Scheming Against Devotion (Book 2 of The Transition of Pinn)

Giddean:

Two weeks. It’s been two fucking weeks.

Two weeks of torment and loneliness and fucking silence.

Two weeks of thinking, going over the argument in my head, trying to understand things from her point of view.

It’s a cruel joke, the goddess who comforts us in the absence of Pinn females, keeps taking my females away. Perhaps I have done something to truly anger her and she deems me unfit. Or perhaps I have not done enough. She is a bitch who keeps her secrets to herself, judging silently without guiding.

It has also been two weeks since the priestess revealed the depth of the horror committed by the High Priest, yet I have heard nothing from the Master Priest. And I grow agitated.

I have begun to fantasize that by taking down her High Priest, I am also getting my revenge on that unjust bitch. It has led me already to some dark places in my mind. Places where I can singlehandedly destroy an entire religion.

I am writing a speech- a damning one. I scribble harsh words onto the paper in the dim light of the evening, only the shadows from the fireplace and the whispers of former conversations to keep me company. The library is lonely when one has no choice but to be alone.

I daydream about reading the speech on the floor of the Senate and watching the mouths of my fellow Senators dropping in shock. I can imagine the quick scratching of pen on paper from the journalists at the back of the room as they get ready to report that the Senator from North District has dared to stand up to the High Priest.

It’s a pipe dream to be sure. Revenge is never that satisfactory, nor will it make Ivy forgive me.

She’s angry for reasons I dare not hope to change. Corruption is a crime I can point to, but accusing everyone who worships the goddess of abetting murder, well – I don’t have that death wish.

Yet, I wonder. If I point to their crimes, would the people be open to listening?

I lean back from the coffee table where the speech lies in neat lines of fine paper. I grip the cool glass in my hand and take a sip of my liquor. It too has been a constant these last few nights, although I have never gotten as fucked up as the night before my fight with Ivy. Maybe if I hadn’t been hungover…

I don’t even believe the shit I told her. I mean, I do, but I know it’s just the rationale they use to justify the crimes they commit in the name of the bitch goddess. It was drilled into our heads as children, never questioned, never probed, we just accepted sacrifice to the bitch as part of the reality of this messedup planet.

I feel my head start to swim. Time for sleep and I want to make it to my bed tonight. I stand and my joints groan from the long hours sitting hunched over the coffee table.

I rub my eyes as I leave my mess in the library. Leaving my papers for tomorrow’s dark musings.

I slowly stumble along the hallway towards my room. Tired, yet knowing I am too agitated to really sleep.

My life is a fucked up mess and I don’t know what to do about it.

I pass one of the doors leading to the courtyard.

I don’t know how to fix my shitty position, but I know who is to blame.

I throw open in the wooden door, it crashes against the stone wall, and I stroll out.

She sits there looking serene. Her white marble figure reflecting the moonlight.

She sits naked in the center of the house, reflecting her role in the center of our lives, yet mysteriously partially hidden by the foliage of the courtyard. Around her crossed legs are the brightly colored bowls filled with the sacrifices of my employees.

Her veil covered head does nothing to hide her from my scorn. The bitch is taking another partner from me.

Without thinking I grab the nearest thing, a small wooden stool that sits among the furniture on the veranda. I rush towards the statue and bring it down over her bowed head.

Wood cracks and splinters. The bowls fly from their former perch, flinging their milky liquid to the ground. But the bitch remains, regal and indifferent.

I grab a heavier chair from the veranda. I also bring it down over her stiff head. The wood groans and crackles, but the bitch remains, unbending.

I spin on my heels at a sound behind me. A few members of my staff stare standing just outside the door to watch me and my failed destruction.

I spot James sleepily standing among them.

“James, have that bitch removed tomorrow”

“Hmm” James murmurs, surprised at being addressed, before nodding at my order.

I’ll stride back into the house, knowing at least I’ll never have to look at the cold bitch again.