Waters of Oblivion

Chapter 35: The Ceremony

Hidden from view behind the grand organ, a disused door creaked open. Several pairs of footsteps echoed through the underground chamber, their owners unseen until they reached the far end of the aisle.

Turning her head in the direction of the sounds, Reine gasped.

Five figures wearing hooded, black robes surrounded another man in the middle. Unlike his companions, he was dressed in a white linen shift tied at the waist with hemp string. A plain, white sack covered his head, obscuring his vision.

There was no question it was Max.

A hangman's noose fashioned out of rope hung around his neck, the person in front using the free-end to lead him along. The other four framed the duo as the slow procession moved toward the chancel.

All eyes except for Reine's were trained toward the front of the chapel. Convention probably dictated full compliance, but she didn't care. There was no way she was letting Max out of her sight. Plus, it let her get a better look at the audience.

Some she'd seen at Wescott's garden party, but most faces were unfamiliar. They were all likely members of the Order of Westminster, leaving her feeling like a vulnerable lamb in a hungry lion's den.

She sighed. In the very least, she expected Mal to be here. As Max's right-hand man, his absence on such an important day was inexcusable. Reine had also hoped others from the Confraternity of the Resurrection - her friends she hadn't seen in months - like Kenzi, Mikey or even Dodger would show to lend their support, if not their blessing.

Perhaps that was it. If they disagreed with Max's decision to subjugate himself to the Order - even if it was part of some much larger, more elaborate scheme - then they were staying away in protest. Maybe they were already assembling to thwart Wescott's impending take-over. But how could they manage when Max couldn't do it himself?

Reine squeezed Gabe's hand in anger, making him look down toward her with concern. She shook her head, dismissing his unvoiced offer of pity or assistance. What she needed was to get out of there, taking Max with her as far as she could. When things calmed down enough, they'd confront his former supporters - they didn't deserve to be called friends - and chastise them for failing their leader when he needed them the most.

She bit her lip as the six figures walked past, reaching the base of the sanctuary and stopping just short of the raised floor holding the altar. Peeking between the heads in the front row, Reine watched as the leader handed the rope to one of the others before stepping onto the platform. He then slowly turned toward the audience and pushed his hood back. Given his stature, as well as prominent role in the procession, she wasn't surprised to see Lord Wescott revealed.

Touching his fingers together in front of him in a tent formation, the tall, graying man began to speak in a clear, deliberate tone. "The ancients had a type of wisdom many of us have unfortunately forgotten. We've built our society on their knowledge, so let us remember their words through something the great poet Homer wrote in The Odyssey three millennia ago," he said.

Pausing for dramatic effect, when he spoke again, his voice was even more forceful. 

"Nothing feebler than a man does the earth raise up, of all the things which breathe and move on the earth, for he believes that he will never suffer evil in the future, as long as the gods give him success and he flourishes in his strength; but when the blessed gods bring sorrows too to pass, even these he bears, against his will, with steadfast spirit, for the thoughts of earthly men are like the day which the father of gods and men brings upon them."

Reine shivered. Was Wescott comparing himself to a god, destined to take away Max's happiness?

She didn't have time to ponder this. With his soliloquy over, Wescott motioned with one hand for the rest of the group to step forward. The man behind him pushed the captive as far as he could go before the chancel's step and removed his head covering.