City of Stairs (The Divine Cities, #1)(138)
“I loved you, Shara. I did. I was very bad at it, but I loved you in my own confused, mixed-up way. I still do.
“I don’t know if you made the world, Father Kolkan. And I don’t know if you made my people or if they made themselves. But if it was your words they taught me as a child, and if it’s your words that encourage this vile self-disgust, this ridiculous self-flagellation, this incredibly damaging idea that to be human and to love and to risk making mistakes is wrong, then … Well. I guess f*ck you, Father Kolkan.”
A long, long, long silence.
Then Kolkan’s voice, trembling with rage: “YOU ARE UNWORTHY.”
The Seat of the World lights up with screams.
Shara struggles against her paralysis, wishing to rise up and run to Vo’s side, but she cannot: whatever miracle Kolkan has used holds her down.
She wants to scream with Vohannes, even as his screams intensify—shrieks of unbearable, inconceivable pain, louder and louder—as Kolkan applies unspeakable tortures to him.
Then the miracle breaks, and she is free.
Shara sits up and looks: Kolkan stands before Vohannes, one long, rag-wrapped finger pressed against Vohannes’s forehead; Vohannes trembles, his flesh quaking as if the Divinity is pouring endless agony and pain into him, and has completely forgotten about her.
Go to him! a part of her thinks.
Another part says, He baited Kolkan into doing this in order to free you. Kolkan’s so angry you’ve slipped his mind, for now—so what will you do with this chance?
Weeping, she rips her hands out of the loose ropes, shuts her eyes, remembers the lines from the Jukoshtava, and draws a door in the air.
There is the sound of a whip crack. She steps forward into the Cupboard and her body vanishes from her sight.
Kolkan looks up. Vohannes drops to the floor, pale as snow, and does not move.
Shara shuts her eyes and doesn’t dare to breathe: Parnesi’s Cupboard does not conceal sound.
Kolkan shuffles forward, his head sweeping the Seat of the World. Shara feels an immense pressure exerting itself on her, as if she is sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean. He’s looking for me, feeling for me. …
“THE CUPBOARD,” says Kolkan’s voice. “I REMEMBER THIS.”
Shara feels sick with terror. Kolkan is less than four feet away from her now, and she is awed by his size, his filth, the stench of decay leaking from underneath his many cloaks.
“I COULD CAVE IN THIS TEMPLE,” he says, “AND CRUSH YOU. IF YOU ARE STILL HERE.”
He looks up, into the ceiling of the Seat of the World.
“BUT I HAVE BIGGER THINGS TO DO.”
Then, abruptly, Kolkan is gone, as if he had never been here.
Shara still doesn’t breathe. She stares about the Seat of the World, wondering if the Divinity could be lurking in some dark corner.
A voice comes booming down out of the skies: “THIS CITY HAS GROWN UNWORTHY.”
“Oh, no,” says Shara. She looks at Vohannes, wishing to go to him. Prioritize, snaps the operative’s voice in her head. Grief is for later.
She whispers, “I’m sorry, Vo.” And she stands and sprints out of the temple.
*
All across Bulikov, in the fish markets and the alleys, by the Solda and in the teashops, the citizens stare at the enormous white cathedral that has suddenly appeared in their city, and jump as the voice of Kolkan echoes through the streets.
“YOU HAVE BROKEN COUNTLESS LAWS,” says the voice.
Children at play stop where they are and turn toward the giant white temple in the center of their city.
“YOU HAVE LAIN WITH ONE ANOTHER IN JOY.”
A street sweeper, still holding his broom, slowly turns to look up into the sky.
“YOU HAVE BUILT FLOORS OF WHITE STONE.”
The elderly men at the Ghoshtok-Solda Dinner Club stare at one another, then at the bottles of wine and whisky.
“YOU HAVE EATEN BRIGHT FRUITS,” says the voice, “AND ALLOWED THEIR SEEDS TO ROT IN DITCHES.”
In a barbershop beside the Solda, the barber, stunned, has removed most of an old man’s mustache; the old man, just as stunned, has yet to realize.
“AND YOU HAVE WALKED IN THE DAY,” says the voice, “WITH YOUR FLESH EXPOSED. YOU LIVE WITH FLESH OF OTHER FLESH. YOU HAVE LOOKED UPON THE SECRETS OF YOUR FLESH, AND KNOWN THEM, AND FOR THIS I WEEP FOR YOU.”
In the House of Seven Sisters infirmary, Captain Nesrhev, still bound up in many bandages, sets his pipe aside and calls to the nurses: “What the f*ck is going on?”
“YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN THE WAY YOU SHOULD BE,” says the voice.
A pause.
“I WILL RESTORE YOU.”
Ochre sunlight washes over Bulikov. The citizens shield their eyes, look away from windows. …
And when they look back they see the view has changed: it is as if all the city blocks have been rearranged, shoved out of the way to make room for …
An old woman at the corner of Saint Ghoshtok and Saint Gyieli falls to her knees in awe and says, “By the gods … By the gods.”
… splendid, beautiful white skyscrapers, lined and tipped with gold. They look like giant white herons wading among the low, gray swamp of modern Bulikov.
“YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN ALL I TAUGHT YOU,” says the voice. “I HAVE RETURNED TO REMIND YOU. YOU WILL BE SCOURGED OF SIN. YOU WILL BE PURIFIED OF TEMPTATION.”