Rise
RISE
by Danielle Racey
Copyright 2013 Danielle Racey
Smashwords Edition
Acknowledgments
I would like to say thank you to a close friend who read through this story, even though I'm fairly certain she had no desire to. I also want to thank Humblenations.com for the lovely cover design.
Prologue
I've always wondered if there is a place in hell reserved for people like me. Those of us who toe the line between good and evil, right and wrong. One foot on the feathery clouds of heaven, and the other, mired in the depths of hell. It's not something that particularly bothers me. I would say that it's more of a passing curiosity, something I think about when I fall too deeply into thought.
I was raised this way, see. Perhaps as a punishment of sorts, given that I am a bastard child. In Gracelia, it's looked down upon, and some even consider us to be spawn of the devil. My red hair doesn't help my case either. My country is changing, as of late, but this belief is particularly stubborn, and I have encountered more than my share of people who still think this way.
That's where the convent comes in. I was dropped off shortly after I was born, I guess so they could beat the devil out of me. It's funny, though, because I wasn't a red head for long. As soon as I was passed through the door, they dyed my hair black, and I was reborn.
During the day, I feed the poor and soothe the weary, and they trust me.
And every day, I will devour their trust. I lap up the crumbs and wipe my mouth with their blood.
I suppose I should just go ahead and be honest. The nuns beat the devil out of me, only to force him back in, because I don't really live in a convent.
I live in an assassins' den.
Saturday
I would hesitate in calling this a diary. A diary sounds so contrived, so pathetic really. I prefer to call it a documentation of my pre-life. I'm living, you see, but I'm not really living. But soon, this will change.
I remember when I got my first diary, gifted to me by a nun when I turned 5 years old. It was bright pink, and on the front cover someone had written "Where even the wildest of your thoughts may find a home." I never wrote a single thing in it.
The nuns don't allow televisions, but one of the sisters has one anyway, a small portable one. I sneak it into my room every so often to see what's happening in the outside world. I'd love to say that I spend my time watching the news and educating myself on the perils of our time, but sadly, I find my fingers, almost of their own will, turning the channel to VME. That stands for Video, Music, and Entertainment, although they hardly ever play music videos. Mostly, they show sitcoms and reality television. All the shows are a good laugh, and they make me wonder if everyone in the world outside the convent has fantastic comedic timing, good looks, and a heart of gold that is impervious to arrogance, despite all their fabulous character traits. I thought about escaping the convent a lot when I was younger, just to see if this was true.
Soon enough, however, I will have my first chance to leave the convent. I mean, no one ever chained me to my bed and threatened me with death should I try to leave. They were subtle, the threats, I mean.
The people out there are crazy. The things they believe in,
or
They'll judge you (
with a not so subtle glance at the red roots inching out of my scalp). I don't know how true all of that is, and the older I get the more I wonder how they can say things like that.
During the day, the convent operates as any normal convent would. Blessings, collecting tithes, all of that. But at night, there's a change. Not everyone involved in the, so called charitable services during the day lives at the convent. Many come and go. I, along with a couple other girls am a ward of the convent. I sleep here, eat here, do damn near everything here. It's how I found out about The Other Sisterhood.
I guess I wasn't really supposed to know, but once I found out, they couldn't just not let me join. I'm not going to lie, finding out about The Other Sisterhood was probably the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me at this god forsaken convent. From just knowing about it, for a couple days after, you'd have thought I'd won the biggest lottery jackpot ever AND didn't have to pay any taxes on it.
It was late one night, and I couldn't sleep, so I was on my way to the kitchen to get some of the leftovers from lunch. In the hallway, I spotted some nuns crowded together. It wasn't unusual to see nuns in the hallway, as it was decorated with paintings and oftentimes nuns used it for a praying or meditation spot. But something was off about the nuns' robes. They didn't look quite like the regular robes I would see in the daytime. The nuns themselves, too. One or two looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on where I had seen them before.
It was odd, no doubt, but I just shuffled by them on my way to the kitchen, hoping no one had eaten the leftovers. I'd hid them behind the milk for that very reason. When I finally arrived in the kitchen, my night took an even stranger twist. It's quite hard to even write this down, because I don't even believe myself, although I've had plenty of time to get used to it by now.
Standing in front of the refrigerator was Raela, one of the nuns about my age who also lives at the convent. Something seemed a little off about her too, but the thing that really threw me was the knife she had in her hand. She was holding it casually, as if there was nothing strange about her holding a six inch weapon while checking in the fridge to see if there was any milk left. I cleared my throat first before I stepped any further into the kitchen, as the last thing I wanted her to do was turn around and stab me out of surprise.
She turned slowly, as if she'd known I was already there. "Fine night for justice, don't you think Victoria?" She looked down, almost lovingly at her dagger.
"I have no idea what you're talking about Raela." I rolled my eyes and inched past her to the fridge. I opened the door, already smiling at the thought of hot dumplings and rice (one of the sisters had put in a special order to the city at one of the nicer Chinese restaurants), but the smile melted off my face when I reached my hand behind the milk and was met with empty space.
"Oh, those were your dumplings? They were pretty good, but you know, Zhang's is always good."
"You ate my dumplings!"
"I did." Raela smiled a toothy grin. "What are you going to do about it?"
"Well--" I paused. I guess I wasn't going to do anything, as I couldn't exactly ask for them back.
"Next time, just don't eat them!" I muttered, feeling even lamer than usual.
"Right, Victoria. I'll remember that. I'm so scared of what you'll do to me."
I stood there, mute. I wasn't exactly a master at witty comebacks. Every so often, I'd get in a good one, though.
"What, nothing to say? Victoria, Victoria. I'm disappointed in you. You really should join the Other Sisterhood, it might make you more of a woman."
I looked down. My body certainly seemed to think it was a woman's body. Raela's on the other hand, I couldn't be sure. Oh, that was an example of a witty comeback, but I didn't think it would be the best idea to turn this into a curvy versus thin argument, particularly when Raela who I assumed was crazy anyway, was holding a knife.
"What's the Other Sisterhood?"
I hated having to beg people for information, but I had started to become genuinely curious.
"You don't know? I can't believe--" "No, I don't know, Raela. That's why I'm asking you. Believe me, I would rather not ask." I said, cutting her off.
She cocked an eyebrow at me. "It's so hard to explain, Sis. It's like...therapy. That's it, therapy."
"Therapy?" That sounded about right. I knew she was crazy. "So you sit around in a circle and talk? With knives?" I eyed her knife, shrewdly.
"We do a lot of that, yes. We talk a lot. It's like having a bunch of cooler sisters. We--wait, do you remember Jason Hannabeth?"
"The serial killer? What in the world does he have to do with your therapy?"
"You remember how he died, don't you?"
I racked my brain for anything about him. I did vaguely remember him being found dead, with a....slash wound to his neck.
I looked up at Raela, alarmed, and she looked back at me, her expression a bit too smug.
"Why?" I asked. I had many more questions, of course, but that one was the one I really needed the answer to. "This is holy ground! Taxpayers pay for us to bless people, don't they?"
Raela smiled. "You would be surprised what taxpayers pay for. But really, it's just like therapy. We're ridding the world of evil. Think of it as...a literal exorcism."
I looked back at her, doubtfully. "Then why do you operate at night? That's reeks of being totally illegal."
Raela let out an exasperated puff of air. "I can't explain everything to you now. This isn't a Q and A session. Ask Sister Katherine or something. They'll probably let you in soon enough, though." She turned to leave.
"Why would I want to be in this? I don't need therapy, especially not therapy through violence."
Raela shrugged. "Eh, suit yourself. You could stand to make some actual friends, though." The edges of her lips quirked up into a particularly smug grin, and she waltzed out, singing "Duty caaaaaalls!."
That stung. And not in the way you feel when something is absolutely false. It stung like the truth.
I don't know what happened that night, I only know the next day Raela returned, looking even more smug than usual. And coincidentally, a new set of pots showed up in the kitchen a few days later. The really fancy kind that the television chefs use.
This only piqued my curiosity, and I found myself making more midnight trips to the kitchen, whether leftovers were there or not. I never encountered Raela again, which was good because I didn't particularly want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that I was stalking her. I mean, I guess I wasn't really
stalking
her, but she'd probably say that. I was following the Other Sisterhood. At this point, I just had to know.
It became a bit of a ritual for me. Not every night, but every other night I would say. I wondered, absentmindedly, what would happen if I got caught, but it was never very real to me until it actually happened. My nightly walks nearly always culminated with me in the kitchen. I never saw Raela again, like I said. I suppose she had only come in that time to eat my dumplings. I came across a couple of other nuns, who, unlike Raela, tried to look as inconspicuous as possible. I'm assuming they possessed a bit more class than her.
It wasn't until I ran into Sister Katherine herself that things got awkward. I'd strode purposefully into the kitchen, and come to a skidding halt when I saw her, with her back towards me, sharpening her dagger. Or cutlass, or whatever it was. Regardless, it was sharp.
"Sister Katherine?" I made a wide berth around her.
She flinched. "Victoria, what are you doing out of bed so late? Curfew is 10PM, but I'm sure you know that." She looked me up and down, as if trying to see if what I was wearing was indication of where I might be going. Pajamas with footies, so no, I wasn't off to do anything daring, unfortunately.
"I was just getting some milk before I went to sleep."
"There's no more milk, Victoria. We ran out yesterday."
I knew that, so I tried again.
"Cookies, then."
"We've never had cookies."
"A sandwich. We do have bread, don't we?"
"It's gone bad."
"I'm just trying to grab a bite before bed. Is that so wrong?" I cocked my head at Sister Katherine, in a gesture I hoped looked nonchalant.
"Victoria, what are you really doing here?" Sister Katherine had finished sharpening her dagger, and was now staring at me, with one eyebrow raised.
"I told you, I'm getting food before bed. I get hungry a lot. Don't you assassin nuns get hungry?" I let my voice linger on the word assassins for longer than necessary and watched Sister Katherine, closely.
