Seven Sorcerers(143)
Damodar said nothing.
Sungui endured his frosty silence, then spoke again. “We have discussed your fate and decided that we have only two options to address your crime. One, we could banish the Thirteen Skeptics from the empire. Yet if we do this you will only foment rebellion in the Outer Provinces and rise against us at every opportunity. Therefore it would not be a wise decision. Two, we might grant you the enlightenment that we have all shared. In order to do this, each one of you must consume salt from one of us. Not all of it, mind you, simply a portion invested with our understanding. The tip of the smallest finger will do.” Sungui raised her hand and showed him the missing tip of her own finger. “Yet who will make such a bold sacrifice? I have already done so, by sharing my wisdom with Lavanyia.”
Damodar offered no suggestion.
“Or perhaps there is actually a third alternative,” said Sungui. “We greatly outnumber the Skeptics. We might pursue you to the ends of the earth until we have captured and salted and devoured every one of you. Oh, you might evade us for weeks, months, or years, but eventually the seven hundred will catch up with the thirteen, and you will face oblivion. Does this idea appeal to you, Damodar?”
“I would not choose that fate.”
Sungui smiled, though it was difficult to do so.
“Well, since you would not choose oblivion, and we would not choose banishment, there remains only the option of sharing our enlightenment. I am assured that if you partake of our salt, you will see the rightness of our reforms. Then there will no longer be conflict between us. Are you agreeable to this remedy?”
Damodar shifted uncomfortably on his seat. He did not truly believe that eating a modicum of salt from a New Seraphim’s body would transform him. Sungui saw the doubt in his eyes. She had lived with doubt for millennia, so it was easy to spot. This very doubt was what made him a Skeptic. Him and the twelve like him.
“It seems to be the most preferable of options,” Damodar said at last.
“Then I have good news for you,” said Sungui. “I have found thirteen volunteers among the New Seraphim willing to share their salt with you. Do you understand the nature of this sacrifice? Such altruism is rare among the Seraphim.”
“I understand this,” said Damodar.
“Good,” said Sungui. “Assemble your Skeptics at once. Tomorrow the New Seraphim will gather at midday. The ritual of salt-sharing will take place on the Senate floor. I trust you will explain the necessity of this act to your brethren?”
“It shall be done,” said Damodar.
Sungui left him beneath the sun-dappled leaves, contemplating the change to come.
The great throne room of Zyung had once been dominated by the nineteen-stepped dais supporting his oversized diamond throne. That noble platform had been removed and the high seat broken down to fund the empire’s costs of reformation. Yet the great pillars of agate, emerald, and onyx remained standing about the domed chamber. An amphitheater had been sculpted in the exact center of the hall, with enough benches for eight hundred New Seraphim, although little more than seven hundred existed.
At the northern end of the amphitheater’s polished floor rose the seat of the High Consul, with an Assistant Consul seat placed on either side of it. Only a hundred Seraphim were required to attend for a Senate session to convene, but all seven hundred were present today. The Thirteen Skeptics stood upon the floor before the High Consul, each of them paired with a member of the New Seraphim who had volunteered for the ritual.
Normally the Senate sessions were open to the public, who often attended in great numbers. Yet today the Senate Hall was filled only with Seraphim. Even the guards had been excused from the hall to preserve the secrecy of today’s doings.
Sungui sat in the High Consul seat and watched the faces of Damodar, Zolmuno, and the eleven other Skeptics. She was confident in the choice she had made, but still the seed of doubt lay inside her. There was no other path to walk than this one. The preservation of the Reformed Empire was the most important consideration. The New Seraphim had agreed. Yet something about their choice did not sit well with her. It smacked too much of their old ways. Too late now to change course.
“Skeptics,” she called out, her voice ringing upward across the benches and traveling the length of the hall above. “You stand face to face with those who have tasted the salt of Zyung the Almighty, sprinkled as it was with the blood of Iardu the Shaper. You stand on the cusp of ultimate change, the threshold of glory. Are you prepared to accept the gift these New Seraphim will give you?”
Each of the Skeptics responded with a “Yes,” beginning with Damodar and moving down the line.