Page 17 of The Merciless Ones
He winks at me just as drums sound, heralding the beginning of the procession. My eyes greedily drink him in as he and his contingent walk ceremoniously down the middle of the hall, then split into two and turn towards the crowd. White Hands, who has climbed the stairs to stand beside me, gestures, and they thump their spears as one.
The crowd quiets, everyone rising as a subtle electricity sparks in the air.
They’re arriving…
Reverence shivers over me, my blood tingling as four sparkling golden shadows, each ten times the size of a regular human, materialize on the thrones behind me, benevolent smiles on their faces when they gaze down at the gathered crowd. They’re barely more than sunbeams, lightning bolts made flesh, but they’re just visible enough that everyone in the crowd can glimpse them: the Gilded Ones, each as perfect as they were the day I woke them.
“Our beloved children,” the goddesses say as one, their combined voice so powerful, it feels like a tidal wave washing over the crowd. “How happy we are to see you gathered here this night. And how happy we are to welcome our new children.”
They gesture, and the screen at the back of the room glides open, revealing the new converts, who walk ceremoniously down the centre of the hall, then prostrate themselves.
The goddesses smile down at them. “From all across Otera, you have come to seek the light of our blessings. And for some of you, the light of absolution.”
Now, a few of the converts – mostly the older ones – stand. They’re all wearing black sashes – the colour of oblivion – and their bodies are rigid with tension. The woman from the jungle is among them. She shoots me a hate-filled glare before returning her attention to the mothers, just a hint of fear in her eyes. Despite all her bravado, she’s just as awed as everyone else to stand in the presence of the divine.
Now the Gilded Ones rise and beckon to the group. “Approach, our beloved children. With this cleansing, you will become as new, unblemished and innocent in our eyes.”
Eyes fixed to the floor, the converts step forward, then prostrate themselves in front of the mothers, who lift their hands over them in benediction. “May your minds be cleansed, healed of all worries, freed of all sins,” the goddesses intone as one.
My skin prickles as a faint shimmer mists over the black-sashed group, changing those sashes from black to a pure, crystalline white. The transition happens within a matter of seconds, but when it’s done, there’s a marked change in the group. Where once their bodies were tense, every member of the group now seems relaxed and happy, a distinct and youthful wonder in their eyes. It’s almost as if they’ve been reborn, as if they’ve reverted to a more innocent state.
They all look up at the Gilded Ones in awe, the woman from the jungle the first to speak. “Who are you?” she asks the mothers, eyes wide.
“We are the Gilded Ones,” the goddesses reply as one, “deities of Otera, and your mothers.”
The woman nods, accepting this declaration with the ease of a child. “And who am I?”
“You are our daughter, and you can be anything you want to be.”
As always, the words fill me with joy – awe. Anything you want to be… That’s all I’ve ever wanted for myself, for the women of Otera: the chance to determine our own paths the way most men can.
“Anything…” Tears of joy shimmer in the woman’s eyes, and she wipes at them, as if surprised to see them there. She turns to the others, beaming. “I can be anything!”
“It is the same for all of you,” the mothers say. “You have been given a gift, a chance to shape your life as you wish it.”
Cheers break out across the hall. The newly reborn converts smile and embrace one another, but then, after they’re done they begin glancing around, curious. An unpleasant feeling curls in the pit of my stomach. This is the part of the ceremony I hate, the part where curiosity, then bewilderment, sets in.
All these people chose to have their minds cleansed – to embrace a completely new life, one free of all the painful memories of the past. In fact, this is one of the greatest gifts the mothers can provide their worshippers. But it comes at a cost. The new converts may remember language – a few even remember skills they once had – but everything else is gone. All their memories, everything they once were – the people they loved, the places they knew, even the foods they enjoyed. All that has been erased.
I know that is the point of the cleansing, that from the remnants of the old person emerges the new, but I can’t help but feel saddened by the loss.
“Are you all right, Deka?”
I look up to see White Hands watching me, an unfathomable expression in her eyes. I don’t bother trying to decode it. White Hands collects secrets the way other people collect trinkets.
“Would you ever do that? Have the mothers wipe your memory?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “There is nothing in my life so painful that I would destroy all of who I am to erase it.”
This from the woman who spent several centuries as a collection of dismembered body parts chained to the floor of the emperor’s dungeon.
“But then –” she shrugs – “if I’d had any memories taken, I wouldn’t know, would I?”
The words slither through my mind, an uncomfortable proposition. I wouldn’t know…
“What about you?” she asks, turning to me. “Would you give away your memories?”
There’s something funny about that particular turn of phrase, “give away my memories”, but I ignore it as I shake my head. “No, I would not.” I considered it after the first dedication ceremony – removing my memories of Irfut and all the tortures I endured in that cellar. But I quickly dismissed the idea. The pain may linger, may even bedevil my every waking moment, but it’s still what made me the person I am today. “I won’t part with any piece of myself,” I say. “I understand why others would, but for me… Just the thought of it—”