“Givers, are you prepared to do what must be done?” Sungui asked.
The thirteen New Seraphim spoke as one. “We are.”
“Take up your blades.”
The thirteen New Seraphim pulled daggers of black metal from their robes.
“Lift your hands.”
The Givers raised their free hands, each displaying spread fingers to the Skeptic who stood before him. Sungui kept her eyes on Damodar. His face was impenetrable. He may not believe in the power of their enlightenment, but like her he knew this ceremony was his only true option.
“Sing your songs,” said Sungui.
The Givers chanted their ancient syllables.
The sharp edges of the blades hovered close to the skin of their smallest fingers.
“Strike,” said Sungui.
Moving as one, each of the Givers plunged his dagger deep into the breast of the Skeptic before him. The mouths and eyes of the stabbed ones widened in disbelief. Yet there was no sound from any of those mouths, and not the slightest of movements.
The Givers stepped back, leaving their blades transfixed in the hearts of their victims.
Sungui stepped down from the high seat and walked across the floor. She paced along the line of immobile Skeptics. Traces of crimson ran down the chests of their silver robes.
“Each of these blades has been aligned with the Ninety Aspects of Higher Being,” she told them. “Your positions in the universe are now fixed. We might keep you like this until the stars shift themselves into new patterns. Yet we are not so cruel. Not anymore.”
Sungui reached Damodar at the end of the row. She stood with her face close to his unblinking eyes. An expression of shock was frozen there. The last expression he would ever wear.
“As I explained to Damodar, none of us are above the law,” Sungui said. “The New Seraphim must be held to the same standards as their subjects, or the law itself is meaningless. The old days are gone, and the old ways with them. For the massacre of Avantreya and for the memory of its thirty thousand dead, we the Holy Senate condemn you. In honor of our shared heritage, we will accept you in the Ancient Way.”
Sungui raised her arms and began the Song of Salt. The silver robes of the paralyzed Skeptics paled, their flesh turning white as bone, their fleshy substance altered to saline crystal. Thirteen statues of salt stood before her with the hilts of black daggers protruding from their chests. She finished the song and a moment of silence lingered above the Senate floor.
She walked back to the high seat as the seven hundred came down from their benches. One by one they tore away pieces of Damodar, Zolmuno, and the eleven others, stuffing them into their mouths, chewing and swallowing their salted essence. The light of ingested souls streamed from the eyes and mouths of the Eaters.
These Skeptics will serve the empire yet, as they have become part of us all.
Word of this punishment would spread throughout the land. Men would know that the New Seraphim held fast to their own laws. There would be no more slaughtering of citizens, no more of Zyung’s heartless cruelty. The law of the Holy Senate was now the heart of the Living Empire. Only Sungui refused to take part in the mass devouring. The others accepted her refusal as the express right of the High Consul.
In the end there was little left of the Skeptics but a few grains of loose salt sprinkled across the marble. These were swept up by attendants, carried to the summit of the Holy Mountain, and scattered to the winds.