This is a short story I’ve been working on for quite a while. I started writing it because I was inspired by The Handmaid’s Tale, and themes surrounding Feminism. It’s a standard dystopian society where women are oppressed. I wanted to experiment with something new because I don’t typically write this genre. Please give me feedback. It’s only a draft so there’s definitely room for improvement.
Shiloh swept into a long bow at the Gardener’s feet as his monotonous voice droned on and on. The long cotton of her tunic blasphemously entwined with her curly hair and the fringes of the prayer carpet.
“…I plant the seeds of fertility and bless ye. For the prosperity of children, no matter how great, is a wonderful burden to bear.” the old man’s voice finally shuddered to a halt, as he reached into his leather satchel and withdrew a handful of poise petals.
Shiloh could feel their graceful descent to her matted bonnet. She kissed the ground at his feet, inhaling their sweet incense – the only aspect even reasonably enjoyable about the ritual. She mentally admonished herself for harboring such wicked thoughts. This was the way it was meant to be. Naeya had spoken.
A sharp pinch stung her right arm. It took everything she had to keep from yelling out loud in pain, like a fool.
“Our Holy Garden, Shiloh” a bitter voice whispered in her ear, “Get your Turtan off the dirty ground, and stop kneeling for Naeya’s sake…Gardener Fyre is speaking.”
Mother yanked her up by the arm, and she stumbled over the long cloak of her Yurtan. As she looked around in dismay, she realized the whole province of Gyter was staring. The ladies stood, cloaked head to toe in their elegant Yurkman’s, nothing showing except their delicate eyes and lips.
They were embroidered intricately with ceremonial designs, dark crimson patterns embellished with light gold beads. The color of the ritual. Her face flushed red with embarrassment as she noticed all the other modestly dressed girls were gawking at her; even Jyo, whose lips twisted, obviously trying to hide a grin. Mother appeared stern as always.
Though the Urob was a traditional coming-of-age ritual for girls, they were all expected to dishevel themselves in loose, unconfined robes. A prerequisite to the more customary long-length Yurkman, a Turtan was worn to signify the last few moments of a girl’s childhood, bridging the transition into womanhood. In ancient times, it would be performed prior to a girl’s first blood, but Shiloh was convinced that everyone here had started it already. She herself had experienced the full extent of Hure’s dreadful curse an entire year before the ceremony.
In addition to being one of the most important events in a girl’s lifetime, it held great expectations for all the girls. From this point on, there would be no more dallying, no more straying from the kitchen without orders; no more laughing or playing.
The most difficult phase of the ritual was the last: Vertere. The test of womanhood. Families flocked to have the test administered for their girls every year, and those who didn’t pass the previous year were required to take it again. Those who failed more than three times were an ignominy to the family name, and officially banished to the Etherlands. The ultimate disgrace because the Etherlands were essentially a brothel for warlords.
Shiloh watched as Jyo fought with difficulty to hide the smirk, knowing deep inside that it wasn’t entirely genuine. She could tell that she was nervous for the Vertere, and with good reason. Her cousin Tenyu had taken it one day, and was discovered on the other side of the province a week later, marked head to toe in bloody bruises and scars.
No girl really knew what went on during Vertere, but certain women had ideas. It was against the law for any family to reveal to their daughters the true nature of the test; but every once in a while, a girl would flee screaming from the room, and the Gardener would issue a statement declaring that her mind was far too polluted to serve Naeya. As punishment, these girls would typically spend eternity as a Gardener’s Hurehand.
In spite of the fear and ignorance surrounding the Vertere, Shiloh could not manage to be afraid. She felt that she was meant to do this somehow. It was her destiny and duty to her parents, family, and most of all, her future Ruler-in-law. After all, who would ever marry her if she was never officially decreed a woman?
She shocked herself back into reality as Gardener Fyre stood on the birchwood pedestal at the front of the room. His tweed tunic was draped over him and he clutched in his right hand a copy of the Ancient Texts.
He was a tall, austere man, with the short cropped hair resemblant of all the Gardeners. His eyebrows furrowed with concentration, his narrow lips were still and unmoving, and those intense cobalt eyes were ceaseless as they scanned the page.
“….Naeya bestow these girls…” he chanted “…with the power of creation…” He recited the rest of the hymn, gesturing for us to join in. My throat felt parched but I obliged.
“…Naeya grant us the escape….of elimination. For if we fail to serve our purpose…there really is no worth in…our existence.”
And it was true. Once a girl had served her ‘purpose,’ the task to which we would all be assigned once we had finished the ceremony and come of age, there really would be no need for our survival. As Gardener Juve had taught us in Sunday School, fulfilling Naeya’s wish was what would guarantee you a place at her gilded gates in heaven; there was nothing else we could ever want. Most women, once they reached a certain age were administered a drug that sent them to a deep sleep. That was why the majority of Gyter’s population consisted of women in their late twenties.
“Oh, Holy Naeya..” he began, reciting the male verse “…administer the fertility of my fellow sisters…Ensure that they are yours in every way and form. Cleanse thy servants, for the good of their benefactors.”
I watched as all the ladies bowed their heads in penance and accordingly did so myself. Gardener Fyre, then reached into his satchel and removed a handful of papyrus. A gasp caught in my throat. Rumen paper. He dismounted his stool, and walked around the room, we were to bend our heads down as we received the paper subserviently. I had prepared for this since the day I was born, and Mother had instructed me on exactly what I was to do.
Once Gardener Fyre’s cool, callused hands touched mine- I was not to look him in the eye- it would be my duty to hold the blessed paper to my forehead while he finished his chant. This was the way of purifying the mind.
“The place of the woman is the household…” Gardener Juve had advised us in Sunday School. “It is a sin to abandon your duties….”
This segment of the ritual was a way of purging your mind of all evil thoughts. There was no room for women who betrayed their purpose. Shiloh had heard that many educated Kyberian women worked day-jobs as carpenters, librarians, teachers, and nurses, but assumed it was all folk-lore. I mean, the very thought was just laughable!
That was why the Gardeners had declared education for women a sin; otherwise the world would spiral out of control.
“….Purge the thoughts of my fellow sisters….of all that is unholy, and sacrilege….See that they perform their duty, abide by the laws….and do not harbor any sinful thoughts. For a wicked mind…often leads to immoral doings.” Gardener Fyre concluded.
Shiloh’s hands trembled, this was the second-to-last phase of the ritual. It was time to cleanse the tongue of all ungodly sayings. She lifted her head tentatively, and watched her fellow peers as they raised their arms, and cupped palms in the air, swaying slowly.
Gardener Fyre then strutted amongst them, Shiloh watched the edges of his robe flutter in the mellow breeze. It was Wurminkle now. The season where trees would drift ablaze, and would learn to shed their leaves, and sprout new seeds of growth.
The Ritual was always performed during the season of change.
Gardener Fyre spoke:
“Oh Naeya, lastly, rid the mouth of all vile, insensible thoughts, and ideas. Ensure that each woman abides by her place. A haywire tongue is a parasite that destroys the single mind of this community. We place these offerings at your feet, asking that Byrie’s hell does not enthrall our bodies, and encourage us to forsake our place” Gardener Fyre paused, and approached us reluctantly.
I saw some nods of agreement from the ladies in the audience, even some of my sisters in age.
I held the papyrus to my lips, watching as the other girls did so as well. A cakey texture flooded my mouth, as I chewed the flavorless material. It slowly disintegrated between my jaws.
Gardener Fyre approached with a basket. Each girl was asked to carefully remove the remaining wad of Papyrus from between their lips, and with their palms place it reverently in the satchel. He approached me. Cautiously, I felt between my lips, my raw hands coming back with a handful of saliva.
As I peered in the basket I noticed the entire bottom was decorated with Carog leaves, from the Holy Garden. Neat little balls of papyrus were positioned side by side next to each other. I gagged, trying to hide my revulsion as I flung the spit ball into the basket. Mother squeezed my shoulder approvingly; and Gardener Fyre nodded in assent.
I continued to remind myself that I was doing my job as a daughter.
I glanced up at Jyo, the same disgusted expression warped her face, as it did every other girl in line. She wrung her hands nervously, anticipating what was coming next. We all were.
The last, and final component of the ritual.
The Vertere. The descent into our womanhood. None of the observers outside the temple were permitted inside during this process, it was just us. Even our fellow ladies, and mothers were requested to leave.
Gardener Fyre gazed upon the crowd with a curious expression on his face. “And now…for the last part of our Ritual. The Vertere. Otherwise known as a test of your womanhood. Might I remind you young girls, being a woman is not an easy burden to bear. It is a gift. You are all entrusted with responsibility….” At this his face grew solemn and voice quiet. He shook his head sorrowfully.
“So…so much responsibility..” he murmured. “And though it may seem difficult at first… this test will see if you have what it takes…not only will it help us gauge your capability….but it will. Make. You. Stronger.” He paused and took a deep breath. When he resumed, his voice no longer shook. It was steady and firm. “Ladies…” he indicated to the door “If you will please now leave.”
There was no absolutely no resistance on their part. For a few minutes, the only sound was a slight rustling, as rows upon rows of women shifted in the crowd, beelining towards the exit. Mother stroked back one of my curls, and tightened my bonnet, her unyielding touch reminding me that I had bigger shoes to fill.
“Good luck, Shiloh” she muttered in my ear. Then she whispered something else, so low, so soft, that I could barely discern it. It almost sounded like ‘you’ll need it.’
…
Once they had left, gardener Fyre fixed his weary gaze upon us all. We averted our sights elsewhere, terrified as for what was about to occur. Though we all longed to, we didn’t dare whisper quietly to our neighbor, or question what was to come, and stood meekly, in fear of evoking Naeya’s holy wrath.
“They should be here soon…” the Gardener mumbled, mostly to himself. “….don’t know what’s taking so long.” he trailed off.
For now, all that filled the awkward silence was the click of the sundial on the nearest wall. Gilded with gold, it was adorned with diamonds for each of Naeya’s sons: Koulse, Frase, Hyer, Optu, and Jadei. Right now, we were in the hour of Optu. It was getting late, and as I examined the high-ceiling temple walls, decorated with murals depicting the twelve-years battle, my eyes were drawn to the window. A pallid light shown through the light-weight curtains. The moon had risen in the sky.
To pass the time, I counted the number of rubies that encrusted the framework of the ceiling. I was just reaching around five-hundred-thirty-six, when a thunderous boom echoed from outside. It sounded like an avalanche.
Me and the other girls held our breaths, and it took all the self-control we had to prevent ourselves from racing to the window. Avalanches, though existent, were not awful-common in these parts. Situated as we were, near the Ratish mountains, we were at pretty high risk, but they tended to occur during the following Ehrenfest season, never, had we experienced one while overseeing Wurminkle.
My thoughts immediately drifted to Mother and Grandmam, I hoped with all my heart that they had heard word of its arrival and had taken shelter. My heart pounded just at the mere thought of Grandmam’s consumption. Surely, they had escaped in time? I drew in deep, comforting breaths of air. No, they were alright, they must be. They’d have to be. Right now my duty was focusing on eminent thoughts of the Vertere. That was my priority.
Shiloh shook herself to the present, and turned to make split eye-contact with Jyo, her cerulean blue eyes issued an extreme warning, and her body trembled all over.
That was when she heard it.
The scuffle of lumbering steps on the footpath outside. And not delicate, petite footsteps; but large, stumbling ones. Manly ones.
Footsteps that scuttled over rocks and stones, unscathed, that spent days in the forest chopping wood without a bruise or scrape to show for it.
Footsteps that roamed the Ratish mountains and Faulktourne valleys; that hunted, and haunted like bigfoot. That preyed, and prayed to Naeya, as if they themselves were God.
Footsteps that were now approaching her very temple. The women’s only sanctuary from the sins of humanity.
Quickly, she and the other girls drew their bonnets tighter around the napes of their necks, they’re barely used Yurktan’s were pulled taut everywhere. They attempted to hide the three seeds of temptation, as they all recalled from Gardener Juve’s teachings.
Frantically, all the girls bowed their heads, as they heard the creak of the iron back door on its hinges, and their future suitors and Rulers-in-law entered the building.
Gardener Fyre’s body seemed to tense at the mere sound of them. Stern, austere, disciplined. Nothing at all like the rambunctious, predatory creatures Ma had warned me about. I snuck a quick glance at Jyo out of the corner of my eye, and could notice her face growing imperceptibly pale with disconcertment. What was this test about?
I listened as the single file of men approached, catching a glimpse of their uniform, conservative black shoes. Gardener Feyre seemed to almost sigh with relief at their arrival, and I noted his bare feet, rushing to and fro, making arrangements, no doubt for the next stage of the Ritual.
Once the men had aligned themselves in an arrangement in front of us, the Gardener again resumed his position on the pedestal at the front of the room.
“And so it is….that you young girls have reached the final stage of womanhood” he began, his voice echoing a thunderous boom. “These very men in front of you are…the saviors. The Caye to your Hure, the Sky to your Earth. The seeds to sow your fertility.” he paused “Let us now have a moment of silence to acknowledge the beauty of procreation” he advised, his voice dimming and the air filling, rich with the monotonous tick of the sundial, and the heavy breathing of sweaty men.
I thought about anything but that and watched the pair of feet in front of me curiously. They were planted firmly in a military stance, and the edges of my vision observed the pair of leather black gloves that hung limply at the side of his body. It seemed to go on forever. My heart thudded painfully in her chest. What on earth was to follow?
“That shall do” Gardener Feyre finally spoke. “Girls, please lift your heads” he ordered. I dared raise my chin, tilting my head awkwardly to the side as I met the gaze of the man in front of me.
His pure emerald eyes shimmered with mystery, and though his arms grazed his sides loosely, the stiffness of his posture and stature along with closely cropped mahogany hair, mimicked his guarded expression, almost daring me to come closer.
As if I would ever do such a thing. He was almost like a dragon, this man, beautiful from a distance, but I received the sense that if I even made a move to touch him, my hand would dissolve to ash.
I gazed at the men in front of me, staggering back in shock, as I realized that they were exactly the same. And by that I mean they bore the same olive complexion, verdant eyes, and threatening glare, they were all dressed in a modest black military garb as well, their lips pursed slightly in similar sour disapproval as they examined each and every one of us, from the silk of our Turtans, to the cotton of our bonnets.
Gardener Feyre continued to drone on and on…his voice muting to a sharp dullness in the back of my brain. My limbs grew heavy, and I felt slightly nauseous as I tried to process all that was going on around me. I scanned the room, watching as Jyo nervously gulped, wringing out her clammy fingers at her sides. My fellow peers all composed their features into an appearance of passivity.
Gardener Feyre continued with the ritual “before you is the water that will cleanse your womb…that will douse the fire within you” he rhymed. “That will hold you humble and keep you mild…” He stated plainly “that will bless the maiden and tame the wild” he concluded with a weary sigh.
He raised his hand in solemn approval as he requested “Saviors, grasp your maiden’s hand” The man in front of me reached for my hands brashly, I fumbled as his dry skin scraped mine, making my cheeks bloom a bright red. He crouched slowly to kiss my fingertips. I bit my lip, embarrassed as I stared at the ground.
It would kill me to admit how much I enjoyed the soft tickle of his skin on mine. “Escort them to the prayer rooms” Gardner Feyre ordered, indicating to the cubicles that lined the gilded hall on either side of us. “No more than two to a room” he reminded them.
The man before me gently guided me towards the nearest room. The entrance was guarded by a curtain of chained gold. The gilded chains fell softly over my bonnet.
The man’s green eyes, never once left my chocolate ones. I fell into his gaze. Trustingly. The room was hardly decorated, and bare, save for a tattered mattress in the far left corner. There was no window or breathing space. And the only other furniture was a sepia chest of drawers at the far end, near the door.
Suddenly, his grip on my arm tightened. He held a callused finger to his lips and guided me over to the mattress on the floor. It was only as I neared the mattress that I noticed the stains that dotted all over the comforter. My heart pounded in my chest, and my palm was slick with sweat. I unsheathed my hand from his and glanced up at those eyes questioningly.
His gaze never faltered. Instead, it was kind, as he indicated me to lie on the mattress. There was nothing malignant in his glance. His intentions were pure.
I lifted up the flowered skirt of my Turtan and stepped daintily onto the mattress. He gave a nod of assent, as I slowly began to lay down. My arms fell to the side of my breasts. I felt exposed in this vulnerable position.
He bent down endearingly and reached for my bonnet.
I hesitated. Mother had taught me never to remove my bonnet in the presence of a man. A head full of hair was a woman’s sacred gift, she had told me.
My curly locks trembled slightly beneath this man’s touch. What was to happen next? Again he placed a finger to his lips. I was not to ask questions, only follow, his eyes said. Didn’t Mother want me to follow instructions as well?
Relentingly, I lifted my hands upwards and loosened the bonnet. His grip softened, and a small smile turned at the corner of his lips. His green eyes beamed and slowly began to glow. They shimmered a deep emerald and began hardening in his chiseled face. Suddenly they grew into something feral. A wild lust possessed his body, and I could see it in his eyes.
My hands shook, as his grip on me tightened. A tight feeling seized me, and I yelped. He clamped his hand over my mouth. That was when I noticed the long claws that has sprouted from his fingertips. A thin layer of fur coated his once-blistered hands.
My eyes widened, and I tried to pull away. But he leaned into me, nuzzling against my locks of hair. I felt myself go numb all over. A warm tongue slobbered over the side of my face, and I reeled in fear and shock. A drop of blood rolled down my cheek.
I squirmed beneath his irrepressible grip, but to no avail. I only agitated him further.
Then everything went black. Reality fell out of view, and images swam before my eyes. My cold skin was stripped bare beneath his sharp claws. Blood spilled forth. But my body was paralyzed as always. A sudden pain tore through my gut. And at that moment, I wanted to die. I wanted to die so bad.
Just kill me already. Finish the damned job.
My mind fell into a state of subconsciousness. Where this all felt like an illusion. Maybe I was already dead. Maybe I had already returned to Naeya’s heaven.
A burning sensation perforated over my skin, from head to toe. It was as though I was being singed with a hot iron.
My spirit was detached from my body. A scream tore out of its mouth. I seemed to almost watch from above as my body was being ravaged by the beast.
I was absolutely helpless.
I screamed again. It was a shrill, piercing scream that shattered through the canvas walls. A cool gust of air coasted over my back. My throat throbbed.
I shrieked as loud as I could. My body contorted, amalgamating into an alternate dimension. I felt the pain from my skin slowly dissipate as I was hurled into Caye’s circle of fire.
The story went that since Hure was deemed an untouchable, Caye summoned a circle of fire to protect mankind from the sins of a woman.
A sharp blade penetrated through my back. My shoulders shuddered and collapsed. My whole torso fell inwards. I was overcome by so much anguish, my entire body had fallen numb.
The mirage vanished from beneath my eyes, and the darkness returned.
And eerie quiet consumed the room.
I sensed a flicker of light before me. I extended my arm, reaching towards it, but never quite able to touch it.
My feet were immovable stones in a cement ground.
I reached forward. Reached…..and….reached….
I toppled over myself. My knees scabbing the ground with a dull impact.
And my eyes fluttered open.
Power coursed through my limbs. My entire body was alive, my senses buzzed. I propped myself upwards. My long locks of hair dangled from my shoulders and my muscular arms barely tired from the effort. I blinked with surprise.
My Turtan had disappeared, and it was replaced by a longer, more lavish gown. It was intricately decorated with patterned scales that swept down and around my back, and ankles. I lifted up a hand, admiring the new silver bracelets that adorned my wrists.
And that was when I felt the energy, vibrating from my back. The thrum of it was irresistible. I heaved myself onto revived legs, and immediately I was seized upwards. I turned around in shock.
Two ornate, glass wings has sprouted from my backbones. Tattooed arabesque motifs swirled around their border.
I was levitating. A new, holy music echoed in my ears, and I swayed in time to it. My eyes closed.
I drifted with power and began floating and flying towards a forbidden heaven.
Spilled Ink 