Cannibal Kings - A Dark Coming of Age Fantasy

NADYA

I sit in front of the Purity Checker, whose body and face is covered by the pale blue drapes.

It is the same opening which I always get:

“Dear Nadya,” the Checker says, “it appears your fractures have gotten worse. You are not here under the advisement of your patron, Missus Yarna, are you?”

“No,” I answer.

“Nadya, if you cannot find a way to abide your own wants and surrender yourself completely to the Suns, you shall never be Pure,” the Checker says.

“I know,” I say.

“What has happened, dear Nadya?”

“It’s not that I have done anything,” I answer. “It is that… I seek your guidance. I seek the Suns’ guidance. I seek your guidance before I go to the Temples, for I am sure the Mothers and Fathers would condemn me if I were to speak to them about this first. Your eyes, or your lackthereof, may be less judgemental. I hope. But if that judgment is wrong and I should go straight to the Mothers and Fathers, then I may leave. Just tell me to do so and I will.”

“No,” the Checker says, utterly skill and emotionless. “Remain as you are. What is it you would like to say?”

“It is a hypothetical scenario.”

“Hypotheticals are dangerous if they are fantasies.”

“No, it’s… it’s just a thought experiment.”

“Dear Nadya.”

I take a breath. “Okay. Let’s say that my friend is claiming to hear an ancient voice which reveals to them information unfounded within our libraries. Would this be a sign of the Suns? Or may this be a trial, a test of deception?”

The Checker remains silent for a moment. The other Checkers and the people whom they console do not react to me, but I know they have heard. It is almost taboo to listen to the confessions and Purity Checkings of another. But, because of the small space within the cottage, it is also inevitable.

I try not to squirm. The Checker is taking much too long to respond.

“Dear Nadya. There is no such thing as ‘ancient voices.’ What your friend is hearing is no voice at all, unless they claim to be a false prophet of the Suns. The Suns have no chosen children except the Enlighteneds. If your friend believes themself to be Enlightened, they must be Checked immediately. If not, this is false information which they spread to you. Your mind should be less gullible.”

“No, he—they are no false prophet,” I say. “I know that as much. And it is just a thought experiment. But is there no way for the Suns to contact us aside from our eventual ascension into Enlightenedhood? There are no other alternative routes? At all?”

“Your friend is spreading false information. There are no ‘just thought experiments’ which do not partially derive themselves from truth. I highly recommend, if you would like to save your Soul from fracturing any further, to get this hypothetical friend to Pray a Prayer of Redemption most committedly. A fast may be induced of this friend. But, most importantly, a trip to the Temples. For false prophets may be saved if they are once more reminded of the Work which they owe the Suns, whom gave them life. Do you understand? For if your friend believes themself to be more important than they are, a life of bacjidi awaits them.”

With each word the Purity Checker speaks, my heart plummets.

Bacjidi. The official word for ‘Mind Hell.’

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“I Pray for you, dear Nadya. I Pray most wholeheartedly.”

One never wants a Purity Checker to Pray for them—that implies that my Prayers have not been doing enough on their own. Tears prick my eyes and I step out of the cottage.

***

I find I cannot face the usual bustling busy courtyard. It feels as though each person will have heard the Purity Checker’s monotonous drone of my failures and my hypothetical. It feels as though the knot in my stomach can be seen through my frock and through my skin, a freakish display for all to gaze. So I walk through the back of the Fortress. In doing so, I pass the Slaughter Houses.

I often try to avoid the Slaughter Houses when I make my way through the Fortress. They look as though they were built in a haste—just giant cubes of eviscerated stone in four symmetrical formations. There are no decorative bricks or roofings, as is similar within the rest of the Fortress. There are no windows. The Slaughter Houses are a burden which contain no signs of life within them. They are silent buildings. I never see anyone go in or out. I know that the Butchers and Bloodmixers must come and go to distribute rations of meat, bone, and drink for the Kitchens. But they are always unseen.

The Slaughter Houses are huge. In them could probably contain the bodies of many of those plague-ridden chained up Souls that lay burdened on the streets of Mecraentos.

I speed up my pace, as I would usually do, but then I pause.

Standing just a few legs away are three Lighteneds. Lightened Roe, Lightened Chrysan, and Lightened Danver. With them are two men. At first, I do not recognize them. But then I see the black uniforms and the stains on their cloaks. These men are Butchers.

I turn my head downwards. I do not want Enlightened Roe to see me so shamefully, when I’ve just been talked down to by a Checker. At that moment, Lightened Chrysan and Lightened Danver step into the Slaughter House.

“Nadya!” Lightened Roe says.

I curtsy and raise a palm to my head, keeping my eyes—which I am sure are slightly red—facing the ground. “Lightened. What are you doing at the Slaughter Houses? Is that not… ill-fitting for you? I thought you were going to continue to revise your Thesis.”

“I only went to accompany Chrysan and Danver,” she answers with an elegant smile. “They both realized that most of the other Lighteneds our age that are Court-bound do not have an interest nor much research regarding the Industry of Butchers. If we are the next generation to fill the Court, someone must oversee that our Houses are productive.”

“I see.”

She looks back at the Slaughter House with an almost wistful air. The Sunlight illuminates her face just so. “Honestly, it is admirable, considering how… ill the Slaughter Houses must seem. You must stomach hard truths to be good for your people, right? Chrysan and Danver are good. They really do care about Mecraentos.”

The shame in my stomach only churns faster. “Yes, Lightened. You’re right.”

Here are Kaki’s peers, his fellow Lighteneds.

Kaki wants me to go back to the City with him, to meet Lucy. A failed scholar.

It made so much sense that first night in the City. When I touched his arm. An electric, horrible, indulgent touch. Of course he should spend the time he has researching a lost history. Of course that makes sense.

Yet his reasonings as to why slip away from me with each confusing second.

Here are his peers, his fellow Lighteneds. They are lowering themselves down to the status of a Butcher to better understand their Mecraentos and her complex workings. They are putting themselves in positions which will give them knowledge to better understand their people when they are inevitably given power. Kaki knows he will be given those same powers, maybe even more so.

These Lighteneds do not waste their time talking to illegal booksellers and fired scholars from the Industry of Scholars in a broken down City, a City which holds no place for such Pure Souls. They do not waste their time speaking of ancient Shenai peoples, of an ancient Voice in their heads. They are working to better society.

Kaki is the smartest person I know. I love him. So how can someone so smart not see that the best application of his smartness is to change society now? Why spend so much time dwelling on the past?

It didn’t occur to me, that night in the City, that Kaki could have been lying. That he could have been deceitful. Kaki would never lie. Or, if he would, he would never lie to me. So this Voice he hears when he sees the blank pages must be real. Or perhaps it is a matter of perception.

Kaki has dealt with his Purity yet lack of Enlightenedhood his entire life.

What if this is simply a coping mechanism? A desperate last attempt to prove there truly is a reason for his oddities? Something truly special about him? One last chance to prove himself as too worthy to be a simple Industry or Court member? Is this a matter of spite to him, for he hates the Industries and Courts so? Is this just an excuse to keep away from the Trials? Perhaps not an excuse in that he is lying to me. Kaki wouldn’t do that. When I had the flyers for the Fyi Festival, I could not lie to him. I highly doubt he could do so with me.

But what if he has convinced himself?

His perception does not match reality, yet it is still a viable truth. Is that all this is?

Or maybe it is none of this and he really should have the chance to explore topics which he finds interesting before he is bogged down by politics. But who, truly, ever has that luxury? I am sure that Lightened Chrysan and Lightened Danver have their own interests that must be put aside in order to carve out time to speak with Butchers and Bloodmixers. Does Lightened Roe not wish, sometimes, that she could have been raised just a class lower? Perhaps, if she had more hours to dedicate to her music, she would be the greatest pipe player, the greatest composer, that we have seen in cycles. So why should Kaki get a luxury which these other young nobles do not?

What if I had been raised by Missus Yarna to say, ‘You can explore whatever you want, your duties aside.’ What if I decided I wanted to pursue an interest in, I don’t know, artistry? I would not be such a good friend to Kaki, I think.

“Nadya?” Lightened Roe says. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” I say. “I’m sorry, but I have to find Lightened Bakiyoria.”

***

I step into Kaki’s chamber after a quick knock. No one ever comes to visit but me and occasional messengers who call in the name of Enlightened Everleigh. He has not changed into nightly attire, indicating that he still plans on sneaking into the City when the Moons rise.

His face brightens when sees me. “Nadya! I was actually about to come get you.”

I frown. “You were?”

“Yes. Wait. Stay there. Don’t walk any closer.”

“What?”

I glance at the bag on his bag. It is packed. In it, I see his illegally founded, wordless books peaking gout.

“Don’t worry,” he says, his hands behind his back. “I wasn’t going to ask you to come with me one last time. I actually have a gift for you.”

“Excuse me?”

In a slow and extremely dramatic fashion, Kaki brings his arms forward. In his hands, he clutches a ball of skin. When he undoes it, I realize that it is a dress. A simple thing, with modest sleeves and a modest skirt and not much shape to it, but I dress with more style than any frock I’ve ever owned. The patterns from Jeran. But there’s no way. Kaki couldn’t have—

“You… how—” I say. “You sewed that in just a Moon?”

“I couldn’t sleep the night we got back from Mecraentos City,” Kaki says sheepishly. “Or after that Court summoning. So I stayed up and made this. It’s actually not great. The seams are about to all come apart. I just wanted to have something to show you because you’re better at sewing than me and I figured if it were a gift, you would actually keep it and fix it up better than I could ever dream of. The patterns from Jeran were surprisingly simple to follow.”

My mouth is dry.

“Kaki. I don’t know what to say.”

“Here. Take it. Tell me what you think.”

I hug the dress tightly against my chest. It has horrendous, juvenile stitchings. The body is unproportional and the hem of the skirt is uneven. The sleeves are of two different lengths. It seems that this is one disciple which Kaki has not mastered in an obscenely short amount of time. Yet, despite all its imperfections, it feels as though it were sewn with gold.

“It’s perfect,” I find myself whispering.

He grins, running a hand through his long, greasy hair. “Good. I was nervous. You can fix it up however you like. But if Missus Yarna asks, you can say it’s from me and you wouldn’t be lying.”

I stare at the dress. I don’t even know if this will fit me. He didn’t take any of my measurements. Yet I hug it tighter to my chest.

Right then, I decide to tell Kaki about my trip to the Checkers and my reservations about his research. His everything.

He nods with each word thoughtfully. The only time his brows furrow is when I tell him the Checker claimed he was spreading false information.

“I’m not lying to you, Nadya. I couldn’t lie to you.”

“I know.”

“So do you really think I am?”

“No.”

“Well, good.” He sits down on his cot. “I can’t make you not worry, Nadya. I can’t say anything that won’t cause you to think and overthink and rethink the meaning of it. You don’t have to come with me, but it’s… I’ll say that it is lonely, Nadya. I wish just I were not the only person in all of Mecraentos that knows how to read.”

I just nod.

“I’ll come with you tonight,” I say.

“You really don’t have to.”

“I want to,” I say. “But you have to promise me something. You have to begin preparing for your life after this. You might have to get married. Learn about the Cratic. Learn about the twins. Meet people in the Industry. Just… give me some reassurance that you’ll be okay when you’re older and all eyes look to you. Okay?”

He smiles, but it does not quite reach his eyes. He still tries, though. “I can do that for you, Nadya. Easily.”