The Gods decided who you would grow up to be, who’d you marry, and when you’d die. The Gods wrote your destiny, depending how strictly you followed their rules. The rules depicted by the Leader.

She was taught humans were the perfect specimen of man because they couldn’t hide behind the deceitful magic, and that ideology fit her family’s narrative perfectly.

The car rumbled to a stop, her heart thundering violently in her chest. The Sanctuary was a perfectly square building, and somehow so white despite the surrounding pollution. There was no indication to what was inside, nothing other than the small flame that marked the wood of the right door. That symbol alone brought a sliver of panic, something she immediately doused before anyone noticed. She wasn’t allowed to be a person right then. She had to be a vessel for the pain of her family.

“Get this over with quickly,” Wyatt whispered before his door was opened.

Angel welcomed her with a smile, pride holding himself tall. “There she is.” He stood at the top of the three steps, Ivan moving to stand by his side.

Harper waited, the hood making it difficult to see clearly. It was Charles who helped her out of the car and carefully walked her up the steps until her uncle could grip her arm.

“Good,” he said, adjusting her hood. “The Gods will be pleased.” He guided her into the church, the pews empty either side of the aisle, just as they usually were. Angel stopped at the end, Lorraine lighting the twin flames each side of the pedestal.

Harper didn’t need to look up through her hood to read the quote draped along the back wall. She’d spent enough time as a child on her knees praying with the same words staring down at her.

‘Faith is seeing the Light in your heart when all you see is darkness in others.’

Her uncle had followed the church for as long as Harper could remember, fixated with their mantra of cleansing the world of Breed. Her entire life she’d prayed to the Gods, following orders from Leaders who filled their worshippers with animosity and fear.

A low hum filled the room, Lorraine mumbling something so low the words were tangled together. She produced a large curved knife from within her sleeve, holding it out to Angel just as she had many times before.

Harper knelt between the two flames, the heat a sting that would only get worse. She should be thankful that the room was almost empty, her humiliation limited to those that have witnessed it before. Not that she felt humiliated anymore, her mind numb to the ceremony just as her body had to be.

Dropping her head forward, she relaxed, placing her palms facing up on her thighs.

The knife struck her back, carving a thin slice from shoulder to shoulder. Harper didn’t wince, flinch, or cry out. She took the flagellation in silence, a penance for the sins of her family.

“Let the Light bless our…”

Harper drowned out Lorraine’s voice, the tone always sterner when she spoke as the Leader. Instead, she concentrated on not moving with every strike of the blade. The cuts were never deep, just enough for her to bleed. A physical offering of her blood to the Gods in exchange for prosperity, forgiveness, and salvation for their souls.

“Stay still,” Angel snapped, the knife sinking a little deeper than usual.

Harper swallowed, unable to control the slight tremble in her muscles. The fabric of her robe was in shreds, leaving her back entirely bare to the room. Hands around her face, Lorraine brushing her thumbs against Harper’s cheeks to catch the tears that wet her skin.

“So beautiful,” she muttered. “The Gods are pleased as usual.”

“She’s getting too old,” Wyatt said from one of the pews. “Her beauty won’t last.”

“Enough, Wyatt,” Angel growled, followed by a sharp tug as he pulled the remainder of her robe off. “Get the water.”

Harper’s eyes struggled to adjust to the light, Lorraine pinning her head in place. Excitement danced in her eyes, like every time she’d held Harper down for the ceremony.

“You’re doing so well,” she cooed quietly, but there was no sincerity there.

The twin flames either side burned brightly, intense across Harper’s exposed skin. She braced herself, knowing the last bit was the most painful.

“Our Gods blessed us with the Light,” Lorraine continued with a more authoritative tone. “With the comfort that they’ll protect our mortal souls. By cleansing the dirt and filth from this woman, we cleanse ourselves. Washing away the sins and fears, and bringing with it a peace that only the Gods could gift.”

Silence, nothing but the water being disturbed. A single drip, cold against the heat of her wounds.

“Bring blessings to this family,” Angel added, swiping across her back. “Continued protection from those that wish to do us harm.”

Harper barely suppressed her scream, the water like acid with every swipe of the cloth.

“Let the Light guide you.” Lorraine released her head, and Harper fell forward onto her palms.

---