Page 43 of Bloodmoon Ritual

“Do not ignore the clear will of the Allfather that has just been shown,” Rhyder retorted harshly, “It does not matter what the Apostate does. His weakness and his immorality will be wiped from the face of the earth as the Allfather wills it.”

“The Allfather is GOOD,” he said again, his voice strong and confident, unstoppable brute power in the way he spread his arms.

“All the time,” they replied in chorus.

The Allfather is good

Rhyder moved over to some of the other leaders, and I watched him go. This was how it had always been. My twin always bold, strong in voice and throat for the Allfather, and me trying to blend into the scenery and pretend like I wasn’t there.

When had I started to doubt the Allfather?

My Mother had been the one to make me doubt the Allfather.

She had been captured in a raid of another Congregation and married to my father, and for as long as I could remember she had whispered in my ear, quick, rushed warnings and contradictions of the Prophet that sometimes confused me.

Was what she had done a blessing or a curse?

“Even though I have told you the truth, you must be good,” she had said. I remembered her bone-white hair whirling in her face, the way her blue eyes always looked sad and haunted. How long had she been planning her escape?

She glanced over to where Rhyder had been working later than everyone else in the fields. Healwaysdid more, worked harder for the glory of the Allfather.

“Rhyder will make sure you are good,” she said.

And he always had.

I waited with the other whores as the Helpmeets of this Congregations prepared a late supper. Even though it was still quite cool, not spring yet, we would eat outside on long wooden planks stretched over chairs.

Not us, though. As common whores, presumably shared by the whole Congregation, we would be the lowest in status in the whole camp and, accordingly, we would eat last, the chewed and discarded dregs of the table.

We wouldn’t even be allowed to help prepare the meal. Not us with our whorish hands and slutty cunts there for their menfolk to fuck when they got bored of their Helpmeets.

I saw a captured woman with long auburn curls looking at the Unsaved who was still uncomfortably demonstrating how the drones could be used even to dam up a river by carrying loads of bricks or rocks.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

“No. . .no,” she said. “Well, we went to school together. A long time ago.”

My hands tightened on the bars.

“Oh,” I replied.

“It’s not like that,” she insisted in a low tone. “Well, not exactly.”

But I thought as she looked at him, and he darted one pained glance back at her, that it had been something like that.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Norah.”

When I saw the Helpmeets come around with the leftovers from the table, bones, gristly bits of meat, mashed potatoes scraped into one big pile, some of the other women looked nauseated.

However, I was hungry as fuck, so I grabbed one of the bones I was offered. There was barely any meat on it but I attacked it anyway, cracking open the bone to suck the marrow out from inside it.

Then I saw a pair of huge shitkicker boots stop in front of where I crouched scavenger-like on the ground.

It was my brother, holding out a plate full of ribs dripping with sauce, potatoes swimming in gravy, and even fresh green beans.

I looked up at him.

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