Page 117 of Insolence
“And regeneration,” he adds. “After Máiréad was killed, her essence collapsed into a vortex of seething chaos. Eisha absorbed that raw power. Untrusting of herself and the New Gods to wield it without corruption, she fragmented it.
“From this unfiltered chaos she distilled matter and magic. She created two beings: demuns from pure magic mixed with the chaos that remained. Mages from matter imbued with magic, giving us the ability to manipulate life-force. Both of these beings were created as women, in Eisha’s image.”
I can’t help squawking at the blatant hypocrisy. “But why wouldn’t the prioress want us to retain that information?”
“The prioress doesn’t acknowledge the Dead God, Tiss. Neither do the patriarchs. For that matter, I’d say the vast majority of people don’t anymore.” El shakes his head. “Aodh is given all the credit for creating natural humans out of the matter that remained when Eisha had finished her work. There exists a growing faction of folks who considerhimcreator of the universe, not Máiréad.”
Indignation on the Dead God’s behalf courses through me. Even though it’s just a story, a myth, I prickle at the injustice.
“To most people, changelings are nothing more than mistakes of nature. Aberrations. We keep to ourselves as best we can. Try not to step out of line. We’re ignored until we become a nuisance. Create problems.”
“By breaking Inviolable Laws.” A shiver wracks me, and I huddle deeper into my cloak. “Then we’re sent here.”
“Most of the time, yes. Especially in the case of demuns. Too often it doesn’t even take breaking the law. For us mages, it's sometimes nothing more criminal than being odd. Knowing things before they happen and the like. In far too many cases—for demuns and mages alike—it can merely be a matter of pissing off the wrong people.”
“What people?”
“Husbands. Fathers. A highborn married woman might be sent here if she’s caught having an affair with another woman. Or her lover might, for having the audacity to engage her.” Heglances away, and I have to strain to hear his next words: “Set an example for others. That sort of thing.”
Nausea rises at the extent of it, at the insidious power this temple’s existence holds. “El, that’shorrible.”
“That’s reality. You knew all of this before. You and every other woman in the realm. And it gets worse.”
My head whips around. “How does it get worse?”
“You asked about dark magic.” He unbuttons his shirt sleeves, and I watch as he slowly rolls them up his forearms, his skin glowing burnished gold in the lamplight. “We haven’t discussed this in class yet, but there’s often a component of pain involved in using magic.”
My neck snaps back. “There is?”
“Mm-hmm. Take Mediation, for instance.”
Ritual tattooing.
“It’s painful,” he shrugs. “When done by a high priestess, it’s also a route to commune directly with the gods, to implore their blessings. Of course, Alchemy and Conjuration require the use of syphoned life-force.”
We both stare at the stone goddess, my stomach for some reason doing a somersault. “Whatissyphoning, El?” I finally ask, afraid to raise my voice above a murmur.
“Syphoning is a step beyond mere manipulation.” He gives a sigh. “While manipulation is a bit of a broad term, tosyphonlife-force means to cleave it from a person’s soul and extract it from their physical body. There’s inherent violence in it. Itmustbe accomplished using pain.”
My mouth runs dry.Is that what I did to Sadrie? Did Isyphonher?I can’t help but wonder. She did say that whatever I did was “excruciating.”Gods, and I bit her hard enough to leave that horrid bruise.
He looks at me, his tone grave: “In regard to light magic versus dark, the distinguishing factor is consent, Tiss. It’scrucial that the person getting tattooed or syphoned gives their consent. If they don’t enter into it willingly—don’t remain willing throughout—we classify that as dark. Sadly, dark magic is considerably more potent than the light kind. Its temptation proves too alluring for some mages.”
“Ah.” It’s the only thing I can think to say, sensing there’s more to come.
“As for the ritual, it’s a procedure that amounts to torture we’re better off not remembering. Mixed with poisoning.”
“Torture!Poisoning?” I spit the words, appalled.
“The prioress is a proficient alchemist and an expert poison maker. The ritual is… complex. During it, Deirdre and her nuns syphon a great deal of life-force without consent while administering the targeted poison Deirdre concocts. The result is partial amnesia. Complete elimination of prior knowledge of changelings and anything remotely associated with them on an individual basis.”
“All right.” I feel sick. My palms are clammy.
“Every year, Deirdre uses some of the life-force she and her nuns syphon during the ritual to conjure the dome over the temple. Preventing anyone from leaving.”
“Because this is a prison.”
“Right. A prison for demuns and a sort ofrehabilitationcenter for mages. She partners with the Five, seeking to instruct us in a very specific skillset so she can sell us off as seers to the high houses.”
