The Call
"When the Gods wish to punish us, they answer our prayers."
- OSCAR WILDE
Tairasu woke up from deep sleep as a nail belonging to a robed figure lightly scraped her hand, then a hot breath warmed her ear. She froze, and suppressed a moment of panic - did anybody hear? The Messenger whispered: "Do not tarry. Do not linger. Make haste. Do not be followed. Sororitas non quiescit."
"Celeritas me docet" Tairasu replied in a breath, per Sutica's instructions.
"Periculum in mora" was the answer, and the Messenger was gone.
Tairasu waited, stood up, placed her pillows under the sheets to imitate her body shape, and sprayed a hint of Phero on her wrists, letting it dry out. Before she could run out, she snuck into the general bathroom and donned her gray robe; her hair dyed blue and green was firmly tied and hidden under the hood. She stepped back into the main room, her only preoccupation being the ever-vigilant Sister Tutor who never, never slept.
She tip-toed to the lower floor, her muscles primed to move in a blur like only a Matre could do, and stopped as soon as the entrance came within her sight, nearly letting a gasp out. Surprise surprise, Tutor Gammala was snoring, a spice coffee cup still warm on her table, the desk lamp casting light on an old holo-book worn out by use. Still, Tairasu did not dare exit through the main door and instead went for the emergency exit at the bottom of the stairs, which she kept open with a tiny wooden peg. Out she went.
The warm air spoke to her of summer nights, of late-hour, idle chatting with other acolytes, of adventures with the local men under the cover of darkness. Yet nobody was around, and she was in a hurry. She walked briskly through the School grounds, and out into the dark. She felt shy, and electric, and uncertain, for she was going to meet the black order.
"Angelika is refusing to meet us," had sait Sutica shyly a few days before.
"Whom else can we turn to?" Gerta had asked.
"Not the Tutors," ruled Tairasu.
They had debated until they noticed Sutica was holding back.
"Say what you have been thinking all along, sister," Gerta hissed.
"The nameless ones. The Black order," Tairasu concluded.
"Just maybe. How did you guess?" Sutica had snapped back.
"You only spite things that bother you," was Tairasu's reply.
"There were always stories about the black ones, but before Chapterhouse I had never heard of them so frequently. So what if the order exists?" asked Gerta. "They must be looking for recruits, or we would not be hearing about the gossip. We just need to find the right people to ask."
"No, Gerta, it's them who choose to approach recruits." But Sutica had remained vague.
The darkness of the dry pastures around the School embraced Tairasu. The grass was flat and the cattle breathed heavily in their sleep; she walked quickly, grateful for the Phero perfume which identified her to them as a familiar visitor, and kept her from being trampled over. The fig tree was a tall and austere silhouette in the night, but easy to recognize. Finding her footing was easy: Central was so small, after all, compared to all the places she had been deployed before as the assistant of Matre Baira: Shoen, Utica, Gammu... and on.
Daydreaming stopped as a light appeared in the night. She crouched, listening. Somebody was playing music? Moving one foot at a time, she walked around and past the light, in tune with the beat. Then she was off again into the hedge maze, out via a hole in the hedge and finally to a door that led to the basement of a remote building, the Labs sign blinking in the night.
Two knocks and then four. Silence. Sutica, I hope this is not just a big joke on me.
There were whispers among the students, as always, about the old secret society. Legends, Matres' lore. Some dismissed it as a rumor, the scarecrow with which Honored Matres kept the young students in check. The nastiest Sisters wore black, came out only at night, and preyed upon the weakest. They were angels of darkness and agents of revenge. Then there was the case of Acolyte Meina on Shoen. Tairasu remembered her as the most bloodthirsty of the second year students, the terror of the novices, and differently from the other bullies, she killed when challenged. Until an ominous black sign was found one day on her blouse. Shortly after her body was retrieved from the metal cauldron their dinners were cooked in. She had boiled over, her shrunk body all wrinkled, hands and feet tied on her back. She was wearing the same blouse, discolored. The same arched black mark there and on her forehead.
She knocked again, impatiently. The longer she was out, the higher the chance somebody would notice her absence. A door cracked open in the night. "Profecto enim vita vigilia est" she whispered. A robed figure let her in, and face unseen she took Tairasu by the end, and presented her a black strip of cloth.
"No," Tairasu objected.
"The uninitiated start blind on the dark path," the figure whispered. Was she the same as the Messenger that had visited her in the dormitory? Tairasu let herself be blindfolded, and then led down multiple ramps of stairs. She let herself be taken away through corridors and turns until she was dizzy.
Earlier that day, Sutica had cornered her. "Finally. They want you. I think you are ready."
"Who?"
"Ssh!"
"Why only me?"
"It's for our own protection. Repeat these passwords with me."
Back to the present, Tairasu and her guide walked around and around for half an hour, or maybe more? – she could not tell – up and down and outside and inside buildings, until she was completely lost, except for a few clues, pollen in the air – still near the hedges, rotten food – some kind of recycling facility – then chemicals that could have belonged to a hospital.
When the cloth was lifted from her eyes, no light startled her. No light nor sound nor sensation.
It was pitch dark.
The white noise hinted at a small room.
Where was her guide? Had she lost her sight?
"Sutica?" she whispered, "Is it you?"
A door clicked, closing behind her.
Was she alone? Locked up? She could not hear the ventilation system. Silence.
Disorientation turned into discomfort.
Discomfort creeped up through her body, becoming dread.
Dread expanded from her chest to her head in a wave of adrenaline.
Stumbling, she extended hands to find the walls…
…a kick to her abdomen pushed her on the ground…
She made to jump back up….
But a punch into her side knocked her off balance.
She whirled at that deadly Honored Matres speed, blindly kicking, and screaming….
But no scream came out, only a raucous pant.
A storm of hits came from everywhere, faster than her senses could detect, left and right and front and rear and she collapsed on the ground. Kicks and punches, cuts and lashes all incoherently falling on her, on her body. The distinct numb hardness of a cane. The pain took over her entire world. It took it over, and there was nothing more to feel than hurt. "Sutica!" she croaked. Flesh opened, blood, the terror as hands held her down. She then screamed until only breathless rasps came out of her. She freed her hands to cover her head, then crouched down like a wounded animal. Endless subjugation.
And then finally, many, many moments later, too many painful moments, her mind retreated, and she lost consciousness. It felt like a miracle, like the touch of a benevolent angel.