The guards lined up behind them. Piret and Lyla had followed the other head priest, but all the guards had been at the Academy together, since they were of an age. Hen knew them as well as anyone, and yet in the moment, he couldn’t imagine speaking to them. What would they have to say? He couldn’t think of a single thing.
The priest said, “Now, does anyone have any questions before we begin?” He was a dark man, beardy and cheerful, with twinkling black eyes.
Head-shaking ensued.
“You understand that we remain silent once we enter the inner sanctum, yes?”
Nodding, now.
“Good. Take a moment to bid a temporary farewell to the guards who’ve served you so well in this world, then.”
Elvi and her guard, a short, spry girl called Jena, clasped hands and kissed on the cheek. Agar shook his guard’s hand and pulled him into a one-armed hug. Kass came around the couch and threw himself into Hen’s arms.
Hen squeezed him and kissed his head as he always did. “I’m so proud of you,” he said. And then, because he knew he needed to or he’d regret it, he added, “My love.”
Kass looked up at him, eyes shining, the biggest smile on his face.
“My sweet boy,” Hen added with a chuckle.
Kass laughed and kissed him quickly, like a bird landing on a weathervane and then popping off again immediately. “I’ll be waiting for you. In the meantime, you should talk to Jak.”
“I will,” Hen said. “Don’t worry about me. This is your time.”
Letting go of his hands caused a physical sensation like being punched in the solar plexus for Hen. He did it, though, and stood there as Elvi, Agar, and Kass followed the priest into the next room. The priest looked back at the guards and said, “You may go and pray, now. Thank you for your kind and devoted service.”
And then he closed the door.
In silence, all three guards filed back out beside the altar, then into the first stone pew where, one by one, they knelt. Moments later, Piret and the other three joined them.
Someone began the
Prayer aloud:
We thank the gods for all we have
Stone and fire, shelter and warmth
Field and mine, food
and protection
We thank the gods for all that they are
For order and light that keep chaos at bay
For duty and honor
that keep City walls strong
We thank the gods for the Children
That they may add to the light of the gods
And take our names
to heaven with them
We thank the gods for the See
That it may glorify them and the City
And drive the forces
of disorder from our walls
By the second verse, they were all saying it together. Hen mumbled along, at first unthinking. During the second repetition, he began to think, really think about what he was saying, even as he took his breaths in the strange, ritual mid-sentence places to keep cadence with the others.
When he got to the word, “Children,” the altar before him blurred. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks; he flushed with shame and wiped them away with his sleeve.
Piret glanced sideways and caught him.
He shook his head at her, not even sure why. Please don’t say anything. Don’t bring attention to me. Please…
She bowed her head and continued the Prayer, but when they began a third round, she stood and walked behind them, grabbed the back of Hen’s tabard and jerked. He got to his feet to avoid being strangled, then allowed himself to be dragged into an alcove near the front door. It was dark inside, only the faintest flicker of offering candles in their rack burning beneath a painting of a beautiful, white-robed Child of the Blood with her arms open to them.
Hen steeled himself for brutal honesty. Wanted it, actually, and wouldn’t mind if a slap or two came with it.
Instead, Piret put her arms around his waist. Hen froze for a moment, uncertain. And then he wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek against her soft hair.
“I miss her already,” Piret whispered.
If they had been born anyone else, Lyla and Kass would’ve just been starting their lives, like Kajja and hundreds of other young people in the City. An apprenticeship as a tailor turning into her own shop for Lyla, maybe, or taking over duties in the family tavern for Kass. Anything but blooded parents, and they would have been going out into the City rather than walking into heaven. Giving up the pain and pleasure of this world for the duties and comforts of the next.
They were better off, of course. And yet, there was such a profound feeling of loss in Hen at the thought, he couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t just sad for himself. He had lost. But so had Kass.
Which was ridiculous, of course. Kass had fulfilled his destiny. He was becoming a god even now, through some mystical and sacred method that only those who shared that supreme destiny would ever understand.
“I want to be happy for him,” Hen whispered. “More than anything.”
