Blood of the Fold

They didn't bring her enough food, either. Her dress was getting quite loose at the hips and bust. She had wished, for the last several years, that she could be a bit smaller, as she had been before she went on her journey twenty years before. She had been thought attractive, in her youth. Her extra weight always seemed a reminder of that lost youth and beauty.

She laughed maniacally. Maybe they thought so, too, and had decided to put the Prelate on a fast. Her laughter died. She had wished Jedidiah would see what was on the inside, instead of just the outside, and here she was longing for the outside, just as he did. A tear rolled down her cheek. Warren had never ignored what was inside. She was a fool.

"I pray you are safe, Warren," she whispered to the walls.

Verna slid the tray across the floor toward the candle. She flopped down and snatched up the tin cup of water. Before she gulped it down, she stopped, cautioning herself to make it last. They never brought her enough water. Too often she gulped it down and then spent the next day lying in her bed daydreaming about diving into a lake with her mouth open, guzzling down as much as she wanted.

She put the cup to her lips and took a dainty sip. When she set it back on the tray, she saw something new, something other than the half loaf of bread. There sat a bowl of soup.

Verna reverently lifted it, inhaling the aroma. It was a thin onion broth, but it seemed a queen's feast. Nearly in tears with joy, she took a swallow, savoring the rich flavor. She tore off a chunk of bread and dunked it in the soup. It tasted better than chocolate, better than anything she had ever eaten. She broke the rest of the bread into small pieces and dumped them all in the bowl. Swelling in the soup, it made the bread seem more than she could eat. But she did.

As she ate, she worked the journey book from its pouch in her belt. Her hopes sagged again, as there was no new message. She had told Ann what had happened, and she had received back a hastily scrawled message that said only "You must escape and get the Sisters away." She had received no message since.

After she had tipped up the bowl and drained the last of the soup, she blew out the candle, saving it for later. She put the half cup of water behind the candle so as to help insure she wouldn't spill it in the dark, and then lay back on the pallet, rubbing her full stomach.

She woke from a dead sleep when she heard the door lever clang as it was lifted. Verna put the back of a hand to her eyes, protecting them from the dazzling illumination that stabbed into the room. She scooted back against the wall as the door closed. A woman stood holding a lamp. Verna squinted in its blinding brightness.

The woman set the lamp on the floor and straightened to fold her hands at her waist. She stood watching, saying nothing.

"Who is it? Who's there?"

"Sister Leoma Marsick," came the terse reply.

Verna blinked as her eyes finally acclimated to the lamplight. Yes, it was Leoma. Verna could make out her wrinkled face and long white hair hanging back over her shoulders.

Leoma was the one in the Prelate's office. The one who had put her in here.

Verna sprang for the woman's throat.

Confused for a moment, she realized she was sitting back on her pallet, and her behind smarted from the rough landing. She felt the disturbing sensation of the Rada'Han preventing her from rising. She tried to move her legs, but they wouldn't respond. It was a singularly terrifying sensation. She gasped for air, fighting back a cry of panic. She stopped trying to fight it, to stand, and the alarm eased, but the disquieting, extrinsic feeling didn't.

"That will be quite enough, Verna."

Verna made sure her voice was under control before she spoke. "What am I doing in here?"

"You were being held until your trial had concluded."

Trial? What trial? No. She would not give Leoma the satisfaction. "That would seem appropriate." Verna wished she could stand; it was shaming to have Leoma looking down upon her like this. "And has it, then?"

"That is why I'm here. I've come to inform you of the decision of the tribunal."

Verna bit off her caustic reply. Of course these traitors found her guilty of some fraudulent charge. "And their decision, then?"

"You have been found guilty of being a Sister of the Dark."

Verna was struck speechless. She stared up at Leoma, but couldn't bring forth a Word at the pain of having Sisters convict her of that. She had worked nearly her whole life to see the Creator honored in this world. Rage boiled up, but she held it in check, remembering Warren's admonition about her temper.

"Sister of the Dark? I see. And how could I have been convicted of such an accusation without evidence?"

Leoma chuckled. "Come now, Verna, surely you would not believe you could gel away with such a high crime and leave no evidence."