Profane rites, p.4
Profane Rites, page 4
Honorata met the child’s stare, doing her best to offer a smile. She took in the girl’s face. It must have been beautiful before. Her wide eyes were outlined by an angry red. The remnants of her once-full cheeks now looked empty. The curls of her hair hung limply, their luster gone. Her skin was the most shocking of all. The lesions looked awful, obviously painful and infected. Where those wounds had spared patches of her skin, it looked deathly pale, slick with the sweat of the gravely ill.
“Do you know how to pray?” The girl shook her head. “Well, I will teach you. Here, take my hands.” The girl hesitated until Honorata offered her a reassuring nod. Honorata resisted a shudder as the girl’s afflicted hands joined hers. The contrast between the oozing fluid and the crusty scabs revolted her, but she maintained her smile, determined to hold her composure.
“Say these words with me. Per istam sanctam.” She did not repeat those words until Honorata offered her another nod. “Unctionem et suam. Piissimam misericordiam . . .”
The child’s voice was barely a whisper. It sounded raspy and painful to Honorata’s ear. Despite her stiff smile, Honarata felt the beginnings of tears welling in her eyes. They repeated those well-worn words together, and as they did so, the familiar blue light enveloped them. The girl gasped at first, but Honorata held her hands firmly and soon the girl continued their chant. The sense of calm that Honorata felt when channeling the Song of Devi rose around her, but this time it did not entirely penetrate the grief that Honorata felt at Yadhana’s plight. The girl seemed to feel it though. Honorata noticed her breathing slowed and the child eventually closed her eyes, focusing on Honorata’s voice and their simple task.
Honorata repeated the prayer three times. By the end, Yadhana seemed exhausted. “Rest now, my daughter. I will watch over you.” The girl offered the briefest of smiles before lying down on her pallet. She looked just as ill to Honorata as when she entered the room, but she seemed at peace.
Before long, Yadhana had fallen asleep, the exertion of the experience having drained her. Honorata did not move. She began to repeat the mantras she had been taught to clear her mind through meditation. They did not work this day, almost as if Honorata’s mind refused to let go of the emotions she felt.
She continued repeating those mantras anyway, meditating in the midst of her grief as the child slept before her.
Chapter Four
Shankar was held in a filthy cell in the basement of a squat stone building on the outskirts of the village. A small fire burning in a brazier in the centre of the room cast shadows, which only added to the horror of the place. The room’s former life as a cache for tools was obvious from the collection of dusty implements piled against the walls. But a more recent collection of tools added to the room caused Honorata much more disquiet.
Heavy chains linked through a metal ring hammered into the roof held the man’s arms above him as he slumped uncomfortably, his eyes shut. An uneven wooden table displayed an assortment of improvised torture implements. Knives smeared with blood. A handful of dirty nails. Two thick leather straps, dark smudges hinting at a coating of blood. Honorata tried not to look at the horrible collection.
Even Yonas looked disgusted at this. “No man deserves to be treated like this. I wonder which of them was asked to be the torturer. This is a dark thing.” He picked up a clay pot half-filled with a white paste. “This must be what they’re using to drug him.” He looked at it for a moment, even braving a tentative sniff, before putting it back on the table and turning his attention to the prisoner.
Shankar’s body bore witness to the cruelty of his torture. His shirtless frame revealed long slashes marking his torso, dried blood showing that they were inflicted days ago. A collection of bruises darkened his skin. His hair had been unevenly cut from his head. On closer inspection, small puncture wounds dotted his arms and legs. Smeared around his mouth were remnants of that white paste. Honorata had never seen anything like it.
“Must be an awfully uncomfortable position they’ve got him in. Do you see, Sister, how he doesn’t have enough chain to lie down, or even to kneel, but if he manages to stand then he’s got to hold the weight of that chain. And there’s no way that he would be able to sleep like that. He’s lucky that they’ve drugged him, to be honest. And probably even more lucky that this will all be over tomorrow.” He shook his head. “Dark stuff, indeed.”
“It is all so unnecessary. Even a heretic deserves better than this. How can any man’s sin demand such cruel treatment?” Honorata said as she cautiously approached the unconscious man. “Yonas, this troubles me. The deeds of the people of Aluia seem just as foul as any heresy. I fear that I will have to send word to Rampura about what has happened here. I do not know how they will respond. Mihir may face consequences for this.”
“Maybe they should. Killing a man in a fair fight is one thing, but this is worse than you’d treat an animal.” He spat to the side in disgust.
Honorata was close to the heretic now. She felt on edge, as if he could lash out at her at any moment. Stupid thoughts, she chided herself. The man was drugged, beaten, tortured and starved. He could be no threat. She reached out to touch his cheek. Shankar did not stir.
“Yonas, fetch that water, let us try and rouse him.” The jug, smeared with dirt, sat near the door through which they entered. Yonas moved to pick it up and unceremoniously splashed it onto Shankar’s face. Honorata was indirectly splashed with water herself, and when she opened her eyes, she found Shankar blearily looking at her.
“Who . . . are you?” he rasped, his voice a pathetic sound.
“My name is Sister Honorata from the Rampura Abbey. I serve Devi and the Queen. This is my companion Yonas, a member of the Order of Edessa.” She leaned in closer, her face near his. “I am here to ask you some questions.”
Shankar laughed. “Go ahead, Sister. Ask away. I can’t wait to help you. Look at how they’ve treated me, why wouldn’t I help?” He scrambled to find his feet and eventually stood in his chains, his arms still held above him.
“I do not approve of how they have treated you,” she said.
“And, so what? Your disapproval does nothing to take back these last few days. You’re just going to be the last to interrogate me before I’m hung. By being here right now you’re complicit in this. Just as guilty as the rest of them.”
“I have had nothing to do with this,” she snapped at him, frustration forcing its way to the surface. He smiled at her loss of control, and she turned away to avoid his gaze.
“If you truly have nothing to do with this, then you’d help. If you genuinely wanted to follow the holy path, you’d free me. A true follower of Devi could not stand by and watch this happen.”
Honorata turned back to him. “But you are a heretic. Do you deny it?”
“Of course I don’t. How could I? But you probably don’t even know what a heretic truly is. Have you ever met one before? What do you know of me beyond words you’ve read in a book? Maybe the words of a teacher who’s never met one either?” He shifted under the weight of the chains as he spoke, moving from foot to foot in an attempt to find a comfortable position.
“I know enough to know that what you do is evil. No man is to use the Song of Devi. It is an abomination for you to even exist. Devi’s Song is not for you to twist and pervert for your own sick desires.”
He laughed again at that, this time the sound turning into a cough. “Yet, here I am, Sister. Devi has not struck me down, although this lot are coming awfully close to doing that to save her the trouble. If Devi disapproves of what I am and what I do, why does the Song flow through me so easily? How is it that my powers are more powerful than anything you could ever dream of? And yet, I didn’t have to spend my life locked up in a musty room somewhere to figure it out. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost think that shows that I’m actually the one that Devi has blessed,” he said, a sly smile emerging despite the pain he endured.
The way in which the man so easily uttered such falsehoods repulsed Honorata. “Blasphemy. Foul words from the mouth of a heretic. You know the teachings of the Bhagava. Her words are the words of Devi, and there can be no doubt—your kind are a vile insult to the devout. You are a monster in the eyes of Devi.”
He thought on that for a moment. “And so, you condemn me to death?”
She said nothing in response to that.
“I thought so. Despite your high-minded rhetoric, you don’t have the courage of your own convictions to condemn me yourself. You denounce me as an abomination, yet you refuse to wield the blade which cuts my throat, as if that somehow keeps your hands clean,” he said, anger seeping into his tone.
“I have nothing to do with that and I am powerless to stop your execution. I am only here to ask you some questions, and once I am done with that, I will depart,” she said.
“Well, perhaps I do answer your questions, Sister . . . would you do something for me? Hear me out before you refuse me. I am about to be executed, as you acknowledge, perhaps there is one last kindness owing to me. I will tell you what you need to know, but in exchange, what I ask is that you heal me. Give me your blessing. Not any more than you’d do for any other man in need. That is all I ask, and you will have whatever it is that you need to know from me.”
Honorata looked to Yonas. He shrugged and said, “Why not? The man is to die in the morning. What harm that he doesn’t suffer quite so much before he faces that fate.”
She turned back to Shankar and looked him in the eye. The heretic’s face was neutral, betraying no emotion. “You have my word, Shankar. I will perform the ritual of healing once you have answered my questions. You must swear on Devi’s name that you will answer truthfully. Perhaps that oath means nothing to you, but I am sure that it is a thing of significance when you are about to ask for Devi’s succour.”
“I swear it. On Devi’s name, you will have nothing but the truth from me. I have no reason to lie anymore, Sister. This is the end for me and perhaps I can finish this life with at least some claim to being virtuous.”
Honorata considered him a moment longer before offering a curt nod. “The ghoul. What do you know of that beast?” she asked.
“They call it a ghoul? I suppose that’s as good a word as any for that monster. That thing is truly an abomination. You might think that amusing coming from me, but I assure you, Sister, there are far more evil things in this world than what’s in this room. I don’t know where the thing came from, but there is no question that the Song was used to create it.”
“No, that cannot be. You swore not to feed me lies and you break your word in the very next breath,” she said.
“I am telling you the truth, Sister. I have felt it. I have sensed the aura of the beast. When I came near it, I could feel the Song at work through it, sustaining it, keeping it alive, driving it forward in everything that it does. There is no question in my mind that thing is the creation of Devi.”
The words shocked Honorata. She had never heard such blatant blasphemy before. Attributing the creation of a monster to the work of Devi! Truly, Shankar must be a lunatic, Honorata thought.
“And where do you say the ghoul come from?”
“That I cannot tell you, Sister. I had nothing to do with the creation of the thing—I have only encountered it. And avoided it. I can tell you nothing else. And with that, Sister, I have fulfilled my oath. I beg of you, please heal me. Free me from this suffering, if only for a short time.”
“Is there truly nothing else you can tell me about the ghoul?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t know anything else, Sister, I swear it on Devi’s name.”
Honorata was not sure whether she trusted him. How could she possibly put her faith in the word of a heretic? He is quick to claim the name of Devi when it suits him, but the man has lived a life of sin. But, she thought, what did it matter? His end was near. She would pass the information onto Mihir and be done with this sorry business. The one good thing that she could do would be to offer him a proper blessing.
“I gave you my word also, Shankar, and I will keep my end of the bargain. I have no way of knowing whether you tell me the truth, but I will not deny you Devi’s blessing.”
With that, Honorata began to chant. Shankar looked at her eagerly, his face hopeful, a gleam in his eye betraying his eagerness for her aid. The familiar words flowed through her, the ritual a second nature despite the macabre surrounds. The sense of calm. The touch of the divine. The Song of Devi. The nimbus of light grew around her and moved to touch Shankar, to grant him that blessing.
As her hand made contact with the man’s shoulder, everything changed. What was pure became tainted in an instant. The flow of her prayer twisted into something foul. Something unfamiliar and profane. In that moment, she lost control of the flow of the Song, its stream escaping her. In a vile mirror of Mother Benedicta’s harnessing of the Queen’s hymn, it felt like Shankar violently gripped the power flowing through her, twisting it and forcing it out of her grasp. She gasped. The blue light disappeared, flashed purple for just a moment, before the power flowed into Shankar’s body. It felt like something being ripped from her. The brutal removal of part of her vitality against her will. Yonas let out a groan from behind her, and Honorata could feel his life force also being drained and absorbed by the man in chains.
In a heartbeat, it was over. Honorata stumbled backwards, horrified. Yonas was lost for words, his mouth open, gaping in shock. With the prayer over, that tainted feeling disappeared, although the deeply unpleasant memory remained. As she looked at Shankar, she could see that vitality running through him. He had tricked her! This was the vile work of a heretic! She could feel a malignant aura emanating from the man. If it was there before, it was too weak for her to sense. But the man’s power was obvious now. An uncontrolled and wild thing, he felt like an anathema to the control and discipline that she had been taught for her whole life.
“You monster! How could you betray my trust like that!”
“I am truly sorry, Sister. As you can see, in a position like this, I have very few options. And unfortunately for you and your companion, this was the only path open to me. You will never believe me, but I promise you, I am not an evil man. I am just a man determined to survive.”
Honorata scrambled from the room, terrified that the heretic would commit another unholy ritual, perhaps even something worse than he’d already done to her. Yonas followed close behind.
“In Devi’s name, I swear that I’m sorry,” Shankar said, still held by his chains.
Chapter Five
The villagers had built gallows in the village square, roughly cut lumber lashed together to loom over a wooden platform. The market stalls had been cleared away. On this day, this place was not somewhere for bargaining and socialising. It was a place where the villagers would be seeking to end a threat, which they feared could threaten their lives. This threat was not something that they understood, and if there was any truth in what Shankar told Honorata, it was not the real threat that they faced at all. Honorata could feel very little sympathy for the man. Not only was he a heretic, but he was a liar and an oath-breaker!
She knew that the Bhagava taught that if there was ever a time to offer forgiveness, it was a time when one was tested like this. “True forgiveness and love are learned in the hour when prayer becomes impossible and the heart has turned to stone.” But, as Honorata stood at the outskirts of the gathered crowd, watching the waiting noose swing slightly in the breeze, she could not bring herself to think anything charitable about Shankar. The foul touch of his twisted version of the Song has haunted her ever since that moment in the basement. She had not slept that night, lying awake until morning, tossing and turning, reliving that vile moment over and over again. That moment when Shankar’s tainted touch had forced the life from her body to be claimed by the heretic.
Yonas was similarly affected. He spoke little of what took place in that room, but the man’s wry smile and dry wit had disappeared. And more than that, he seemed physically affected by the experience. Honorata had trouble figuring out exactly what had changed, but she felt that something intangible had been stolen by Shankar in that place. Something vital and at the heart of who they were as people. Did he somehow do something to capture part of their souls? Would they recover from what he did to them? Or would his evil touch mark them forever? These and a thousand other questions dominated her thoughts, crowding out any possible sympathy she might have for the man.
Yonas and Honorata stood in the shade of a hut, which bordered the square. The clay brick wall felt cool against her body as she leaned on it, waiting and watching for the spectacle to begin. Yonas made a show of looking bored, but Honorata noted that the man, who so often could find a comfortable rest in the most uncomfortable circumstances, was shifting uneasily.
A pair of women, each perhaps twenty years old, gossiped next to them. They spoke of the ghoul and some of their words penetrated Honorata’s hearing, despite her distraction.
“. . . and it was Vinod that found the terrible thing. He says it was eight-foot tall and the most savage beast imaginable. Covered in black fur with long fangs and claws. And worst of all, burning red eyes. Like coals in a fire, Vinod says. He reckons he’s lucky to be alive after he chased it away from his house. I dunno if I believe him, but he had these awful cuts, all the way up his forearm.”
“This heretic is behind it all. What are the odds of two monsters showing up at the same time? The sooner they hang the man the better. Just the thought of him makes my skin crawl.”
“Can’t be long until they bring him out. Mihir will wanna get it over with quick, I’m sure. That idiot is as nervous as anyone. Remember, it was just last summer when he . . .”
