Page 44 of We Were Eternal Once

“No,” Essemteu replies pleasantly.

“We agreed upon founding that there would be none above the other,” Bastianos says.

“And yet, you named me leader.”

“We have no leader. You were named as a representative to approach her. You were the one we cared the least if she killed,” Theon snarls at him before turning to you. “Mother of Silence, more like murderer of your own kind!”

“Theon…” begins Shimon.

“You defend her now? What happened to not celebrating death? She has killed countless of our kind. Do we dare elevate a traitor to her own kind? How long until she kills us for disagreeing with her?” Theon’s voice grows in pitch and fervor, his green eyes bulging out of his head.

I will kill him, I think. I consider asking you for the easiest way to do it, but I see your face. It is blank, your shield against their words. It is the face you wore when you nursed me back to health after my burns, the same face you had when I admitted I’d commissioned a box to leave you.

The urge to kill him crescendos.

The others are uneasy at his words. Perhaps they think you will do it. Ardashir shifts from one foot to the other, having scented the possibility of bloodshed.

“A vote, then,” Essemteu proposes.

“If it is not consensus you want but clarity, then I will speak to only those who wish to hear,” you say flatly.

Then you leave. I am not far behind.

Neither are Essemteu, Ardashir, Menodotus, Dione, and Zahra.

The Rule of Five

They are all in our courtyard.

Essemteu sits on his usual bench, head tilted back to look at the moon. Zahra and Dione lounge on the edge of our fountain, their bare toes tracing patterns in the water. Ardashir and Menodotus stand, both moving shadows along the periphery of the group.

And you—resplendent but annoyed on the chair we dragged from one of the rooms. You sit elevated, all eyes on you.

“I call together the Rule of Five,” Essemteu says. He fell into his position amongst the new faction just as easily as the old one. They may follow you, but he holds their reins.

I hate the name. It’s supposed to represent the five remaining Elders (that you don’t know if they even still live) and the five rules (that none of them knew until you told them). The old group didn’t have a name—it was referenced in vague terms. The guild. The meeting. The group.

Yet here they sit, the Rule of Five, stretching themselves to every corner of our courtyard.

No longer do they wait for the full moon—the meetings are more often now. At first it was to establish guidelines for the group. Now? Now it’s just so they can listen to themselves talk and preen under your attention.

I do not begrudge their affection of you. How could I? You are worth every ounce of their devotion. It’s how they’ve infected every part of our lives. They blister and leave scars all over our home.

One of them is near you always. At first it was Essemteu, whispering in your ear, nodding along when you replied. Then it is Dione, who sits near you in silence, as though she can steal your greatness by proximity. Ardashir and Menodotus act like guards, though I suspect you could best them without a thought. They are young, brash, and think they can protect you.

Our only moments of peace are in the grave, when you hold me close and we fall into each other.

The meeting begins with a devotional to those who came before, the Elders that no longer exist, and the First from whom we all came. Any reservations about the First being a woman have vanished once they learn more of her. Her capacity for violence soothed the men, made her worthy in their eyes.

What do they think of you, I wonder? They follow, they obey and listen. Do they find your quiet words a type of strength, or do they think it a women’s weakness? I study them during the devotion. Their eyes remain closed, their heads tipped back to the moon in reverence.

Obedient servants.

Then it is much like the discussions from before, though they are wilder. There is no need to show restraint when surrounded by those who agree with you. It’s no longer just about humans as food, but their position in the world as a whole. Who are humans to lead, when they’ve experienced so little of the world? Should not one of us sit atop the throne in Rome, lead armies and churches and universities?

I hate this conversation. They think because they are older than the humans who rule that they are wise.

“And if the humans decide to battle by day?” I ask. I do not enjoy the group forum of debate—those who do are sycophants. They speak louder than the others so you might hear them better and praise their position. I do not think they believe their own words sometimes.