The Gender Lie (The Gender Game #3) by Bella Forrest (ebook reader for laptop TXT) 📗

Elena’s arrival was a bad sign since it meant that Ms. Dale had failed to get her warning to her in time. I kept my eyes down, but didn’t close them in prayer. Instead, I looked around, studying each of the women who knelt around me, their eyes closed and their lips moving.

About halfway down the stairs, a high, undulating cry went up, and the women started to sing, their voices rising in the cave in a harmonious beseeching of the moon to grant all women blessings of good fortune. The song grew steadily as Elena made her way down the stairs.

Once she reached the bottom, the singing stopped, and a hush fell on everyone. There was another whisper of fabric as she slowly disrobed.

“Mothers, daughters,” she said, her voice ringing out like a bell. “As I step into the pool of water that sustained us during our exodus, I make my body into a vessel, ready to absorb the wisdom of the Mother.”

“The Mother,” everyone echoed reverently.

“The Mother who guides us, grants us strength, gives us patience, and teaches us to be brave. It is in her name that we beseech—guide us through the next year. Make us prosperous, dear Mother, and help guide us from the darkness of oppression to the light of freedom.”

“In her image,” the celebrants concluded.

There was a sound of water splashing. I could hear the water shifting as she moved to the waterfall. Then came several sounds of her grunting as she sought out handholds in the rock face, climbing up to a boulder that stood directly under the waterfall. She didn’t make a sound as the frigid water pelted her skin.

“Mother!” Elena cried, and I pictured her standing on the boulder, her arms uplifted and head tilted back as she beseeched the Mother on behalf of her people. “I am not a perfect woman. I have been in turmoil over those I have lost in the last year—my own mother and sisters have fallen in pursuit of your image. Please, grant me the strength to lead these great women in their stead. Please, grant me the wisdom to keep our enemies at bay. And if all else fails, grant me the bravery to stand up to those who would do us harm, so that I may serve my sisters in my duties to them.”

“Bless her, Mother!” the assembly cried.

Just then, an angry shout sounded in the hall and I opened my eyes and looked up toward the balcony containing the men. I could see a few bewildered faces as two men pushed through, grappling with each other.

I rose from my knees and gazed up, seeing Viggo and Owen struggling with each other over a bag Owen was clinging to tightly. Viggo said something to Owen that I couldn’t make out, and Owen shook his head, pulling harder. Other women were starting to stand, pointing at the fight between the two men. I, however, was fixated on the bag. That was where the bomb was.

“Bomb!” I exploded, pointing up at the balcony. “Bomb! Run!”

It took a moment for my words to register, but when they did, the room erupted in panic, everyone screaming as they fled for the stairs. I caught a glimpse of Elena as she was grabbed by several wardens and whisked up the stairs.

Viggo grunted and I switched my attention back to the gallery, watching the scene unfold. Viggo had managed to wrest the bag away from Owen, but Owen wasn’t giving up. Raising his hands in desperation, he shoved Viggo hard. Viggo stumbled toward the rail, his hip hitting it hard. Owen raced closer and shoved again.

“NO!” I screamed as Viggo teetered on the edge, clutching the bag to his chest. I watched in horror as his weight shifted impossibly out over the balcony, his feet coming off the ground as he started to fall. I felt another scream building in my throat as I took a step toward him, when Viggo’s hand snaked out, grabbing a stone jutting out just below the banister.

He dangled by his fingertips while Owen cursed and turned to flee. I kept my gaze on Viggo and looked around for some way to help him get down. I ignored the cries and shoves of the women who were still fighting to get to the stairs and looked up, my eyes resting on the chandelier.

“Viggo,” I rasped. “Can you make it to the chandelier?”

Viggo grunted, his arm flexing as he painstakingly swung his body around to look at it. “Needs to be lower,” he called back, and I could hear the strain in his voice, which spurred me into action. Starting at the chandelier, I looked at the thick length of rope suspending it in the air and followed the line down. I raced over to the wall, grabbing several women and dragging them along with me.

“Help me,” I yelled at them, grabbing the rope. I held it taut while the women tentatively unwrapped it from the peg suspending it in place. Luckily, the chandelier was lifted and lowered using a pulley system, but I was glad that I had grabbed them—it was still heavy.

Together, we slowly let out the rope, dropping it down further and further. I shot a glance at Viggo over my shoulder, keeping an eye on him as he watched the chandelier. “That’s good,” he shouted. “Hold it there, and get ready for some more weight.”

The other women looked at me and I met their inquisitive gaze with a no-nonsense one of my own. “Just do it,” I ordered, and they nodded. Several other women noticed what we were doing and came over, grabbing lengths of rope and bracing themselves.

I heard Viggo grunt and the sound of shoes scraping on stones. The rope shivered from the impact of his body. “Go, Violet,” he shouted, and I gritted my teeth, nodding to the others.

“Slowly,” I commanded, using one foot to brace myself on the wall as we let the rope out