In His Name

Chapter 18 - Trespassing on Blasphemy

Air brushes against my skin, cool and empty in the places where Rosco's fingers had been entwined with my own. The void had filled with a pang of longing, the pull of something I desire for myself. It's sensations like this, that pass below my radar when my true eyes are open, the things simply too small to see when I am infinite. I desired to hold on a little longer. I wanted the feel of his hand in my own. Not because his skin was warm, I had known it would be, or the texture of his hands, rough from hard work, but because he had reached for me when he usually pulls away. I quickly came to the realization I enjoy being close to him, and every time he allows me closer, I feel a rush of pleasant excitement. A rush I find myself seeking to feel again. When my head is not so filled with all the things I know, I am troubled by all the things I feel. I wonder if this is what Mother wanted me to learn as I climb the steps, passing through the doorway into this temple of insults. The heels of my boots click against the polished stone floors, yet another eccentricity of being physical I may have never have bothered to notice I enjoy if I had not taken the time to shut out all the other noise.

The Temple's grand hall spans the majority of the ground floor. Large pillars divide the space into three areas. The walls to my left and right pitted with alcoves, each holding a shrine dedicated to a specific mountain spirit, worshipers and offerings cluttered around them. The center space holds Manarow's shrine. It is significantly larger than all the others; a great cutting of stone from his mountain, respectfully arranged atop a beautifully carved and decorated dais.

One sensation I could have gone without, is the way my blood boils seeing heretic priests fill the ears of impressionable followers with grotesque lies and empty promises. Seeing the greedy smiles on their disingenuous faces as they urge broken families to leave further offerings among those already pilled so high the shrines they are meant for are nearly buried underneath. My memory is vast and unending, yet it does not need to delve deep to show me ghosts of my past layered over what I see here. My own beautiful marble temple layered over stone. My followers offering praise and thanks were these offer tears and pleas. My priests, the men and women I had once chosen to speak in my name, that I had shared my very essence with and trusted with the care of my people- Every eye turns on me as my pain, my anger, my sorrow pours out of me in waves, shaking the very foundations of the earth.

"Manarow!" My voice thunders. I need to get this over with quickly and get out of this wretched place before I do something I said I wouldn't, "I would speak with you!" The ground shakes again, but this time it is not a physical rumble, something only I can feel. A quake in one of the worlds interlaced with this one. The spirit realm trembles at my call, yet the one I seek does not answer.

The head priest begins to trot over, eyes bulged, cheeks puffed with indignation. He is even more vile than the others. All he has done, he has carried out only for his own gain, his countless achievements, his villainy and underhanded deeds, to build his own power. This wretch cannot even hide behind the thin vale of desire to serve his fake god. The disgusting excuse of a man opens his mouth to begin his tirade and I shut it with a snap of my fingers. I know his heart; I do not need to hear his words, or I will surely do something Rosco will scold me for. I honestly don't mind Rosco's scolding; I just would rather see him smile. A collective gasp rises from the followers as the damnable priest begins to panic. The eyes on me are turning from curiosity to a collective look of awe and fear. I pinch at the bridge of my nose. It may be that this sort of thing is why people always seem to have such a bad impression of me. I wave off the attention and everyone present returns to what they were doing before I came. Humans are not the crowd I wished to draw.

Manarow may not have responded to my summons, but I notice a few of the smaller mountain spirits have come to see what caused the commotion. They linger in the shadows, muttering quietly among themselves.