From the Journal of Katherine Fleming-Drake: Day Four
Day Four: Katherine's Journal
I can only write now because I have no more tears to cry and the helpless agony has left me cold and hollow. The stillness that has resulted gives me the presence of mind to write upon what I have seen in an effort to understand it. If only I still had the fear of endless boredom again, only the omnipresent hope that soon Ezekiel and the others would soon find me and help me escape. But nowI am convinced that these people are the essence of evil, their hearts filled truly filled with darkness. I cannot even look at Nefertiti, Cleopatra and Amunet with clear eyes; whatever warmth of feeling I had begun to feel for them was destroyed in one moment.
What moment? Well letme begin by stating that it is now late in the evening of my fourth day of captivity. I have begun to resign myself that escape is not going to be quick or simple. I am guarded 24 hours a day, watched even as I sleep lest somehow I slip into the cracks of the walls of my lovely and boring prison and slip away. I cannot begin to tell how much I tire of their music and their food, what I would give for just a solid English pudding or a bit of pie. I was tired by yesterday of the constant oiling of my hair, of the paint upon my skin, of my three companions shadowing my every move. I do not understand them and they do not understand me; I crave conversation and cannot have it with them. I keep up the exercises that Sadif has taught me lest I go completely mad, but to hear the ladies chatter the first time yesterday morn as I began workeach movement, you would have thought that I had done the most profane of acts. But thanks be to Heaven that they left me unencumbered to do them. With the constant heat of this land, I for once gave thanks for the nothingness that is clothing here; even in the coolness of my prison, it was intolerably hot and the daily bath was a welcome when I finished.
But I digress. Only a few hours ago, although it seems a lifetime, I was gently forced to undress by the three women who I named previously, bathed, and then dressed in a lavish amount of gold and gems and a linen wrap finer than I had worn before. With much clucking and chatter, they finally seemed to come to an understanding with my hair and labored over the makeup on my face with special care. I was delighted when they led me up to the double doors that have never opened before. As if on cue, the doors openedand four guards came inside and with gestures indicated that I was to go with them. I should have balked, common sense alone should have told me to stay where I was, but I was so happy, happy to go beyond those confining walls that I went with them with nary a peep. I now regret that, more deeply than I thought possible.
I now can admit honestly that to climb out of this place is impossible. The walls I saw were frighteningly high, sloped and steep and the building is a vast and impressive edifice,painted with gods and goddesses and carved with reliefs of the same pagan figures. I was led high up in one of the walls to finally be brought to a balcony that commanded a glorious view of the vast courtyard and of my prison, a view that was at once beautiful and depressing. The entirety of my trap was laid before me, the numbers of people standing in the courtyard too many for me to fight through alone. But what caught my eye was the platform where five men in ornate costume stood with two men and two women in white loincloths. I am too exhausted from emotion to blush as I write this, but both pairs of men and women were bare of chest and of fine figure. They knelt on the platform waiting I knew for not.
I was to find out.
The men, and now I must say that they were priests of some sort, seemed to notice my arrival. Thewaiting crowd below quieted to deathly silence and then turning to see what the priests stared at, cheered at me, chanting in words that I could not understand. My confusion at theirobvious adoration was not enough to quiet them; it was only the word of the man who seemed to be the head priest that made their number go silent again. More alien words repeated en masse by the crowd as the priest chanted and then the four assistant priests moved forward with a great gold bowl as the head priest drew a large knife.
My heart stopped as I knew abruptly what he meant to do; I had seen this, days before when I was captured, and yet my scream did nothing to stop the nightmare as each throat was slit and the blood caught in the bowlas each body went limp. Heads held back by the other priests, those beautiful souls bled out like pigs to the slaughter, bled into the shining bowl, liquid precious and profane, before the bodies were allowed to fall limply to the stones. And then the bowl was held up to me by the head priest as the four other priests fell prostrate. Me! As the crowd below fell to their knees and began to chant, the rays of the setting sun bathed the bowl in fire, the liquid in its center scarlet and glistening, agrisly gift of horror obviously meant for me. I felt my stomach roil, the roar from the crowds below becoming a roar in my ears, and blessed darkness claimed me. The last thing I heard was the crowd falling silent as my companions exclaimed with surprise and then there was nothing.
I awoke upon my bed to the flickering torchlight, the three women who seem to have charge of me bathing my forehead with cool water. I rebuffed their efforts angrily and seized my small journal and ran into the garden. I would say that I proceeded to write what you see here, but as I said before, I could do nothing but sob brokenly on and off until the moon was high in the sky.
I do not understand why I am here nor do I understand what the atrocity of the night is supposed to be. Surely the sacrifice was not for me, but I cannot interpret it otherwise. I can only pray that those poor souls suffered little. Dearest Lord, I cannot sleep, I cannot close my eyes and not see them, mute and still, sheep to the slaughter, and the fervor of the faces below me and that blood shining in that bowl. Have I dealt death? Yes. Have I seen blood? Yes, others as well as my own. But to see that, to see them kneeling and tohave those eyes look up to mine as their heads were forced back and their throats slit and the light of their lives fade to stillness. . .oh, I cannotbear it!
Please, please dear Lord let Ezekiel come soon! I cannot endure this! I cannot! I cannot!!
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