40. Moment of Truth
Moment of Truth
J ahan’s energy was one part fury, one part worry, and one part…relief. “I-I thought…” he stuttered. “You’re meant to be…”
“Hello, Jahan,” Mila said with a smile, both relieved to see him and concerned about what his next move might be. She’d been a fool not to anticipate extra security, but of all the guards to catch her tonight, Jahan was the least likely to report her…maybe.
“It’s good to see you again,” she said.
“What are you doing here?” he asked again in shock.
“I’ve come to watch the sacrifice.”
“ You’re meant to be the sacrifice.”
“I am?” she said in mock surprise. “But the order specifically demanded the demon on the ship?”
“That was evidently, not you,” Jahan surmised grimly. “Huh. Well, I know one person who is going to be furious when that small error becomes glaringly evident in a few hours.”
“Not you, I hope,” she said cautiously, risking a smile .
He stared at her in silence for a short moment, then couldn’t help but smile back. “No. Not me. For reasons that are beyond my better judgement…I’m glad you live to see another day. But you’re really poking the rattlesnake by being here at all. Why have you come?”
“I told you,” Mila replied honestly. “I’m here to watch the sacrifice.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re up to something.”
She sighed. “Jahan, you can stay by my side all evening if you wish and shadow my every move, but I promise you, if I can find a good vantage point, I’ll be sitting tight and doing nothing but watching.”
Jahan eyed her dubiously, then looked her up and down and seemed to notice the bandages wrapped around her forearms for the first time. “Mila…” He reached for her hand again and inspected them closely, his face darkening. “What happened to you?”
“It’s nothing.” She snatched her hand back. “A…miscommunication.”
“Culis did this to you?” Jahan was enraged. His energy murderous. Its intensity caught Mila off guard. “He’s hurting you?”
“No!” she assured him swiftly. “Not Christopher Culis, anyhow. His father is another story but…I can look out for myself. Don’t worry about me.”
Jahan seemed conflicted, reluctant to let the topic go without a more thorough explanation.
“One way that I could use your help,” Mila said, trying to redirect his anger, “is if you could recommend a good vantage point for me.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m not,” she assured him. “And I meant what I said when I told you that you could supervise me for the evening too. I’m not here to make mischief tonight, promise. ”
Jahan cracked a smile that told her he thought she was bluffing, and he was prepared to call it. “Alright then. Well, come with me. I’ll take you to the best vantage point there is.”
“That’s not a secret name for the dungeon, is it?” she said, suddenly cautious about his good humour.
He laughed. “No, but we might both end up there if I’m spotted away from my post, scurrying around with you. So, follow me quietly and exactly. Step for step.”
His energy was now full of amusement and excitement. She hadn’t expected this from him at all, but he seemed truly buoyed to discover that she was alive. There was no malice in him, or deceit. She could trust him, Mila realised, and he was helping her tonight for the simple reason that he liked her.
He led her to the back wall of the Grand Cathedral, where he knelt and lifted a trapdoor that revealed a set of stairs going down into the ground. “It’s a servants’ entrance,” he explained quietly. “Hurry up. If we’re going to get caught, then this is the place it will happen.”
Mila scurried down after him, reassured by the lack of any other human energy down in the hole. The narrow stairwell opened into a small kitchen, from which a number of other doorways and tunnels led in different directions.
“What is it with this place and tunnels?” she asked herself, but Jahan answered.
“Well, the architects didn’t want to ruin the magnificence of the tower by having all these small servants’ quarters huddled around the base of it. So, the servants get to scurry around underground instead. Now follow me.” He picked one tunnel and grabbed her hand, pulling her along behind him. This tunnel turned into a winding stairwell that rose up and up and up. “We’re in the actual wall of the Grand Cathedral now,” Jahan said softly, as though afraid they’d be heard by those in the hall itself, and while it might have been possible on a regular evening, tonight the pulsing music from within was so loud that it hummed through the sandstone bricks that surrounded them.
“How much further?” she asked.
“We’re nearly there.”
He lied. It was a long ascent, and by the time they got to the top Mila was panting and a little dizzy, but when she looked around, she immediately saw that it had been worth it. They were in a small wooden room that had been built high into the domed roof of the Grand Cathedral itself, above even where the stained-glass windows reached. It was an oddly shaped space, with one long, curved wall and three straight ones. It was also tiny, with only room for a single mattress in one corner and a small desk with an old piece of parchment and an empty ink bottle in the other. Behind where Jahan stood, there was a small rectangular opening, more peephole than window, and when Mila looked out of it she could see the entire expanse of the hall below.
“This is incredible,” she said, drawing back and looking at him in wonder. “What is this place?”
“Originally it was an acolyte’s nest, a place for junior acolytes to observe ceremonies and learn the etiquette before participating themselves. But it hasn’t been used like that for years. Not since it was my childhood bedroom.”
“It was what?” Mila looked around the tiny, bare space again. “This was your bedroom?” For a moment, she imagined a young Jahan sitting up here, alone and lonely, with the chanting of priests echoing up from below as he tried to sleep. It was a disturbing image. “Why?”
“I was taken from my mother when I was young and raised as an acolyte in the Church,” Jahan replied, turning away from her and now taking his turn to look out the peephole.
“So…then why aren’t you an acolyte?” she asked .
She felt his energy shift. Discomfort, shame, anger.
“I never wanted to be an acolyte,” was all he offered.
“But…your parents wanted you to do it?” she pressed.
“No. Not at all. My mother hated the Church.”
“But…I don’t understand. You were brought here to be an acolyte anyway? By who?”
“Abbott came to the Village of Truth one day and selected me. He said I had potential. That’s all I really remember. I was quite young. Maybe five summers?”
Mila stared at him, and Jahan determinedly avoided her gaze and continued to stare out the peephole.
Finally, he sighed and relented. “Look, it’s a long story. I’d rather not go into it. Suffice to say, I made a terrible acolyte, and they appointed me into Princess Jezebel’s service instead when I was ten, to be her companion and guard. They figured she’d be more likely to tell someone her own age if she was plotting trouble. I’ve served her since then.”
“I see,” Mila said gently. “Well, thank you for sharing that with me. It’s nice getting to know you a little more every time I see you.”
He smiled at her, then gestured to the peephole. “Well, go on. You wanted a good vantage place to observe from…so you’d better observe.”
Mila nodded and moved forward, pressing her eyes to the space and looking down at the flurry of light and colour of the dancers and revellers below her.
It was beautiful.
“It’s disgusting,” she said. “It just goes to show that some things are only a sin if you’re poor and common. ”
“That’s not true. According to Abbott, this entire evening is the definition of heresy,” he said from behind her. “If the High Priest had his way, this wouldn’t be occurring.”
“But you don’t agree with him,” she challenged, sensing the dislike for Abbott rolling off him, but not taking her eyes from those dancing below.
“Correct,” he said. “Both my mother and I serve the God-King and not the Church, and I know that, tonight, while it may seem like hypocrisy to you, it isn’t about revelling in sin for the sake of it. It’s not even truly about celebrating Jezebel. It’s actually the night the God-King reminds the Church that he is not beholden to any earthly restriction. He is Divine. He is the final authority on what is and isn’t acceptable in his presence, and he can change his mind whenever it pleases him.”
“Jahan?” Mila turned to face him, extending her horns as far as they would go and watching in delight as his eyes barely concealed his horror and shock.
“I’m already a demon, so there’s really no need to try to convert me. ‘Midas is God, he can do whatever he likes’ would have sufficed.”
Outraged laughter burst from the guard, and Mila appreciated his willingness to see humour when there was some to be found. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. His energy beamed at her.
“Stay here,” he said suddenly. “I’ll be back.”
He disappeared down the winding staircase and returned sooner than she expected with a flask of wine that he’d evidently swiped from the kitchen below.
“Really?” she asked incredulously. It was the last thing she expected to see the consummate professional partaking in. He was already bending the rules by escorting her up here while he was supposed to be on duty, patrolling the grounds somewhere below them .
“Why not? If you’re planning on being here until the ceremony, then we’ll be waiting a while. And if anyone finds us, I’ll just say that I have the demon who was trespassing on the grounds in my custody and am escorting her to the dungeon.” His energy was playful and happy. Quite impossible to turn down.
“Well, you’re all covered then.” She accepted the flask from his hand and took a swig from the bottle. It was good. A deep, rich purple – just the kind she liked.
Jahan also took a swig, and then took his turn peering down onto the scene below.
When Mila next looked, she looked for Culis.
He was easy to find. His bun looked relatively neat from above, and the gold shoulder panels of his ugly, dark orange jacket glinted up to the ceiling. He and Jezebel carved their way through the dancefloor elegantly. It was clearly neither one’s first time dancing, and the way they cut shapes and moved to the music was utterly mesmerising. Mila realised with some embarrassment, that this was not at all how she must have looked when she was dancing at Reminisciary. She suddenly found herself feeling awkward that Culis had said nothing about her obvious inexperience, particularly when he knew how to dance like this.
"Have you ever done it?” she asked Jahan, feeling a little sick watching them together and pulling away from the window.
“Done what?”
“Danced.”
“Never.”
“Well, shall we try it?”
“What, here? Now?”
“When else?” She laughed and tried to lighten her mood. “It’s the only night it’s ever permitted. Why should we not indulge? ”
“I…I…” he stuttered a little, then thought about it and smiled. “I guess there’s no reason why we can’t!”
“Exactly!”
He looked astonished by her apparent enthusiasm. “And you want to dance with me?”
“No, I want to dance with the other person in the room with me… Yes, you dolt. You .”
“Well then! Let’s do it.” He held his palm out to her, and she took it gently. He pulled her in close, as they’d seen the couples doing below, and then paused. “What next?” he asked softly.
Mila went to reply, but as she did so, she caught a deep whiff of his scent and was deeply distracted. He smelled of a rich, spicy cologne combined with the musk of pipe tobacco and the earthy scent of soil from the garden. It was a heady mix, not to mention the wine was also starting to hit her.
“I...uh...err.”
“Haven’t you done this before?” he asked, leaning down to her and bringing his face close.
A brief flash of memory from the time they’d kissed at the dinner passed her eyes, and suddenly her stomach twisted with a sharp thrill of desire.
Well, this is unexpected.
“Only once,” she managed to splutter out, caught off guard by this unexpected feeling. “I don’t really know what I’m doing.”
“So, we’ll invent our own way to do it.” He stood straight up again and began to coax her into rocking back and forth with him, spinning her gently to the beat of the drums from below.
One, two, three. One, two, three…
It was a very simple movement, but effective, and with every turn, she was coaxed by the angle and his hand on her waist to lean further and further into him, until she was all but pressed against his hot chest. She did not resist. His energy was amazing – calm happiness mixed with a small zing of exhilaration – but whether this was from finally doing something he’d always been forbidden to do, or because of her presence, she was unsure. Either way, she relished the way her body easily melded against his and their breathing automatically synchronised, just as it had at the dinner party all those months ago.
This felt easy, natural, wonderful.
One, two, three. One, two, three…
An image of Culis suddenly rose, unbidden in her mind. His offer to help tonight, his earnest face, his laugh… Don’t butcher that trust, please.
She felt a pang of uncertainty and guilt about having this moment with Jahan, but was saved when the music below suddenly shifted to something much faster and their slow, timely rocking was no longer quite right.
Mila broke away and looked up into Jahan’s handsome, scarred face. “That was lovely, thank you.”
“Look at you, enjoying a little hypocrisy.” He intended it as a joke, but it struck a nerve with Mila.
“A demon is being sacrificed tonight,” she solemnly reminded him, pulling away further. “Her death is demanded because this entire night is directly in contravention of the Second Heretical Behaviour. I don’t understand how you’re okay with Midas ordering yet another death, purely so that the elite may dance and flirt and feel good about themselves for one evening. It’s sickening.”
“Mila.” Jahan’s energy had transformed quickly and was now cold and forthright.
But she couldn’t stop, the words – the truth – tumbling from her mouth in fury. “Are the poor and common folk given similar concessions tonight? Gifted the same licence for one night of celebration of the God-King’s power? You know they are not. This entire event is nothing but the hypocritical indulgence of a maniac to pacify his elite.”
“Enough.” The speed with which the change came over Jahan was utterly terrifying. His voice took a hard, flat edge and became a warrior’s voice, a man prepared to do violence in defence of his beliefs. Her words had crossed a line. In the magic of the dance and the softness of his happiness, she’d forgotten what a zealot he was.
“It is one thing for me to tolerate your continued existence at our God-King’s pleasure, but quite another for you to directly blaspheme him to my face.”
“Is that what you were just doing? Tolerating my existence?”
“He is Divine, Mila,” Jahan snapped, ignoring her barb. But a red flush began to creep up his neck. The friendly, flirtatious dance partner from moments earlier was completely washed away by this new, fearsome, harsh wall of a man. “He is a god. He is not beholden to the rules. They’re for us, our punishment. They are not for him.”
His anger was absolute, and Mila knew that speaking again would probably gain her nothing but his further ire. And yet, the words came out of her before she could stop them.
“If you watch the sacrifice tonight with me, you’ll see proof that he is not a god.” She winced as Jahan’s furious energy struck her like a battering ram, and she braced for the physical blow she expected to follow.
A strike never came, but when she unclenched her eyes, she saw Jahan’s upper lip curled into a snarl. He looked at her as though she were infected with the plague.
“Get away from me,” he whispered hoarsely, backing towards the door they’d come from. “Don’t come near me with that kind of talk ever again. To even think it is a death sentence, let alone to say it out loud.”
“Please…” she begged. “Just…listen to what I have to say.” The words were out in the open now. She might as well try. She spoke quickly, knowing she probably only had seconds before he stormed out of the room. “King Midas…I’ve met him, I’ve been within an inch of him. Jahan. I’m telling you the truth when I say, I could not sense him at all . His energy was blocked.”
Jahan’s hard face didn’t waver, but he hadn’t left yet either.
“Initially, I attributed the cause of the block to be something to do with the fact that he is Divine. But the more I dwelt on it, the more I realised that there’s something else at play, something blocking his power . And if a god’s power can be blocked…is he all powerful? Is he truly a god? Think about it, Jahan. The red gloves he wears…they don’t disintegrate at his touch.”
“Because they are holy,” he snapped.
“Holy or not, they’re made out of something that resists his power,” she bit back, trying to keep herself calm. “And I have found something that blocks and resists demon powers. It is a weed.”
“A…what?” Jahan shook his head, trying to keep up.
“A weed,” she repeated. “A weed that grows in the Highlands. It can block demon powers. I use it, other demons use it. Now, wouldn’t it make sense that those gloves can block and resist his power because they have this weed woven into them? Why else would they be resistant to Midas's touch?”
She was surprised that Jahan still stood before her. When did logic override the sticky mire of belief? At what point did devotion and faith bow to moral courage? Jahan was intelligent, but he was also part of the system that had never truly been a threat to him. He gained nothing if his God was exposed as false. His whole life in devotion to his service could be proved a waste. And yet, to his credit, he still stood in the room with her, listening.
“Jahan, I promise that I don’t need you to play any part in this that would expose or threaten you. I don’t even need you to believe or support me, but just…please watch the sacrifice tonight. I have given the demon an oil infused with the weed to put on her forehead. If Midas is truly a god, then it will have no effect on his power, and the sacrifice will proceed as planned. If he is a demon, then she will survive his touch. That’s the test. That’s it. Nothing more.”
Jahan breathed deeply through his nose and closed his eye.
Mila kept her voice low and stepped toward him, gently touching his forearm with her fingers, trying to ground and reassure him. “If I’m wrong, then no one will be any the wiser that something was different about the sacrifice tonight. But…no true god should fear being tested. Not unless they have something to hide.”
Jahan’s eye flew open at her touch. He held her gaze with a look she could not draw back from.
“I will allow you to witness your friend’s death,” he finally croaked out. “But then I will arrest you, and hand you over to Abbott.”
Mila swiftly pulled her hand away and stepped back. “Okay,” she said calmly, coldly.
And then she went back to the peephole, turning her back on him.
* * *
Natalee was naked when they brought her in, save for golden chains around her neck and hands, and shimmering gold powder that had been blown onto her skin and stuck to her sweat.
She was accompanied on all sides by jesu in their ceremonial armour, all chanting their hypnotic baritone prayer. High Priest Abbott led the procession, and Mila watched from above as the revellers drew back to either side of the hall, many with bowed heads. They would have been the epitome of contrition if some weren’t still swaying with the effects of strong drink.
Mila also caught a glimpse of Jezebel’s face when she realised the demon being presented wasn’t Mila. Her fury was palpable, even from this distance, but there was nothing she could do or say about it now.
“It’s happening,” Mila whispered to Jahan, who had stood, silent and resolute by the door for the past hour. “Please come watch. It’s the most important thing you’ll ever witness in your whole life.”
He ignored her initially, but then curiosity got the better of him and he slowly moved over to where she stood. Mila shuffled to the side to make room for him at the peephole.
“For this night of sin,” Midas proclaimed below, his deep voice reverberating through the Grand Cathedral. “For the revelry you indulge in, despite the blindness and heresy of your ancestors, I accept this sacrifice as your penance.”
“I am contrite.” The murmur spread throughout the gathering.
Jahan muttered it fervently from beside Mila, as though begging forgiveness for ever entertaining Mila’s idea. She risked a glance over at him and saw his eye tightly closed, his hands clasped together in earnest prayer.
Natalee was brought before Midas and forced to her knees. Mila caught her breath when she saw the woman and, for a moment, was seized by a terrible, aching fear.
What if this didn’t work? What if this was the end? What if Midas was truly a god and she’d been wrong this entire time? Jahan would arrest her. She’d be responsible for Natalee’s death, and she’d be sacrificed next…
Below her, Natalee cried out in fear and rage, fighting against those who held her down, but with little effect. Midas stood above her with one hand raised, pulling off his glove, finger by finger, drawing out the pageantry of the action.
After a pregnant pause, he slowly stretched his freed hand before his face and observed it with interest, as though he were unused to seeing the nakedness of his own palm. Finally, he slowly lowered it, extending his thumb towards the sacrifice.
Mila watched with wide eyes and held breath as, with an air of finality, the God-King Midas pressed his thumb against Natalee’s forehead.