My Mother Divinity [Unedited]

Chapter Three

The assassin's finger swipes over a mark of dried blood on the table. Still sticky, almost blackened. Shaped like a fingertip.

Of course, they would have burned off her fingerprints for anonymity purposes, but also because there are a lot of pesky nerves in the hands to get rid of. And the whole place is coated with slivers of her - her blood, her sweat, her fear, her piss. He's never seen a Treatment room in such disarray.

The candles are blown out, useless in the middle of the day. The only room without a window to filter light in is the basement and this is the room he's most interested in, the one he's been contemplating for hours.

He kneels by the examination table, old cloth bandages coiled around the legs like snakes, touches the cool metal with his gloved hands and bows his head. "God of Servitude," he mutters under his breath, "as your name suggests, you know I am always your faithful slave. Help me find this heathen and I will slit her throat like cattle. I will spill her blood on the sands of your beaches. My eyes and ears are yours."

Someone puts a hand on his shoulder, interrupting his prayer. "There's no reasonable explanation," Mr Tierney, his coworker, says, "she should have died, Watson. It's the Gods' will."

"You dare say they're making a mistake?" Mr Watson hisses, clambering to his feet. "My theory is that they allowed her to escape so perhaps we could make a spectacle out of it, hang her in a city square, as a final example against Treatments. Faith in the Gods has been lacking since the news leaked."

"There's only word of mouth now," Tierney reassures him, "which is the most unreliable source of information. Most people still think her a myth."

"I don't care what most people think. I care what the Gods think, and they think we're failing!"

"Is that what they tell you?" Tierney is at the top of the stairs, examining the body-shaped stains where the guards were killed. "And what do they say about Amon?"

"Radio silence." That is the most frustrating thing, to have the voices in his head be the most tuned-in source of information, but no inkling of Amon's motives. "We've never known for sure what he wants, only that he's been on her trail for months. I assume he'll try to study her, to find out how to Treat himself or others, and then..."

"Then it all comes out," Tierney finishes. The secret much of civilisation craves: how to break their ties to divinity, the concept that keeps them warm at night, the rulers that should make their lives simple. Slaughter some sheep, drown the children they ask for, the sacrifices they require. Deny the Gods pain and humanity would be done for.

Tierney is not as invested in the case as Watson is. For his colleague, money is money, and he keeps good faith with his fearful family and the deities this way. Assassins are publicly hired now, and no longer inclined to keep their motives or methods in the dark. Murder is a casual thing, a necessary way of life for many.

"You understand this is important," Watson says, "and I have asked the Gods for their reasons and I have been denied that, and hell if it isn't frustrating but our job should be simple. Amon has the most painful fate in store, and as for the girl? Her death will be unfortunately painless but still absolute. Her punishment shouldn't be contested - whether she was brought here against her will or came of her own choice, she has committed the worst sin."

"Amon's sister was Treated," Tierney reminds him, "willingly. She got what she deserved."

"Of course she did. Calista Boswell's Treatment is the most infamous case." But despite her death, she caused a revolution. A revolution of spite and ignorance and loathing, which up until now only resulted in death. The bitch must be cackling in her grave that finally, somebody has managed to not only survive but to escape and risk spreading her tales of Treatment like a disease.