Second, religious freedom was granted to all the peoples of the empire. Although Zyung would remain the chief deity, worship of the old Gods was no longer prohibited, and even new faiths were to be tolerated without persecution. This edict, too, would be enforced by new laws.
Third, the ruling body of the Reformed Empire was the Senate of the New Seraphim, who would hold court monthly inside the Holy Mountain. Every province would be assigned one of these dignitaries, as well as a number of Magistrates.
Fourth and last, voices of dissent would no longer be silenced with death or imprisonment. Any citizen of any province could make his voice heard by filing a petition with the appropriate Magistrate, who would carry his message to the Senate itself. The New Seraphim would make a regular practice of listening to their subjects and trying to meet their needs.
With these four decrees the great reformation of the Living Empire had begun. Across the entire continent voices were raised in jubilation. The New Seraphim were praised and met with reverence when they walked the streets. For centuries they had been icons of terror and destruction, tools used to spread Zyung’s wrath. Now they were all saints and heroes.
All of them except for the Thirteen Skeptics.
These were the confederates of Damodar, the voices of malcontent in the Senate. Sungui could hardly blame them. Damodar had been killed by Khama the Feathered Serpent at the Battle of Ongthaia. His physical form had re-manifested here on the other side of the world, in the heart of the Holy Mountain. The other twelve Skeptics had been slain in the Sharrian valley by Khama and Vireon. They, too, had regained physicality months later. By the time they had arisen from the Inner Sanctum of the temple-palace, the armada was already on its way back to Zyung’s land.
Damodar and the Skeptics had not faced the ultimate choice of the other Seraphim, and they had not become the Eaters of Zyung. They remained unchanged, and they did not understand the enlightenment that the consumption of the Almighty’s salt had delivered. Nor did they share the Gift of Iardu, the birth of compassion and empathy that evolved the consciousness of the Eaters to create the New Seraphim. Sungui had sacrificed a small part of herself to share that enlightenment with Lavanyia, but there were none willing to make that same sacrifice for Damodar and his twelve.
Sungui had made her decision to spare Lavanyia the doom of salt because she did not have the heart to lose Lavanyia. But the Skeptics were not loved or overly valued among the New Seraphim. None of the transformed had stepped forward to sacrifice parts of themselves, so the Skeptics were caught in the middle of the great reform without truly understanding it. Eleven Senate meetings had occurred since the return, and the Skeptics had been the voices of opposition at each of them. Yet there were seven hundred New Seraphim against Damodar’s faction of only thirteen, so they were outvoted at every turn.
“They are a poison in our midst,” Lavanyia had told Sungui. “We must deal with them.”
“How?” asked Sungui. “Will you sacrifice your salt to bring them understanding?”
Lavanyia laughed. “If you asked me to.”
Sungui had kissed her for that sentiment. “I will not ask it of anyone,” she said. “I do not even know if such a gift would work, were it not given freely with the giver’s blessing upon the receiver. Yet perhaps Damodar and his followers will see the worth of what we are doing. Let them remain among us and take positions in the Reformed Empire. We changed in an instant. They must change slowly.”
“As to that,” said Lavanyia, “it is I who remain skeptical.”
Now came the parchment, with its message of tragedy and doom.
Sungui stood upon the lofty terrace, directly below the great face of Zyung that dominated the Holy Mountain. From this vantage point she saw far across the Holy City. She had missed the avenues of pristine marble, the sprawling gardens and orchards, the striped horses and web-footed Snouts that carried men through the streets. The twenty-nine ziggurats grew thick with vine and flower, green hills rising from the cityscape.
Towers of ivory and jade cast their shadows across canals of green water. The great river flowed through arched gateways, bringing merchant vessels from distant provinces. Dreadnoughts floated in lazy patterns across the blue sky, and the distant ramparts about the city were purple in the rising dawn.
Every spot of the Living Empire must be made this beautiful.
This holy.
The laughter of children rose from the gardens of the temple-palace, which had been opened to the public six months ago. Even the great stone face of Zyung seemed to be smiling, its eyes flaming with benevolence now instead of judgment.
Perhaps it was all a matter of perspective.