SACRIFICIAL

I flipped the invitation around in my hand as I stood in the middle of Amsherrat. Congested crowds shouldered around me on the main street, with the stench and chatter of people speaking to the shared excitement for the upcoming celebration. Attaran’s ordination. It would be in two days, and I had been officially invited to attend.

Never before had the Church acknowledged me, officially, as one of its members. Sure, I had the titles: Antibishop, Fourth Anointed, Miracle Worker, but my interaction with the Church was limited to my bothering of local Abbots with requests to murder their charges. My reception was solemn acceptance, or thin tolerance, and not something that lasted beyond the week that we saw each other.

But I was known to the central Church here in Amsherrat, and had a few acquaintances more idly interested in me than I was in them, like Bishop Demacus. Yeah, I guess, it was kind of funny that the Archbishops agonised over inviting me. How dark and inscrutable I am! But maybe it also signified that I had been somehow accepted, as legitimate and... as unbelievable as it sounded, in the light, privileged.

I wove around men and women past the grand fountain in the main square, its tiered structure barely visible through the many people sitting on its rim. Amsherrat was a populated city, sure, but I had never seen congestion so thick. People had plainly migrated from their own locales for the event, and even in a region so spacious as the main streets, my ever-so-grim imagination contemplated how all these innocent people might crush each other to death. Realistically, it wouldn’t happen, but in the alleys or something – it was seriously an unceasing mash of bodies.

A problem for the Church, I guess.

Though technically, I was the Church.

Whatever. The ornate, steepled edifice of the Temple arose a few blocks away, taller and grander than the order-halls and shopfronts that lined the lanes around it. This was my destination. I was to RSVP with the Archbishops, then, hell, think about hunting my food was my usual hobby, but I’d eaten yesterday before coming to town—so I wasn’t that hungry. Maybe in this damn city I could finally serve as a tourist, explore a bit, buy some souvenirs that I’d never use to keep in my cave habitations an hour out of town. Spruce the place up a bit. Ha ha...

Well, for my foray into the city this time, since I wasn’t hunting and didn’t want to disturb anyone with animalistic witchcraft, I’d opted to look entirely human. Missing my ears and my hooves and my tail—well, the compunctions about causing a scene outweighed my compunctions about lying, but the nuance of the appearance felt different from the uncomfortable usual. Fresher. Cleaner. I was here for the celebration, like anyone.

I entered the courtyard of the Temple and emerged into another wide field of people, interspersed with clergymen of various ranks darting about in their habits. On one side of the yard, clergy-run food stations handed plates of curry and chickpeas and rice to lines of people, and on the other side, the people received blankets and pillows. Beddings were laid in lines across the brick floor, all under the shadow of the grand Temple’s face.

The stained glass windows were its eyes, the gothic double-doors its mouth. It swallowed me into the vestibule, with a floor of polished lapis lazuli to symbolise the waters of the Katani. On the walls were countless mosaics of ruby, emerald, onyx, tourmaline, nacre, and topaz amid other precious stones, depicting scenes from the Scriptures – the creation of the world, Czjeir’s bestowal of wisdom to Kittja and Kitthaya, Shien’s first judgement, and the purification of the Katani. I proceeded into the Church proper.

The space inside was vast, with vaulted ceilings that demanded one crane their neck up. They would meet the stern eyes of Gedjat, and his disciples circled around him, looking back from the heights of Heaven. A city block could fit inside the room, and though there were still many people in the pews and in the western library, the sheer spaciousness stopped any gaggle from forming a ‘crowd’.

The Archbishops were likely in the sanctuary, or in the back in the offices. I went to embark on my trek to the back of the room, when a voice called from aside: “Ah, is that Brother tel-Sharvara!”

I turned. “Auh, who’s, who are... yes, I mean.”

A man I estimated to be in his thirties, with strong smile lines around his cheeks and a permanent wink in his eyes, approached me with a wave. He was wearing an Abbot’s habit. “Sharvara! You did come. My, and you’re looking perfectly couth. The older priests were worried you’d cause some horrible scene, you know.”

“I can... see why they’d be worried,” I admitted, folding my hands. “It’s not like my reputation as, like, a monster, is uh, undeserved. I’m sorry, who are...?”

He bowed, smiling. “A monster! Dear Brother tel-Sharvara, you’ve been blessed and anointed as anyone, however you might look on the outside. I am sub-abbot Pietus. Oh, don’t worry about remembering a dinky little man like me. I’m sure you’ve only met Abbot Tiermalin—but we talk, you know.”

“Oh, yeah, I know the Abbot.” We shifted aside, out of the central aisle. “And it really is deeper than appearances.”

“Oh, shush. Surely?”

“I mean, in two days or so, so, probably on the same day as the Ordination...” I considered for a moment. “Maybe tomorrow actually, just to stop overlap, I mean, I’m going to kill someone.”

“It’s a grim work, but Judgement is part of the faith. I’ve no doubt this unfortunate character will be a despicable man, beyond speaking.”

“I guess. Yeah... well. Anyway, I was—sorry, but I was—going to find an Archbishop...”

“Ah, do you need them for a task? They are slightly busy at current.”

“No, no, just, announcing I’m here...”

Pietus nodded and twiddled his fingers. “Let me forward the message to them once the crowds have thinned and they become free. I’m quite sure I can catch one of them. You may be waiting for hours, otherwise.”

“Uh, sure. Why not?” I shrugged. “So you’re on duty here, for the day, then?”

“Ah, I’m charged with mere errands, but yes, my presence is needed to receive people—like yourself.” He brushed his hand over his chest. “Say, would you like to come with me for a spell? We might talk with a margin more privacy, and a scoop more comfort.”

“Sure.” But the moment I acquiesced, I cringed quizzically inside myself. Did I really want to talk with Pietus? I didn’t have anything better to do, but socialising was never a hobby of mine, but, he was a priest, like I supposed I technically was, and, well, hell, I couldn’t tell.

He jaunted along up a long stairway to a sitting area facing a large window on the southern wall. There were already a couple of people there—a middle aged man I didn’t recognise, and...

“My goodness gosh look, it’s Brother Tax!”

...Bishop Demacus, smiling at me with the astonished delight of an answered prayer. He was on fire. He was always on fire. Fortunately, the astral flames didn’t burn anything, not the wooden chair, not the cushions, much less jolly Bishop Demacus, but he was a persistent emblem of what happened when blessed anointings rejected a supplicant.

“Brother Pietus. Sharvara.” The unknown man beside him acknowledged, with a deep frown, as Pietus seated himself. He wore a Bishop’s habit; clearly someone important.

“...Hey, b-b-brother? Demacus. And, uh...” I looked to the unknown Bishop.

“Bishop Vettri. We’ve never met. But your reputation precedes you, expectedly.”

“Ha, ha ha... yeah... I heard the Archbishops were debating about me.”

“Oh, that they were! How they were, Brother Tax,” crowed Demacus, the fires around him flaring. “’We can’t let that monster think he’s really one of us,’ ‘it’s quite late to reject him, after so many years condoning his presence,’ ‘only because he’s too damned for salvation by our prayers,’ ‘he well has his own part in Czjeir’s design, after all, he’s anointed...’ So much talk!”

“Ah, don’t let the squabble disturb you. They’ve settled on good sensibility,” said Pietus.

“Begrudgingly,” said Vettri, shaking his head. “I agree with the dissenters. Respectfully, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Brother Vettri!” Pietus scolded.

I rested my hand on the head of a chair. “Uh, what makes you... say that?”

“You’re cursed,” Vettri said simply. “Damned. Judged. Punished. You were a murderer and Czjeir has condemned you as one, for eternity.”

“I really... really, do think, Czjeir loves me.”

Vettri smiled bitterly as Demacus nodded. “Oh, I’m sure he does love you—but I’m sure you also are cursed!”

“Have you people no faith?” Pietus cried. “Poor Brother tel-Sharvara, hearing these doubts. His past be pardoned, for how gruesome it is, he only does now what Czjeir has charged him to do.”

“Ohhh no. No no, dear Brother Pietus.” Demacus shook his head, raising a single finger. “His anointing’s gone as wrong as mine, and what we call divine duty is mere accident, an effect of an invocation that has changed him poorly. But I am not so harsh as dear Brother Vettri, my dear Brother Tax, you quite need the help of the Church more than any of us.”

“Help?” I mouthed.

“Just as the Church helped me,” Demacus nodded. “I remember, in those first weeks, when the fire burned frightfully,” he flourished his hands, the red flames sparking over his skin. “It was agony. I swore I knew Hell. I also looked frightful. And I screamed, why had I been judged this way? What had poor Demacus done? When was I unloving, unfaithful? But it was sheer accident, and overambition that combined to scorch me. It was not really Czjeir’s hand at all. I know these things, Brother Tax. The same has happened to you, and the Archbishops, the Pontifex, they surely can do something to weaken your hunger.”

“...I wouldn’t know what to do without it...”

“Hah!” Vettri laughed, clipped.

“I’m sure you could become a part of the clergy,” said Pietus. “Oh, not to say you aren’t already. But you could practice as a Bishop—I’m sure you could do great good for the people, as I’ve heard you are very powerful.”

I tilted my head. “In technicality, I could be doing that already...”

“You could! You could, tel-Sharvara!” Pietus nodded energetically. “And ah, since you’re here as a clergyman, why not present yourself as such? You are fourth anointed; none would be able to argue against you wearing a habit. Quite, announce yourself to the Archbishops!”

I smiled faintly at his enthusiasm. After considering it, for a moment, I turned my hand over and reformed my body—my clothes, which had been constructed, morphed into an elegant black Bishop’s habit.

“Oh my,” gasped Pietus as Demacus nodded. “Yes, quite the look! You look much better in that, very formal.”

“I hope you understand the responsibility of such a habit,” Vettri said, arms crossed. “You are announcing yourself as an aid to the citizenry—something I understand has been antithetical to your nature.”

“His nature! Oh, Brother Vettri...” Pietus sighed.

“I mean, he’s not really wrong,” I conceded. “But I’m sure I could... if it was just to use magic, or something, that’s not too complicated.”

“Oh Brother Tax. Tut tut. Doesn’t even call his miracles, miracles, but cursed ‘magic’.”

“It’s what it is...” I sighed, then a faint warmth pulled at me from the window. I looked outside. On the horizon, far outside the city, a small globe of bright white light glowed against the night on the evening horizon.

“Oh, wow,” I mouthed.

“What is it?” asked Pietus.

“Someone’s coming—a sinner, I mean.”

Vettri snorted.

“They have to be miles away, but, but it’s really clear. Whatever they’ve done to get my attention, it has to be... egregious.”

With all the people migrating into the city for the Ordination, it followed that at least one would be worth anathema. The question of who to hunt tomorrow to tide me over—or sate me fully, at this intensity—seemed clear.

“The poor, cursed, damned soul,” Vettri muttered, shaking his head. “Knowing you, we can’t even hope for Czjeir’s mercy.”

“There could be a miracle!” Demacus exclaimed. “Never say Czjeir doesn’t surprise us. If he can arise to curse you, perhaps one of your victims will fight against you more than you think.”

“Okay, my victims are really, awful people though,” I protested. “I wouldn’t want them to beat me.”

“Thieves stealing form thieves,” Vettri said.

“I’m sure the judgement will proceed as smoothly as always,” Pietus chimed, then yawned loudly. “Oh, my. It is getting a spot late, isn’t it? I ought return to the floor, see if any latecomers have arrived...”

“Uh, hold on,” I muttered, reaching for him.

“Oh, yes, Brother tel-Sharvara, I meant to ask—do you have lodgings for the night? The inns are full,” Pietus said.

“There’s this place a bit out of town—”

Vettri snorted. “You’re speaking of that cave the old coven used to inhabit. We know you use it.”

“—ah, ffuu—yeah, yes, that is... the place, that uh, I meant to... well I’m not bothering anyone there, right? Or I could just sleep in the street, or the courtyard, like I guess some others are doing....”

“Oh, enough of that talk,” Pietus flapped his palms open in offence. “You are wearing a Bishop’s habit, and you’re a guest of the Church, for the first proper time—we won’t have you on the street unless you’re making a dedication to Poverty.” He turned to Demacus. “Will you get him a room, Brother?”

Demacus slapped the armrest of his chair as he sprang to his feet. “Oh indeed! Happily I will! They’re lovely rooms, Brother Tax, and there’s plenty enough for everyone. Come, come along with me.”

I followed Demacus away from the sitting area with a non-committal wave to Pietus and Vettri—returned, respectively, with a wave and a grunt—as Pietus joined us in descending the stairs. We hooked away into a hallway at the end of the transept, then entered into a small lounge with a coffee table and a kitchenette—empty, at present.

“I didn’t know they had this,” I muttered.

“Oh yes. It’s enchanted to connect to the inside, but it isn’t part of the architecture from outside.”

“Right. So it doesn’t disrupt the shape of the Temple, which is supposed to be symbolic, or something...”

“Exactly right. The inside of the Temple is enchanted to be larger on the inside than the outside, as well.” Demacus then led me down another hall lined with endless doors, shrinking into the distance—I couldn’t measure the end of it at all. “Here we are,” he chirped.

“Uh, thanks.” I set my hand on the doorknob. A camellia was engraved on the door, and it was labelled with the number 136. “This hall is enchanted too, of course...” They were more casual about miracles than I remembered, or ever really knew, here in the Temple.

“As I said, there’s plenty enough for everyone!” Demacus clapped his hands. “Literally indeed! The rooms here are without number, for any travelling clergyman or guest.”

“Why don’t they give these out to the people outside?” I asked, opening the door. Inside was a clean, sizeable room with a table with keys on it, chairs, a bathroom, windows, a bed, and bedside tables suitable for any good inn. “Sorry, I guess that’s a stupid question...”

“No, it’s fair enough. In the interests of Charity, we would...” Demacus’ mouth twisted awkwardly. “But the Archbishops, and the Cardinals, you understand... they’d prefer these suites reserved with some exclusivity, keeping record of who everyone is, and all... it could become quite chaotic.”

“Sure,” I decided. Honestly, though, if they had an infinite supply, they really could stand to hand these rooms out. I entered the room. “Thanks, uh... brother, Demacus. It was... good, seeing you.”

“Mhm, and see me more you certainly will!” He clapped his hands. “I’ll be sure to pester the Archbishops about getting you a proper absolution. They’ve been neglecting you for years. And any interesting scuttlebutt here in the Temple—I’ll be getting that straight to you, Brother Tax!” He pumped his fist.

I nodded, and with a final grin, Demacus left. I sighed, faced the room, and collapsed onto the bed. With relaxation, my hooves and tail emerged instantly. Oh, well, I couldn’t keep myself pent up for so long, after all...

Outside the windows was dark, with starlight filtering down. I laid there, fantasising about killing the soul that I had seen through the Temple window, for minutes that churned into hours. What had they done? Who was this person? There were so many possibilities—an occultist, a paedophile, a murderer... to rend and rip apart, choices, choices.

I curled in the bed, and sleep came upon me.