Ten men sat round a golden table. Some had travelled a long distance to the Citadel and the meeting had been long and arduous. They were tired and the good humour from the start of the day had evaporated and left a residue of resentment and frustration.
“He must be offered as a sacrifice!”
“Don’t be a fool, Klemides.”
“The Order requires it.”
“The Order says nothing of the sort. In fact, the Order requires a majority for any State killing and I will never agree to such folly.”
“You would risk the wrath of Poseidon? For the Middling?”
“It is a sign from Poseidon and you wish to slaughter him. How many have survived the mouth of the storm?”
“Nesta has a valid point. There are no records of any survivors.”
“We’ve all heard stories of survivors. Whether or not there’s any truth in them is another matter.”
“They’re just stories to entertain the children. I agree with Klemides. The Middling must be sacrificed. We cannot risk him returning and disclosing his discovery. It would be our end.”
“Then we must keep him here. He couldn’t escape if he wanted to. He is bound here like the rest of us.”
“If he managed to get here who knows whether or not he could leave.”
“He can barely walk. He won’t escape. And even if he did, who would believe him?”
“Let us not forget the prophecy.”
“What of the prophecy?”
“The prophecy speaks of a stranger returning to us and that stranger...”
“Will mark the beginning of the third age. Yes, yes, I know of the prophecy - we all do - but this is not the stranger of whom the prophecy speaks.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“The stars tell us that the dawning of the third age is not for hundreds of years.”
“Hippocrates is right. The Viracocha confirmed it.”
“And do you really think the Middling could possibly be descended from us? Look at him.”
The Middling sat chained to a wall, his pale, malnourished body shivering despite the intense heat. He had been found washed up in the Syros Realm two moons ago. At first they had presumed him dead, but somehow he had survived his journey from the other world and now his fate hung in the balance.
“What else did the Viracocha say?”
“He mastered the Middling’s language and the Middling spoke of a great plague that ravaged his country. He also spoke of a God.”
“Which one?”
“Just one. The Middling has forsaken our Gods and believes one almighty God rules over us.”
The men fell silent, processing the new information.
“There is another option.”
“Go on.”
“If we are wrong and this really is the one mentioned in the prophecy then we would make a grave mistake by offering him as a sacrifice, one which might result in our destruction. But we cannot simply allow the Middling to roam freely. To do so would set a dangerous precedent. It would appear to me that the only option is to send him Below.”
“That would be as good as death.”
“Not necessarily. If he truly is our descendent Poseidon would ensure his safety and we would know for sure.”
“An interesting proposition.”
“Yes, I agree...”
“My loyal Governors,” said a man with golden bands covering his arms. It was the first time he had spoken and the other men fell silent. “Thank you for your comments. They have been...useful. Now I do accept that the Order requires a majority for any State killing. But I would also point out that the Order applies to kinsmen. Do you agree?” The men murmured their agreement. “And the Middling may be many things, but he is not our kinsman.”
“No, but...”
“Do you agree?” The men nodded their heads. “Good, then the Order quite clearly does not apply and the decision on the Middling is mine alone. And I have made it.” The man turned to his guard. “Ready the prisoner, the bull will not be required today.”
“Show mercy, my Lord!”
“You’ve grown soft Nesta. Aemon said it himself. The Middling has angered the Gods. He has forsaken them. They have taken their vengeance by bringing a plague down on his kind. He may have escaped, but we must finish their work. Ready the prisoner I said.”
A huge man with a three lines branded on his forehead grabbed the Middling and dragged him off by the scruff of his neck. Such was his strength that he barely noticed the Middling’s attempts to free himself.
“Now, let us move on to the pledge and have done with it,” said the man with the golden bands.
The men walked in silence through the silver temple dedicated to Poseidon until they reached a red column which stood prominently in the centre. The column had the Order delicately inscribed upon it, and in front of it sat a smooth golden altar, which gently reflected the ivory roof.
A few minutes passed before the guard returned with the Middling and a priest of the temple. The Middling had been dressed in a white linen robe and a glowing pendant now hung loosely from his neck. His stared at the ground, his shoulders slumped.
One by one the men approached the altar and recited the pledge. The Middling was then forced to kneel upon the altar, facing the column and away from his audience. They could hear his uncontrollable sobs and pleading, but they could not see the fear in his eyes or the tears flooding down his cheeks as the guard held him down.
The priest began his prayer. The men had heard it many times before, but they had never borne witness to this particular ritual. As he spoke the priest produced a small, black, obsidian blade. The sobs from the Middling grew louder. He was powerless in the vice-like grip of the guard. Some of the men held their breath, some closed their eyes, some fixed their gaze on the statues surrounding them. Only the man with the golden bands watched the Middling, the corner of his lips betraying a veiled smile.
The priest approached the Middling as he finished his prayer. The guard forced the Middling’s forehead back with his hand and the priest almost delicately opened him from ear to ear, the sharp blade cutting easily through flesh and tissue.
The Middling coughed and gargled as his body thrashed. Blood spurted out onto the column and upon the altar. And then he was still. The guard let go of his limp body, and stepped away. Blood covered his arms and face. The room was silent save for a gentle dripping sound.
The man with the golden bands addressed the room. “This matter must be kept within these walls. No-one must know about the Middling or what has happened here. The Gods will reward us for what we have done today.” He turned to the guard. “Dispose of the body, make sure no-one can find it.”
The men dispersed quickly, the day’s events forever etched on their minds.
*
The guard heaved the corpse through the jungle. It had been a tough task disguising it and getting it out of the Citadel without raising suspicion and he was sweating heavily as he negotiated the dense flora. He reached a clearing and set the body down on the floor. A large rock protruded from the ground. It looked out-of-place in its setting. The guard heaved the rock with all his strength and eventually it moved revealing a dark abyss.
The guard quickly pushed the body into the abyss and it fell silently to the bottom, where it would remain, untouched, for hundreds of years.
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