Thwack. The reed cut across my cheek and brought tears to my eyes. The guard raised his arm, pointing up. I gazed at the window again. It didn’t take long for the muscles in my neck to cramp and I had to decide between that pain and being whipped by his reed. Enduring as long as possible, I tried to keep still, but as the day continued without any new orders I had to relieve the strain from time to time, earning another slap with each infraction.

Eventually my legs trembled from kneeling for so long. My lower back ached as if I’d been shoveling stones. And my skin burned with multiple welts.

The angle of sunlight changed at a snail’s pace. Sounds of others getting slapped broke the silence from time to time. The ladies in the front row fared the worst. As the new sinners, we hadn’t built up the endurance to stay in one position for hours.

When the sunlight faded and the colored glass turned black, the priestess returned and allowed us to stand.

Relieved, I straightened. My legs cramped and at first refused to hold my weight. The other penitents in the front row also staggered to their feet. Fresh blood stained many of their robes at knee level, including mine.

We returned to the dining room, ate another bowl of wet parchment, lined up for the privy, and were ordered to our towers. All the while I searched for Melina. And because I hadn’t been paying attention, I’d no idea which way to go to find my tower.

Asking a guard resulted in yet another welt. I had to suppress the desire to zap him and take his reed.

Another penitent took pity on me and gestured for me to follow her. After we’d all been accounted for and the tower doors locked, we were allowed to speak until lights out. Everyone but me and the woman who had spoken to me the night before retreated to the upper levels.

She introduced herself as Fydelia and I told her my name. One of my many concerns disappeared. I’d worried everyone called each other by their number and since I didn’t know Melina’s it’d be impossible to find her.

“Let’s go up a few levels and have a chat.” Fydelia glanced at the guards.

We climbed up to level three. The others already on that level stared at me with curious expressions, but seemed content to let Fydelia do all the talking. I guessed her age to be around forty.

“Whatcha think of your first day?” Fydelia asked.

“It was horrible,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. It throbbed.

“You’ll get used to it or...”

“Or what?”

“Or go insane. Some do.”

My thoughts reeled over the whole getting used to it or going insane bit. “Is that—”