The Mender

To join the True Faithful a disciple must reject any doubts and turn the full force of their willpower into belief. The Sanctum was shrouded in the muggy, low lying mist following an inferno of a day. All of the Faithful, True and Unproven gathered in the sanctum’s testing grounds for another hopeful applicant. Mender’s Law ordained that no more than one person may take the test every day and every night. Galena watched from among the gaggle of newly Anointed. They had been urged and pressed against the railing surrounding the sunken ring by those familiar with the spectacle of the test. This evening a young woman came forward as the Hopeful. Galena knew her from when Mender had first made the shift from evangelizing to organizing, a mother who had lost her children both to addiction. In the center of the ring was a dais straddled by a skeleton structure of ropes, pulleys, and metal. The whole structure was like a perverse jungle gym. 

Attention was turned to the entrance to the ring as those assisting with the test entered. Nervous laughter came from some of the apprentices, it was cut off by harsh glares from the men and women with the shaved heads and fuzzy regrowth, only slightly shorter than Galena’s own, designating those who had recently passed the test. 

Mender’s limping assistant brought forward the woman to be tested. She was wearing a shapeless tunic that had no sleeves and stopped halfway down her thighs, belted by a yellow cord. It’s a shame she will have to lose all that hair, Galena thought as the approaching woman's dark curls bounced in the spotlights pointed at the central stage. The assistant helped her onto the platform. He was followed by two women Faithful whoe oiled her bare arms and legs. One of the Faithful had skin so dark the harsh light cast it as purple, the other was nearly translucently white aside from the few freckles dotting her cheeks. Both women had a severe look about them.  Had the Hopeful been a man, like the one who had failed the daytime test, Mender and his assistant would have done the oiling themselves. When they were satisfied with having coated her limbs she was induced to lay flat on a truncated wood platform in the center of the structure. 

The assistant took a position at the woman’s head and raised his arms in a way that hushed the audience. “This woman has chosen to become one of the Faithful. A follower of God’s Law and believer in the Mender’s guidance.”  The two women who had oiled the dark haired woman pulled on ropes on either side of the dias, raising shimmering disks high above her limbs, stained rust red with dried blood. “Assume the final position of our Lord, and accept that you are not worthy.”

The dark haired woman spread her arms and locked her legs together in a cross. “You have one final chance to rejoin the ranks of the damned, to reject our Mender's gift and guidance and go from this place. If you have any doubts about your resolution, I urge you, step down now. Any hesitation or disbelief and be assured. You will die.” The testee bit her lip and turned her head ever so slightly towards the assistant and nodded. “She has accepted. She knows what the consequences of a wavering faith are, her life, and eternal spirit, shall be placed now in her own hands.”

 It was not just Galena or the new Anointed whose breath caught in their throats as the two ropes were placed in each hand of the woman whose resolution was lit clear in her unblinking gaze. The lines were designed not to be heavy, but to require a firm grasp to hold. Galena felt a phantom tug in her own hands and noticed the others who had passed the test fidgeting with their fingers. The woman’s hands were white with grip. 

 “Take as long as you need. But when you release, any doubt will rend you beyond saving.”  The assistant said with finality and stepped away the two faithful falling in behind him. The woman was alone now, in the center of a fire lit ring, surrounded by nearly a hundred who had passed her test or aspired to take it. In her hands were ropes to a triad of heavily weighted, razor sharp guillotines positioned above her biceps and thighs. Her breathing grew hoarse and Galena could not help but notice the ruddy stains deep in the wood of the dais. Galena prayed for the woman under her breath and fondled a charm created by the Mender, she was far from the only one. 

The woman gave forth a scream like a warrior headed into the melee and let the ropes go. The slightest flinch would result in a mangling. Shattered bones and torn ligaments that the Mender would not, could not heal. The death would not be quick and would be filled with pain. Despite herself, Galena closed her eyes to the impact. The wet slice, and subsequent snap of bone. Blossoming sensation and lack thereof beyond her eyelids. Not more than a second passed of silence. A deep wrenching gasp in and the woman began screaming. She thrashed and squirmed, amputated as she was. Soaking her beautiful curls in blood and begging for mercy or forgiveness or damnation, anything to end the pain. It seemed like this went on forever, and the frothing crowd did nothing but increase their whispers, while they watched blood pool on the platform and drip down, muddying the dirt. It was less than half a minute before Mender came forward, quieting the onlookers. Galena and the other Anointed pressed in closer to one another in fear and wonder at the man who could compel a person to do what that dark haired woman had just done, what they had all done, only to experience rebirth. 

She had nudged her limbs away from herself with her thrashing, one of her arms rolled off the edge of the dias. Mender snatched the arm from the air before it hit the ground. He inspected the incision and the stump. The woman panted. Her screams abated. Her eyes rolled back into her head. Her skin, though pale before, had taken on a shroud of death.

“This person is strong in faith, I pray God will smile upon her resolve.” Mender, still holding the arm, pulled the ropes up. The blades hung narrowly above the wounds they had created.  He took the severed arm and pressed it to the throbbing stump. He ran his hand over it once and twice, and hurried from limb to limb repeating the process, muttering inaudibly as he did. “Come then. Welcome this new sister into the arms of god, for truly not even pain of death will waver her conviction.” The audience clapped and raised their hands. God was praised and she was blessed and prayed for. She heard rumors who did not survive. Murmurings that the shock or blood loss from their flinching away, shattered bones beyond the Mender’s gift. But the Lord had deemed her worthy.

The two women who had handed the supplicant the ropes took her in their arms and lifted her off the dais. The blood had drained too far from her to walk. They supported her between them. All that remained of her wounds were pencil thin scars, the same shared by Galena. Pencil thin lines evenly ringing her biceps and thighs, the markings of the truly Faithful. Another child Mender had brought to the light.