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 couldn’t end his life.
He clearly had no such loyalty to me. I could see that as he glared down at me on the floor, a small victorious smirk etched on his lips. His triumph over me. His power of me. I let my body drag as the guards launched me to my feet. I kept my eyes on Judah until we reached the door.
“Brother,” I heard, just as we were about to exit. The guards spun me around so I was looking up at Judah, standing in the center of the highest step. “This is why you would never have been able to do this, to lead our people. When push came to shove, you could not see this killing through, even though you felt it right to do so. You feel too much. You always have. You have a conflicted conscience in a damned and evil world.” He let his hand fall to his side. “In the end, your good heart was your demise. You are a weight that I have carried for years. A weight, today, I gladly will rid myself of. Good hearts, brother, have no place when leading people on the right path. They only stand in your way.”
As the guards dragged me to the punishment room, as they strung me up like Jesus on the cross, as they beat my body until I was sure I would soon be dead, all I could think was that Judah was wrong.
Hung up on this wooden cross, dying slowly with every punch to my ribs, chest and stomach, I felt no light in my heart. I only felt darkness consuming my soul. I only felt hatred forcing my heart to keep beating.
I felt evil flood my veins. And for once, I didn’t try to resist it. I embraced it. Gone was Prophet Cain; in his place, was a devil reborn.
One that bore no resemblance to the man before.
Chapter Eight
Harmony
I paced the cell as day faded to night. The door to my cell opened, and Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth sneaked through. “Has he returned?” I asked hurriedly.
“No,” Sister Ruth replied, and I felt my heart fall with dread.
“What are they doing to him?” I asked. Rider had been quiet for days and days. I missed the man that spoke to me so sweetly those first few days in my cell. I held my hand to my chest and shut my eyes. The man that held my hand was sweet and full of grace. But over the past few days, he had grown distant. Something was torturing his mind. He never confided what that was. He never confided much of anything.
Not that I shared my heart either. The secrets that were becoming harder and harder to bear.
And now he had not returned from his punishment. I felt another wave of dread in my gut. Something was not right. I could just feel it.
The sound of low voices came from outside my cell. I looked at Brother Stephen and Sister Ruth in alarm. They ducked out of the cell and I rushed to the corner where I normally sat. I listened intently as the sound of the prophet’s guards came from the hallway. I prayed that Rider was with them. I listened hard to every move, and heard Rider’s cell door opening, then a thud, as if someone had been hurled to the floor.
My stomach lurched with nausea. Rider.
I waited impatiently for the guards to leave his cell. When I was sure they were gone, I pushed the loose stone from the gap. Rider’s room was dark, but I saw him lying in the center of the floor. I was too far away to see if he was okay. I began to panic; I could barely see him moving. I could not even hear him breathe.
“Rider,” I whispered loudly, hoping he would hear my call. But he did not move. “Rider!” I called, louder, but not even a flinch of acknowledgment came from him. I squinted my eyes trying to see more, but I could not.
I tried for what felt like an eternity to rouse him. When Rider still did not stir, I jumped to my feet and began banging on my door, all worry of punishment fleeing my mind. “Brother Stephen! Sister Ruth!”
They rushed to open my door. “Harmony, quiet,” Brother Stephen begged, nervously looking out of my cell window.
“It is Rider,” I said quietly. “He is not moving. I think he is really hurt.”
Brother Stephen glanced at Sister Ruth and my stomach sank further. “He is, is he not? They have hurt him badly.”
Sister Ruth reached out and touched my arm. “He is not conscious. He is not awake. He”—she winced—“I am not sure he will come back from this. He is beaten very badly, Harmony. Maybe too much. I cannot tell.”