9. Meeting Midas
Meeting Midas
W ith all the controversy, curiosity must have got the better of the God-King. Word soon arrived at Jezebel’s apartments that Midas was demanding an inspection of the demon who had been plucked from his Sacrament of Contrition in a manner so outraging to his High Priest.
Mila had been expecting this, and she tried to mentally prepare herself to be calm and poised for the presentation, but when the day came, even Jezebel had woken differently. Mila had sensed a heightened level of stress emanating from the woman, which could not be assuaged with sex. Even the princess was afraid of her father, and that morning, she was nursing a sliver of doubt about what he would make of her reckless decision to keep Mila as her pet.
When they entered the main hall of the God-King’s Grand Cathedral, Mila’s breath was swept from her body by the sight of it and its accompanying rush of death energy.
The vast expanse of space was lined with glass columns on either side that formed a wide aisle. Each of them was at least ten metres high, about a metre in diameter, and filled to the brim with the heavy sand made of pure gold particles. Particles that had once been living creatures.
Mila’s mind struggled to grasp the enormity of the graveyard she was walking through. She knew that when Midas had first appeared from the sea and announced himself to the nation of Artor, he’d been challenged by humans and demons alike, and eventually, there had been a war. She’d also been taught that Midas had stood as one man, one God, alone against an entire Artorian battalion. In an enormous display of his strength and power, he’d proceeded to individually disintegrate every single arrow, net, horse, stone, sword and eventually soldier, as they’d come at him, turning them all into an insignificant pile of Golden Sand. She’d always assumed that the tale had been exaggerated. Now that she saw the amount of sand that made up the wide, glass columns that lined the Grand Cathedral, she wasn’t so sure.
Regardless of whether the story was a parable or not, it remained undeniable that none could walk in this hall without being reminded of Midas’s enormous power, and his unquenchable demand for Artor’s subjugation. In fact, the very order was inscribed into the northern-facing wall of the cathedral as an eternal reminder.
“Provide ten sacrifices to me, by the end of the season, every season, as demonstration of your contrition. Or I will destroy you and all you hold dear.”
It was a mammoth effort to retain her impassive mask as she shadowed the princess through the hall. The High Priest Abbott was also present, his heeled boots echoing in the hall as he walked one step behind Mila, her noisy, scowling shadow.
It was a relief when they finally arrived at the far end of the hall and she was permitted to kneel and drop her head to the floor. A blessing that she no longer had to look at the pillars of death or feel Abbott’s gaze upon her back.
“Well, daughter?” The God-King’s voice was deep and rich, reverberating through Mila despite the distance she stood from the high-backed throne.
Filled with both fear and curiosity, she risked a tiny peek up at him. He’d been anticipating it and, to her horror, met her gaze with his own, one full of white fire.
She ducked her head again swiftly, inwardly cursing her reckless gesture. It had, however, given her a tiny snippet of context for what was about to befall her.
Midas was enormous, taller than the largest man Mila had ever seen. He was not especially handsome or youthful, and his face was dominated by huge, hawkish, dark eyebrows that were narrowed in a perpetual sneer. His nose was crooked and angular, as though it had been broken in his youth – but were gods ever really young, and who would have ever struck one?
The questions sprung unwillingly into Mila’s mind, but she had no time to dwell on them. Midas awaited her.
His tanned skin ran deep, with lines that sat entrenched through the middle hollow of his cheeks, nearly down to his chin. Despite his weathered face, his body was in impeccable condition. He sat shirtless, save for a gold shoulder panel, which hugged his thick neck and shallowly covered both shoulders. Aside from this and a belted warrior skirt, he was naked. His huge, corded arms and wide expanse of chest were on display for all to see, meticulously presented as if sculpted from stone. Except for his hands, of course, she corrected her assessment. Today, as always, he wore his protective, sacred, red gloves. The only items in the world that did not disintegrate at his touch .
“I hear you robbed me of a sacrifice this season.” He continued to address Jezebel. “Abbott is most distressed.”
He himself didn’t sound too distressed. Curious, perhaps. Maybe even slightly amused at his daughter’s antics and his High Priest’s response, but he was also clearly expecting an explanation.
“Father.” Jezebel performed a deep bow. “It is merely a small delay. She will be sacrificed at the next Sacrament. I am merely indulging myself…temporarily.”
“I see.”
There was a long pause, and when Jezebel realised that neither his approval nor disapproval was incoming, she pressed on. “Mila’s unique demon power, combined with her desire to avoid death, is keeping me entertained, and you know how much I have struggled with boredom, Father.”
“Oh?” the God-King rumbled, his interest piqued. “And what is her power?”
“She can sense the energy of living things.”
There was another long pause, then, “Bring her to me.”
Mila heard Jezebel huff in surprise. This demand was apparently completely unexpected, and Jezebel was hesitating, fearing that Midas would use the moment to destroy Mila before Jezebel was finished with her.
Mila felt the petulant energy flow from Jezebel as she considered disobeying for half a second, before she finally submitted and pulled Mila forward by the neck, placing the lead in the God-King’s gloved hand.
Now that she was this close to him, Mila began to tremble in earnest. She’d been around demons with strong powers before, but Midas was a god and he could kill with an effortless touch .
No demon had powers like that. As a rule, demon powers, whilst all different, couldn’t transform the world around them, and certainly couldn't kill. They were as harmless to others as the whispers of ants were to a sleeping lion.
Mila was so close to him that she could smell him. A scented oil covered his skin and accentuated the harsh lines of his muscles. Its smoky, plum smell made her feel nauseous. Three white, fluffy cats wound around his feet, oblivious to Mila’s closeness. She felt a pressure beneath her chin as Midas gripped her with his red-gloved hand and forced her face up, so that her eyes looked directly into his.
“Well, demon?” Menace and the promise of death laced through every word. “What is my energy?” he growled.
Mila was frozen. She tried to read him, but her powers seemed numbed and muted. Despite her pride, she began to cry with fear. She was so frightened, terrified that he would whip off his glove and disintegrate her within the next second.
“I do not know,” she choked out. “I cannot sense you.”
And it was the truth. She felt nothing at his touch, as though he were invisible to her power.
He considered her answer for half a second and then spoke. “That is because I am not a living thing,” he said softly, releasing her face so abruptly that she fell back a step. “ I am immortal! ” he roared to no one and everyone, but most especially himself.
“Praise be,” Jezebel intoned, fully cowed now, showing no ounce of defiance.
“Praise be,” the High Priest Abbott repeated dutifully.
“I am not entirely opposed to the idea of demon pets entertaining my aristocracy before their sacrifice,” Midas said, appearing mollified by their subjugation. “Especially if it amuses you, daughter. ”
Jezebel blinked. It was clear she hadn’t been expecting the conversation to take this turn, and Mila knew she certainly had no plans to share the outrage and attention she was receiving with others in her circle.
“Your Eminence,” the High Priest Abbott spoke for the first time. His voice was flat with barely masked outrage.
Of all the priests who served Midas, Abbott was the one known by name throughout Artor. Even Mila knew of his reputation, despite the self-imposed isolation of her previous life. She’d heard a number of disturbing stories about his devotion. How, in his youth, he’d once reportedly lit his own feet on fire to demonstrate the strength of his conviction. These stories were not only good for bards to regale to sweaty listeners in the airy drinking gardens of the Highlands, but they were extremely effective when it came to exporting and enforcing the rule of the Church across the vast nation in rapid form. Despite the fact Abbott was now an old, thin man who lived off self-flagellation and gratuitous displays of routine starvation, the reputation stalked him like a shadow.
“I warn,” Abbott continued, “that to allow the perpetration of such an anomaly within the very walls of your palace may lead to your subjects being tempted into sacrilegious…attachments to these creatures.” He turned to Jezebel and his gnarled voice turned sermon-esque. “Never forget, Highness, that while they may present to us like humans, it is not their true form. They are fallen. They are humans who have sold their souls to obtain the slightest whiff of power. I wonder if you’d enjoy the close proximity of such a creature if you could see its true form – a black and shapeless form of energy. A being who has deep capacity and unrelenting desire for deception and destruction. A demon’s earthly power may have some uses and bring small pleasures and conveniences, but they are to be viewed as nothing more than a sinful temptation. They are, at their core, rotten beings – ”
Jezebel was nodding in fervent agreement with him, but to Mila’s surprise, Midas chose to interrupt, seemingly annoyed that the priest had chosen this moment to rant and dampen a rare moment of his daughter’s enjoyment.
“I remind you, High Priest, that there is no hierarchy among the behaviours. The First is equally as toxic and corrosive as the Eight, no more, no less. It would do well for the humans in Artor to remember that. Especially as the demon population begins to dwindle but my need for the Sacrament of Contrition remains ever present.”
“Your Eminence,” Abbott conceded immediately, scraping his forehead to the floor. Mila resisted the urge to read his energy. trying to keep her focus purely on Jezebel. But she was very curious to know what he truly felt about the rebuke, even as he said, “It shall be the subject of this week’s sermon. A timely reminder.”
Jezebel looked jubilant, and Mila felt from her the flow of great satisfaction, reassured that her actions straddled the border of theologically acceptable.
Interesting, Mila observed, this dynamic between Jezebel and the High Priest. But even more interesting was another little tidbit Mila had learned during the exchange. She’d never known that the God-King viewed all Eight Heretical Behaviours as equally unforgivable. How curious to learn that the Second, ‘public displays of joy or group celebrations’, was as worthy of the same punishment as the First, ‘selling one’s soul to obtain demon powers’.
Mila studied the hard face of the High Priest Abbott carefully and realised then that the nation-wide persecution of ikarei was almost entirely a construct of the Church alone .
Midas might demand sacrifices, but Abbott was the one, through his sermons and lessons and preaching, who had caused the Church to turn the people of Artor so specifically against them.
Why? she wondered, and tentatively reached her power out to read him, but all it took was a yank from Jezebel’s hand upon the lead to bring her power back where it was most required. No time to pull the thread on that mystery, at least, not while she had this abominable Princess to entertain.
She dutifully followed the princess as they left the priest and the God-King behind them in the Grand Cathedral.
As they departed, Mila observed with interest that Jezebel could not keep the smirk from her face, and her energy was still exuberant, as if scoring such a victory over the High Priest was something she’d long desired.