Page 50 of We Were Eternal Once

Then we covered them.

Once again, I was in a temple—but I was no longer a rat. I was a priestess, the oracle, the chosen. I was the closest line to you. No longer was I a silent observer of the debates, now I was included in them.

Zahra and Menodotus fell into line as though they’d witnessed your display of power. Whatever Ardashir and Dione told them about that evening was enough, they demanded no further proof. They simply appeared in the temple and began to work to pull it from its decay.

First it was fortified, for no human was to touch the sacred ground unless they were a sacrifice. There was also concern for retaliation from the other faction over Theon. He remained with us, chained in a room for me to practice the gift of silence on.

It took me years to master compulsion, how long until I learned to permanently silence our kind?

Perhaps it was fear that kept the acolytes at bay, or perhaps it was the promise of power. At first they did not ask, they just followed you. They made the temple over in your image, and once more I was reminded of Delphi.

They drained a human on the altar, each positioned under a major vessel, lapping at the flowing blood until he died. I remember a different altar, covered in blood, the songs of the temple turning to screams in my ears.

No, not screams.

It was so long ago, my memory misplaces it.

Theon must be strong enough to survive my practice, so I flick little bits of human blood at him and laugh when he tries to catch them. He yells and screams and curses me, but I don’t care.

“A question for a question,” I offer.

“Fuck you,” he spits, but his mouth is dry from starvation.

“Do you long for death?” I ask.

“When I get free, I will make you beg for death,” he promises.

“Hmm, that does not answer my question,” I say, and I take the remaining blood away. He curses me, then screams, then sobs. I press my ear to the door of his cell and giggle at his agony.

Who is useless now?

Who is ordinary and simpering?

I am not the one sobbing for droplets of blood. I am the priestess of the Temple of You. The Rule of Five is no longer a meeting of intellectuals, it is a living being.

And it wants to grow.

“Recruitment,” Essemteu suggests, opening his arms wide.

“Limited,” Zahra agrees. “We cannot have just anyone join the ranks.”

There are no ranks—there is you, there is me, and there is everyone else. Even Essemteu is not elevated, though he claims to have your ear almost as much as I.

This is a lie. He doesn’t even know where we live.

Moving from our home was a necessity. The fight drew too many eyes, and we’d been there too long as it was. The neighbors grew suspicious as we did not age, did not work, did not contribute to society as far as they could see. Their children were born and grew and moved on to create families, and we remained, young and free.

If Essemteu or Dione wanted to reach us, they had to wait for us to appear at the temple.

“We will leave to Memphis first,” Essemteu suggests. “Along the way, we will spread the Rule of Five. The doctrine is sound, it should bind all lamia together. You are right, without these rules our kind is forever threatened.”

You’ve never said what killed the Elders, though we all suspect we know the answer. Humans—finding us in our weakest state. They need not lift a weapon, simply open a window and we are dead.

“Travel will be easier as a group,” Zahra agrees. “I think we should coerce a human to take us. Perhaps two, so they may rest on occasion. They can ensure we travel by day and night and keep us safe.”

“Four, I think,” Ardashir says. “Guards to protect us.”

“Is it taxing to hold the sway of more than one?” Dione asks. She fell to her knees in that courtyard, but her devotion is always at arm’s length. Her questions dig into the deeper layers, unearthing the truths hidden beneath. Her silence during debate is not because she has nothing to say, it’s because she knows how valuable it is to listen.