20: Patriarch
“These heretics you have – finally – managed to subdue, what are your plans for them?”
“I was thinking of perhaps rehabilitating them,”
“Not good enough,”
“Then what would my Lord suggest?”
“They will be executed immediately.”
The Patriarch rose from the throne, strode down the steps, swept Wotan aside and rejoined his entourage of knights. With a pause for contemplation he continued onwards, the knights forming a wall, as if to protect him from Wotan, who stood watching with twitching fingers. Once the Patriarch reached the balcony at the far side of the chamber, he stamped his staff on the stone and raised his arms high.
“Followers of the Almighty God, listen to his voice speak. I am the Holy Patriarch Hierodula Vates, sent here to bring order to this devilish chaos. Heresy has been allowed to seep into your peaceful lives through cracks obscured by negligence. I myself shall smoother these fractures and remove the poison that threatens to destroy your faith.”
Katrina moved forward, as if the reality of the situation had only just dawned on her and she thought she could somehow stop it, but Wotan swept out a long arm, blocking her with his robes. In the distance, the bass-heavy voice of the Patriarch continued.
“Bring to me those accused of heresy. Bring them out into the twilight upon stakes and prepare the pyres. They will burn.”
***
Phoenie’ felt like she’d been tossed down a mountain. Her legs were bruised, her muscles ached and her head spun. Opening her eyes was a bad idea – the light stung them – and she retreated to the comfort of darkness. How long had seen been unconscious? She couldn’t even remember why she’d been unconscious! She went to rub her head, only to realise her hands were tied. Some uncomfortable shuffling later and she realised it wasn’t just her hands – she was tied! To a hard pole grinding against her spine, none-the-less! Had Godhand captured her? In a flash the memory returned to her: a memory of a giant towering over her, of knights and gauntlets and heavy blows. She shivered as everything played back in her mind and wondered if she would have been happier to remain ignorant.
The light didn’t hurt so much when she opened her eyes next. The sky was dull and grey and she could feel the odd drip of water catch her dirty cheeks. She was in the courtyard of Godhand’s manor, facing the church-like structure that dominated the far end, behind which grew a half-finished tower, its skeletal structure showing through gaps in its stone skin. The courtyard itself was a sea of crimson robes as the crowds gathered to watch her. Watch her what? Some of them were whooping and hollering, while others gathered together in scared packs, their eyes darting around as imposing knights stomped around the perimeter.
Then Phoenie noticed she wasn’t alone: she was one of many. Kaori was tied to her left and Phoenie realised she’d been the lucky one: the young Raven was naked, her body raked with dry blood and dirt, bruises blossoming across her pale flesh and her hair matted with sweat and tears. Joel wasn’t much better, his skeletal figure also covered in cuts and bruises, and Shelley held her head low, her hair covering any expression she might have had. Lyra’s arms looked as if she’d been set upon by wild cats, while even Doyle – a fighter – looked limp and defeated. Next to the knights, the oldest, tallest boy in the second year looked like a mouse.
And still Phoenie didn’t understand what was going on. Was this some kind of judgement? High up the face of the church, a familiar giant stood overlooking the preparations, whatever they were.
Then some robed men arrived with buckets. Before Phoenie could wonder what was going on, she was drenched in a foul liquid. Whatever it was, it had a strong smell of alcohol and burnt her throat when she swallowed some by accident. Even Doyle was choking from it.
Clank-clank-clank. Suddenly there was silence, as if the crowds had been frozen in time.
