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"So, a Monk of the old Republic Order has come to save my very life. Isn't that a twist?" the Governor chuckled before turning a sour face to the black man seated on plush cushions beneath his dais. "I quiver like a school girl with before your prowess. Next, you'll be telling me you can save my putrid soul as well."

"Your Honor, there's no need to insult me. I do not dabble in mere religious matters. My brotherhood is…, was dedicated to the preservation of the Original Constitution: the Order of Laws," the Monk said after enjoying a sip of cool water from a gilded cup.

The Governor continued to taunt him, "A dried up old piece of paper? The ramblings of dead men? It did nothing for 400 hundred years, Son. Give it up! People forgot idealism years ago. Don't be a fool."

"Not a fool, no. I'm a, we were dreamers, yes." The Monk drained the last of the water from his mug before finishing his thought, "We were, I am hopeful that freedom will prevail. Eventually. The Constitution is as ready now to lead us as the day it was written."

"HA! You are dumber than I thought," the Governor rolled his eyes. "Here, have some wine. It'll might dull your senses. With any luck it will make you more interesting than you are right now."

The Monk frowned and shook his head no.

"Come on, even your belovedly, dreary Constitution abandoned Totalian Sobriety in their mid century. Those folks liked to get on with a good roasting so why not you, Monk?"

"I will not drink alcohol until my goals are achieved. So is my oath. So I am bound."

The Governor threw his hands in the air and shrieked, "Blah, blah, blah. You are no fun at all!"

"Please, Governor, we are wasting time. I've come to speak of important matters. The Escaped Slave Army, the ESA, are coming to destroy you," the Monk explained. "They will be at your gates before the new moon. You must prepare."

The Governor shivered slightly but not enough for the Monk to see. Deciding to let his libido rule over his head, the Governor gave a sharp hand sign to a guard standing next to a metal door near the dias. Nodding, the guard quickly turned to open the door and remove whatever was inside. He gently escorted a young, naked slave from the confines to kneel at the Governor's feet. The Governor reached out and patted the fine blonde hair of the slave's head. She dropped her gaze in deference to him.

"It's late. I'm bushed. You, my sweet but so very Mad Monk must be exhaust-ta-pated after your daring escape from the runaway slaves. Ah, such a daring adventure. All of it very exciting, I'm sure," the Governor sounded bored. "As a gift to you, I'm going to let you take my favorite slave to bed with you. How's that sound?" The Governor winked. "She'll make sure you're more than rested."

He gave the blonde a nudge forward with the toe of his boot. She immediately went down on all fours and crawled toward the Monk. The Monk seemed stunned when she kissed his feet.

"WHORE!" The black man roared. He grabbed her by the hair and shouted, "SLUT! How dare you toss your spoils at me, Governor? I didn't come here to be tempted by Satan himself!"

The Monk rose and grabbed the slave by the throat to pull her to her feet. He slapped her with the back of his hand. The slave crumbled into a heap but did not sob against her pain.

"Easy there, My Mad Monk," the Governor cautioned as he waved the guards over to protect the slave. "She's much more valuable than she seems. If you want her in your bed then I'll allow a bit of latitude as far as discipline is concerned. Nothing more than ten bloody whip strikes."

The Monk took a deep breath, "Fine, ten it will be. It's not enough for the bitch but it will have to do."

Jordan tried to control her breathing. The guards had dragged her to the guest suite and shackled her ankle to the ring post at the foot of the bed. They left her alone quacking in terror, cowering on the floor. The punishment awaiting her was horrible. It had been years since she was flogged last. Jordan was not sure she could endure such physical pain again. She had not be abused in such a way since her sale to Tessa.

"My love," she mumbled as a tear traced a lonely path down her soft cheek.

"HARLOT!" The monk entered the room and slammed the door. "You shed nothing but crocodile tears. You're weeping will not spare your back the wrath of Justice!"

The monk strode across the room and grabbed her by the throat. He slapped her several times across the face. Cuts opened at the base of her nose and corner of her mouth but Jordan did not cry out for help. She knew there would be no help for her this night.

"FAITHLESS!" He cursed in a voice hoarse with emotion as he tossed her back to the floor.

Jordan gathered her strength and her courage to utter, "No, not faithless. I'm hopeless. I lost my love. I lost my lover, Cory. I'm nothing without my Tessa."

"Then you know me," the Monk knelt as he whispered. "You still remember the faces of the dead?"

Jordan wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and winced at the blood. "You're not dead. You're bald but not dead."

He gave a smirk before explaining, "Oh, I'm dead girl. Look here and see." Cory pulled back his sleeve to show the T brand on his forearm. "My past was eliminated with one press of the red hot iron. I'm a man with only the past I claim."

"Until somebody recognizes you."

"Who will be believed? A monk of the old Republic Order or a slave or a drunk or an insane Governor trying to remember a boy that doesn't exist, anymore."

Jordan took his hand in hers and kissed the palm, "There are listening devices."

"All blocked by a sensor in my cleric's robes. Confessions are a private matter."

"Might a mere slave be granted absolution if her confession is sincere," Jordan asked as she clutched his hand close to her heart.

"Confess and find peace, my child." He moved closer and cradled her in his lap.

"I despaired. After they killed Tess, I despaired. I gave up all hope," Jordan wept as she spoke.

"…'And the pursuit of happiness'… it is promised in the text. Tess lives. Wipe your tears dry. Your love is no more than a thousand feet from this very door," the monk whisper inches from Jordan's ear.

"How…I saw them kill…they beat her...mercilessly," Jordan's mind raced with questions.

"Hush, Jordan," Cory put a finger to her lips. "She lives. I saw her no more than five hours ago. The Governor keeps her chained in a cage in the courtyard. From what the guards say, her life is one of beatings, exposure to the elements, starvation, and repeated rapes. She's no more than an animal now but she lives."

Jordan gasped at the description of Tessa's confines, "We were captured almost five years ago. She couldn't have survived like that for so long. Could she, Cory?"

"Believe me, I would not be here if it Tessa was dead. We turned back from the wilderness for her. She is the harbinger. She's the signal our time is dawning. She's the mark of a return to the old ways and a full emancipation for all the enslaved."

"She's alive. Thank God," Jordan sobbed and, once again, kissed Cory's hand.

Cory pulled his hand back and cleared his throat with a blush, "But, there is much that needs to be done before we can free her. The Governor must believe I'm an escaped monk come to warn him."

"You need to whip me," Jordan spoke but her voice hitched on the last word.

"Yes."

"So be it."

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