3. No Clemency
No Clemency
T hree Months Later.
While Mila held her breath, she prayed that the other prisoners were all letting the smoke fill their lungs.
An acolyte was walking slowly down the line, fumigating each of the chained ikarei with the incense emitting from the large handful of herbs he held upon a brass pewter plate. Mila knew the distinctive peppery aroma of mintlock, a sedative used to dull the mind and senses. She wondered if any of the other sacrifices also knew this. She hoped they did not and were all breathing deeply.
Sedation wasn’t a particularly kind thing to wish upon her fellow prisoners, but the situation was dire, and if she was going to survive this, she needed them all to stop feeling their fear so damn loudly.
Please, she silently begged them. I need to be able to think.
For days now, the other ikarei had been unintentionally broadcasting their emotions so intensely that Mila’s power had been overwhelmed. She had been able to focus on little else, and it didn’t help that she was also suffering intense withdrawal headaches from lack of access to an entirely different plant, rubane. She’d grown too used to smoking the weed and living for years in the peaceful silence of its dulling properties. Without access to it over the past four days, it felt as though her power was now spewing out from her body in an enormous, unruly wave, catching and dragging in every energetic signal in its vicinity…every plant’s cry for water, every insect’s determined march, every thought and reaction of any human within a hundred-foot radius. That included the deep well of hysteria and fear that her fellow prisoners had been energetically digging in their captivity.
With the mintlock incense now thick in the air, the pulsing, horrific emotions in the room were finally quelling. Mila kept her breaths small and shallow, her face turned away from the cloud of incense. Slowly, the fog in her mind began to lift. She could finally think for herself again, could finally comprehend her situation with clarity.
It was not good.
In the next few minutes, she and the other ikarei would be led out into the Grand Cathedral to kneel before the God-King, and soon after that, she’d experience exactly what it felt like to transform from her mortal body into a glowing pile of Golden Sand.
If she was going to escape this fate, she had to do something now.
She analysed the golden metal bindings that held her wrists to the collar of the man who stood before her in line. They were solid, and her arms were numb after having been clipped to the back of his neck for days. She knew she was now awkwardly dragging his head backwards, but she no longer had the strength left to try to hold them out at an angle that didn’t pull at him, let alone muster the strength to somehow break the solid gold chains themselves. The one small blessing of her situation was that she was last in the row of prisoners, so there was no one behind her similarly dragging her own neck back.
After determining that physical force wasn’t an option for escape, she mentally gathered the ragged edges of her scattered and disobedient power and forced it to focus on conducting a sweep of the energies within the stiflingly hot room. Like a snake flicking its tongue to taste the air, Mila let her smooth, black horns grow slightly outwards from her scalp. She didn’t technically need them extended to use her power, but doing so helped greatly in achieving specificity, and right now, as she hunted for any nuance in sentiment or attitude that might be useful to her, specificity might be the thing that could save her.
She tried not to let it touch the other prisoners. She already knew too well exactly how they felt, and they were equally as helpless as she was. Their despair did nothing but suck at her like a delicious black mire, beckoning her to join them, to dive in and lose herself again.
No. She wrenched her power away and continued to scan for all other life in the room. There were six guards and four warrior priests, jesu they were called, escorting the chained line of sacrificial ikarei, and two guards outside the door. She ran her power over each of them, looking for anything in their energy that might help: a drop of mercy, of impatience with their work, of pride…anything at all that she could maybe, somehow, exploit to escape.
Nothing.
The dark, pulsing energy of the holy jesu who guarded them pressed gratingly against her mind, and if the guards weren’t utter zealots themselves, then they were simply too full of fear to be useful. Fearful guards were as useless to her as the hot fear radiating out from the group of imprisoned ikarei she stood amongst. The intermingled energies of the room reminded her nauseatingly of the dynamic she’d once sensed between the workers and animals waiting in line at an abattoir .
She retracted the small horns back into her head and whimpered quietly when the headache returned with full force. The situation was hopeless. Perhaps she was better off sniffing the mintlock. At least then maybe she wouldn’t be in pain before her death.
The heavy wooden door behind her suddenly banged open, and two more robed jesu entered the dark room. They moved towards her, inspecting her face, and Mila fought to ensure that her gaze appeared unfocused and hazy, as though she’d taken a full hit of the mintlock. It would do no harm for them to think she was dazed and docile.
There was more movement from behind her, and she started a little when the High Priest himself passed by. His shadow crossed her as he moved towards the front of the line.
“The moment has come,” he intoned calmly, reciting the official damnation by heart as he walked. “By committing the First Heretical Behaviour, you have sinned in the eyes of the Church and the eyes of our Great God-King Midas.”
As he spoke, the jesu unclipped her hands from the neck of the man in front. Mila gasped in pain as they dropped heavily in front of her, and blood began to rush back into the sorry limbs. Her hands remained bound, but at least they were finally pointing back towards the ground.
“Such a sin demands punishment, and our Divine Lord demands the seasonal sacrifice of ten heretics quarterly to appease his wrath. Thus, with your demonic nature revealed, your punishment has been determined by the Church, and I pronounce it now.”
The two jesu were working their way up the line, unshackling the other ikarei one by one.
“You are to be immediately sacrificed at the hand of our God-King, to ensure both that justice is served and to enable our humble nation to demonstrate our enduring contrition and obedience for yet another season.”
The hold of the mintlock was strong, and no one in the line moved at his proclamation, but still, a collective moan of fear and despair flowed through the group, and Mila could not help but be affected by it. She tried desperately to retain her sense of self, to remain energetically sovereign, but resisting the strength of the emotion around her was like trying to hold onto a handful of salt amidst a torrent of water.
The jesu had now reached the front of the line. They swiftly unshackled the young man who stood there. In unison, they took him by the shoulders and led him out of the small wing and out of sight, through the mosaic archway to where Mila assumed the main hall of the Grand Cathedral awaited. He stumbled along with them obediently.
She knew the moment the man reached his destination, because a deep rumbling noise suddenly filtered down the hallway and into the wing where she and the others waited. True terror contaminated her when it dawned on her that the sound was not a distant horn, but the slow, deep, tolling chant of hundreds of priests and acolytes as they observed the Sacrament. The baritone hum of their voices echoed throughout the entire cathedral, a deep and expressionless drone that merged somehow with the smoke and the dark and the overwhelming stench of despair.
“Please.”
She heard the young man’s sharp voice suddenly cut through the dull hum, begging.
“Please!”
Mila knew there would be no clemency.
A fresh wave of fear washed through the waiting prisoners as his pleas quickly turned into wordless scream after scream. They echoed into each other, unrelenting, ceaseless, until the moment that his voice was abruptly, sickeningly, cut off.
Mila desperately tried to retain her sense of calm amidst the tide of panic swiftly rising around her. Despite the fact she’d avoided the full force of the initial dose, the residual essence of the mintlock still hung in the air and was making the sensitivity of her power worse, dampening any ability she still retained to block out the anguish of her fellow prisoners.
She had to do something.
She desperately flung her power out again and this time, as it rounded the outskirts of the room, she found something new.
Previously, she’d felt the energies of two guards positioned outside the door but…no longer. There was a noticeable lack of human energy in the spaces those two bodies had once occupied. They were gone.
She did not think, did not breathe, did not pause to question her next move. The other guards and jesu in the room were momentarily facing towards the archway, their attention drawn in the opposite direction by the young man’s screams. This opportunity might never come again.
Mila took three steps backwards, slid the door open a crack with her fingertips, slipped through it and ran.
Run.
The tunnel was beautiful but Mila barely acknowledged the green and blue stained-glass that spidered out across the curved roof in all directions. She turned to the left and ran, not knowing where she was going but praying she’d stumble across an empty room, or even just a dark corner to hide in. She was weakened from days of imprisonment and knew that, despite the athleticism she’d cultivated by living in the rainforest, right now she wouldn’t outlast a chase. Her only hope was to hide and perhaps slink to safety when the focus of the search went elsewhere.
Her feet pounded along the dark grey stones, and she held her bound wrists to her chest awkwardly as she ran. The sunlight glimmering in from the stained-glass above her created blotted streams of aquamarine that pooled down from the roof onto the floor, and she stumbled swiftly through this haze of colour, a tiny brown leaf tumbling in whirling floodwaters of light. She extended her horns as she ran, throwing her power out before her in the hope of giving herself even one second of warning before she barrelled into anyone.
Unbelievably, it seemed that there was no soul in front of her. Behind her, however, angry shouts suddenly rang out, and she heard a heavy door slam, followed by the sounds of running feet.
They were after her.
Her adrenaline surged and she pushed on until she came to the first deviation in the hallway, a narrow, winding staircase that was built into the left-hand wall. It went both up and down.
In the split second she had to make the decision, she chose down. She hurtled down the stairs, not worrying about falling and breaking her neck. A broken neck would be a blessing compared to the fate that awaited her if they caught her. She left the light of the beautiful tunnel behind her and descended into the darkness below.
It took her eyes a moment to adjust when she hit the stone floor. She blinked rapidly as she stumbled forward, throwing her bound hands out blindly and praying there was nothing in her way that she could run into.
Up ahead, she saw a tiny sliver of light. She stumbled towards it. Perhaps it was a window or door in the distance? But as she drew closer, she realised it was a simple oil lantern that had been left atop a large cement block .
Not a cement block, she realised in horror. A grave.
She was in a crypt.
A chill gripped her spine and she made to return to the stairs but had barely taken a single step when she bumped directly into the chest of the owner of the lamp. The unexpected collision threw her off balance and with her hands still bound, she was unable to steady herself. As she began to topple over, strong hands reached out to grab her and helped her regain her balance.
The owner of the lamp was a striking man with blond curls, a broad jaw and a powerful energy that barrelled into her without hesitation. She briefly wondered how she hadn’t sensed his presence when she entered this place. While his face was taut and stern, his grip on her arms was gentle, and despite the fact his green eyes were rimmed red, as though he’d been crying, she could still feel the strong energy of his intrigue washing over her.
“You’re not a priest,” he accused softly, his voice smooth as a river stone, his eyes scanning over her bound hands with interest, “Or a jesu . Who are you?”
She did not reply and tried to pull away from him, but he did not let her go. He opened his mouth to speak again but was interrupted by sounds of her pursuers coming down the staircase and into the crypt.
Moving on instinct more than thought, Mila tried once more to pull away from the man, and this time he let her go. She ducked down and hid behind the gravestone, her heart thudding so loudly that she thought her chest may well rip at the seams.
“Who goes there? What’s going on?” the blond man with the lantern called out in the direction of the stairwell, his tone now far more authoritative.
The footsteps abruptly halted .
“We’re hunting a demon who has escaped the Sacrament,” a jesu voice called out from the gloom. “A female. We mean no disrespect, but have you seen –”
Without warning the blond-haired man exploded with rage. “Disrespect ? Do you even know the meaning of the word? This is a private family crypt. It is forbidden, on pain of death, for any not of the bloodline to enter.” His words echoed throughout the cold, hard space. “And yet you storm in here, during my time of mourning, and all but accuse me of harbouring a demon? Of heretic behaviour? Get out!” He spat the words at them.
Crouched behind the grave and feeling as though she were made of stone herself, Mila heard the pursuers leave. She dared not rise, even when she felt sure they’d left. Eventually, she heard the lone footsteps of the blond man approaching her. His shadow crossed her face, and she shivered with fear as she met his eyes. They were no longer rimmed red. They gleamed.
“A demon,” he said with a small tilt of his head. “Well, well, well.”
Mila shivered under his scrutiny, waiting for the blow to fall. The man’s concentration broke and his head suddenly snapped up as the echo of more voices in the hallway tumbled down into the crypt.
“You’d better get moving,” he said. “Someone of a higher rank will surely come down here and won’t be so easily deterred from conducting a more thorough search.”
Mila blinked. “You’re letting me go?” she asked, confused.
“I’m not.” He said sternly, holding up a finger to correct her then slowly lowering it. “I’m just…not detaining you either. Not yet anyway.” As he spoke, a slow drawl of a grin began to spread across his face, as if he’d just realised that today he’d been gifted the good fortune of observing a very entertaining hunt.
And she, the hare .
“Besides,” he said. “They don’t need my help to detain you, if the commotion above is anything to go by.”
She agreed, nodding fervently and backing away from him, not quite daring to turn away from the unusual man until she was well out of arm’s reach. “Thank you.”
He raised his brows and grinned at her in the candlelight. “Good luck,” he said in a soft, sing-song tone.
When Mila reached the staircase, she tried to calm her racing heart and took a moment to consider her next move.
The sounds of tens of jesu running around in the tunnel, barking orders and clanging their armour was nearly deafening.
There were so many of them. She’d never be able to outrun them. Her only option was to try outsmart them.
So, when she detected a brief break of movement in the tunnel above her, she made her move. She ascended the stairs, passing by the ground floor completely, hoping the jesu would stay in the tunnel and assume she was searching for a way out. It was not much of a bluff, but her options were limited. If she could find somewhere further up to hide until nightfall, that could save her.
She leapt up the steps three at a time, but when she reached the top landing, she realised with dread that the decision had been a poor one. The stairway did not lead to another level. It led only to a single, beautifully carved wooden door. And beyond that door, Mila’s powers informed her, there was only one small room…and it was already occupied.
Occupied by a being whose energy dominated the space like a thunderclap.
The sheer volume of it stopped Mila dead in her tracks. Cruelty, impatience, a desire to be seen. She’d never come across someone who projected so much and so loudly. There was something childlike in the concoction, like the energies you’d expect from a toddler about to torment a frog.
Entering the room was not a good option. Descending the stairs again and trying the tunnel was a certain death sentence. She could hear the jesu swarming below her like angry ants of a disrupted nest. Mila prayed she could just hide here on the landing and never have to open that door, never have to be the frog, but when she heard voices at the bottom of the stairwell she realised that her attempt at a ruse had been foiled by the sheer numbers of those after her. They had enough to split ranks and send someone up the stairs, as well as press ahead into the tunnel. They were coming, and in about two seconds, Mila would be discovered.
A yell from below told her they’d seen her.
There was no other option.
She pushed open the door, burst into the room, and blinked heavily in the blinding gold light that accosted her eyes. When she registered where she was, she blanched in horror.
It was a viewing platform, an ornate suite with a balcony that looked down over the Grand Cathedral and onto the Sacrament in progress below. The echoing chants of the priests and acolytes rose up around her in a deafening mist, filling her ears and dominating the air. Her stomach plummeted in dismay.
She was right back where she started.