20. The Rats Scurry
The Rats Scurry
Theon has not regrown the finger I shriveled. It is too early for celebrating—he may be too weak to heal. He barely even screams anymore, which almost dampens the joy of his punishment.
Almost.
The cup of human blood sits untouched next to him. If he starves, I will have no one to practice on. I grab his chin and force his head back, tilting the cup to dribble the blood into his mouth. He tries to fight, his weak limbs slamming ineffectively against me.
The blood slides down his throat all the same.
“How does it feel to be powerless?” I ask. He doesn’t respond.
Frustrating.
I leave his little prison, pressing my ear to the door to listen for his sobs. He cries often after I leave, and it is just as rewarding as watching him squirm. I press my palm to the door as I listen, but I hear nothing.
Disappointing.
Voices filter down the hallway, hushed and hurried. They bounce off the old walls, some disappearing into the tapestries. I remain crouched, tilting my head toward the sound.
“…privately,” Menodotus says.
“…no evidence,” Zahra’s voice overlaps.
“…keep the gift a secret.” Menodotus again.
I don’t dare move, lest my feet make noise and alert them to my eavesdropping. Is it really eavesdropping if I am only hearing bits and pieces? If they did not wish for someone to hear them speak, they should not speak within the temple.
A gift? For you, I presume. I do not recall how long we have been in Alexandria, or how long it has been since Essemteu confronted us in our courtyard. Days? Years? Decades? Perhaps we are closing in on an anniversary of some sort.
I stay close to the ground, straining to hear.
“…taken you to learn?” Zahra.
“No, and not Ardashir either.” Menodotus.
“Perhaps Essemteu is first,” Zahra says. Their voices are loud and clear now.
“I will not ask him,” Menodotus scoffs.
“I do not trust his truth,” Zahra agrees.
I am at a crossroads. On one path I stand and alert them to my presence, ask what gift must be kept secret. Perhaps I can be included in it?
But why do they not trust Essemteu? And what does he have to do with a secret gift?
I choose the other road, where I sink deeper into the shadows and still myself completely.
You cannot see me, I will silently, praying to the ancient walls of the temple.
Maybe one of the old gods still lingers and they will grant me this favor.
Or perhaps they will spite me, as I am an intruder in their hallowed halls.
I have transformed their abandoned temple into one that worships only you.
You cannot see me, I repeat.
The voices do not grow louder or quieter—they remain the same. Zahra and Menodotus must be in the hallway across from Theon’s prison. Their voices bounce and rebound, but they do not stop speaking.
“Can we call it a gift if it’s never given?” Zahra muses.
“You think she will withhold it?” Menodotus asks.
“Perhaps,” Zahra says carefully.
“Then we must strive to be more worthy,” Menodotus says. “Let us show her our devotion, that we are not going to abandon her.”
“What of Melinoe?” Zahra asks.
“What of her?”
I strain harder, my muscles tense.
“She knows the gift,” Zahra says. “Perhaps she will teach us.”
“She will never defy Aletheia,” Menodotus scoffs.
“But she said she would teach us, and she has not, and much time has passed. Unless she told Melinoe not to, there is no reason to think she won’t,” Zahra considers.
“You’re suggesting subterfuge to go behind Aletheia’s back.” Menodotus at least sounds shocked.
“Are any of my words false?” Zahra asks. “You yourself have questioned—”
“I question nothing,” Menodotus seethes. “You question her divinity by suggesting this route.”
“Do not pretend you don’t share my concern.” Zahra laughs.
I eye up the other road to travel—the one where I announce myself. I can stand now, unfurl my limbs from where I am crouched. I can remain silent until I am upon them, then I can reveal myself.
What I know, you will know.
I am about to stand when there is pressure on my arm. I turn quickly, my shock rising in my throat. It is silenced at the last moment by the sight of your long fingers resting on my arm.
How long have you been there? How did you approach so silently? Was I too focused on their words to sense your approach?
But it is not just me you’ve caught unawares. Zahra and Menodotus continue, their voices trailing away now. Whispers of their words, of the conversation continued then changed, reverberate back to us.
I shake with fury.
You are still, your empty eyes tracing their retreating form through the walls as if you can see them. Once the echoes of their words disappear, you remove your hand from my arm, then disappear into the darkness of the temple.
You assemble all the acolytes in the temple.
Menodotus stands opposite of Zahra, as if they weren’t just conspiring against you.
You’ve said nothing to me about the nature of this meeting, but I can guess at it.
You will punish them for their disloyalty.
You will remind them why they follow you, that worship means total devotion.
Questioning you is more than a betrayal, it is sacrilege.
I rock on my toes, unable to settle my excitement. It needs somewhere to go. I hope you allow me to assist in meting out punishment.
You open your arms to demand silence, and the muted whispers die.
“The gift of compulsion is not an easy one to learn,” you begin, and I frown.
“It takes dedication, practice. An endless devotion to self. You will not master it today, or tomorrow, or next week. I expect you all to fail over and over again. You will want to give up. If you do…” You trail off, your red eyes skewering everyone one by one.
“You are not welcome within these walls.”
This is your punishment? To give them what they don’t deserve?
“Come forth,” you say, and two humans step from the shadows. They stand shoulder to shoulder, faces blank, eyes unseeing.
“To coerce is to control, but you cannot force it. That is how so many fail—by thinking they can force devotion or obedience. The secret is making them think it is their idea.”
My frown deepens, because that is not how it is, and that is not how you taught me.
“One step forward,” you instruct. The humans obey.
“Zahra,” you say, turning your red eyes onto her. “You first.”
Zahra steps forward, her eyes wide. You circle her, pausing behind her, your lips close to her ear.
“Look into his eyes,” you say softly. “Lose yourself in them. Dig deep into his mind, as though you can sift through it. Once you find it, hold it. Do you have it?”
“Yes,” Zahra whispers.
No you don’t, I think angrily. She is lying to you—both by omission of her distrust in you, and now about her ability. Surely you see it. Surely, you’ll bring her to heel.
The human blinks, his head snapping side to side. You’ve released him without whispering a word. His eyes widen, his heart racing in his chest.
“Don’t be afraid,” Zahra tells him.
He screams and runs.
Menodotus snorts his laughter.
“Stop,” you command, and the human stops. “Come back,” you tell him. He marches dutifully back, resting next to the other human.
“Ardashir,” you say, dismissing Zahra. She blinks, ducking her head as she retreats.
I understand now. This is the punishment. Public humiliation, to be broken down before the group. I bite the inside of my cheeks to keep my smile at bay.
Hours later, you turn to me. “Melinoe,” you say. “Show them.”
“Jump,” I command. The humans jump. “Stop. Sit.”
They obey, even as their muscles shake. They’ve been made to hold still for hours, released for practice, only to run when they’re aware once more.
You and I make it seem effortless. A wave of a hand, a single word mumbled.
And none of them can compete.
The sun rises in an hour.
“I will leave the humans here for practice,” you say. “Chain them up so they don’t escape.”
We retreat into the night, your fingers curling into mine.
“Clever,” I say. “They will regret their hubris.”
“This is only the beginning of their torture,” you say, kissing my cheek.