PROLOGUE
Garten Armiston lived twenty-nine years, and in all his near three decades he followed the law to the dot. The Silver Church had set in place many laws, so many that it was impossible to keep track of every section, every division, every minuscule regulation. But it was not impossible for Garten Armiston. These laws existed for a reason. These were God’s decrees, and God expected the people to follow them, and Garten Armiston was a godly man.
So godly was he that the immediate morning after his infernal deed was committed, he walked himself through the cold streets of Silvertown, the crispness of the air hinting at the impending winter, and turned himself in. Yes, Garten Armiston had committed a terrible sin. And to commit a sin was to break the law. And to break the law was to defile the Silver Church. And the protectors of his faith did not tolerate such desecration.
Garten Armiston, after twenty-nine years of abiding the law, slept with another man. He could not help it. Carry Lowell was so dashing the night before. His hair gleamed gold, and his eyes shone bright like sapphires. He came to him, pleading for affection. Enamoured by the pale boy’s beauty, Garten’s lips ran rampant, and there was no patch of skin left unexplored on Carry Lowell’s stunning body.
The night was hot and passionate, but the coldness of the morning came, and Garten Armiston knew that what transpired between the two men was wrong. He left Carry – beautiful, sleeping Carry – to slumber in peace. Perhaps he deserved this little time of tranquillity. Garten knew that come noon, Carry will have been thrown in a cell of his own, and he hoped it would be one far enough from his so that he would not have to stare guiltily into the boy’s pretty eyes.
Indeed, Garten lived twenty-nine years, following the law. He never imagined that days before his birthday he would be locked up in a cage with a man who did not mind shitting and pissing all over the floor in front of a stranger. Perhaps he had it right. Garten had been keeping his bowels in check for – how long? A day? Perhaps, three? He did not know for certain. There were no windows where he was. The dark room was dimly lit by a small torch by the door.
They would be dead soon. Perhaps he should just let it all out now. It would be more dignified than shitting underwater as his life slowly drained out of him. He’d better shit now while he still had control of his bowels, maybe to compensate for the control he lacked over his manhood when he claimed the beautiful boy for his perversion.
He was about to stand and do just that when he heard the rattles of chain beside him.
“Her cunt was bloody good, I tell you,” the man almost croaked.
Garten turned to the other prisoner. He did not see much. From what little light they were provided, he could make out a wiry beard and a nose curved grotesquely to the side as if it had been struck by something blunt. It probably was, because from what Garten could tell, there were dark stains indicative of blood scattered below the stranger’s beak all the way down his chin.
“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you?” the man said, studying Garten. “Pretty... and clean. Too clean to be in this shithouse. They didn’t hit you?”
“No,” Garten replied. “No one hit me.”
“And how’d you manage that?”
“I turned myself in, so there was simply no need for anyone to hit anyone.”
Sniggering, the man shook his head. “May the Silver God bless you, you stupid fool. What’d you do?”
Garten had no desire to talk to this man. He had succeeded ignoring him for so long now and he wanted to maintain that streak.
Taking Garten’s silence as a stubborn refusal to respond, the other man sighed. “We won’t be alive for much longer, pretty boy. Why not make one last friend before your sins are... forgiven?” He spat out the last word sardonically.
Pretty boy. The strange man’s words pulled Garten’s mind towards Carry. Sweet, pretty Carry. He wondered whether the boy was arrested by now. He should pay for his sins too. Both of them committed an unlawful act, and both of them had to pay the price. Yet Garten’s heart felt heavy, his chest unbearably tight. Carry. Sweet and pretty Carry. Was he deserving of such an end? And for the first time in what seemed like days, Garten started to worry whether he did the right thing. Was Carry already executed? Perhaps, he escaped? Or pardoned? No. The Silver Church did not tolerate offenders. Indeed, the Silver Church did not pardon. They forgave.
And their forgiveness guaranteed one would never need forgiveness again. Not in this life at least, if one considered such folly. If Carry was alive, he would be escaping justice. If he was gone... he would be gone because of Garten. And Garten disliked the thought now, despite knowing he did the lawful thing. The right thing. If they died by the stewards of the Silver God, plunged deep into the cold waters of the town’s drownsquare, they were forgiven. Redeemed. That was the way. The only way.
“I- I lay with a man,” Garten whispered.
The other man let out a throaty laugh. “Did he scream and flail as you fucked him bloody?”
“No!” Garten exclaimed, austerely startled. “He wanted it. We both wanted it.”
“Senna did not appreciate my cock ramming up her cunt,” the man cackled as he recalled his violent debauchery. “She screamed, and thrashed, and tried to claw her way out of my grasp, shrieking- stop! Please! It hurts!” His imitation of his victim a high-pitched squeal.
Garten’s eyes widened. His cellmate was a rapist. The man he spent days with raped a woman and was mocking her. He wanted him to stop talking but could not find his voice to will up any command. The shock was preventing him from even turning away from the monster in front of him. Monster. Garten flinched at his labelling. This man was a monster. And so was he. His sin was just as grave and depraved. He remembered his cock, slick and hard, thrusting in and out of Carry. The bliss he felt as he committed such perversions was so vivid in his mind, he could almost taste the many peaks they reached that wicked night.
Listening to the horrific tales of the rapist in front of him triggered a recollection of his passionate and yet profane night with Carry, and now his cock was hard as ever. Yes, the man was a despicable monster. And Garten realised he was among his ilk at last. Monsters deserve each other. They linger in the darkness, like how they were now, waiting for prey. Was Carry prey? He wanted Garten. But Carry committed the same sin. Carry was also a monster. Was Garten Carry’s prey then? Carry, the malevolent seducer. The thought of sweet, beautiful Carry being monstrous or despicable was unthinkable. But the law dictated Carry was, by the conventions of God, a hellish fiend. A demon. And demons come from the deepest chasms, and so it is beneath ripples of water demons like Carry and Garten and the rapist that shared his cell shall be banished to.
“Don’t give me that look, you stupid fuck!” the man spat. Pointing at himself with a thumb, he continued. “Arren Delchlin hasn’t done anything that the hypocrites of the Holy Fellowship haven’t done.”
The small flame by the wooden door flickered as loud steps resounded from the corridor. Both prisoners turned towards the noise.
“Looks like we have newcomers, -” Arren stopped abruptly. “Hey, I don’t think you mentioned your name, pretty boy.”
Swallowing, he told the rapist his name. Monsters deserve each other.
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Garten, Fucker of Men.”
Metal clanking reverberated through the room as heavy locks and bolts were removed, and the door opened with a loud thud against the stone wall. Weighty billows of brown-grey smoke cleared to reveal two hooded figures flanked by guards with refined armour.
The guards shoved the latest prisoners into the room, and the shadows cowered away from the two suns that blazed from the guards’ torches. The silver of their chains reddened amidst the radiating gold of the flames.
“Caught just in time for the drowning later at noon,” a guard quipped.
The other one chortled. “Your sad god will watch you die today, fucking heretics.”
After opening the cell where Garten was, one of the guards lifted his sword forward, aiming at the already chained prisoners, daring them to make a move to escape while his blade was positioned at their throats. The other guard placed the robed newcomers in their own chains.
“Always nice to see new faces...” Arren jested. “It gets rather depressing here. Garten here is not much of a talker. But he talked today. Didn’t you, Garty? Ha!” Arren hollered. That annoying, loud laugh. Garten decided he would hit the madman once the guards left. He would. His mockery of his sins was insufferable. Deplorable. Garten had never considered violence until now. He heard in the face of death, people regret their sins and pray vehemently for reconciliation... but perhaps the truth is, in the face of death, sinners consider sinning even more, committing fresh atrocities, never to regain their former pure selves.
“Can’t you shut the fuck up, you little shit?” One guard spat, kicking Arren on the mouth. There was an explosion of blood as teeth flew out of Arren’s already bruised maw. “You couldn’t wait till we left the room at least? You’re dying today and you’re still asking for more pain?”
“Pain... c-can be... pleasurable... depends on per-perspective.” Arren said, spitting out a crimson fountain. “Just ask your pious priests shoving their cocks up little boy cunts. A body writhing beneath you, pain lancing through them as you rip them open... it’s painful for them, but for you, hah, that’s mighty pleasurable.”
“You’re sick.” A guard pointed his blade towards Arren.
“I am but following the example of our most holy leaders,” Arren croaked. “Out of all of us here, I’d say I’m the most religious. A true servant of the Silver God.”
The silver of the guard’s armour glimmered like moonlight as he moved to crouch down to the chained rapist. “You will die today, Arren. Along with your sins, you will die. And in death, perhaps then you’ll serve God.”
“Perhaps God will serve me and my big, fat cock,” said Arren.
“Fucking shit,” the sound of the slap across the prisoner’s cheek probably carried out through the halls. “I’m gonna kill you.”
“Leave it, Darius. He will be forgiven. Today. At noon. Just leave it.” The other guard pulled the one called Darius away from Arren.
“Yes, you’re right.” He took a breath and a moment to collect himself, and with a puff of his chest, Darius stormed out of the room. The other guard locked the cell before leaving with him.
“What a character, that Darius, eh?” Arren’s chains clanged across the stone floor as he played with his freshly extracted teeth.
Garten studied Arren’s face once again. He was bloodied, broken, and pitiful. Garten decided against hitting the poor creature in front of him. Besides, the chains on his wrists felt too heavy to lift. And he will be forgiven soon. Committing additional sins did not seem worth the trouble.
“Are you scared, Garten?” asked the broken Arren. “Are you scared of dying?”
“No,” said Garten, successful in his attempt to sound brave and assured. “This is the will of God.”
Garten’s hairs stood as one of the robed men spoke suddenly, his husky tone telling of the many years the man had witnessed. “You are wise not to fear death, young man. But not for the reasons you spoke. The will of our god, the one true god, is eternal life. Never death. Death is reserved for unworthy beasts of this world.”
“Unworthy beasts?” Garten queried.
“Those who do not pray to the Lord of Souls,” The other one added, a wide knowing smile etched on his face as if he was party to a secret that God himself was not aware of. “He blesses those who are loyal to him and devastates those who insult him. And he surely believes this imperfect world is insulting. One day he will scour this earth of its imperfections, and in the restoration of glory we will be free to live our immortal lives in paradise.”
“Sounds like any other senseless drivel of religious lunatics,” Arren hissed.
“I agree,” Garten voiced. “Besides, my God will forgive me.”
“What is this forgiveness that your god promises?” one of the heretics replied. “I have read the scriptures of your ever-forgiving god. Sinners drown for all eternity, in this life and in the next. This is how you will serve – sunken in cold gloom, trapped in anguish and regret, fading away in perpetuity. That is no forgiveness. That is your god mocking you for being so foolish to believe he cares.”
“He does care,” Garten almost shouted.
“He cares enough to punish you for one night with a creature he made too pretty to turn away.”
Garten gasped. His heart thrummed and his stomach felt like it was set to flame.
“Was it wrong? To caress his golden hair, to kiss his moonlight skin, to have him ride you into heavenly bliss again and again and again?”
How they knew about Carry, Garten could not say. All Garten knew was he wanted these heretics to stop talking.
“Sweeeeet Carry... he tasted sweet, yes? Oh, how sweet his perfect skin tasted!”
When Garten turned his head away to evade the stranger’s gaze, he was surprised to see Arren looking stunned himself. The man was quiet. Cautious. It was blatant even Arren wanted to stay clear of the newcomers. No longer did he appear his usual cocky self. Almost as if he understood quite well that these were dangerous men. More dangerous than he. They wielded knowledge that were not theirs to wield, and for the first time in many moons, Arren appeared relieved he would die soon. Garten felt for him. In death, he would not have to deal with these heretics.
“You must be wondering how we know.” The robed man pulled down his cowl, revealing parts of his face to be scaled, his reptilian eyes digging deep into Garten. “Our lord bestows upon us many gifts, and knowledge is just one of them. What has your god given you for your years of servitude?”
Garten’s body trembled. These men were no ordinary men, and it was clearer than anything Garten understood or knew. He turned away, unable to look at the creature for a second longer. Arren also crept away from the two heretics and kept to himself, stripped of his words.
As the day passed them, Garten could not help but ponder on what the heretic said. What has the Silver God given him? Done for him? He tried to muster whatever memory he could ravage in his twenty-nine years of worship and yet nothing came to mind... and the thought scared him.
Snapping him out of his trance was the heavy door slamming open, with guards marching their way to the cells. Their chains were detached from the wall but linked to each other, the prisoners forming a line of cuffed men awaiting their demise.
Barefoot, they were nudged by swords through alleys and streets as onlookers threw rocks and shit at them. In one alley, the good people littered the cobblestone path with shards of broken glass and pottery. While the guards’ were unbothered due to their formidable boots, the prisoners were forced to walk on the sharp clutter, their feet leaving a scarlet trail through Silvertown.
Broken and bloody, they finally reached the drownsquare. Each village, town, and city under the Silver Church’s influence had a drownsquare. It was a place in the community where criminals were publicly forgiven. In the middle was a short tower made of stone filled with water. Beside it was a wooden platform, a row of large heavy stones lay on top of it. Attached behind the platform was a wall with hooks lining it to hang coils of rope. A large crowd had gathered around it, anticipating witnessing the forgiving.
On the other side of the drownsquare was a dais with decorated thrones. Seated on the middle throne was the electun, the one chosen by God to lead his people. It was said all men were equal, but the church decided one must be the greatest of the equals to rule, and that shall be the electun. The current electun was Stefalex Medora, the Voice of God, the Forgiver of Sins, and the Slayer of Lies. He was old, withered, and so obese he was neckless. Below his eyes were lumps of thick skin, and his thinning hair was damp against his face despite the cold. Dressed in the most expensive silk of red and gold, Stefalex watched on as the prisoners were shoved their way to the water tower.
Beside Stefalex were other aging yet powerful men called the palamun, or as their ancient texts suggest, the lesser equals. Lesser than Stefalex perhaps, but still above the common people. They were holy men from influential nobility, dedicated to solely serve the church. They watched with Stefalex.
The crowd grew restless as the prisoners reached the platform. One by one, the chained criminals were severed from the others, hands bound behind them, and their ankles tied together and linked to a large boulder. One by one, they were asked by the electun if they understood their crimes and whether they sought the forgiveness of the Silver God. Garten looked on as prisoners announced their desire to be forgiven. Of course, everyone asked to be forgiven, save for the heretics who said nothing, instead jumping willingly into the water, their bodies disappearing in the murky depths.
At last, it was Garten’s turn.
“Do you understand the charges against you?” the electun asked from his seat.
“I do,” Garten replied.
“Do you admit having done these crimes?”
“I do.”
“Do you wish to be forgiven and serve the Silver God forever even in death as a sinless man?”
Garten prayed silently, asking the Silver God for forgiveness but he felt no comfort. God was not listening, he thought. He was not with him. He was nowhere near him. There was only Stefalex and his palamun and the crowds around him, calling for his death.
In that moment, Garten cried furiously. He looked up at the sky, dark clouds hanging over him. There was no Silver God looking over him. There were only the people of Silvertown who hated him. And realising what was about to happen, he hated them too. His eyes skimmed over the masses, resentment bubbling from within.
“Sir, do you wish to be forgiven?” Stefalex pressed.
Without a word, Garten jumped into the water, the weight of the boulder pulling him deep into the abyss. The last thing he heard was his body crashing into the water as onlookers gasped in shock. He kept inching down, the short tower now seeming to be bottomless. Eventually the rock below him hit the floor.
All around him were lifeless bodies. Quickly, regret clutched him by the throat. He thrashed, attempting to free himself from the ropes, wanting nothing but to swim to the surface and make it known to the world that he did want to be forgiven.
He could not believe what he had done. How could he not seek the Silver God’s forgiveness? What happens now, he did not know. But surely, dying without forgiveness would be a worse fate than what he had in mind.
He shut his eyes, still thrashing while praying intensely. Willing his god to listen to his pleas. But there was nothing. His prayers were left unanswered, just as they had always been.
Garten’s chest tightened and his veins strained against his skin. He could not hold his breath any longer, and involuntarily he tried to inhale but instead took a gulp of dreadful water that had been soaking several dead bloodied bodies. His body convulsed, trying to squeeze out the water in his lungs while his stomach pumped uncontrollably. He vomited hard. The sour white spurts that came from him almost looked as if his soul was leaving his body.
His eyes felt engorged as veins erupted and his vision blurred and blackened.
The will of our god, the one true god, is eternal life. Never death. The voice of the heretic echoed in his mind. What has your god given you...
Nothing, Garten thought.
Garten then prayed to the Lord of Souls, asking him to save him or forgive him or at least take the pain away. Anything. He pleaded for something to grasp, hope, love, comfort, things he thought he found in the worship of the Silver God but now believed to have all been an illusion.
No one answered. The pain still clung to him. His limbs were stiff and finally he could not see a thing.
Please. Garten begged.
And suddenly, he felt his cheek tighten and crack, his eyes burned as if it was being tempered. He was still choking, dying, and he felt everything there was to feel when drowning, and yet the pain was gone. He was still immobile, and his lungs were still filled with water. And blind, he only saw darkness... yet he found comfort in it. And perhaps most comforting of all was the melodic voice that called out to him. It came from nowhere but everywhere. Distant, but so clear as if its lips were pressed against Garten’s ears.
He urged it to speak his name once more, and it did. It was just a voice, quite possibly illusions produced by his dying consciousness, but the clarity of it was so much so that Garten tried to reach out to it with stiff, frozen arms, and he felt it slither across his fingers.
Scales. Garten mused. Those were scales.
The voice boomed louder.
And death claimed him.
