Free Women Scorned by Angela Alsaleem Page B

prevent herself from slamming the door, worried the Dark One would think her defiant and exact upon her a punishment far worse than the rope room. Pulling her red hood over her head, she concealed her anger and marched down the candlelit hallway. The windowless manor swarmed around her, the shadows in the corners deep, having never been exposed to much light. Wax clumped under the sconces, small black piles on the hardwood floor. The lack of reflective surfaces added to the emptiness. She walked between the luminescent glowing pools, into shadow, out of shadow, past other hooded figures wearing the brown robes of the masochistic slaves, down the stairs, past the large black cross hanging upside down in the entryway. The cross continuously bled into a shallow pool at its base. She continued through a heavy, wooden door, never stopping.
    She glided down twisting stairs to a cellar, the dirt floor dusting the hem of her robes and collecting between her toes. Normally at this point she would turn right and go through a large metal door hidden behind the stairs. This door led to the catacombs where the altar room remained hidden among other antechambers. This time, however, she turned slightly to the right and went through an opening in the rock wall, another cave entrance, but one that led away from the catacombs.
    She stooped to go through the tiny slit in the wall, an opening so small she had to turn sideways to fit through. Having no room to spare for sconces, the passageway brooded in black but was surprisingly warm. The High Priestess felt her way along the tunnel, back pressed against the rocky surface, thinking about how much easier this had been when she was a child. It was like going through a birth canal in reverse. She came upon a heated area lit with only five candles stationed around a stone slab. The flickering flames revealed several heavy wooden poles. Thick rope wrapped the poles, trailing back to the stone slab in the center.
    Without a word, The High Priestess untied her thin rope belt and set her curved dagger on top. She let her garment fall to her feet, pooling around her ankles like so much blood. In the dim light, she stepped naked from her clothing and moved toward the torturous bed. She rubbed old scars on her wrists as she walked. Matching badges of shame adorned her feet and neck. Thick and twisted scars, raised with age, the same width as the ropes around the poles.
    Her breasts sagged, but not much considering her years. Her long hair hid a thin, puckered mark over her left breast, the badge she’d been given when she became the High Priest’s bride—the dagger had been run through her heart. She had died, only to live again with the soul of her mother, now her soul, forever. The lower half of her belly rounded out just a bit, just enough to make the small stretch marks noticeable, just enough to show she was once pregnant
    The old-woman-turned-child sighed and lay down on the hard surface. She never understood how it could be warm in here but it was. Water dripped from somewhere, a continuous, hypnotic plink-plink-plink. She closed her eyes and listened as two people entered. They came through tiny openings off to either side of the chamber, opposite the entryway. The three openings marked this room as a rough triangle.
    She didn’t open her eyes as they tied her hands, wrists and neck. Once fastened, she relaxed and took a deep breath, knowing it would be the last whole breath she’d be able to take for a while. She listened as they positioned themselves behind two large stumps with one pole sticking out from each. One was at the foot, one at the head. The ropes wrapped around the five posts, back to the two poles.
    “How many?” the one at her head asked.
    “Three.” It never occurred to her to lie. The High Priest would know, and then it would be worse.
    They grabbed the wooden levers jutting at right angles from the stumps at her foot and head, and walked in a circle, moving the stumps