Page 16 of Degradation

“Blake.” The sharp call of my name snaps me back to reality.

I look up to see Gunther, in his ceremonial robes, looking the very image of authority and power.

In front of him, I can see my brothers in arm, other guards, all of them who undertook the training when I did, who have also been assigned to personally protect our leader.

My ceremonial boots echo against the stone as I make my way down to join them and it’s hard not to be annoyed by the noise. I like stealth. I like silence. I’ve spent my life learning how to be invisible, how to be unheard. A man my size needs at least some element of surprise.

We kneel as one. Gunther stares down at us all with a mixture of expectation and something I can’t quite place. Is it conceit, is it, fear? Maybe it’s both those things. Afterall, he’s placing his trust, his faith, his very life in all our hands. If we wanted to we could rise up, we could revolt. It’s happened before; it’s happened in enough other Chapters for Gunther to be wary.

But other guards have done that only when there was crisis, when their leader was so inept it put all our way of life injeopardy. Gunther maybe mad, but he’s controllable. The Senate see to that, the Senate ensure that.

I brush my concerns aside as a Bible is placed in front of me. It’s an ancient thing, bound in leather and flesh of an animal I don’t care to consider. The thing is older than all of us combined, older than this very Cathedral. Every word has been etched in like a tattoo because paper can decay, paper can disintegrate. This book here will last forever, it will last until the second coming and no doubt far beyond that too.

I place my hand upon it, the worn patch whispering secrets of a thousand oaths taken before mine.

“Do you swear to serve your Chapter Lord with loyalty and obedience, to lay down your life for his command, which is your highest honour?” the High Priest intones.

“I swear.” I respond without hesitation. The oath is a chain, but it is one I have willingly accepted. One I willingly make. The Brethren has been my family’s way of life since Elizabethan times. It’s been the source of our fortune, of our success. Who am I to decide I’m better than this, that my dreams are worth more than duty and sacrifice. And besides, what dreams do I have? What dreams are there beyond power.

“Do you swear to guard, keep her safe and ensure she follows all her obligations graciously and dutifully, as our Chapter Lord dictates?”

I understand the gravity of what is being asked of me well enough; it’s not about protection, but control. We are to be her shadow, her shield, and if necessary, her jailer.

“I swear,” I say again quickly. We all know the Chapter Lady is nothing a symbolic role, a silent figure beside our leader. She’s there to smile and look pretty and if the Chapter Lord chooses, to breed with too.

The other guards swear just as quickly and then we’re dismissed.

I go back to sweeping the cathedral, checking for bombs. When I get to the benches that are practically in the rafters, I stop and stare down. These seats are for the lowest of the low. Lords and Ladies who hold no power, no significance. They’re far removed from the prestige my own is used to and I wonder for a second what it would feel like to be them. To know they hold no sway; to know they cling to the rest of our boots, desperate for any bit of dirt we toss their way.

Far below, I can see Gunther preening, posturing, making a fuss about something.

The ceremony isn’t for hours yet, and yet he’s all dressed up and ready like a child up at dawn for Christmas day. Will he be as eager to open his new toy? Of course he will, he was lecherous enough when he had all seven girls to choose between.

Poor little bitch, she has no idea what awaits her. Will she cry, will she plead, or will she lie there like most of them do, and accept her fate, accept that her life has now irrevocably changed and what little choices she had before, are now gone.

She no longer gets to decide anything.

She no longer will be permitted to think.

She’ll be a living statue now. A thing to use. A thing to discard, too, if she proves to be difficult.

With a smirk, I start my descent. For the ceremony itself, I’m to be at the very bottom, on hand, ready to die, just as my oath stated.

Pailtyn

The oil is cool, soothing as the two women slowly cover my entire body with it. I was brought to the Cathedral hours ago and was bathed, and cleaned, and had every bit of dirt they could find removed from my body. They scraped under my nails, scrubbed my skin raw, even made me take a tube up my arse where they flushed me full of water to “clean me out” – that was the most humiliating bit. To stand there, to feel my abdomen swelling and then be forced to wait until I was finally allowed to rush to the toilet. And all of it was under their watchful gaze.

My mother isn’t here. I expected her to be, but they made sure to send her packing the moment we arrived. Oh, she tried to argue but for what must be the first time in her life, she was told no.

It makes this worse. Not that her presence is particularly comforting, but I know no one here.

The chamber we’re in is old, pretty, with medieval artwork and intricate tapestries covered in our Brethren emblems, adorning the walls. Images of angels and saints stare down at us, with all the gilding illuminated by the candles. The air is thick with an incense I can’t place. It’s almost suffocating and more than once I have to stop myself from falling into a full coughing fit.

The women huff whenever I do this, as if I’m being intentionally difficult, but I’m really not meaning too. I have asthma. Not bad asthma, but they won’t let me get my inhaler, saying it will undo all their hard work, which makes no sense.

I draw in a low breath, trying to calm my nerves. There’s a tiny voice in my head telling me to say I need the toilet or something and just run and run and not look back.

But that’s a stupid idea, a stupid thought.