Conspiracy

I was in a room on fire. The fire was an inferno, raging across the walls and the floor and the ceiling, completely encompassing—but it was not consuming the room, which was made of red gemstone slabs. There was no smoke, and for the illusion of the fire’s ferocity, no heat. In the centre of the room, upon a dais of ruby, was an old man in a wooden rocking chair. He was very old, but had a smile carved into his wrinkles that made him spry and youthful.

He was unconcerned by the fire, even as its tongues licked over him. He rocked back and forth and chuckled.

Then he turned towards me, and opened his mouth, and said one word:

“FIGHT.”

I awoke with a start from the dream. The images of it cycled still in my mind, of the fire and the gems and the man and the rocking chair, frightfully vivid. Seconds ticked by but the sights didn’t fade. They stayed as stable as any conscious memory.

“Huh,” I wondered. Then:

“Sh-shhiit!” I yowled as a knife of fire stabbed through my gut. I clenched my body, hugging my stomach. It was day three since I’d eaten and the Hunger was saying hello.

“Haaah.... haaah...” I panted as I tried to force the pain down. Sunlight was shining through the window, with birds twittering outside, and the juxtaposition of the pain in my gut to the beauty of the morning disgusted me. Maybe Brother Demacus was right about the Hunger being a curse. It certainly made me more hateful and irascible.

“Okay... alright...” I muttered to myself, carefully unwinding my body and hefting myself up to sit, as though I was handling china. I fanned my hands out to punctuate my success at not breaking myself. The Hunger ached like maggots chewing through my flesh. But for the discomfort, I could handle this. I could handle this.

I needed someone to kill right fucking now. I needed flesh under my claws right fucking now. No, no...

“Uhm... Ordination...” I steadied myself, holding my head as I stood up. Shit. Usually I would spend days like this focused on the Hunger, and hunting, but today was the one fucking day I had something else to attend where I needed to act fucking normal. And I couldn’t just grab a snack beforehand because of fucking Attaran blotting everything out. Holy shit, I was so fucking hungry.

I stood up and forced myself to the door, misery weighing in every cell. It certainly didn’t feel like the Archbishops had done anything to dampen the hunger, as yet.

For every step down the hallway I was plunging my feet into hot sand, while lugging a body with lead in its veins. Nobody else was in the hallway, but coming to the lounge, there was somebody seated at the coffee table, reading a book.

And like a gasp of air after drowning, I could suddenly breathe. The heat and weight and rage and misery ebbed away as I neared him, like an exorcism washing me clean.

“Hello Mephi. Good morning,” he said, putting down his book and turning to me.

He was middle aged and quite handsome, with short blonde hair and a reassuring smile. He was wearing a shimmering white toga, and something about him seemed vaguely familiar—when a wreath of pink flame licked over his skin, and it hit me.

“Madjea!?” I exclaimed.

He nodded, smiling with humour. “It’s been a while.”

“You’re old! God! It’s been, it’s been ten... no, twenty, thirty years. Holy shit. Uh, sorry for swearing.”

“As long as you’re mindful of it.” He stood. “The Archbishops instructed me to accompany you today, to help tame your hunger. I understand that my aura in particular calms it.”

“Yeah, it’s really working. I kind of got up and was immediately dreading today, but this is... this is alright, I suppose. Hah, I guess the solution was just joining us at the hip forever.”

“I do believe I offered that, once.”

“Yeah...” I contemplated. I had rejected him then, and enough time had passed that I felt somewhat bad about it. “I still don’t think I choose differently, though...”

“That’s a shame, Mephi. You’ve been successful in your own way, but I would always choose the benefits of acting as a Bishop to those of a reaper of judgement. I shirk to call them benefits, truly.”

“Yeah... I guess you haven’t changed either.”

“My view of the world is just different from yours,” he smiled helplessly. “I can’t think of a greater satisfaction than knowing that another is safe and happy in the hands of God. You, of course, do the opposite.”

“I’m starting to reconsider. I really am, kind of.” With a flourish, I assumed the Bishop’s habit. “Like maybe I could do this, you know? Maybe I could get treatment.”

“I truly hope you do. And I truly hope it works,” Madjea said, and walked toward the hallway to the Temple. “Come along with me. We’ll have plenty of time to talk.”

Acquiescing, I followed him to the Temple, which was alive with priests of varying ranks but utterly devoid of civilians. I surmised that the priests were preparing for the Ordination while keeping the rabble out: Archbishop Pyter was rehearsing with the orchestra, and Bishops were altering the length of the nave to fit even more pews.

I thought we might go to the sitting area, when Madjea turned and led us out to the courtyard. “Hold on, where are we going?” I asked.

“We’re going on a long walk,” he said vaguely.

“To anywhere, or?”

“We can go up to the hills. They are always quite pleasant, to see all of Amsherrat, being that I’m in town.” He smiled at me sadly.

“Those are kinda far away, aren’t they? Uh, how long until the Ordination starts? We’ll be back in time, right?”

“Mephi, we’re not attending the Ordination.”

“What?” I balked, stuttering in my step. “Oh, I get it...” I muttered darkly.

“Blessed Attaran and the Archbishops have decided against your attendance. I know that this is short notice, but they are worried you may do something rash.”

“I had an, invitation, and everything...” And stupid fucking Mephi mouthed off too much and ruined one of the biggest gestures of acceptance the Church had given him yet. Had it just been Attaran stopping me, that would be one thing, and I could accept it. But I had surely imploded relations with Archbishop Pyter and whichever other Archbishops were in his coterie.

I sighed. Well, the only way to mend that bridge would be to obey them, and stay away from the Ordination. Then, afterward... man...

Who needs the Church! —Me! Me, I need the Church! All I had was the Church, and the Hunger! And maybe the Hunger made me feel special, but it also made me misanthropic and so fucking miserable. And wasn’t I sick of living like that, by now?

I followed behind Madjea through the main streets, bustling despite the early hour, with a knot in my chest that had nothing to do with the Hunger. As the crowds thinned, and we gained distance from the Temple, I sighed again and tried speaking up.

“So... so you’re not attending, either, then, because you’re on babysitting duty.”

“That’s a demeaning way of referring to it, but in essence, yes, Mephi.”

“I’m sorry I’m screwing this up for you too.”

He waved his hand. “The Archbishops have deemed it important. I’m happy to serve. Although...” a cheeky glint entered his eye, “admittedly, I am thinking we go to a spot with an especially good view of the Temple. I’m sure we will witness some fragments of it, such as the anointing itself and the pouring of the oil, so it is like we’ll be there in spirit.”

“Do you think others will be at the same spot? To watch?”

“No, it’s very private.”

“Okay. I guess I... that has to be enough. Uh, how have things been in Rajj?”

“Wonderful, really. We’ve had good trade and good harvests. I have been acting peacefully as the city’s Bishop for the past thirty years, and we’ve had no particular drama in faith or politics, aside from your visit all that time ago. The Beauticians have opened a new sect there and are producing world-class dyes, out of Rajj.”

“I’m uh, glad to hear that. Thirty years as a Bishop... have you ever thought of being an Archbishop?”

“I wouldn’t dare take another anointing. There are some mysteries of the faith that will always be obscure to me; evil and its judgement is one of them. You taught me that. So no, I wouldn’t dare. I admire those who have passed to that level.”

“I wonder if I could be an Archbishop... with enough time...”

“You are only very barely a Bishop, an Antibishop, Mephi. Consider that peak only after you have saved your first soul.”

“In a roundabout way...”

“No, Mephi. Preventing victims, while commendable in a certain light, is not the same as granting a soul absolution.”

“I’m just saying, why does it have to be impossible? ...Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so hung up about this.”

“I would never say that it’s impossible. Simply that it requires discipline and charity somewhat antithetical to how you have lived these past thirty years.” Madjea craned his head back, eyes closed. “Truthfully, I was scouted as a candidate for Pontifex not all that long ago, but of course I declined...”

“You don’t see that as like, God’s call on your life? I’d take you over Attaran.”

“Blessed Attaran is a true anomaly. The sheer amount of miracles he has been able to do is immense. He has never failed to materialise a miracle, either.”

“...Probably because it’s closer to magic...”

“I could make you very angry by defending Attaran’s honour should you speak too far against him, Mephi. And I will.”

“It’s frustrating being in the right factually, but in the wrong politically.”

“More reason to avoid being an Archbishop. They are drowning in politics.” Madjea smiled guiltily at me. “Well, there will be politics wherever there are decisions of consequence. It comes with any group of people. I know you’ve been a hermit by nature, but have you been able to connect with any people, Mephi?”

“A little bit...” I shook my head. “Tiny... really a little bit. More than before, though. And the Church, too, there’s good people in the Church... p-people who want to support me...”

“It makes you want to meet those expectations, doesn’t it?”

“Kinda... I’m not sure...”

Madjea went quiet, his expression unreadable as he proceeded in front of me. We had reached the outskirts of the city and were beginning to climb the path up the hills, not too far from Clearwater University.

“I suppose not,” Madjea sighed.

“Huh?”

“I am just meditating, that you are indeed the same person I remember.”

“...That’s not a compliment...”

“No. It is not.”

“What do you make of all this, Madjea? Of me? Am I blessed, cursed... everyone has a different opinion.”

“I would first ask what you think.”

“I really have no idea,” I admitted. “All I really know, what Czjeir told me was, he wants me to live. And that, that he doesn’t hate me. That’s really it. So, following on from that... I think, at my most clear, I do believe Czjeir made me like this for a purpose. It’s just that I can also see where my own, personality bleeds into this state, and... really all the bad things are coming from me, but it works for Czjeir, right? That’s... kind of where I am about it.”

“I see. Well, you are difficult. And you are pitiable. There is a dissonant yearning for proper acknowledgement mixed with sadism and hunger for power. I think your assessment of yourself is quite accurate. Czjeir, in His generosity, has given an insecure misanthrope his heart’s desire, and the result is both passionate and ugly.”

“Attaran’s probably better adjusted than me, but he’s just as horrible. I’m just more obvious.”

“I won’t hear slander about Attaran, Mephi. It flows right out of my ears.”

“Of course you wouldn’t... God, why does everyone love that guy? Because he’s powerful? I’m powerful too, you know.”

Madjea just smiled sadly.

“Hell, he’s only really powerful because of me, if I’m understanding the ritual right. Maybe I can reverse the signal and make him feel the Hunger or something, just, really mess him up... er...”

“Mephi,” Madjea chided. “You are voicing conspiracy against the man who will be Pontifex in less than an hour. This is the lapse of discipline I mean when I say you are not well suited to positions like Archbishop.”

“...Is that also saying that I’m kind of useless even as I am, as a Bishop?” My pace slowed.

“An Antibishop, Mephi. You have your position for the same reason you castigate Attaran, for sheer power, granted to you by charity rather than your own ascetic fervour. There is a nuance.”

I trudged behind him. “...I haven’t changed...”

“There is always opportunity to start,” Madjea said, as he turned a corner and came to a stop. We had reached a large outcropping on the hill that overlooked the whole of Amsherrat, with views of Nine Columbines across the river Katani, the red banners of Clearwater University up in the northern hills, and the spires of the Temple grandiosely standing in the middle of the urban sprawl.

“Come, let’s sit and watch. It should be starting soon.” Madjea patted the soil beside him.

I joined him, sitting with my legs stretched in front of me in between little tussocks of grass.

“I have changed a little. I really have, Madjea.”

Madjea closed his eyes and smiled.

“I think I’m more confident now, a little. And more sociable now, a little. I really don’t hate people as much. I... I want them to be happy. I want to protect them.”

“You will find that easier to do as a Bishop.”

“Yeah, so, so I’m!” I gestured my hands out at the habit I wore. “Right? If I can just get control of the Hunger... and learn to deal with the Church...”

“You were quite serious.”

“I’m usually serious...”

“Mephi, are you quite serious?”

“What do you mean?”

But he didn’t answer. Instead he only stared out at the Temple, his eyes slightly glazed, with pink fires flickering around his form.

I felt there was something he wanted me to say. A weird silence fell over the outcropping.

“Madjea...” I chanced. “Do you believe me when I say that Attaran killed someone?”

“I do, Mephi.” He nodded with his eyes closed.

“You’re a good person. Then why defend him?”

Madjea sighed. “There are incontrovertible forces in this world. Attaran is very close to being one of them. He is a clever, powerful man, with many political allies and the credentials to impress the most influential men in the country. And it changed so quickly. There simply isn’t time to raise a dispute against him that the Archbishops will hear. Had we another month, or two, I would have added my voice to yours.”

“...So it is just because he’s powerful...”

“As it stands, I expect him to burn.” Madjea closed his eyes, looping his hands over his knees. “But if he does not, I would prefer he not know of me as an enemy when I come to take him down.”

I smiled faintly. “Thanks, Madjea.”

“Mm.” He nodded. Church bells tolled in the distance. “It’s starting,” he whispered.

A gravity fell upon us as we stared at the temple. The bells soon went quiet, and nothing moved.

“If you are going to be part of the Church,” Madjea said. “You may have to accept time under the authority of a man you despise. Can you do that, Mephi?”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“Just what I said. It may be months or years before anyone is in the right position to incriminate and castigate him. I will, of course, be praying. But prayer isn’t always answered immediately.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for us to kill him before he ascends?”

“Don’t get yourself in trouble. I know how I would approach this, and I told you this as a matter of reassurance and trust, not encouragement to immediate action.”

“But you can’t really challenge a Pontifex on just a Bishop’s anointing,” I said. Hell, I doubted that I could challenge Attaran as Pontifex, and I was stronger than the typical Bishop.

“I expect God to do the fighting.”

“Right...”

We fell silent, and discomfort bubbled in my gut. I fidgeted on the soil.

We really couldn’t challenge Attaran if he did become Pontifex.

We really couldn’t.

“Madjea,” I said.

“Mephi?”

“I am really violent and stupid.”

“What? Mephi, no—” He turned and his fires flared around him as he reached out with his hand, about to summon a miracle against me. It remained only incipient as I, faster, summoned my own magic, a blue spark that struck Madjea in the head. Like a puppet with strings cut, he fainted.