Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121153 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I breathed in and out, once, twice, three times. I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t know who she was, why she was even in the cell. I couldn’t tell her my name. The prophet was named Cain. I didn’t want to be Cain. Nothing within me wanted to be associated with that name ever again. And I certainly wouldn’t name myself Judah.
“Your name?” Harmony asked again.
I didn’t think about my answer. It barely even registered that I had one until I found myself saying, “Rider . . . ” I took a deep breath. “My name is Rider.”
Chapter Four
Harmony
I swallowed and cast a worried look back to the door of my cell. Nerves racked my body. I wanted to keep my voice low so as not to draw the attention of the people outside. New Zion’s guards had checked in on me a few times, and each time I saw a certain lustful look in their eyes.
“Rider,” the deep voice replied. “My name is Rider.”
“Rider,” I repeated. My eyebrows drew together. “It . . . ” I said nervously. “That is not a name I know.”
Rider was silent for a while, then he said, “Then it fits . . . as I am not worth knowing. I am no longer a good man.” My stomach flipped at the obvious pain in his voice. I heard him take a strained, crackled inhale. “I think I was once, maybe, I don’t know . . . but I’m not sure who I am anymore . . . everything is so messed up.”
I drew my head back slightly, confused by his strange, cryptic words and his coarse use of language. But then a flicker of understanding hit me. “They have proclaimed you a sinner?”
I heard Rider’s sharp intake of breath. “I’ve . . . I have done bad things.”
“Is that why you are in that cell?”
“Yes,” he replied, sadly, but there was something else laced in his voice—confusion, hurt . . . anger?
The sound of my cell door opening filled the room. I rushed to sit as I had been before, wiping my remaining tears from my face. I would not let them see the evidence from my moment of weakness. I was afraid that it was one of the guards, but as the door opened I saw a familiar face.
Brother Stephen.
I relaxed, praying that the man from the cell next door did not speak. I did not know why I did not want Brother Stephen to hear him. I knew he would not care that I had been talking to the stranger. But he also would not want me to put myself in any kind of jeopardy. Speaking to a fellow sinner would most certainly fall into that category.
“Hello, Brother Stephen,” I said quietly.
Brother Stephen walked into the cell, a tray of food in his hands. He crouched down, placing it at my feet. I cast him a grateful smile. Brother Stephen looked behind him to the door. When he saw it was clear of any guards, he said, “Two disciple guards from Puerto Rico have been put in charge of us here in the cells. The prophet’s head disciple guard, Ezrah, decided it would be best since they are familiar with us.” I drew in a deep breath and slowly released a long exhale. Relief settled over me.
The sound of Rider moving around in the next cell came drifting through the small crumbled gaps between the old bricks in the wall. Rider let out a low, pained groan. Brother Stephen frowned, and his dark eyes darted to me.
“There is a man in that cell,” he whispered, almost inaudibly. “I do not know who he is. All we know is that he is a defector from the faith and is being punished. Badly.”
Brother Stephen gave me a meaningful stare. My heart slammed faster in my chest. I nodded to show that I understood. Checking again that the coast was clear, he added, “He is not our responsibility—mine and Sister Ruth’s. Women from the main commune come to feed and bathe him daily. He is also taken away each day by the prophet’s head disciples.” Brother Stephen shook his head, an angry flush crossing his face. “I saw how they brought him back. They are truly making him pay for his transgressions, whatever they may be. He is in a very bad way.”
I swallowed hard, fear for my own safety threatening to rise. I pushed it down. I would not let it consume me. Brother Stephen gave me a sympathetic look. “We do not know what Prophet Cain intends to do with you yet. He may yet deem you a non-Cursed and that will be that.”
My heart beat faster and my blood rushed in my veins. “I know,” I whispered back. “But I am sure I will be branded.”