Death After Death PLUS 273-275

Ch. 273 - The Selection

Simon didn’t have to wait too long to take the plunge. Though it sometimes took weeks of exploration and play through the vast and crowded city of Zurari for him to find the next Selection, the next one was only a few days later. Truthfully, he hadn’t even been looking for it. He’d been dragging his feet, looking for an excuse to find some new bit of preparation he could undertake to delay it a little longer while he dashed about enjoying his carefree life. 

That all changed when he was eating a skewer in one of the river markets, and he heard the familiar high-pitched sounds of pipes not so far away. That was when Simon knew it was time. While he wasn’t quite in danger of giving up, he definitely felt like he was spinning his wheels, which he believed was one of the biggest dangers of the Pit. 

Anyone trapped in here who lived long enough to get the hang of things without going insane could do anything and be anyone. Simon often reflected that it was like a raindrop in an ocean. It would be very easy for Simon to just disappear until he died and ended up back in that cabin. He could just become Nijam. He could live his whole life as a Magi or a spice merchant or whatever he wanted. As long as his hidden stash of gold held out, Simon had a very easy life, and whether it was fear of what was coming next or some hormonal change he’d inflicted on himself, part of him wanted to bask in that indolence a while longer. 

Today, those thoughts just made him walk faster. A while longer could very easily become forever, and though it would have been a good life, it would make for a bad trend. Simon could very easily see how it would be harder to escape that trap than not if he started walking down that road of enjoying himself. 

Why not live a thousand wonderful lives with a thousand different women, Simon thought as he caught up to the parade. You could have new sons to replace Seyom and new wives to replace Freya.

He ignored those terrible ideas and instead squeezed through the crowd toward the robed, masked men. Their outfits might be colorful, but most of their souls were black. None of that mattered to Simon right now, though; all that mattered was acting like just another kid in the crowd and jumping when they threw sweets in his direction. Most of the children might never get Selected, but every one of them loved the parades. 

The procession took half an hour before it wound its way to a large courtyard that held three tents. Sometimes, there was a fourth, but this space wasn’t big enough to hold it. Simon had no idea what that meant, but he hoped to find out. 

What if you aren’t selected? Simon thought as he pressed forward with most of the other kids around, a juggler who was making the balls he was flinging around disappear one at a time. What if they just pass you right over? 

Simon ignored those worries too and pressed forward, trying to seem the most eager of all the children as the Magi in a red lion mask made the now familiar statements. “Which of you is the bravest? Who can feel that spark of magic in their souls? Who loves our God-King most of all?”

Each of these was met with roars of high-pitched voices, eager to be the one that was picked, but Simon made sure he was loudest of all on that final question. To him, the Magi were a secretive order with knowledge he wanted, but more than that they were a cult. To the masses, they were a religious cult, and between that and his inside knowledge about the type of people they were looking for, he hoped that would be enough. 

With great theatrics, the Magi selected from the children one at a time. They claimed to be able to stare into the souls and determine who might have the spark of greatness. Simon knew what they were really looking for, of course, but he kept that knowledge from his face as he tried to feign wonder and excitement. He was rewarded for his efforts by being the third one to be picked out of six children. 

He was taken by the hand and ushered into the first tent, which turned out to be the one that had the orb, decorative paintings, and wall hangings he'd seen on other nights. Simon never understood why this tent was the first they visited, but he would now. 

“You six are special,” a Magi with a green bird mask intoned. “But before we can proceed, we must find out how special you really are.”

There was a big song and dance then, where the masked Magi promised to reveal the secrets of the universe to the children but didn’t really say much at all. None of it interested Simon. It was more mythology than mysticism. 

That continued for several minutes before they finally got to the introductions. Before they were allowed to approach the orb, each child was asked for their name, along with a few other questions. Simon noted that none of them seemed to have much, if anything, to do with the amount of magical power someone might have; they were more like something you’d find on a census. 

Fortunately, Simon wasn’t asked first, which gave him time to come up with a convincing lie in an attempt to make himself seem like an ideal candidate. While he watched each of the children come up to the orb, he rushed to decide which clan his parents should hail from and whether or not he should tell them how his nonexistent parents died. 

Each time a child touched the orb, it brightened the room a little bit, but the effect was not dramatic. The Magi in the green bird mask noted the color and the brightness and gave some insight into what such a combination might mean, though Simon felt like that was probably made up. 

“Ah, pale blue, fourth magnitude,” the man answered after the first child was done. “You would make for a wonderful poet, child.” 

Simon didn’t really understand what they were measuring, but even though it seemed more like horoscopes or mood rings than anything, he still committed everything the men said to memory. 

What if they have a way of compelling me to tell the truth like Freya did? Flashed briefly through his mind at the last moment as he stood and introduced himself. 

No such magic restrained his tongue as he announced. “I am Nijam of Dyers Road, and I am but a humble orphan. My parents died when I was very young. So, I don’t know what clan I hail from, but—” Simon planned to give the group at least the highlights of his well-planned sob story, but before he could do that, he was waved off, and he was directed to grip the orb. 

He did so, and for a moment, it flared quite brightly before settling down into a dull red. Simon couldn’t gauge anyone’s reaction to that because they wore masks. The only indication he was offered was “Ember colored, third magnitude. I can see you've led a very hard life.”

Simon spent the rest of his time in that tent wondering if they made the light red because of his sob story or if his suffering had somehow made it red. Do souls have a color? He wondered. Surely, if they did, his magic would burn brighter than all the children he was in here with, right?

After the magi had finished examining their souls, they congratulated them and said, “Each of you has passed and is fit to be a servant of the God-King. Let us feast,” before escorting all of them to the second tent. 

Simon was skeptical of that. Usually, they picked exactly one child from each Selection that he’d observed. Sometimes it was zero, and sometimes it was two, but never more than that in his experience. So, he found it difficult to believe that his entire group had suddenly passed. It was far more likely that this was a trick for purposes he hadn’t yet discerned. 

When they reached the second tent, he found it to be as luxurious a place as one could imagine that still might be packed away in an evening. It was dominated in the center by a broad grill that warmed the whole place and made it smell divine. Most of the rest of the place was taken up by tables already filled with food, but some room was still spared for tapestries, statues, and piles of cushions for them to sit on while they ate. 

Still, despite everything else, the tables were the most dominant feature, and they were stuffed with food of all types. There were roasted birds spinning on spits, meat pies, and candies and pastries of nearly every variety that he’d seen in the city. Simon had spent his time in the city eating only the common food that an orphan like himself was likely to be able to afford, which meant stale bread and skewers of meat of uncertain origin. Compared to that, this feast was enough to make his stomach growl. 

The women he’d seen so often before were here too, though they wore veils, so he could see no faces. “Help yourself,” the red lion-masked man said with a wave of his hand. “Whatever you like, as much as you like. Simply ask one of our beautiful cooks, and they shall grant it to you.”

The other children hesitated, just like Simon did. He was pretty sure they worried they’d get in trouble for obeying, but Simon wondered what the game was. This was a test, but not an explicit one. He lagged behind at the back of the group while the first boy stepped up. “I-I’d like one of the cheese breads, please, and perhaps, a bit of the shawarma if you wouldn’t mind.”

The street urchin had eyes as big as saucers, and Simon was sure he’d go back for seconds and thirds if he was allowed. He might eat his own weight in food this afternoon. Simon didn’t blame him, though. Just this much was a fairy tale if you were a poor child. 

“And you shall have both,” the green-masked Magi said. “Who would you like to serve it to you?”

The boy seemed confused and then stuck out his hand at random, pointing at the nearest woman. “Does it really matter?” he asked. 

“I suppose it doesn’t,” the red lion-masked Magi agreed half-heartedly. 

It did, though. Simon was sure of it. He just wasn’t sure why. As the first girl and second boy started to make their selections, Simon struggled to figure this out. There were three women here. Were there always three women when I spied on these Selections at night? He wondered. 

He was pretty sure that there were usually four. More importantly, he was pretty sure that there were usually three women with dark auras and one that was brighter. Is that it? He thought as he moved forward in line. Two Magi, three tents, four women, five children? Is that a real pattern, or am I connecting dots that don't make sense?

Ch. 274 - The Selection (Part 2)

Simon desperately flicked back and forth between trying to understand the game and looking for the fourth woman he expected to be here, but it was only when he approached the table and the silent women standing behind it that he finally figured out what he needed to do. All of the women had been chosen at least once already, but those, as it turned out, had been the wrong choice. 

“I’ll have…” Simon hesitated before picking out several seafood delicacies he hadn’t had the chance to eat in ages. That was the easy part. Next, he waited for the red lion-masked Magi to ask him who he wanted to serve it to him.

He paused then, for dramatic effect, and raised his hand, but instead of pointing at any of the women in question, he paused and then looked at the Magi as if he needed reassurance. “Anyone?” he asked.

“Well, it’s generally beneath a Magi to serve you,” he said, making the man behind the green bird mask chuckle, “But if you want me to—”

“No, not you,” Simon said, faking an involuntary shudder. “Her.”

Simon pointed past the man, the statue that stood there against the wall behind the table. There was no indication that it was a person. Simon wasn’t sure if they’d accomplished that through illusion magic or very clever body paint and clothing, but either way, she was a perfect disguise. 

Despite his absurd choice, the Magi didn’t mock him. Instead, he paused before asking. “Why would you pick her instead of anyone else?”

“I… Uhhh… I thought it would be clever,” Simon lied. He knew what this really was. 

This feast was a distraction from the real test. They wanted to know who could see things that weren’t there, like statues that were actually people. While Simon couldn’t do that without a little help, this time, he could at least fake it convincingly. 

“You sure there’s not some other reason?” the Magi added as he gestured to the woman. “Something deeper?”

As the red-masked man signaled her, she came to life, making the other children gasp in astonishment or squeal with delight. Simon could see that. It was rather miraculous to see what had been a marble statue suddenly come to life and start serving him some of the most delicious food he’d seen in years. It made him feel like this was a fever dream. Even so, he couldn’t ignore the Magi’s question. 

“She seemed, uhm… safer,” Simon said finally, deciding to act like he was afraid of sharing his secret. 

“Ah, I see,” the red-masked man said, leaning close enough that Simon pretended to flinch away. “And is that because she was brighter perhaps? Tell me, child, do you see the lights?”

“I… Uh, not all the time,” Simon stammered. “But sometimes.”

“Very interesting,” the man stepped back, seemingly satisfied. 

Simon had no idea if his performance was enough to make him pass their test, but as the red Magi retreated to confer with the blue one, he took his platter and ate with the rest of the children.  

That was the first time they spoke to each other, and all of them squealed with excitement. “Can you believe we’re all going to be Magi?” one girl gasped. “This is incredible! I’ve always wanted to know magic!”

Everyone agreed, even Simon. Some insisted that they wanted to serve the God-King, but most of them were just excited that they would be rich or powerful. He knew the truth, though. Most of them wouldn’t remember this. Hell, I might not remember this, he told himself. It was hardly a sure thing. He’d figured out one trick, but there was no indication that his soul had been special from that orb in the first tent. 

Simon didn’t let his doubts slow his efforts to devour his fried shrimp and sweet breads, and he definitely didn’t let them dissuade him. There was nothing he could do differently anyway. All he could do was play this to the end. 

The Magi gave them ample time to eat. It was only after everyone had gone back for seconds, and a few of them had gone back for thirds, that the masked men finally gathered them up and took them to the next tent. 

This one was the smallest of the three and had a hole in the roof to let in daylight. There, each of the children was given a slate, some paper, or an easel, and given simple instructions. “Make us a picture of our beloved ruler,” the green bird-masked man ordered. 

“But I’ve never seen him,” the youngest boy pouted. “How am I supposed to know what he looks like?”

“You’ve seen statues, haven’t you? And mosaics. Surely you know what he looks like,” the Magi countered. 

That much was true. Simon had seen many public works of art of the man. To him, all of them looked just different enough that he was pretty sure that whoever the ruler was, he didn’t look like any of them. Simon had no way to prove it, though. It was just a suspicion and, for the moment, an irrelevant one. What really mattered was how he wanted to handle this. Should he paint them a masterpiece? Obviously not. There was no way he could explain that. 

For this test at least, though, he was pretty sure he knew what they were looking for. They’d already tested his soul and his sight, but unlike the rest of these children, he knew how important imagination was to the casting of spells, and that was obviously what this was. 

Simon didn’t try too hard to make his art good, but he did try to make it interesting. He picked up half a dozen hues of pastels and got to work. While some of the other children were still arguing that they weren’t exactly sure what to do, he was busy drawing a crude version of the city, with its rings of walls, a workable skyline, and, of course, the ziggurats. Once he had a crude, smudged version of that in place, he drew a semi-transparent version of the God-King towering over the whole of the city with his hands stretched to the heavens, just like they were on most of the statues around Zurari.

While Simon had been one of the first ones to start his little art project, he was one of the last ones done, and even though he’d deliberately tried not to make it look too good, it still looked worlds better than any of the other children’s efforts. This one was a stick figure, and that one was an angry face. Only his drawing had shading and composition. 

He almost immediately regretted it, but the two men he was with seemed thrilled by it. Though they took away all of the artworks for study, they studied his the longest. That was comforting because when they were done and returned to the original tent with the orb, they put all the other kids who had gone through these strange trials with him to sleep with a whispered word. 

Magic, Simon’s mind screamed. Magic I don’t know! He felt fear go through him then, but even more than that, he felt a thrill. There was so much here that he could learn.  

Despite his secret certainty, though, Simon remembered to act panicked. One second he’d been sitting, and the next he was on his feet looking left and right like a cornered cat. 

“Be still, my child, be still.” the green-masked magi told him. “The others will be fine and will be released when we are done. They have had a good day, but they don’t have half the potential that you have.”

“Potential?” Simon asked warily. “Potential for what? Magic?” 

“Potential to serve,” the green man asked. “I just have one more question for you.”

“You don’t even have to ask,” Simon blurted out. “I want to serve. Especially if I get to eat regularly.”

The man in the red lion mask asked. “We know you will serve. The question is, how far will you go.”

“How far?” Simon answered with feigned confusion. He knew exactly what this was. This was a deal with the devil, and unfortunately, it would only be the first of many when dealing with people who had souls as black as this. “For our God-King, I’d—”

“Anything is a big word,” the man said. “It’s easy to say but harder to do.”

“Without this city and him, I’d have less than I already have,” Simon insisted. “I’ll do whatever I have to to prove it to you.”

“Would you kill them?” the green-masked man asked, gesturing to the children. “Would you kill them while they are helpless and sleeping?”

Normally, Simon would have hesitated, but he knew that there were survivors. More than that, he knew that the same number of people that went into these tents each afternoon came out each night. So, instead of questioning whether he might have to actually do it, he simply reached back and pulled the knife he always carried from his belt. Then he raised it up high like he was about to stab the first boy to fall asleep. 

It was all an act, of course. If they didn’t stop him, he’d pause at the last moment and take care of them instead. He couldn’t kill them while they were in such close proximity to these kids, but he could make them wish they were dead, and that was almost as good.  

Fortunately, he never got that far. That was the moment that one of the magi whispered something behind him. In an instant, he felt the unnatural exhaustion stealing across his mind, and he began to slump down on the cushions next to the other sleeping children; he knew that they’d used magic on him. 

Is this where they wipe my memory of all of this? He thought with a growing sense of dread. Did I go too far? Although he was sure he’d passed some of the tests, he had no way of knowing if he’d failed this one in his eagerness any more than he knew what word they’d used to incapacitate him.

Still, even as he slumped bonelessly to the ground, he fought the fatigue that suddenly wrapped around him like a warm, fuzzy blanket. Simon knew the effect was magical. He knew he could probably cancel it with a word of lesser nullification. 

If he did that, though, he was also fairly certain that the orb they’d just used to test him, along with any number of other indicators, would flare to life to betray him, and that would end this adventure before it started. 

More than anything, he was worried they might make him forget all this. The idea of losing his memory was vastly more terrifying than the idea that they might imprison or even torture him. He couldn’t do anything about that without ruining everything, though. All he could do was trust in their bland, slightly interested expressions as he was dragged into the darkness. 

He was fully aware that it could be a giant mistake, but even so, he struggled against it. He lay there as the masked men discussed the situation, and a few words percolated through his fitful slumber. 

‘Not sure about this one… Something is off… that picture… vicious… Good enough to become an acolyte at least...’

Each of those echoey words came from somewhere far away, and that distance stripped them of all their meaning before they reached him. Still, Simon’s drowsy mind struggled to put together the pieces. Were they going to choose him? Were they going to pass him over? Was this all a ruse to cover some other hideous fate? 

‘All three… the brightness of the orb… plans later…’ Were those different voices? Was it a single speaker? He couldn’t say. Everyone sound the same as his grip on the last threads of consciousness slowly lapsed. 

He had no idea, but the longer he lingered in this unnatural sleep, the more the world around him faded. Eventually, Simon could hear nothing at all. He might have laid there for another minute or the whole night, and he wouldn’t have known the difference until he awoke with a start by the man with the green bird mask. 

Simon yawned as they awoke him. It annoyed him that he’d been put to sleep by a word of power, but it annoyed him more that it had been said too quietly for him to hear and learn it. Still, nothing bad seemed to have happened while he lay there, and when he woke, he was still in the same spot, and no one had slapped him in chains or anything. 

“Come with us, young Nijam,” the man said as he shook Simon’s shoulder. 

“Where are we going?” Simon asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. As he stood, he noticed they hadn’t even taken his knife from him. 

“You are an orphan, yes?” the man with the Golden Lion mask asked. 

“I—I am,” Simon agreed, not sure where this was going. 

“Then there are no parents to pay or agreements to be made,” the Magi said. “You can come with us directly to your new home. You’ll find more food and warmth there than you ever could on the streets.”

Simon couldn’t exactly hesitate at that, not without suspicion. Instead, he forced himself to smile widely as he nodded and was escorted out of the tent. The third Magi stayed behind to whisper something to everyone else. They won’t remember any of this, he thought to himself triumphantly as he was led by the remaining Magi toward the Ziggurat of Lesser Miracles. They won’t, but I will.

Simon smiled to himself a second time as he was escorted alone through the dark streets. This second smile wasn’t forced like the first one had been. It was a small, secret thing that he kept to himself. 

Despite his glee and the fact that there was zero sign that he’d done anything to arouse suspicion, he was still cautious. Indeed, there was every indication they considered him a marginal candidate. ‘Good enough to become an acolyte, at least,’ were the words they’d used to describe him, and for Simon, that was perfect. He wanted young Nijam to be no one special. 

That was the best way he’d worm his way into the center of this place and learn what he could while he figured out how to cripple them from the inside. Simon didn’t want to kill people at random, of course, but it was probably going to take a certain amount of killing to stop the industrial slaughter of criminals, slaves, and other undesirables that powered this strange city, and Simon wouldn’t shy away from that. Something would have to be done.

Ch. 275 - A New Life

Simon's heart was still pounding in his chest when he was escorted by the two remaining Magi to the waiting carriage. He might have completed the Selection, but his journey was only beginning, and perhaps, for the first time in many lives, he was truly entering uncharted territory. 

It might be the first time since the Unspoken, he thought to himself as he walked. 

Certainly his time with the Oracle’s little cult had been uncharted, of course, but she was much more benevolent. The big difference, though, was that his time in Hepollyon never felt like he was walking into the lion’s den, but what he was doing now certainly did. 

Every little detail was putting him on edge now, from the way the Magi walking with him talked about him as if he wasn’t there, to the silent nighttime streets, to the deferential way the slaves and servants moved around them as they broke down the other tents. A few hours ago they would have looked at him like garbage, but now they didn’t dare to look at him at all. He was one of the elect, and it wasn’t hard to stay in the sort of shellshocked character that was his role as Nijam.

For now, he emulated the silent Magi and kept his eyes firmly fixed ahead on the elaborate carriage that was waiting ahead of them. Normally, Magi traveled like peacocks on brightly colored palanquins, but for such a large group, that was infeasible. 

The thing was just the opposite of their usual conveyances and was lacquered in dark colors with heavy curtains to block out the world, but that made it no less fancy. Even the spokes on the oversized wrought iron wheels were twisted into delicate geometric patterns. 

When the first magi entered, he whispered a few words under his breath, and a tiny glowing butterfly sprang into existence. It did more than light the dark, claustrophobic interior of the vehicle, though. It wasn’t just a glowing mote of light like Simon would have cast. 

Instead, it fluttered and flapped inside the glass sconce attached to the ceiling of the compartment. As soon as the door was shut, it was all that Simon could do to pretend to be astounded as he tried to decide if the behavior was created by the words, the intent, or the vessel. 

“Do not worry, Nijam,” the red-masked Magi said with barely restrained mirth. “That is the least of the miracles you will learn in your new home.”

Simon wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply nodded and enjoyed the light show. He’d thought they would leave immediately, but they waited until the third Magi joined them, which made for an uncomfortable moment in the suffocating incense that permeated the confined space.

Once all four of them were in the wagon and they started moving, the men quizzed him for a few minutes about a number of particulars. These were the same sort of test questions he’d had to endure through the selection. These seemed more of an effort to determine what bad things he’d done to make his aura so dark at such a young age. 

How many years had he been on the streets? Was it a hard life? When was the last time he’d eaten well before today? Each was easy enough to lie about, but he still had no idea if they might have any way to sort lies from truth with magic, so he tried to base his answers on true things just in case. Let them think he was obfuscating if they wanted. They would just assume he’d done terrible things he didn’t want to talk about. That was a normal enough human reaction. 

So, he told them how he’d lived alone almost since he’d first come to the city and the frequent fights he’d gotten into with other boys his own age. He neglected to mention the small fortune in gold he had buried under a wall in the building he currently rented, though, and that those fights had all been for play, not survival.

Eventually, their interest in him waned, and they began to talk about him rather than to him. Simon ignored that, but only because he figured out from the way they spoke that they’d switched to a language they didn’t expect him to know. He still had trouble parsing who was speaking what language since he could understand them all, but he’d grown very good at reading social cues. 

Listening to them while they thought they were speaking in secret was better than being asked questions, anyway, because it was much more revealing. It was also disturbing as they joked with each other about whether or not Simon would survive the indoctrination. 

“He seems tough enough,” the red-masked Magi answered when the blue-masked Magi seemed to imply he wasn’t going to make it. 

“I’m not so sure,” the green-masked Magi added. “There’s talent in him for certain, and a darkness too. He’s a fine neophyte, but I’m not sure he has enough fight in him. The other acolytes may eat him alive.” 

“Well, that's half the point,” the blue-masked man added. “The pyramid is for sorting, and not everyone survives the process. All will serve the God-King to the best of their ability.” 

Their words seemed to imply that Simon was going to be thrown to the wolves, but he didn’t mind that. More ominous was the idea that his death might still serve them somehow. That almost certainly meant they did something to the bodies or the souls of those who died, and he had no desire to find out if Helades' magic would protect him from such a fate.

This time you might have bitten off more than you can chew, Simon told himself as he pretended to wait impatiently. 

While all this went on, he fidgeted and struggled not to respond to the things they said, lest he reveal things about himself that he shouldn’t. He also resisted the urge to open the curtain to peek outside so that no one would see the need to correct him or worse, and interrupt the flow of the conversation that the three Magi were having. 

While they’d covered the windows for some reason, Simon had hoped to see the ride into the inner city. During all of his previous trips, he’d tried to avoid the areas where he was most likely to find an abundance of Magi, but now that he finally had an excuse to gawk, he was denied the chance. It was frustrating, but he knew there would be other options. 

By the time they arrived at the Pyramid of Lesser Miracles and everyone exited the carriage, Simon was pretty sure that these three had lost almost all interest in him, and they passed him off almost immediately to an older man in gray robes. He still had a bit of the ageless look that all Magi shared, but it was strained, like it was a bad facelift. 

“We have a new neophyte for you, Minder,” the blue-masked Magi told the new man before taking off his mask and tossing it back into the carriage as his peers were doing. “He’s quite the artist. See if you can make something of him.” 

“Of course, Exalted ones,” the man said in a carefully neutral tone as he bowed to them. “Each child you bring me will find their place in the God-King’s plans.” 

Each of those comments was interesting to Simon. There were so many layers there. There was the difference of hierarchy, deference, and religious fervor. Even color seemed to play a role in whatever was going on around him. The three Magi he’d been with had all been dressed up in finery fit for any noble, but the Minder wore gray, and the few children his own age he could see wore matching robes of brown or black, depending on their ages.

Then there’s his agelessness, Simon thought to himself. What does that mean? Is he a Magi in a teaching role, or something else? 

Simon only had a few seconds to take all of this in. As soon as the Magi were done speaking with the gray-robed man, he whirled on Simon and judged him silently for several seconds. It occurred to Simon that most children would have withered under that gaze, too late to do that. The most he could do was look away suddenly, as if the man’s intensity was too much. That seemed to please him, because he finally spoke then. 

“You’re a scrawny one, aren’t you?” the gray man asked. “I’m surprised they didn’t throw you back and find someone more worthy.”

Simon pretended to flinch at the insult, but he expected it was the first thing that men like this said to every neophyte within the order. After a moment, he added defensively, “I just want to find my place in the pyramid.” 

“I expect your place is on the street,” the Minder said with a feral grin. “Which is where I’d send you if it was my choice, but if the Magi have chosen you, then we will give you a chance before we throw you away.” 

Simon thanked the man, but his stiff response made him think that the Minder expected something more dramatic. Simon didn’t care if he was disappointed, though, and after a few minutes, Simon was taken to a nearby building where he was forced to bathe in cold water before his hair was sheared off, and his scalp was shaved by an old slave woman who was only slightly more gentle than the Minder had been so far. 

Through all that, he was lectured about the grand expectations placed upon all of them and a bunch of near-religious mambo-jumbo. While he listened, he largely ignored what the man said. Instead, he noticed that no one bothered to ask his name, which was, again, very telling. 

Then, shivering, he was given cheap sandals and rough brown robes that reminded him a little of his time with Zoa before he was made to throw the rest of his belongings into the fire of a brazier that seemed to be kept burning for that express purpose. 

While he did so, the Minder gave a short lecture that he’d obviously given many times before. In it, he tried to impress on Simon that this was the end of his old life. 

“You have nothing now,” the gray-robed man explained. “Nothing but what you earn from gaining the God-King’s favor. Do you understand? Any family you might have had has been paid for. Any objects or garments are only ashes now. Even those robes belong to our lord and can be taken away if you ever displease him.” 

“I do,” Simon answered, trying to sound appropriately afraid as he kept his teeth from chattering despite the warm night. This time the Minder nodded and seemed satisfied with Simon’s response for once. 

“You may sleep there tonight,” the man said, pointing at a corner not so far from the fire. “In the morning when they blow the horn at sunrise, you will go to the top of the pyramid and present yourself to your instructor. 

Your class will help you sort everything else out from there.” Despite his experience and his age, he was a little taken aback by that response. The Magi inducted children into their cult or school or whatever this was, and then, rather than answering any questions or explaining anything, they treated them like shit and threw them to the wolves. 

I’m really going to enjoy tearing this place down, he thought as he bowed and moved meekly to the corner. The Unspoken had been pretty creepy, but at least they’d given him an explanation and a tour. Here, he didn’t even know what he’d be doing tomorrow. He was just kind of expected to wing it.