Profane rites, p.23
Profane Rites, page 23
That was shocking enough for Honorata to truly forget the fight unfolding behind the priestess. She opened her mouth to speak but struggled to find something coherent to say. How could that be true? A priestess, her life sworn to the Church, was forbidden from having a family of any kind!
Severa could see the confusion on Honorata’s face. Her tone picked up a hint of gentleness as she explained. “It is the truth, my child. I have long ago forgone my oaths. And Kennard would be gone if I had not breathed life back into his body. It is not his fault that he is the way that he is . . .” Tears welled around Severa’s pale white eyes.
The sight of Yonas spinning to his right, blade held aloft as he swiped at the ghoul from the side, drew Honorata’s attention. Severa, finally noticing Honorata’s distraction, spun around, their conversation forgotten. The ghoul ducked, somehow predicting the way in which the swordsman would attack, and then lunged forward, the monster drawing itself face-to-face with Yonas. The beast drove its claws into Yonas’s armpits, an involuntary grunt driven from the man as he was impaled, and with an almighty effort, the ghoul tore its talons across Yonas’s torso. From the deep wounds in the man’s armpit, two deep gouges were ripped across his chest, blood spraying into the air as the ghoul’s claws cut free.
Yonas crumpled to the ground.
“No!” Honorata screamed, falling to her knees. The ghoul stood over Yonas’s unmoving form for a moment, gathering its breath. And then Partho attacked the monster, striking it to the side of the head with his thick quarterstaff. The ghoul seemed stunned for a moment, and the warlord continued his assault, his weapon a blur of movement, delivering blows upon the monster to which it seemed incapable of response. The heavy blows from the huge man’s weapon landed with sickening thuds, hinting at harm that would cripple an ordinary man. But the ghoul proved that it was far more than that, and after weathering the onslaught for a few heartbeats, it regained its senses and stumbled backwards, now fixing the warlord with an evil snarl. The monster’s face was torn and marred by the rain of blows, its nose broken and cheek sunken. The thick black blood that leaked from the beast’s shoulder now drained from its face, its features barely discernable under that horrible slick.
Grief overwhelmed Honorata as the two figures warily assessed each other, standing over the place where Yonas lay prone, still without stirring. A tentative strike from Partho was easily parried by the ghoul. An exhausted slash from the ghoul was evaded casually by the warlord. As they circled slowly, searching the other for a weakness to exploit, Honorata noticed movement from the rebel fighters laying about the clearing. Two of the rebel fighters had regained consciousness and were tending to others. The men had lived, or at least some of them had managed to survive Severa’s assault. Those two were busy rousing another rebel, and before long, three men were on their feet. They joined Partho, and in just moments they had encircled the ghoul.
Honorata could sense Severa gathering herself once more, a powerful feeling of the old woman’s might vibrating through the air. The acolyte stood, gripped the old priestess by the hair, and with as much force as she could muster, Honorata threw the old woman to the ground. Honorata’s anger at Yonas’s fate drove her onwards, almost unthinking as she turned to violence, something she would never have thought herself capable previously. Severa lay on the ground, momentarily confused, obviously as surprised as Honorata that the young woman had lashed out at her. Honorata leaped onto the old priestess with her fists clenched, and she began to strike at Severa, over and over again. The old woman shrieked and covered her face. For a few moments Honorata let her grief flow through her fists, but with each blow she delivered to the old woman, the rage that consumed her lessened. Her arms, unused to exertion like this, tired quicky and, eventually, a snarling Severa managed to push the acolyte off and free herself from the melee. Honorata rolled to the ground as Severa regained her feet and turned to where the ghoul had been battling the rebels.
But that fight was over.
Two of the rebel soldiers who had recovered from Severa’s attack had succumbed during the fighting, but Partho and one other remained standing. At their feet was the mangled form of the ghoul, its body hacked and ripped from countless blows. Despite the mortal nature of those wounds, the monster still struggled in vain to stand. It tried to push itself up on one shaking arm but collapsed back to the ground where it struggled to draw a breath with a painful rasp. Honorata thought that she could hear the gurgle of blood in the monster’s lungs, a sure sign that the life, natural or not, must be almost gone from its body.
Severa was horrified. “No! You monsters!” she screamed, as she strode forwards, her hands shaking with fury. “You will pay for this with your lives. I will force you to pay for your evil deeds!”
Partho frowned as the old woman approached, plainly unsure of how to respond to the sight of the diminutive priestess raging towards him. He backed away, half-heartedly raising his quarterstaff, the weapon still splattered with the dark blood of the defeated ghoul. Severa knelt beside the ghoul and placed her hands on the broken form. And in that moment, Honorata felt an unbelievable force begin to manifest in the jungle clearing.
She was drawn along by the power of Severa’s Song, the calling of such energy exposing the hidden world to Honorata in blinding clarity. The threads of life throughout the clearing became obvious, always having been there, so clear now that she had only opened her eyes to see them. Severa, as always, burned brightly, her form incandescent. Before her, the sick, uneven pulse of life from the ghoul—far weaker than before. Both Partho and the man alongside him seemed like distant stars behind a full moon, perhaps visible but barely worth Honorata’s attention. She remembered to look for Yonas, his unmoving form lying nearby. At first, she saw nothing. And then, a glimmer of life. A faint glow, almost imperceptible, but once Honorata perceived it, it was obvious. Yonas was alive!
And then she felt it. The inexorable draw of power along those threads. The tearing of nearby life force from its rightful place. From everyone nearby! All being drawn towards the ghoul. No, Honorata thought, she could not possibly do this. She intended to replenish the monster at the expense of the souls of everyone here, of that Honorata was certain. That feeling of loss that she had felt after healing the soldier echoed through her memory. That awful sensation of something essential being missing from her very being. And Severa was forcing that onto her again! She could feel it now. That energy being drawn from her. And Yonas! The man had precious little life left to give. Surely, this would kill the man.
As Honorata watched, she saw the essence pulse into the ghoul, feeling the keen pain of losing something from within herself, witnessed the energy being stolen from those who remained alive in that jungle clearing. This cannot happen, Honorata thought, reaching with her own power, searching desperately for something—anything!—that would interrupt this awful ritual. At first, her Song was simply swamped amongst the old woman’s aura, like a light rain falling onto the surface of a vast lake. But she held her concentration, driven by her desire to avoid falling victim to Severa’s terrible act, desperate to do something to save her stricken companion.
And as she pushed against Severa’s aura, she began to sense what was within. The incomprehensible tapestry of strands, connecting every aspect of each nearby being, those strands swirling around the might of Severa, her Song demanding the attention of that life. And in the centre of it all, there was Severa’s own essence. A vital thread that defined who she was. Honorata knew it when she saw it; it spoke of the old priestess’s essence and spirit and soul. It was impossible to describe yet there could be no doubt as to what it was. It was the thing at the very heart of what it was to be Severa, and Honorata saw it pulsing before her. Incomprehensibly vibrant, uniquely intense, searing in its power.
Honorata focused her Song around that thread. It felt almost delicate to her mind, now that she had found it, a gossamer strand, both impossibly thin yet profoundly powerful. Honorata held that image in her mind for a moment, and then, thinking of Yonas’s life draining away into that monster, with an urgent focusing of her Song, she forced the thread to snap.
That hidden world disappeared in a wild tumult, her comprehension shattered, her sense of self destroyed and reformed. She saw everything for a moment and then nothing, perhaps all at once. Violently ripped from that place, she felt utterly numb, her body incapable of understanding the events that were taking place, the destruction of something precious and beautiful and horrible and mundane. Honorata could feel Severa’s essence disperse, rushing along those same threads that were spun like a web around her form. That energy forced into the souls nearby.
Honorata gasped as the energy entered her. It was vast and uncontrolled, terrifying yet warmly welcomed. The vital stuff of life itself but so much more than she should have ever held within herself. The pressure of the energy was overpowering yet she would never dream of giving it up, even if it meant her end.
She did not know how long she lay there, exhilarated and exhausted. Eventually her senses gathered themselves around her. Her vision, always there despite feeling almost too unimportant for her mind to process, returned to her. The sounds of the jungle found their way into her hearing once more, and with a rush, she was back. Back amongst the real world, the mundane and ordinary world that she so regretted after embracing the wonders of what lay beneath. And Yonas stood over her, yelling and waving in her face, a look of concern obvious in his eyes.
She laughed. “Hello, Yonas.”
The man laughed back, relief replacing angst. “Praise Devi, Sister. I have never seen a miracle before, but look at me! I am healed!” he said, the tone of his exuberant voice unfamiliar to Honorata, a stark contrast to his usual discipline. She looked down at his torso and it was true; his wounds had healed themselves completely. The holes torn in his armour and clothes revealing nothing more than the smooth skin which lay beneath.
“This is Devi’s work, Sister! Truly incredible! Praise Devi! Praise the Bhagava! Praise you, Sister!” Yonas said, tears forming as his happiness overflowed.
Honorata sat up. The clearing was still lit by the rebels’ campfire, assisted by the half-moon visible in the clear night sky. There was a small form nearby, wrapped in the tattered black robe of a priestess of Devi. Honorata stood and walked over to the shape, before kneeling beside it. Severa was no more, her body nothing more than a withered husk, desiccated and ruined, as if she had lay dead for decades already. Honorata felt a tinge of guilt as the old priestess’s life force sung within her body, although that feeling was short-lived. Because Honorata realised that the ghoul’s body was missing.
“No,” she said, quietly to herself. It was obvious what had happened: Severa’s life force healed everyone who remained alive nearby, including that beast.
And the ghoul had escaped.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was a relief to leave the jungle behind. The heavy humidity amongst the dense foliage made Honorata’s robes a most impractical, sweaty burden. The open fields of farmland provided a different challenge to her comfort—that of the merciless sun—but that felt barely a nuisance by comparison.
An elderly farmer offered a wave as they passed. He led a bored bullock along the road, pulling a cart heavy with freshly cut sugarcane. Honorata offered him a tight nod in response, while Yonas met the greeting with a broad smile.
“Do you look forward to returning to Rampura, Sister?” Yonas asked. His mood has proved stubbornly optimistic ever since the last battle with the ghoul, now four days past.
“I do, Yonas. I have learned much during this Trial. I hope that it proves enough,” she said. “There have been times when the Archbishop had been dissatisfied with an acolyte’s dedication. I pray to Devi that I will not fail that test.”
Yonas laughed at that. “There’s no way that you’d be found lacking, Sister. I’ll testify for you—from the things I’ve seen, I’ve no doubt that you’re one who’s been chosen by Devi herself!”
To hear that from Yonas made Honorata feel sick. She could understand the man’s new-found fervour. To be brought back from the precipice of death, new life breathed into his body, his wounds healed, and his form made whole. It was a miracle. But not when you had seen what was really at work, Honorata thought. Not when you knew the price that had been paid that night in the jungle. Yonas’s life, and the life of others, had come at the expense of another.
The swordsman’s wounds had healed completely, almost instantly. The essence of life absorbed by his body had changed the man; the dour professional warrior had seemingly developed a new appreciation of the wonders of creation. A facet of his personality that grated against Honorata, particularly as she processed a side to those events, which had remained hidden from Yonas.
After allowing a moment’s silence to pass between them, Honorata continued. “I will submit to the Trial and walk the path of Devi. Whatever will come of that is Devi’s will.”
The words sounded hollow to her own ears. What use was it to become a priestess in service to a religion that barely scratched the surface when it came to teaching about the world around them? What prestige was there in dedicating one’s self to a church that practised a ritual that extended the life of one at the cost of so many? What did it matter whether she passed or failed the Trial when there were so many mysteries remaining, mysteries that seemed far more important than the events transpiring behind the closed doors of a cloistered abbey?
“You will see, Sister, I have faith in you. There is no way that such a humble servant of Devi will not find her reward. Just wait and see,” he said. Honorata wished that she could share the man’s positivity, the certainty of the born-again.
They passed a young man balancing a basket of green melons on his head. He was shirtless and barefoot, flecks of mud marking his calves. He offered them a smile as he skirted around them, Yonas again returning that smile with a broad grin. Honorata could not bring herself to return the gesture.
“Yes, Yonas, we will wait and see. There is yet much for me to learn. Perhaps that will be the reward that Devi holds for me.”
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PJ Wilson, Profane Rites
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Severa could see the confusion on Honorata’s face. Her tone picked up a hint of gentleness as she explained. “It is the truth, my child. I have long ago forgone my oaths. And Kennard would be gone if I had not breathed life back into his body. It is not his fault that he is the way that he is . . .” Tears welled around Severa’s pale white eyes.
The sight of Yonas spinning to his right, blade held aloft as he swiped at the ghoul from the side, drew Honorata’s attention. Severa, finally noticing Honorata’s distraction, spun around, their conversation forgotten. The ghoul ducked, somehow predicting the way in which the swordsman would attack, and then lunged forward, the monster drawing itself face-to-face with Yonas. The beast drove its claws into Yonas’s armpits, an involuntary grunt driven from the man as he was impaled, and with an almighty effort, the ghoul tore its talons across Yonas’s torso. From the deep wounds in the man’s armpit, two deep gouges were ripped across his chest, blood spraying into the air as the ghoul’s claws cut free.
Yonas crumpled to the ground.
“No!” Honorata screamed, falling to her knees. The ghoul stood over Yonas’s unmoving form for a moment, gathering its breath. And then Partho attacked the monster, striking it to the side of the head with his thick quarterstaff. The ghoul seemed stunned for a moment, and the warlord continued his assault, his weapon a blur of movement, delivering blows upon the monster to which it seemed incapable of response. The heavy blows from the huge man’s weapon landed with sickening thuds, hinting at harm that would cripple an ordinary man. But the ghoul proved that it was far more than that, and after weathering the onslaught for a few heartbeats, it regained its senses and stumbled backwards, now fixing the warlord with an evil snarl. The monster’s face was torn and marred by the rain of blows, its nose broken and cheek sunken. The thick black blood that leaked from the beast’s shoulder now drained from its face, its features barely discernable under that horrible slick.
Grief overwhelmed Honorata as the two figures warily assessed each other, standing over the place where Yonas lay prone, still without stirring. A tentative strike from Partho was easily parried by the ghoul. An exhausted slash from the ghoul was evaded casually by the warlord. As they circled slowly, searching the other for a weakness to exploit, Honorata noticed movement from the rebel fighters laying about the clearing. Two of the rebel fighters had regained consciousness and were tending to others. The men had lived, or at least some of them had managed to survive Severa’s assault. Those two were busy rousing another rebel, and before long, three men were on their feet. They joined Partho, and in just moments they had encircled the ghoul.
Honorata could sense Severa gathering herself once more, a powerful feeling of the old woman’s might vibrating through the air. The acolyte stood, gripped the old priestess by the hair, and with as much force as she could muster, Honorata threw the old woman to the ground. Honorata’s anger at Yonas’s fate drove her onwards, almost unthinking as she turned to violence, something she would never have thought herself capable previously. Severa lay on the ground, momentarily confused, obviously as surprised as Honorata that the young woman had lashed out at her. Honorata leaped onto the old priestess with her fists clenched, and she began to strike at Severa, over and over again. The old woman shrieked and covered her face. For a few moments Honorata let her grief flow through her fists, but with each blow she delivered to the old woman, the rage that consumed her lessened. Her arms, unused to exertion like this, tired quicky and, eventually, a snarling Severa managed to push the acolyte off and free herself from the melee. Honorata rolled to the ground as Severa regained her feet and turned to where the ghoul had been battling the rebels.
But that fight was over.
Two of the rebel soldiers who had recovered from Severa’s attack had succumbed during the fighting, but Partho and one other remained standing. At their feet was the mangled form of the ghoul, its body hacked and ripped from countless blows. Despite the mortal nature of those wounds, the monster still struggled in vain to stand. It tried to push itself up on one shaking arm but collapsed back to the ground where it struggled to draw a breath with a painful rasp. Honorata thought that she could hear the gurgle of blood in the monster’s lungs, a sure sign that the life, natural or not, must be almost gone from its body.
Severa was horrified. “No! You monsters!” she screamed, as she strode forwards, her hands shaking with fury. “You will pay for this with your lives. I will force you to pay for your evil deeds!”
Partho frowned as the old woman approached, plainly unsure of how to respond to the sight of the diminutive priestess raging towards him. He backed away, half-heartedly raising his quarterstaff, the weapon still splattered with the dark blood of the defeated ghoul. Severa knelt beside the ghoul and placed her hands on the broken form. And in that moment, Honorata felt an unbelievable force begin to manifest in the jungle clearing.
She was drawn along by the power of Severa’s Song, the calling of such energy exposing the hidden world to Honorata in blinding clarity. The threads of life throughout the clearing became obvious, always having been there, so clear now that she had only opened her eyes to see them. Severa, as always, burned brightly, her form incandescent. Before her, the sick, uneven pulse of life from the ghoul—far weaker than before. Both Partho and the man alongside him seemed like distant stars behind a full moon, perhaps visible but barely worth Honorata’s attention. She remembered to look for Yonas, his unmoving form lying nearby. At first, she saw nothing. And then, a glimmer of life. A faint glow, almost imperceptible, but once Honorata perceived it, it was obvious. Yonas was alive!
And then she felt it. The inexorable draw of power along those threads. The tearing of nearby life force from its rightful place. From everyone nearby! All being drawn towards the ghoul. No, Honorata thought, she could not possibly do this. She intended to replenish the monster at the expense of the souls of everyone here, of that Honorata was certain. That feeling of loss that she had felt after healing the soldier echoed through her memory. That awful sensation of something essential being missing from her very being. And Severa was forcing that onto her again! She could feel it now. That energy being drawn from her. And Yonas! The man had precious little life left to give. Surely, this would kill the man.
As Honorata watched, she saw the essence pulse into the ghoul, feeling the keen pain of losing something from within herself, witnessed the energy being stolen from those who remained alive in that jungle clearing. This cannot happen, Honorata thought, reaching with her own power, searching desperately for something—anything!—that would interrupt this awful ritual. At first, her Song was simply swamped amongst the old woman’s aura, like a light rain falling onto the surface of a vast lake. But she held her concentration, driven by her desire to avoid falling victim to Severa’s terrible act, desperate to do something to save her stricken companion.
And as she pushed against Severa’s aura, she began to sense what was within. The incomprehensible tapestry of strands, connecting every aspect of each nearby being, those strands swirling around the might of Severa, her Song demanding the attention of that life. And in the centre of it all, there was Severa’s own essence. A vital thread that defined who she was. Honorata knew it when she saw it; it spoke of the old priestess’s essence and spirit and soul. It was impossible to describe yet there could be no doubt as to what it was. It was the thing at the very heart of what it was to be Severa, and Honorata saw it pulsing before her. Incomprehensibly vibrant, uniquely intense, searing in its power.
Honorata focused her Song around that thread. It felt almost delicate to her mind, now that she had found it, a gossamer strand, both impossibly thin yet profoundly powerful. Honorata held that image in her mind for a moment, and then, thinking of Yonas’s life draining away into that monster, with an urgent focusing of her Song, she forced the thread to snap.
That hidden world disappeared in a wild tumult, her comprehension shattered, her sense of self destroyed and reformed. She saw everything for a moment and then nothing, perhaps all at once. Violently ripped from that place, she felt utterly numb, her body incapable of understanding the events that were taking place, the destruction of something precious and beautiful and horrible and mundane. Honorata could feel Severa’s essence disperse, rushing along those same threads that were spun like a web around her form. That energy forced into the souls nearby.
Honorata gasped as the energy entered her. It was vast and uncontrolled, terrifying yet warmly welcomed. The vital stuff of life itself but so much more than she should have ever held within herself. The pressure of the energy was overpowering yet she would never dream of giving it up, even if it meant her end.
She did not know how long she lay there, exhilarated and exhausted. Eventually her senses gathered themselves around her. Her vision, always there despite feeling almost too unimportant for her mind to process, returned to her. The sounds of the jungle found their way into her hearing once more, and with a rush, she was back. Back amongst the real world, the mundane and ordinary world that she so regretted after embracing the wonders of what lay beneath. And Yonas stood over her, yelling and waving in her face, a look of concern obvious in his eyes.
She laughed. “Hello, Yonas.”
The man laughed back, relief replacing angst. “Praise Devi, Sister. I have never seen a miracle before, but look at me! I am healed!” he said, the tone of his exuberant voice unfamiliar to Honorata, a stark contrast to his usual discipline. She looked down at his torso and it was true; his wounds had healed themselves completely. The holes torn in his armour and clothes revealing nothing more than the smooth skin which lay beneath.
“This is Devi’s work, Sister! Truly incredible! Praise Devi! Praise the Bhagava! Praise you, Sister!” Yonas said, tears forming as his happiness overflowed.
Honorata sat up. The clearing was still lit by the rebels’ campfire, assisted by the half-moon visible in the clear night sky. There was a small form nearby, wrapped in the tattered black robe of a priestess of Devi. Honorata stood and walked over to the shape, before kneeling beside it. Severa was no more, her body nothing more than a withered husk, desiccated and ruined, as if she had lay dead for decades already. Honorata felt a tinge of guilt as the old priestess’s life force sung within her body, although that feeling was short-lived. Because Honorata realised that the ghoul’s body was missing.
“No,” she said, quietly to herself. It was obvious what had happened: Severa’s life force healed everyone who remained alive nearby, including that beast.
And the ghoul had escaped.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It was a relief to leave the jungle behind. The heavy humidity amongst the dense foliage made Honorata’s robes a most impractical, sweaty burden. The open fields of farmland provided a different challenge to her comfort—that of the merciless sun—but that felt barely a nuisance by comparison.
An elderly farmer offered a wave as they passed. He led a bored bullock along the road, pulling a cart heavy with freshly cut sugarcane. Honorata offered him a tight nod in response, while Yonas met the greeting with a broad smile.
“Do you look forward to returning to Rampura, Sister?” Yonas asked. His mood has proved stubbornly optimistic ever since the last battle with the ghoul, now four days past.
“I do, Yonas. I have learned much during this Trial. I hope that it proves enough,” she said. “There have been times when the Archbishop had been dissatisfied with an acolyte’s dedication. I pray to Devi that I will not fail that test.”
Yonas laughed at that. “There’s no way that you’d be found lacking, Sister. I’ll testify for you—from the things I’ve seen, I’ve no doubt that you’re one who’s been chosen by Devi herself!”
To hear that from Yonas made Honorata feel sick. She could understand the man’s new-found fervour. To be brought back from the precipice of death, new life breathed into his body, his wounds healed, and his form made whole. It was a miracle. But not when you had seen what was really at work, Honorata thought. Not when you knew the price that had been paid that night in the jungle. Yonas’s life, and the life of others, had come at the expense of another.
The swordsman’s wounds had healed completely, almost instantly. The essence of life absorbed by his body had changed the man; the dour professional warrior had seemingly developed a new appreciation of the wonders of creation. A facet of his personality that grated against Honorata, particularly as she processed a side to those events, which had remained hidden from Yonas.
After allowing a moment’s silence to pass between them, Honorata continued. “I will submit to the Trial and walk the path of Devi. Whatever will come of that is Devi’s will.”
The words sounded hollow to her own ears. What use was it to become a priestess in service to a religion that barely scratched the surface when it came to teaching about the world around them? What prestige was there in dedicating one’s self to a church that practised a ritual that extended the life of one at the cost of so many? What did it matter whether she passed or failed the Trial when there were so many mysteries remaining, mysteries that seemed far more important than the events transpiring behind the closed doors of a cloistered abbey?
“You will see, Sister, I have faith in you. There is no way that such a humble servant of Devi will not find her reward. Just wait and see,” he said. Honorata wished that she could share the man’s positivity, the certainty of the born-again.
They passed a young man balancing a basket of green melons on his head. He was shirtless and barefoot, flecks of mud marking his calves. He offered them a smile as he skirted around them, Yonas again returning that smile with a broad grin. Honorata could not bring herself to return the gesture.
“Yes, Yonas, we will wait and see. There is yet much for me to learn. Perhaps that will be the reward that Devi holds for me.”
Did you enjoy this book? If so, I’d love to hear about it with an honest review or rating through websites like Amazon and Goodreads. Thank you!
PJ Wilson, Profane Rites
