Rise Read online

  Rise

  Rise

  Prologue

  Midpoint

  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 d
o 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.

  "Is that what this is about?"

  "Sister Katherine, I was just curious."

  "Well, your curiosity has been abated. Go to sleep."

  "Why can't I join?"

  "I thought you told Sister Raela you didn't want to join?"

  I narrowed my eyes. "Maybe I'm interested, now."

  Sister Katherine sighed. "You're a bit too young, foolish, even." She shook her head. "Not yet."

  "Well, when? I'm sixteen years old, now. I already have a dagger, too" I couldn't help but feel a little proud about that. I couldn't remember where I'd gotten it, but I'd always had it.

  "This isn't child's play, Victoria." She looked at me, hard, as if trying to decide.

  "I know. I just..." I didn't finish. Raela's comment had gotten to me a little more than I cared to admit.

  "I'll think on it", she said, and she slipped her dagger into her robe pocket and was gone before I could say anything else.

  After that incident, I stopped making my midnight trips. I figured it would be a little awkward if I just kept showing up after she'd scolded me. I didn't have to wait long, though, luckily for me.

  One evening after a long day of serving, or in my case, pretending to serve, I was rewarded with a visit from Sister Katherine. She didn't say much, and she didn't seem particularly happy that she was saying it, either, but she showed up at my door and said, "We're considering you for membership, Victoria."

  "When, when?" I'd exclaimed. She'd then frowned. "Soon."

  I'm more excited than I should be, but like I said before, I'm documenting my pre-life here. From this moment forward, everything is going to change. And even with the knowledge that I'm going to be "in", it still isn't soon enough.

  I.

  "Get up! Get up!” Victoria was pulled up roughly by her hair, and she found herself staring blearily into the gleaming face of a sister. "It is nearly half past six. The children will be coming in less than an hour, and you're not even awake. Some sister you are!." The sister stared down at her, scowling, and then threw her back, face first, into her pillows.

  Victoria landed with an "oomph", making no attempt to move. Her thoughts were scattered, as her mind attempted to adjust from dream mode to being awake. She closed her eyes again and thought hard, attempting to get back the last, sweet moments of her dream. It had been a good one, too. Something about a king, and she was a queen. She rubbed her eyes. She couldn't really remember.

  Victoria shook her head, clearing it. It was stupid to be dreaming of such things, really. As a sister of two ancient sisterhoods, neither of them being particularly noble, the chances of her ever becoming a queen were as slim as her being able to get back her dream.

  She rose, reluctantly, her vision still blurry from sleep, and she swung her legs around the edge of her bed, yawning. She stumbled over to her closet, and threw the doors open, leaving her hand on the door knob for support as she gazed inside, groggily.

  As usual, there really wasn't much to choose from. On the left side of her closet were about ten pair of her day robes. They were long and plain, as fashion was not a concern for most nuns, and they generally reached beyond her feet, so she found herself often having to hold them up as she walked.

  She reached in and grabbed a pair, subconsciously reminding herself that one of the more anal sisters would probably make a comment about her wrinkled robes. Whatever. She didn't care.

  Victoria shrugged into them and tied the long belt around her waist. As she did, her eyes fell to the right side of her closet, where her Other Sisterhood robes hung, shrouded in the darkness, and just as invisible. But, she thought, as she closed the closet door, that was rather the point.

  The room Victoria occupied was small, just a bit bigger than a supply closet. and it was filled to the brim with an array of holy items. Holy texts, holy water, and of course, her holy robes, to be worn when serving the old, th
e young, and the poor. The ones she was wearing at this very moment.

  Victoria took a quick look in her dusty mirror before she left. The robes were on correctly, no visible scars or tattoos. All was well. She pinched herself in the arm, and grimaced at the pain. She pinched herself regularly, right before tending to her sisterly duties. The pain caused her to frown, a look the other sisters would take for a mixture of sympathy and disgust at all things unfair in the world. It wasn't of course, but sometimes, the things in her head were better left unsaid. She flung open the door, crossed her arms in the proper nun fashion, and proceeded outside.

  The convent was a small structure, decorated with various frescoes of old gods. It was sectioned into several parts. The sisters, like herself, lived in individual cells towards the back, the only private section of the convent. The rest of the convent was public, and subject to the public at any given time. Sometimes, Victoria would find women kneeling in front of the frescoes, but it wasn’t something that happened very often, anymore. Thus, the frescoes had fallen into disrepair, with their paint peeling at the edges, and none of them as vibrant as they once were.

  Victoria began to walk the long stretch of hallway that separated her from the beggars. She did this every day. Every day, she told them that help was on the way, when she was sure that it wasn't. It was a difficult job, truthfully. She imagined it was similar to being a doctor, in that a doctor has to see patients who have no chance of living on a regular basis, but still has to tell the family that they have a "fighting chance."

  As she stepped outside into the courtyard, her eyes reeled in the sunlight, and she stood there blinking for a few seconds as her eyes adjusted.

  The line of beggars was longer than usual, and on either side of her, Victoria could see the other sisters working furiously, anointing, praying, and filling bowls with slop.

  "Victoria, good child. We have need of you over here."

  Victoria shrugged her shoulders, truthfully indifferent to wherever they sent her. She approached Sister Katherine, who was busy scrubbing some orphan child's back. Sister Katherine looked up at Victoria, her old blue eyes shining with the usual concern, as she was a particularly dedicated sister. Too dedicated, Victoria decided, as she groaned inwardly, remembering that Sister Katherine was always on her back about something.