Report

Attaran was still in the city—he had to be, for the Ordination tomorrow—but I was still within the circumference of his soul, so he hadn’t gone especially far. The Hunger wasn’t drawing me towards him, consequently.

But now that I knew his name, I could simply track him with the magic that had failed to find Amiyr. So if I wanted to confront him, I could.

But his departure, and my time stuck looking foolish at the depot of wagons and camels, gave me time to think. I decided that I didn’t want to confront him. At least, not like that.

Attaran was right that the Church would revile it if I killed the guy they were promoting to the position of God’s Avatar tomorrow, no matter how right I was and no matter how culpable he was. There just wasn’t a good way to spin it, considering I was already on rather tenuous ground with the Church. The faction that believed me cursed would probably stop tolerating me, and—well, I wasn’t sure if I’d really be bound or imprisoned, but I wouldn’t be accepted anymore as anything but a feral monster.

Maybe I was a monster, but I didn’t need to be feral. There were surely other ways to do this. Political, human ways.

I returned to the Temple. The courtyard and interior were occupied with even more people than yesterday, but somehow found the space to be roomy. Seeing among the clergymen only faces that I didn’t recognise, I went upstairs to the sitting area. In the same place as before, looking out the window, was Bishop Vettri.

“This is kinda awkward,” I mumbled, approaching him.

“Sharvara. Again,” he greeted. “Without gentler company. I hope you’re not just saying hello—what is it?”

“I was just w-wondering what the right way is to get in contact with the Archbishops, or the Cardinals,” I said. “Do you know that.”

“I do indeed,” he tapped his nose knowingly. “Is this about the lost boy? Brother Pietus said you wandered off quite queerly.”

“He’s dead,” I said flatly.

“I do hope you are making a joke.”

“No. He’s dead. I found him. Attaran—”

“Attaran?”

“Look just, I need to tell an Archbishop, or really whoever’s the highest ranking that we—I—whatever—can get about this. It’s kind of... really important.”

“Very well. I accept you are serious.” Vettri slid his hand along the banister as he began descending the staircase. “This way, then.” I followed behind him back to the lower floor, and then to the chancel, where an old man in an Archbishop’s red habit was conducting a small orchestra. The music was gay and fluttery, an upbeat tune that evoked the flight of birds and blooming of flowers.

“Archbishop Pyter! A supplicant!” Vettri called over the music.

“Archbishop Pyter!” he repeated.

“Hm? Oh, oh, hold, hooooold!” He raised his hands for silence. With a final toot, the orchestra quieted, and the musicians soon chattered among themselves. “Hm, what is it, Bishop Vettri and—ah, my, Brother Mephi. You’re a new face in these halls.”

“I got here yesterday,” I said lamely. If this was all it took to audience with an Archbishop, I could have done it myself, not that I would’ve had the nerve to interrupt him.

“We’re blessed to have you,” Pyter said, then peered at me expectantly.

“He wants an audience, Father. He says it’s serious,” provided Vettri.

“Yeah, uh, I—”

“Is this about Blessed Attaran?” Pyter said, setting his hands on his hips.

“Wha—how’d you...?”

“Attaran told us you might come casting aspersions.” He nodded to himself. “Ah, Brother Yvitrius, come here!” he called to another man passing by, in the Archbishop’s habit. A small crowd was forming around us. “Brother Mephi’s come for an audience, and the poor creature is ever so cursed and tangled up in confusion. Poor Mephi is accusing Blessed Attaran of murder, and I believe, cannibalism.”

“I—I, yeah, yeah, I am!” I set my own hands on my hips. “And heresy too, while we’re, while we’re at it... I can’t believe he told you this stuff.”

“You think Attaran killed the boy?” Vettri gawked.

“He knew you would accuse him,” Pyter continued fluently. “He is the Pontifex tomorrow, so he has great wisdom on all kinds of matters.”

“He’s a sham, a murderer, and you know what, he’s, he’s...” I lifted myself up higher, riding on the momentum my uniquely pitied position gave me. “He’s a sinner! Blessed Attaran is a big fat sinner, and I’m probably going to kill him, uh—”

“Are you, Brother Mephi?” A dangerous glint had entered Pyter’s eye.

“Uh, uh... I-I mean, he just, really sets off the signal, so I... I don’t know, I just thought, you might want to know that...”

“But are you making threats of murder against him?”

I closed my eyes, grit my teeth, and admitted. “Yes.”

A deadly silence emanated from the ring of gazes around me.

“But I—but I can’t help it,” I scrambled to speak. “If he comes up as a target, he comes up as a target, you know? I can’t control that. And he really did kill the boy—why would I lie about that? That’s why the Bishops can’t find him...”

“Admittedly, we’ve had no luck with Amiyr,” Pyter sighed. “That’s why we’re not being uncharitable. Brother Mephi, Blessed Attaran’s wisdom is that Czjeir has sent you a strong delusion to doom you, reveal your nature, and settle our debates about you for all.”

“I—but, you believe that?”

“Shush. I believe his word more than yours. If you are any good, you will not kill Attaran. And for your safety, you should not try. Once he is Pontifex, he will have such power as to crush you with a pinky finger.” Pyter straightened himself. “You may be immortal, and unkillable, but I understand you have never been bound before. You would not enjoy it.”

“I... I’m hearing that... what is being bound like?”

“Oh, we could immobilise you, and seal you somewhere without any food. Perhaps Nix. Personally I think that is going too far, but it did come up in discussion.”

“I... okay. Okay.” Shit.

“Otherwise we might keep you as an adjudicator, to maintain the sentence of anathema upon those souls that merit it, but you would be bound to a room in the Temple with very few entertainments.”

That was substantially better, but still...

“Now, there is a simple way to settle this dispute.” Pyter nodded. “We will let Blessed Attaran receive the final anointing—and should Czjeir reject him, he will be incinerated on the spot. No need for poor Brother Mephi to intervene, simply a trial of faith.”

“Okay...”

“This is the position of the Church. You will follow the position of the Church, if you are one of us, yes, Brother Mephi?”

“I’m not really hearing a choice. I mean—yes, I will. I’m sorry.” I bowed my head and wrung my hands as Pyter nodded. He went to turn to the orchestra when I spoke up, “I’m sorry, but then, could you do something to help me? Like I said, I can’t really control myself, and starting tomorrow the Hunger’s going to properly affect me. Could you do something to like... retarget it, or, or, could you even get rid of it?”

“A sensible enough concern, Brother Mephi. We’ll put contingencies in place for you. Don’t worry, obeying will be simple. We won’t be forsaking you yet.”

“Like, like what contingencies? Sorry, I just want to know.”

“We’ll dampen your hunger so that it doesn’t overwhelm you. After affairs are sorted tomorrow, we’ll investigate longer term solutions, if we can more accurately divine what you are and if the Pontifex has word on your case. You have some friends who are very concerned about this hunger of yours.”

“Okay. Well, thank you Father.” I stepped away from the chancel with Vettri as Pyter resumed conducting the orchestra, and music burst gaily behind us.

In the aisle, Vettri spoke up. “The Fathers are being very forgiving with you, after an accusation like that.”

“Per-permission to speak freely? It kind of really bothers me that nobody’s punishing him for killing that kid, and, and all the others. I, I don’t really lie, that much, so I hoped my word was worth something... can’t they talk to the Pontifex or something and have him sort this out? He’d have to know the truth, right? And like, who’s going to talk to the mother, if the official word just stays inconclusive? I’m sorry, do you even believe me or am I just ranting?”

“I believe Blessed Attaran, of course. Your insistence that he’s some manner of killer is rather offensive. And the Fathers have given you a very straightforward solution. There is no need to bother the Holy Pontifex when Czjeir himself will order things rightly.” He wrung his wrist. “If Blessed Attaran bursts into flame and screams, tomorrow, then I’ll believe you.”

“Right.”

“Czjeir would conclusively be on your side, for once. I may have to re-examine some of my beliefs about you. So it would profit you to do what they say.”

“Leaving things up to Czjeir...” I tilted my head. “But even you believe that Czjeir gets things wrong, sometimes.”

“No. Let us be clear. I do not.” He sliced his hand through the air. “I believe what you suffer is a perfectly purposeful judgement for the wrongs you inflicted in life. I am not Brother Demacus. And you are already thinking about disobeying.”

I bit my lip and lowered my gaze to the floor. I didn’t mean to defy the Archbishops, really. I was just significantly lacking in faith.

Czjeir’s methods were often inscrutable, and his motives, enigmatic. There were whole wings of the clergy devoted to interpreting the deeds and declarations of Pontifices precisely because their methods weren’t clear; some people reckoned that Pontifices saw into the future, and did things in the strange ways they did to garner specific circumstances later. My personal experience with Czjeir and all the debate around me only reinforced this ambiguous perception.

Was it possible that Czjeir wouldn’t incinerate Attaran at his last anointing? That the anointing would instead go through? And Attaran would really become Pontifex, with all the power that entailed?

No way, right?

But the thought swirled in my head incessantly, what if, what if, what if...

The thought of Attaran smugly getting what he wanted made me want to send my fist through a wall. And then being secure in his position as the most powerful man in the world, without repercussion, still killing people, still chanting to idols of me, well, the bile burned in my throat.

I excused myself from Vettri and went to the courtyard for air.

“I’m so, so, so fucking stupid.”

I wanted to find Attaran. But I didn’t know what to say to him. There was nothing to say; he was just scum. So I had no idea what I wanted to find him for, except to glare and send hateful energy.

I should’ve just killed Attaran instead of talking to the Archbishops. But if Attaran had already informed them that I was hostile towards him, I would’ve been the first suspect for his disappearance anyway. Getting thrown into Nix was not worth this. He had swiftly cornered me into inaction.

I raked my hands through my hair and embarked to wander through town. All the while, my mind was fixated on Attaran: sights passed me, of the people and the waterworks and the docks and the camels and the shops, but none truly registered. I bought a stupid souvenir of a turtle-dove icon to try and recoup some normalcy. Should I speak with Uni, the mother? God, I really didn’t want to be a part of that conversation...

It was late afternoon when I made my way back to the Temple. I caught Brother Pietus in the nave, waiting to welcome any last-minute guests to the Ordination tomorrow.

“Um, Brother Pietus, you kind of, like, like me, right?” I asked him, bringing us off to the side for some privacy.

“That I do, Brother tel-Sharvara. I believe you are one of the most blessed souls in the Church, with a very straightforward, if grim commission.”

“Right. Well, would you believe my word over Attaran’s?”

“Ooh,” Pietus’ face scrunched as though he had bitten into a lime. “...It is rather difficult to side against Blessed Attaran...”

“I’m putting you in a hard position, sorry, forget that. But I just wanted to ask what you’d think, if there was... like, is my commission so certain that I should listen to it, no matter what?”

“I believe it is,” he said delicately, “but if this is about your dispute I am hearing with Blessed Attaran... I do not think you have the resources to take the Church as an enemy. I would listen to the Archbishops, and pray. The only authority that reaches higher than them is Czjeir, after all.”

I thanked Pietus, somewhat dejectedly, and stalked toward the hallway to the suites. A voice from behind interrupted my departure: “Oh Brother Tax! Brother Tax! You’re getting into trouble again!”

This time I turned to see Brother Demacus, panting as he ran to catch up to me. He wiped sweat off his brow and grabbed my shoulders, his eyes wide with worry. “What am I hearing about you accusing Blessed Attaran! Brother Tax, you mustn’t! You musn’t turn against the Church!”

I struggled against his grip, which broke easily. “Okay, okay, I get it... but seriously, Attaran’s a monster.”

“Ohhhh Brother Tax, that is delusion speaking! You are being misled by your curse! I know you have put much faith in it, and as far as anyone has checked, it has been accurate about the crimes of your victims. But I am sure this is Czjeir finally testing you for your fidelity. It is unthinkable that a corrupt man would ever inherit the seat of Pontifex, so please, please tell me you will let Czjeir resolve this and refrain from any rash action yourself!”

“The Archbishops have made it kinda clear that I really don’t have an option.”

“Oh, Brother Tax, that is so distressing! You are not saying ‘I won’t,’ you are saying, ‘I might, but I can’t.’ You would doom yourself, Brother Tax, if you turned this nation against you. Where would you run from God’s people, the people you need? Into the pagan lands, or Ordanz? The pagans might worship you, and you would never be cured of your hunger.”

“I’m sure I could fight back a little...”

“Don’t even think it! To what end, Sharvara, to be canonised as the enemy? Resist your curse and restrain yourself, it is addling your mind. Please. I am worried about you.”

I divested myself from Dematus, who groaned a worried ‘ohh,’ and entered the lounge area of the suites. It was coming to nighttime and I wanted a quiet, lonely place to think.

I walked down the endless hallway looking for room 136 when the currents of warmth around me cohered into a funnel, and I spotted a man a further ways down. Bearded and robed, it was Attaran.

He looked at me with goggling eyes. “Are you being a good boy?” he asked.

I had nothing to say.

“Have some cheer and congratulate me a mite. Not everyone is so close with a Pontifex. And yes, we can be very close. Think a little on what benefits you. That is what mature people do.” With that, he opened a door and disappeared into a suite, leaving me alone in the hallway.

I thought to follow him. To intrude, and to hate, and to rant, and to spit, but if I didn’t cross the line of killing him it was all just vain fury. He was so damn close, and yet...

Frustrated, I slammed the door of suite 136 behind me and tumbled onto the bed.

“Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I hissed into the pillow, flexing my claws but controlling myself enough not to shred the bedsheets. It was a tantrum. I am a grown man who tantrums.

“Fuck!!” I punctuated the fit, then slid off the bed to kneel. I brought my hands together in prayer. “Czjeir, you hear me, right? I’m a special to you, right? After you gave me all this. So I know I don’t speak to you, for anything, but for God’s sake, just this one time. Please kill Attaran. Please kill Attaran. Fucking please kill Attaran. For God’s sake...”

I repeated this mantra for minutes until I had worn the message into the ground. Not feeling anything special or different from speaking the words, even for so long, I sighed and slumped my head on the bed. I looked defeated, and felt it too.

This impotence is what I’m reduced to when such a creature of malice is barred from killing one person. My imagination flit to a future where Attaran was enthroned as Pontifex, with myself patrolling the jewelled halls of the Temple while tolerating his corrupt authority. Surely it wasn’t so different to how some Archbishops felt about me. And it wasn’t like it would kill me. Was it really so bad?

I punched the bed. I am Justice incarnate. I am the Claw of God. My Hunger is fucking righteous, I knew it, I knew it, kind of, sort of... I really had no faith in Czjeir.

It played at me. The possibility that, because Attaran got his powers from me, and I was marked by Czjeir, that he had a link to Czjeir. If he could hear words from Czjeir it sounded to confirm it. That being so, what if the Ordination just worked for him? And he got the powers of Pontifex?

There was no way I could challenge him then. I would have to submit.

The window to act was so short. But in the same turn, maybe I was being short-sighted.

I sighed and unclenched my fist. I scrambled onto the bed, with the stars glimmering brightly through the window, and tossed for hours until sleep descended.