502 - I will do the same to you

Everything pauses then, for the crowd to jam as much as itself as will fit into the Temple. While my guard stood in a ring around me, they flowed in, talking excitedly, with priests directing, to leave space for the ritual itself. Things had been arranged to get Niku, Skorsas, Kaninjer, my parents and my siblings at the best edge. The Gates would be left standing open, as was indeed their traditional usual position, so as many of those left outside could see in as possible. When everyone was settled, the Fenjitzas with his dekinae led my guard and the pretenders and me in.

Inside smelled deeply of the beeswax of the chandeliers and different flavours of incense, mixed; I recognized some I had been anointed with. Please, Almighty Ten, no heliotrope when I’m in the middle of it…

In the Marble Palace, the gold and marble and ivory is decadently, some would say flabbily, almost disorientingly ornate, if to declaim, ‘We can afford this!’ In the Great Temple, it is very different, much more austere and soaring, with the gold and marble and ivory shining in long lines and curves that draw the eye skywards; lines combine with plain spaces in ways that are harmonious and dignified, at least to my Yeoli eyes.

The floor rises in a series of five vast curving stairs the length of the temple; at the ends of each are statues of the God and Goddess of each caste, carven, painted and glazed with such realism They seem only to be posing very still, except that the least of Them are more than twice mortal size. Muunas is the hugest, sitting; though the Temple is tall as a ten-floor building, if He stood He’d break through the roof and be standing with building only up to his chest. His blue glass eyes seemed to be looking right at me, huge and sea-deep and unforgiving. I’d never felt stripped by the gaze of a statue before.

The people stood clustered around Them, staying a respectful distance from Them. Outside, the Palace bell chimed noon and all fell silent as always, every Arkan and I cupping our hands upwards at the temples as one for the observance. I could feel Krero bristle, seeing me do it. When we were done, a choir of boys and young men began to sing from some hidden place above the Gods’ heads, and then water began flowing from the rear-most wall through an arrangement of shining glass tubes and plates, somehow creating the most vastly eerie music. Then it fell silent, and the Fenjitzas spoke a short liturgy in that ancient Arkan, then said, “He who would try first, step forward.”

He had instructed me that I should wait until they were all done, though he had not told me what would happen if one of the others succeeded before I could try; did I still get to? The beefy Aitzas stepped forward, and the Fenjitzas showed him to the precise starting point. The crowd fell so silent I heard a bird chirp outside.

From somewhere else above the Gods heads came a blast of drumming so deep and huge the whole Temple seemed to shake with it. It settled into a rhythm that pulled at my heart, as if demanding it beat in unison. The man began to move, turning gracefully to the statue of Anae, standing with a broom in her extended hands. He knew something; where had he learned it? He lowered himself into a half-prostration, then reached delicately to take the broom. It would not come; he yanked; it held fast; he’d missed the timing, people started laughing; he pulled harder. “You didn’t do the full prostration!” “Down lower, idiot lordling!” The crowd was all daifikai here, of course, fearlessly speaking equal-to-equal to him.

He kept trying, tugging and yanking and putting his feet up on Her thighs, to louder and louder laughter and jeers. The drumming stopped, and a priest went to him and touched his hand to his back. The law is, if you give up without panic on a priest’s bidding, you may leave without punishment. He got down, tried prostrating himself fully, then yanked futilely again; you only get one chance. He didn’t want to give up, but the priest talked him into it, and he slunk out the doors to the jeers of the entire crowd.

The solas deferred to the reedy Aitzas, nodding at him to go next, and he took the starting place bravely, drawing himself up into a haughty stance. Again the drums boomed, and he began moving, a little less gracefully but with more pride. Making the same graceful turn—I willed myself not to learn it, as that might tempt me to try directing my own movement, rather than let the Gods guide it—he approached the Goddess, prostrated himself properly, and reached for the broom. I will never be sure whether he slipped, or it was intentional; only one hand seized it, and the other landed on Her nipple. The statues are mostly naked, the slave ones entirely so.

“No!” and “O Gods!” hundreds of voices cried; then he shrank back, froze and screamed what I knew from all my battlefields was a death-scream, though I saw nothing killing him, then fell. His skin collapsed inwards on itself, then came apart, all his living flesh rotting instantly to pulp, then liquid. In a bare instant there was nothing but a fast-spreading puddle, with his kilt and imitation seals in the middle, his sandals a leg-length away and his long unbound blond hair a chest-length away the other way, like a thrown-away wig. The crowd screamed and sent up desperate invocations, most making the prayer gesture, some on the edges falling on their knees.

Gods… the Temple does indeed kill those who fail… It brought back Saeririas’s death by the Fehinnan weapon all too well. The stink hit me; I realized that the brownish blobs at the centre of the puddle were what had been inside his digestive tract, since only his living flesh had liquefied. If I got close enough, I knew, I’d see his finger and toenails. I swallowed sickness, and glanced at Niku on her litter; she was looking at me, to measure whether my courage was weakened. I tried to send back through my eyes, Trust me. Skorsas was doubled over, holding both hands over his mouth, trying to keep in vomit.

What now… they clear us all out to clean up? Instead the choir sang again, over the yelling, which gradually ebbed, as if by the force of the music. When there was silence again, or at least close—I heard many people sobbing—the Fenjitzas spoke again, “He who would try next, step forward.” Both the hard-faced solas and I were going to have to do the part to Anae through that. I swallowed again.

He let himself be guided to the starting place, but stiffly, as if his legs were turned to wood. Maybe you should withdraw now, friend… I felt akin to him in this, despite his hate. I had a very bad feeling. For the third time, the drums blasted then settled into that steady beat. He stepped, he turned to face Anae, froze, then broke away dashing for the doors, with a long shriek.

The Arkan five of my guards were after him instantly without even a yell; the Yeolis followed dutifully, glancing at each other. Kallijas had not been the closest, but he’d moved first and could run fastest, drawing his sword as he did. Just inside the doors, he reached and grabbed the man’s hair, and with as little mercy or emotion as a Mahid, struck off his head. As the body fell, the stump of the neck spurted blood forward onto the upraised hands of the outside crowd, and Kallijas tossed the head out, rolling it in among their feet like refuse, and spun on his heel to come back in. Every line of him spoke, If you do the same as he, Sheng, I will do the same to you.

“Ahahahahahahahaaaah, Shefenkaaaaas!” The one voice rose over the shaken-quiet crowd, then was joined by others, that soon formed it into a chant. “She-fen-kas! She-fen-kas!” The Fenjitzas turned his gaze to me.