mouth, wishing that the silver-tongued Ikrit would emerge and say something charming and soothing. Weren’t devils supposed to be good at lies?
“I fled Tir,” he said at last. “And I was lucky, that is all.”
“Hmm. You know the reputation that you Sin Eaters have beyond the desert, don’t you?” Suriyen said in a skeptical tone of voice.
“If it is anything like the reputation that Sin Eaters have inside the holy city, then it can’t be that good.”
“Huh. Really?” Suriyen sounded surprised. “I would have thought in their home town… Well. The world views your kind as little better than criminals and lepers.”
No surprise there, then. Vekal knew that the Sin Eaters, despite being the students and the emissaries of the gods, were largely reviled by all. Their taking on of the sins of those they absolved made them contaminated, objects of shame and ridicule for the ‘purified’.
But it wasn’t only the hypocrisy of normal folk that made the Sin Eaters unwanted. It was in their role as guide and emissary of the heavens. They often were the ones to deliver the news that no others could, or to right the wrongs that all the courts couldn’t. Most Sin Eaters were harmless, appearing to be somewhat decrepit old priests, but every last one could kill a man in a hundred different ways. Never showy or gratuitous, never honorably, but rather quietly, in the dead of night, over dinner, or alone in a cell.
10
Vekal had been barely twenty when he had been called to deliver the wrath of the Lady Iliya. They had come to him in his small cot room, three of them, dressed in funeral black and purple. They were all impossibly tall to the youth, taller than any human should be, and the floor-length robes made it difficult to see if they wore head dresses or stilts. Each one bore a silver bird mask atop their head, with one frozen, crystal tear. The mask of Iliya, Consort of Annwn, and Goddess of Mourning.
“It is time,” said one, extending black velvet gloves, holding a tiny wooden carry case out to Vekal.
Vekal, barely out of bed and holding his nightshirt around him, had heard of this ceremony, but had never dreamed that he would actually be participating in it. He accepted the wooden box with his hands shaking, and heard something rattle inside of it.
“You will need steadier hands than that, student,” said another of the bird-masked Iliyas.
“Yes…” Vekal replied, seeking the right word. My Goddess? Master? Mistress? He settled for, “… I will, your honor.”
“Hm.” The title seemed acceptable enough, as they moved quickly onto the next part of the ceremony. “You know that the Morshanti are the chosen of Annwn, Keepers of the Records of History and of the Dead, and go-betweens between this life and the next.”
“Yes,” Vekal nodded.
“You know that we are also devoted to the Goddess of Time, of Mourning, and of Remembrance. She who holds the river of time in her eye, Iliya.”
“Yes.”
“Then know this. Whilst Annwn records, it is Iliya who mourns. And there are many things that she sees in this world which has given her cause to mourn. Things which should not be recorded, and things that should. There are sins against the course of time itself, and the garden of life, which have to be properly accounted for. Do you understand?” the original Iliya-mask intoned.
“Yes,” Vekal said.
“There is one who lives at the corner of Gravesinger’s Row and Old Street. His name is Leobar Maphid. He was the partner to Edinal Maphid, and step-father to her daughter Geraldine Maphid. Can you find him?”
“Yes.”
“Just a few moons ago, Geraldine Maphid was found dead, in the care of Leobar. She was young, and the Justice of the Courts believe that she fell. Edinal Maphid, a pious daughter of the gods, came to us and told us that Leobar had become increasingly more violent, more and more so when he was in his cups, and that he took his violence out on her and Geraldine. Do you
“I fled Tir,” he said at last. “And I was lucky, that is all.”
“Hmm. You know the reputation that you Sin Eaters have beyond the desert, don’t you?” Suriyen said in a skeptical tone of voice.
“If it is anything like the reputation that Sin Eaters have inside the holy city, then it can’t be that good.”
“Huh. Really?” Suriyen sounded surprised. “I would have thought in their home town… Well. The world views your kind as little better than criminals and lepers.”
No surprise there, then. Vekal knew that the Sin Eaters, despite being the students and the emissaries of the gods, were largely reviled by all. Their taking on of the sins of those they absolved made them contaminated, objects of shame and ridicule for the ‘purified’.
But it wasn’t only the hypocrisy of normal folk that made the Sin Eaters unwanted. It was in their role as guide and emissary of the heavens. They often were the ones to deliver the news that no others could, or to right the wrongs that all the courts couldn’t. Most Sin Eaters were harmless, appearing to be somewhat decrepit old priests, but every last one could kill a man in a hundred different ways. Never showy or gratuitous, never honorably, but rather quietly, in the dead of night, over dinner, or alone in a cell.
10
Vekal had been barely twenty when he had been called to deliver the wrath of the Lady Iliya. They had come to him in his small cot room, three of them, dressed in funeral black and purple. They were all impossibly tall to the youth, taller than any human should be, and the floor-length robes made it difficult to see if they wore head dresses or stilts. Each one bore a silver bird mask atop their head, with one frozen, crystal tear. The mask of Iliya, Consort of Annwn, and Goddess of Mourning.
“It is time,” said one, extending black velvet gloves, holding a tiny wooden carry case out to Vekal.
Vekal, barely out of bed and holding his nightshirt around him, had heard of this ceremony, but had never dreamed that he would actually be participating in it. He accepted the wooden box with his hands shaking, and heard something rattle inside of it.
“You will need steadier hands than that, student,” said another of the bird-masked Iliyas.
“Yes…” Vekal replied, seeking the right word. My Goddess? Master? Mistress? He settled for, “… I will, your honor.”
“Hm.” The title seemed acceptable enough, as they moved quickly onto the next part of the ceremony. “You know that the Morshanti are the chosen of Annwn, Keepers of the Records of History and of the Dead, and go-betweens between this life and the next.”
“Yes,” Vekal nodded.
“You know that we are also devoted to the Goddess of Time, of Mourning, and of Remembrance. She who holds the river of time in her eye, Iliya.”
“Yes.”
“Then know this. Whilst Annwn records, it is Iliya who mourns. And there are many things that she sees in this world which has given her cause to mourn. Things which should not be recorded, and things that should. There are sins against the course of time itself, and the garden of life, which have to be properly accounted for. Do you understand?” the original Iliya-mask intoned.
“Yes,” Vekal said.
“There is one who lives at the corner of Gravesinger’s Row and Old Street. His name is Leobar Maphid. He was the partner to Edinal Maphid, and step-father to her daughter Geraldine Maphid. Can you find him?”
“Yes.”
“Just a few moons ago, Geraldine Maphid was found dead, in the care of Leobar. She was young, and the Justice of the Courts believe that she fell. Edinal Maphid, a pious daughter of the gods, came to us and told us that Leobar had become increasingly more violent, more and more so when he was in his cups, and that he took his violence out on her and Geraldine. Do you
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