The Convent Ch 01 1

The worst thing about Friar's Gate Prison were the rats. They were everywhere. She could hear them squeaking in the walls as she tried to sleep and they skittered over her feet during the day as the darted between the cramped and draughty cells. Tori hated them more than she hated the cold or the dark, and she even hated them more than the ghostly wails that kept her awake at night and reminded her that the prison was considered one of the most haunted buildings in Everdale.

It had been just under a week since she had been arrested whilst attempting to flee the city and thrown in prison with the rest of the captured Red Hand Gang members. She had seen no one since that day. No one had come to question her and no one had attempted to prise a confession from her. She had been left alone in the dark, with nothing but her fear to keep her company, and Tori was very, very afraid. She had seen what the Princess and her lover were. She saw it every time she closed her eyes, the image of Talia's fangs sinking into Zeedra's throat seared into her memory no matter how much she tried to forget it. Everyone knew that vampires were evil. They were bloodthirsty, vicious creatures and now that Tori knew the truth about the Princess, she figured it was only a matter of time before Talia or her lover came to silence her as well.

She cursed herself for choosing to help the Princess. She had had a good thing going with Zeedra and the Red Hands. She had had just enough authority to make a name for herself, yet not so much power that she needed to fear the backstabbing that came with the higher ranked positions within the gang. Yes, Zeedra had been difficult to work for, and yes, she had been growing increasingly cruel as she sought to better her own standing, but she hadn't deserved the fate that she had met. There had been so much blood. Talia's face had been stained red with it and when she had finished, she had tossed Zeedra into the chasm like she was nothing.

It was her fault that the Princess had escaped. It was her fault that Zeedra was dead, and worst of all, it was her fault that the other Red Hands were being rounded up and executed.

Tori drew her legs up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. Fortunately there was nobody else around to hear her weep.

****

The guards came for her early the following morning. They were not like the soldiers that patrolled the streets. Their uniforms were plain and dirty and their faces unshaven. One sported a bruise over his left eye which looked relatively fresh and they both stank of ale. Each one was armed with a blunt cudgel and as she could imagine that neither would need much excuse to use it, she didnt bother resisting as they pulled her roughly to her feet and locked heavy manacles around her wrists and ankles.

"Move," the larger of the two grunted, shoving her roughly towards the door.

They marched her down a series of windowless corridors that stank of piss and unwashed bodies. The passed other cells with heavy metal doors like her own, and cages crammed so full with people that there wasn't enough space for them to sit down properly. The prison was old and large ares of it had fallen into disrepair long ago. It had been built during a darker period of Everdale's history and rumour had it that the King had been planning to redevelop the site, which sat on the edge of Everdale's poorest districts, but clearly he had made and exception for the men and women who had been responsible for kidnapping his daughter.

As they passed one of the cells someone called out to her. She flinched, keeping her gaze fixed on the dull grey floor as she sped away from the cell. She didn't need anyone recognising her now. The Red Hands might have been her family once, but she did not doubt that many of them would happily sell her out if they thought it meant they would receive lesser sentences for their part in the Princess' kidnapping.

Eventually the guards directed her to a flight of stairs and they climbed into an altogether more pleasant series of corridors. Incense burners hung from the ceiling, masking the stench of the prison's lower levels beneath a sickly aroma of rose and lavender, and there were windows overlooking the city below. She could see the canals sparkling in the sunlight along with the white towers of the palace in the distance.

They continued along the corridor before entering a small, square room with plain stone floors and walls. A small, three sided wooden podium stood in the centre of the room facing a large wooden desk. A lone man in scarlet robes, half-moon spectacles and a white wig sat at the desk, leafing through a stack of papers with a bored look on his face. Standing behind him in the corner of the room was a woman in a plain black dress with a veil obscuring her face.

"The prisoner may approach the dock," the judge said idly.

The guards marched Tori towards the dock, locking her manacles to two iron bolts at the top and bottom of the podium before stepping back from her. Silence filled the room as the judge pulled one of the papers from the stack in front of it and peered at it through his spectacles.

"Will the prisoner please state her name?" the judge asked without looking up at her.

Tori licked her lips nervously. "Tori," she said. "Tori Blackthorn. What is this? Why am I here?"

"Miss Blackthorn," the judge continued, ignoring her questions. "You stand accused of being complicit in the kidnapping of Princess Talia of Everdale, an act that falls directly under the crime of high treason. How do you plead to this charge?"

"I don't..." Tori began.

"Miss Blackthorn," the judge interrupted, his tone suggesting this was not the first time he had given this speech. "Even without your admission of guilt, we have more than enough evidence to convict you. We have proof that you are a member of the Red Hand gang. We have eyewitnesses that say you were a member of the gang's leadership and we have past charges that have been filed against you that include extortion, smuggling and obstruction."

Tori's mouth was dry. Fear consumed her as she realised that this wasn't a hearing. This was her actual trial and it seemed that her guilt had already been decided.

"You can't do this," she breathed fearfully. "I have a right to a fair trail! I have..."

"You have no rights, Miss Blackthorne," the judge said coldly. "The King passed an executive law the other day ensuring that every last member of your gang will face the consequences for what you have done. And as I'm sure you know, there is only one punishment for treason."

Death. This was it. This was how she was going to die.

The woman, who until now had not moved, suddenly approached the judge and whispered something in his ear. He turned to her, frowning as he asked, "This one?"

The woman did not reply and eventually the judge simply shrugged as he turned back to face Tori and picked up the small gavel that rested on the side of his desk. Tori's heart was beating so fast she thought it might burst out of her chest.

"It seems someone is watching over you, Miss Blackthorn," the judge grumbled. "Your sentence has been commuted. Guards, please escort the prisoner out."

"Wait, what?" Tori exclaimed as the two thuggish guards began to detach her manacles from the dock. "What do you mean? What's happening? Where are you taking me?"

No one answered her as she was dragged out of the room back down the sunlit corridors. She tried not to panic, focusing instead on the fact that, for now at least, she hadn't been sentenced to death. The guards led her to another door and knocked softly before waiting to be admitted. It seemed to Tori that both men were suddenly nervous.

"Enter," called a clipped voice.

They opened the door and led her into a small room with a single window overlooking the prison courtyard. The floor and walls were plain but for a singe oil painting of a church on top of a hill. The only pieces of furniture in the room were a single oak table and chair covered in faded red velvet that was currently occupied by a woman in her late forties. She wore a plain black dress, trimmed at the sleeves with a band of white and a simple silver cross hung from a loop around her neck. Her face was framed by a white and black habit that covered her hair and marked her instantly as a Sister of the Sacred Flame. She had thin lips, flared nostrils and cold grey eyes that seemed to pierce Tori's soul as they fell upon her.

"You may remove her shackles," the Sister said sternly

The two guards glanced uncertainly at one another. "Ma'am?" one of them said hesitantly.

"Was I not clear?" the Sister said sharply. "Remove her shackles and wait outside. If I have need of you, I shall call for you. Do you understand?"

The guards nodded and hurried to unlock Tori's shackles before scrambling over each other to leave the room. When the door slammed shut behind them, the Sister turned to Tori and offered her a smile that was devoid of any form of warmth.

"Would you care for some tea?" she asked, gesturing to the teapot and the two cups that sat on the table beside her.

"No, thank you," Tori muttered. Her mouth was dry. She didn't trust this woman at all.

"Suit yourself," she replied cooly as she poured herself a cup. "Tell me, girl, do you believe in the Lord?"

Tori shifted uncomfortably. The Order of the Sacred Flame was Everdale's oldest and primary religious sect. They preached messages of tolerance and peace on behalf of their singular, omnipotent Lord of Fire. Tori's few interactions with the church had been anything but tolerant and peaceful, however.

"My father was a believer," she said carefully. "I never had the luxury of believing."

The Sister nodded as if this was the answer she had been expecting. "I am Reverend Mother Cynthia," she said. "It is my duty to find lost souls such as yourself and offer you a chance at redemption."

"Redemption?" Tori repeated, careful not to let her skepticism show. "What do you mean?"

Mother Cynthia nodded. "An eye for an eye is not the church's way," she said. "Your sins are many and serious, Tori. But through repentance, your soul can still be saved."

Tori fought the urge to laugh. She had heard all of this before. The church pretended to concern itself with peoples' sins, offering them redemption in exchange for a few muttered prayers and a charitable donation to their private vaults. It was bollocks, of course. There was no afterlife. There was no all powerful man in the sky guiding everyone through their miserable lives just to judge them at the point of their death. Deep down, everyone knew that the Lord of Fire was a hoax concocted by the Church to make people obey, and yet still they allowed themselves to believe that it might all be true.

"You seem amused?" Mother Cynthia said sharply. "If you would rather not accept our offer, I am sure the hangman can spare you another noose."

Tori swallowed as she reached instinctively for her neck. The Reverend Mother smiled thinly, her face still entirely devoid of any kind of warmth. Tori did not trust her, but it seemed she had little choice in the matter.

"What would happen to me?" she asked.

"You would be placed into the care of the church," Cynthia said. "You would live in isolation in one of our monasteries in the country and spend your days reflecting upon your sins whilst providing services to the local community."

Tori resisted the urge to smile, not quite believing what she was hearing. It seemed like the perfect offer. The Reverend Mother would get her out of the city just as she had wanted and after that all she would have to do was escape from some dusty old monastery. She had escaped prisons before and couldn't imagine a bunch of stuck up Sisters would cause her any problems.

"Are you willing to accept this offer, Miss Blackthorn?" Mother Cynthia asked. "Or would you rather go back to your cell?"

Returning to her cell was not an option, not now that she knew she had a chance of freeing herself. She looked up at the Reverend Mother, already starting to picture where she would go once she had broken free of this stupid woman's grip, and smiled innocently.

"When do we leave?"

****

The two guards jostled Tori from side to side as they led her down the corridor. She couldn't remember having left the room where she had been talking to Mother Cynthia but she could see the older woman striding down the corridor ahead of them.

She blinked and suddenly they were outside. She was dressed in a floaty white nightgown which was strange considering she was certain that a few moments ago she had been wearing her battered leather pants and combat top. The sun warmed her skin and she could hear horses snorting and dragging their hooves against the cobbles nearby.

Someone was speaking but the words seemed to be coming from too far away for her to make out. She tried to turn her head but her neck refused her commands. That was when she realised that she was only standing upright because the guards were supporting her beneath her arms.

A carriage door clicked open and she grunted in surprise as she was hoisted up onto a cool bench seat of black leather. Someone climbed in afterwards and she recognised the thin lips and grey eyes of Mother Cynthia. She tried to ask her what was happening to her but found that the words refused to form in her mouth.

"Not far to go now," Mother Cynthia said aloud.

Tori forced open one of her eyes, her head lolling aimlessly from side to side in time with the rhythm of the carriage. They were far from Everdale, that much was evident by the rolling green plains on one side of the carriage and the sheer cliffs that loomed over them on the other, but there was nothing that she could use to pinpoint her location exactly. In the distance she thought she could see coils of smoke climbing into the air over the rooftops of a small town. She tried to ask where they were but she was asleep again before she could even form the words.

****

Tori inhaled sharply as a foul, acrid stench filled her nostrils. She recoiled backwards, coughing and retching as she struggled to orientate herself in the dark room that she had suddenly awoken in.

"Chain her," barked a cold yet familiar voice.

A pair of Sisters in plain black dresses and veils appeared above her and lifted her to her feet. Metal cuffs attached to long chains were locked around her wrists and she cried out as her arms were pulled above her head and she was forced to stand on her toes to keep herself balanced. She blinked away the tears that her sudden coughing outburst had caused and was unsurprised to find herself standing face to face with Mother Cynthia.

"Hello, Tori," the Reverend Mother said with a thin smile. "How are you feeling?"

"What did you do to me?" Tori hissed, looking around the room for something that might help her to escape. They appeared to be in some sort of cellar. The ceiling was arched and cut from the same yellowish stone slabs as the walls and floor. Candles flickered in iron candelabras set around the windowless room, illuminating small alcoves in the walls to her left and right, whilst behind Mother Cynthia she could make out what appeared to be an ancient stone sarcophagus, the details and the writing of the grave too worn by time for her to properly decipher.

"You were given a mild sedative," Mother Cynthia said. "The effects will wear off momentarily."

"You drugged me?" Tori snarled.

Mother Cynthia laughed dryly. "Come now, Tori. Do you think me a fool?" she said. "I saw the look in your eyes when I made you my offer. You were planning to escape the moment you agreed to come with me."

"The idea had crossed my mind," Tori growled defiantly.

Mother Cynthia smiled before turning and walking slowly around the sarcophagus. "Many of the reprobates who come to us in your position make the same mistake," she said with a casual shake of her head. "They think that because we believe in a higher power that that somehow makes us weak, or more easy to deceive."

The Reverend Mother placed her hand on the lid of the sarcophagus and Tori stared in astonishment as she pushed lightly against the heavy stone and slid it aside as if it weighed no more than a feather.

Cynthia smiled as she clutched the open top of the sarcophagus and looked directly into Tori's eyes. "As you can see, however," she said softly. "Our faith has made us strong."

The Sisters stood impassively beside Tori. If either of them was surprised by Mother Cynthia's impressive demonstration of strength, neither of them showed it.

"Who are you?" Tori demanded, panic creeping into her voice. "Where am I?"

"This is the Convent of Saint Sephoria," Mother Cynthia said, her tight lips forming into a cold smile as she reached into the sarcophagus and withdrew a brittle and grey coloured skull. "And we are her humble servants."

The skull of Saint Sephoria was ancient. The jawbone was missing, as were several teeth, and there was a large crack running from the top of one eye socket diagonally across its forehead. Just looking at it made Tori's skin crawl and it seemed as though the temperature in the crypt had plummeted by several degrees. She felt a presence behind her that she hadn't noticed previously and the candles that were dotted about the room suddenly flicked and died, plunging them into darkness. A primal sort of fear gripped her chest. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and beads of clammy sweat formed on her brow. It might have been her imagination, but she thought she could feel someone breathing in her ear.

The candles suddenly burst back to life and the chill that had descended over them all vanished like morning mist. The two Sisters stood with their heads bowed beside her and she could hear that they were both praying fervently. Mother Cythia remained beside the sarcophagus, the skull still clutched between her hands. She met Tori's gaze and smiled. Tori couldn't remember the last time she had seen anything as sinister before.

"You see, Tori?" Mother Cynthia said softly. "We serve a higher power. It is our duty to bring you back to the light. You have done terrible things, but with our help we shall purge the sin from your body so that your soul might be saved."

Tori's chest was tight and she could feel beads of sweat trickling down her back. She did not know what she had just witnessed but she knew she needed to get out of there. Fear gripped her, and it was only her anger at having been tricked into going with Cynthia that kept her from descending into a full blown panic attack.

"You're fucking insane!" she hissed. "None of this is real. There is no Lord of Fire and I don't need you to fucking save me!"

"That is enough," Mother Cynthia said curtly. She glared at Tori, cold fury raging behind her grey eyes. "I had hoped you would accept your redemption willingly, but I can see you are going to require additional persuasion."

"I will get out of here!" Tori growled defiantly. "And if you touch me, I will kill you."

Mother Cynthia smirked. "When I am through with you, you will never want to leave this place again."

She jerked her chin at the two Sisters who turned to Tori and each produced tiny blades from their sleeves that were no more than two inches long. One of them grabbed her braided hair and yanked her head backwards whilst the other began to cut away at the fabric of her nightgown, slicing it open from hem to hem and letting the torn strips of white cloth fall around her feet until she stood naked in the middle of the crypt.

"What the fuck are you doing to me?" she growled, her cheeks burning with humiliation.

Mother Cynthia ignored her as her eyes travelled over her body, lingering for a moment on her firm, perky tits, before nodding in approval. "A little rough around the edges," she said thoughtfully. "But you will serve us well. Clean her, and gag her. I will prepare the ceremony."