Naamah's Curse - Jacqueline Carey [61]
“I would rather you didn’t,” I muttered.
The Patriarch laid a hand on my shoulder. “Child, you only think that because there are blinders on your eyes. I will remove them and teach you to see. What men call Hell is but the absence of God. When you learn to see, when you accept God’s presence in your life, you will understand that you have been suffering needlessly for a very long time.”
I jerked away from him, my chains rattling. “Will you remove these when I do?” I asked, holding out my shackled wrists.
“I will.” He beckoned to Ilya, still loitering discreetly behind us. Ilya came forward, fishing the key from a second chain around his neck, hidden beneath his robes. It was one of the first places I would have looked if I’d ever succeeded in bashing his head in. I wished I had. He handed it over with ceremony. The Patriarch let it dangle from his fist. “On the day that you pledge yourself heart and soul to the One True God and his son Yeshua, I will unlock your chains, Moirin.”
“I’ll do it now,” I offered, reckoning that under the circumstances the Maghuin Dhonn Herself would forgive me the lie.
He gave me a condescending smile. “True faith is hard won. I will know when you have won yours. You have not even made a beginning until you confess the full litany of your sins.” He stroked his beard. “I suspect that alone will take a long, long time.”
I was silent.
The Patriarch sighed. “There will come a day when you will thank me, but I do not expect you to believe me now. Now…” His nostrils flared. “I do believe you would be well served by a good scrubbing.”
With that, I was dismissed.
Luba and Valentina led me away. I glanced over my shoulder to see Aleksei kneeling at his uncle’s feet, the Patriarch’s hand resting on his head in benediction as he spoke to the young man in hushed tones.
There were living quarters attached to the temple, modest and simply adorned. The bathing chamber was a stark affair—a room with a tin tub filled with water, and a wooden bench with a ball of soap and a wire brush. As I wondered exactly how I was meant to bathe while I was still chained into my clothing, Luba exited and returned with a pair of sharp shears and a grim smile.
It wasn’t easy to cut through the thick Tatar wool and felt. She struggled, breathing hard, scoring my skin a number of times as she strove to find an angle that would give her leverage.
The third time it happened, I winced. “It would be a great deal easier if you just took off the chains for one bedamned moment.”
She ignored me.
“It’s not as though there aren’t enough of you to overpower me,” I added.
The tip of the shears dug into my spine. She gave a wrenching squeeze, and more thick fabric tore. I sighed.
“Luba does not speak your tongue,” Valentina said in a low voice. “You cannot tempt her to folly.”
“I was not trying—”
She gave me a sharp look. “Save your lies!”
At least she had looked at me. I breathed slowly and held my tongue, reminding myself to be patient. I needed some ally, any ally. I would not find one in this woman by insulting her intelligence.
It must have taken the better part of an hour for Luba to cut away the last of my filthy clothing. Avoiding my gaze, she gestured for me to climb into the tub. Naked and clanking, I did.
The water was cold, and although I would gladly have done it myself, Luba set about scrubbing me with relentless determination, as though the act were some kind of hateful duty. The lye soap was stinging and caustic, especially on the myriad nicks she had inflicted on my skin and the chafed welts that had begun to rise beneath my shackles. The wire brush was harsh and painful, taking off layers of skin. Unbidden tears came to my eyes.
“It is good to mortify the flesh,” Valentina said unexpectedly, an edge to her tone. “The flesh is weak and sinful. Only the spirit is pure.”
I sought her gaze. “Is that what you believe?”
She looked away. “You should not be here. My brother is a fool