Crimson Court

Bound by Blood

At the ritual leader's concluding words, two more priests emerge from the shadows. They carry two squirming bundles of cloth to a large stone bowl. Behind them are black stone sculptures - mangled bodies stepping on one another as they twist and claw their way up toward salvation. A gathering of about twenty worshipers shift and murmur as they encircle the bowl. Jocasta is pushed to the back, peering above the shoulders of those in front. Flared hoods obscure her view of the rite, but the air brims with palpable excitement. In the brief lull, Jocasta hears the sporadic pitter patter of droplets, glancing to see the mirror-like surface of the lake gently quiver.

"The Ailtire have granted us a doctrine for Ascension. It is a journey of purification, redeeming our past sins through worship and sacrifice. You are all here today because you are fearful sinners marked by mortality. Alas, we would not be worthy of redemption if the path were not arduous."

The priests unwrap the cloth, revealing two babies cradled in the nook of their arm, each wearing golden masks with unsettling smiles carved into them. They paw at their veneers, crying woefully in protest. Jocasta feels compelled to say something, but she glances to those around her who watch with eager curls of their lips, and she rescinds her extending arm.

"The first of our mortal sins is growing old. In aging, we distance ourselves from the Ailtire's eternal image. Each wrinkle or graying hair is an affront that condemns you to hell. The second mortal sin is opening our eyes. In this act, we shun the Gods of the Ailtire who exist in the richest darkness, where soil meets sky in vacua. Both of these things you have accepted as inevitable. I do not blame you. For I too didn't know any better either. The truth is an intimately guarded secret, bestowed only to the faithful. To you. And while you have suffered the dwindling sands of the hourglass, there is still hope."

With a flourish, the priests manifest an elaborate dagger, aligning it against the helpless throats of the two wailing souls. Their masks smile back, oblivious to the end. With a slow cut, parting flesh like a seam undone, blood seeps until the cries cease and limbs droop. Jocasta's heart flutters with sorrow, and she offers a solitary, silent prayer.

"Hope lies in the youth, for they are closer to the Gods than we, communing with them in the womb until the moment their eyes first crack open. In consuming their blood, we absorb the residual essence of our divine benefactors. By transfusing your aged blood with that of the new and the virtuous, we reverse the tolls time has taken from us, until we cleanse ourselves of sin."

With the bowl full, the lifeless bodies of the babes no older than Ada are tossed into the lake. What was once a pitter of drops falling from the spire turns into an unbroken stream.

"Drink," the heralding voice commands as a golden chalice is dipped into the bowl and passed around. Jocasta watches nervously as each member takes a mouthful, some more greedy than the others. The chalice is refilled, once, twice, thrice, and then passes into her hands. The lesser priest offers words of encouragement, noticing Jocasta's hesitation.

"This cup holds the antidote to death. Drink heartily, drink merrily, as this cup will save you from damnation." Jocasta stares into the liquid reflection of herself. She doesn't see the crows feet around her eyes, or the graying wisps that cascade down her cheek. The scars of mortality. Of sin. Jocasta knocks the chalice back, warm blood flowing down her throat. It paints her lips scarlet, sputtering down her chin like pagan warpaint. A rush makes her light headed, the thought of immortality tantalizing, and its cost terrifying. Jocasta hands the chalice to Liliana, who gratefully takes it and follows suit.

The chalice passes into the hands of every believer, draining the bowl until it returns to a pit of black stone and gold dust. The pastor ushers all of them into two concentric circles around the ritual basin. Twelve on the outside, eight on the inside, including both Jocasta and Liliana, who step closer.

"Kneel," the pastor commands, and all the peasants, guards, tailors, and scribes of different status do so without question. They were no longer of disparate class and fortune, but unified under a singular faith.

"In sharing the chalice, we are bound by blood. Your first act of penance in a long journey."

The two lesser clergymen walk around the perimeter of each circle, carrying an ornate box with neatly stacked identical masks. Each person receives one, some taken to tears as they hold it against their forehead in gratitude. Others turn it over and look around with concern. A swift strike of the gavel heralds silence, and the pastor continues his speech.

"Through these masks, we bind ourselves to the Ailtire. Timeless, as is their image. Sinless to the outside world."

Jocasta receives the mask, examining its androgynous features. It's glazed in a brassy gold, dull and somewhat rough in texture. It's a simple mask, with a silk lace to tie around the head, but there is one peculiar oddity to it. The left eye socket is sealed shut. Jocasta wraps her fingers to the inside of the mask and winces when she feels a pin prick. She turns the mask over and seizes up. Where the left eye hole should be, a single spike about the length of a thumb extends toward her. She immediately switches her glance towards Liliana who stares back with apprehension.

"Turn your heads to the lake." The conclave obeys.

"How many of you have seen something so vast? Confined in your four walls, no matter how large, it will always feel stifling. Remember this vastness. This is the freedom immortality will afford you. Your eye, a drop within this infinite ocean. Your eye, a token of faith to free yourself from the shackles of mortality that will deliver you to hell. The Ailtire offer us a hand, to pull us from the infernal depths, and into their eternal kingdom. Don the mask. Pledge your faith to the Ailtire, and take your first step into the new world as it was before the time of sin."