The Mess hall was still, like a breath held in suspense. The torches were lit in the niches that lay at intervals all around the hall, the only resemblance to life. As for the children, they sat at the tables, faces pale and tight with anxiety and apprehension. The air seemed colder than the winter that persisted outside. The impending arrival of the Nuns was almost upon and Evan could practically taste the fear in the atmosphere. The Nuns were currently having a meeting for the past two hours but he was sure they were counting down every millisecond till they stepped through those doors.
He glanced around. Wynter sat at the far side of his table next to Mandy who was staring into space with a finger in a red curl and a leg bouncing. He swallowed against his dry throat and went back to scratching at the wood paint.
"They wouldn't be mad with us again, right Evan?" asked a tentative voice that broke the strained silence beside him. Peter looked up at his wide fearful eyes, his shaggy dark hair falling around his soft face. Evan could feel everyone turn to him.
He forced a reassuring smile, "Yeah, Pete. I'll make sure of it." A familiar, fierce heat ignited in his chest at his words and with it a burning sense of protectiveness.
The doors swung open, startling everyone and a booming, stern voice called, "Attention!"
Everyone jumped to their feet and formed a line in front of the doors, their heads bowed. The air grew colder still as the Nuns walked in
Clad in the flowing, black habits, they had iron cross necklaces against their chest and the familiar gleaming whips strapped to their waist. Each of their faces were tight with disgust as they stared down their nose at them but Evan kept his eyes on the tallest among them, Sister Agnes, the head Nun. She had her greying hair in a severely tight bun at her nape, the signs of age already showing in the deepening lines in the corners of her cold eyes behind rectangular-shaped glasses.
"Inspection!" she barked and everyone looked up and stood straight though no one met her beady eyes, no one except Evan...and Mandy.
She walked down the line, the loud sounds of her heeled boots upon the cold tiled floor matched the tempo of his hammering heart.
"Filthy, ungrateful children," she hissed, stalking behind them like a predator to prey, "You grumble and lay around all day and you can't even manage to comb your hair," she added at she racked a rough hand through petrified Mark's unruly hair.
"Well, I won't have it!" she roared. She grabbed Mandy by her hair. She shrieked as Sister Agnes pulled at the heart-shaped locket hidden beneath her dress. Evan's fists tightened.
"NO! It's mine! Give it back!" Mandy wailed.
Sister Agnes' eyes hardened, "'Give it back'?" She glanced at her fellow Sisters, "See what happens when you let pests flourish?"
The other Sisters murmured in agreement and Evan's jaw clenched.
"Clearly, we've let these creatures have too much freedom, yes?" Sister Agnes continued and turned to Mandy who squirmed violently in her iron grip, her lip curled and she shoved Mandy to the floor, her locket in her grasp.
Mandy looked up at her defiantly, her green eyes blazed with fury, "Give me back my locket, witch!"
The children gasped and Sister Agnes stiffened.
Evan watched in dread as Sister Agnes stood at full height, her shadow looming over Mandy. Her face contoured in rage and she gave her a thin smile, "Yes, too much freedom, I think."
She draw her heavy bejewelled hand back and slapped the girl hard in the face. Mandy fell to ground, blood seeping from her split lip. The sound seemed to echo in the deathly quiet hall. The children froze and looked anywhere but Mandy. Though Evan stared, his breath ragged as if he ran a mile and he felt a rage so fierce it could rival a thousand suns.
As Sister Agnes pulled out her silver whip from her waist, Evan moved and in a second, he was before her, a firm hand on her wrist.
"Don't," he whispered, his voice coming out calm yet cold.
He saw her eyes widen in shock then narrowed maliciously, "Unhand me, boy or you feel the sting of my whip."
"Then do it," he challenged and almost felt his sister's urge to protest, "Since you've clearly come to graffiti your bloodlust then do it to me and leave her out of it. I am their leader after all, any fault of theirs is mine."
Sister Agnes stared at him and laughed, her Sisters joined. She stepped back and eyes Evan up and down as if appraising a cow for slaughter.
"What a man you've become, Evander Nightlark. It seemed only yesterday that you were dumped here. Sniffling at the dirt on my boot like a pig as I remember."
The Nuns roared in laughter but Evan was hardly amused.
Sister Agnes raised her hand to silence the others, "Very well, boy. I think,' she looked behind him at Mandy who was shuffling back out of sight, "About ten lashes for the girl's insolence and twenty for your rebellion, boy."
Evan again felt Wynter tried to protest but he made a quick hand gesture behind his back to stop her interfering.
"Fine," he agreed, his cold gaze never leaving hers.
"Good," she gestured to the opened doors in mock politeness, "Shall we?"
It was like walking to the gallows, the way two Nuns grabbed his shoulders as they guided him and the party to the Rock which was located behind the dorms, in the neglected part of the churchyard.
The cold bit at his face as they walked him to the Rock with its unusually grey flat surface where anyone unfortunate enough to be at the receiving end of Sister Agnes' whip lay bare.
It was covered in a thin sheet of snow and upon a barked order from Sister Anne, two boys went, grabbed two shovels from the shed, came back and shovelled the snow off.
Evan felt oddly serene as he watched the boys prepare the Rock. He pulled his sweater and shirt off. He recalled the last time someone was whipped on it. His name was Harry and he was a sickly boy of nine years. And despite the fact the kid could barely stand on his own without support, he was the most stubborn person he had ever met.
He would beg to help with the chores or whatever the others didn't want to do. He'd begged to help Evan with his deliveries even though he never learnt to ride a bike. He'd never learnt the word no but he had the biggest heart.
He never liked to recall this memory because it was like being force-fed poison, best to avoid it but...
"Boy! To the Rock," Sister Anne ordered, giving him a hard shove forward.
...He remembered the blood, the way its vivid red splashed on the green grass like paint.
"Kneel!" a Nun said, pressing his face against the cool, sleek rock.
....He remembered Harry's last ragged breath, the way he called for him, begging for it to stop.
"Don't move, boy or it'll drag on longer than it has to," Sister Agnes said, she stood to the right of him, the whip in her iron grip, a hungry glint to her beady eyes.
He remembered that day like it was yesterday though this time it would end differently, pain yes but death...no.
"Get it done," he told her, his voice steady, strong but most of all calm, serene.
Evan laid his head against the Rock, his breath a steady puff of steam. He watched as her hand gripped tighter, raised high above her head...and brought down. Hard. Quick.
A splash of brilliant red paint coloured the snow.
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