Let your plan be made known to me, that I may labor without hesitation, study without question, and place my faith in you above all earthly things. Guide my steps, silence my doubts, and shape my thoughts into the design you have prepared.
I serve only you in this life.
May every act, every breath, bear witness to my loyalty.
I am yours?—
to be used, molded, spent as you desire.
A tool. A vessel. Your devoted servant,
unto whatever end you decree.
Then together, as one, we lean forward to drink.
Though my lips brush the white and silver foam, I do not partake. The others do not know what I know. I have tasted these waters before, and what lies before us now is no longer pure. It has been altered… tainted by my own hand.
Another secret meant for me alone.
Only the unwavering are meant to awaken. Only one may rise.
I am she.
The Last Maiden of the Blessed.
The savior of mankind.
I alone will be the Grand Minister’s weapon as His judgment creeps ever nearer in the world above.
Chapter Two
Remnants of the Past
The Chosen
Year 2228
I am not dressed appropriately. My thin nightgown is see-through. Everyone else is dressed in their Sunday frock, black floor-length dresses, hair tied into a severe bun or braid. Each of us wears the same dark metal necklace—a small cross with a garnet.
I sit surrounded by my sisters while we listen to Minister Alterre speak to us of womanhood and our place in the order of all things. I stand out among them because I did not wake on time and had to speed walk through the hallways just to make it here before the sermon began.
I very much want to cover up, but I will be punished for doing so. I already received several severe looks from our leaders upon arrival. Tardiness is not a forgivable offense. Their expressions upon seeing me promise that my day would not end without experiencing the whip across my back for this slight against God and Minister Alterre.
So my hands remain folded in my lap, my own rosary around my wrists. The wooden beads are smooth under my fingers, the cross the only thing of color, black as is the small figure of Christ carved upon it.
My head is bowed as is custom. We are here to listen only. The words of primary importance, not the voice or the man speaking them. They are God’s words, and we are being given a gift by being present to hear them.
I catalog every word he speaks and file them away to repeat, process, and make notes on later. I am lucky this way. My memory works like a photograph, and if I mentally picture writing the words down, I can reflect and remember much of what I take in. I credit this as one of the reasons I have excelled beyond my peers in my studies. That and my agility in training. I am lean, though of average height, and I am faster than most of my sisters. I learned early that those who don’t prove their value daily lose it. Those who don’t excel die of a mysterious sickness. A promise that we, my sisters and I, secretly call The Culling.
I have no excuse for my behavior today. I am never late. Why I was this morning and had no time to dress has escaped my mind in my haste to get here. And I welcome any punishments Sister Agnes delivers, because I must not repeat this folly and slip from my place at the top of the Order.
“Eridessa.”
My head snaps up. Minister Alterre glares down at me. Other heads turn, and soon the good minister’s is not the only scowl penetrating under my skin.
Something is wrong. We do not speak our names. That is something we lose when we experience our first cycle. I am no longer Eridessa. I am no one. A vessel. A maiden only, not an individual.
Rayla nudges my elbow. I look over at her and jerk back when I see blood pooling out of the corner of her eyes. “You should have told me.”
