How We Eat Our Young
Meritites
I
It was the night before she was to give her first offering. And by no coincidence she dreamt her earliest memory as she so often did before such days as the morrow.
With nervous anticipation her mind roved back, her body turned and tossed in a restless sort of sleep and she remembered. Though twelve years passed, she could recall it as though it were yesterday. Mother was still living at home, though she was more or less absent of the mind by then, father's hair had not yet grayed and Jason's face was still plump with baby fat. Meri herself must have been yet shy of her sixth year.
Braving the dark of the early morning hours, she'd snuck on the tips of her toes down the hall. In her dream it was the length of a runway and black as pitch, and she crept like a whisper along just as she had each morning for the last week or so to steal a peek at Jason's gerbil. The little thing was pregnant and due any day now. For whatever reason Meri had developed a childish sort of obsession with the expectant rodent and its coming offspring. 'It's just a thing young girls do.' Her father had said when Jason complained.
This particular morning the poor doe had finally delivered. Though it would not be a particularly happy occasion. Meri's sobbing screams had likely woken the whole of the apartment building.
Jason's gerbil had given birth to a modest litter of two. Though breath had only come to one, the other had arrived stillborn and cold.
She'd come upon a half eaten pinkie and the bloodied coat of its mother. With long red fangs she'd carved the pitious thing to gore. Viscera slabbed upon the wood chips, shreds of translucent skin ripped like wax paper, a leg torn free from the torso, and bits of red twine hung limp. To this day she could see it and see it well, that hairless, lifeless little piece of meat, a fingertip's worth if that, and the black eyes of the doe, so unnerved, with blood that painted her snout scarlet.
Rodents, her father had explained then, were not ones to waste flesh, 'It's instinct,' he'd declared simply, as if it made it all ok.
The rest of that day was largely spent in sobbing fits of tears and snot.
All that had been able to stay her cries were the imaginative stories her father had spun. He had held her in comforting arms beside a roaring fire and regaled her til' grief turned to joy and tears to laughter. Tales of dragons and knights and heroes and villains, of distressed maidens and most of all, of love.
How she loved love.
Meritites
II
The fountain that sat in Grand Peliton square was old, very old. Her father had gone so far as to deem it ancient, dating it back to an early barbarous era of roughly one and a half thousand years gone. In fact, he'd said the whole of the grand cities, the old palaces and cathedrals and modern skyscrapers, crept up around this fountain, and not the other way around. According to him, the gnostic settlers of the gray had stumbled upon the pagan sculpture standing on its lonesome and judged it a sign that this was to be the birthsite of the greatest civilization man had known.
Who knows if any of that's true though, she considered, father had always had a penchant for make believe and an odd humor beside. She could rarely tell when he was being true. She liked that about him.
Regardless, the thing was definitely old and the distinctive fingerprints of time had taken their due. Countless cycles of weatherings and restorations had dictated its form, the original carvings further distorted with each iteration, the lines growing ever more askew, the faces fuzzier, molded slowly and indeliberately by each sculptors individual interpretations, mutating, the way oral tradition changes the nature of stories over the course of centuries.
Her nails flitted across the scarred white marble, the stone had been marred by decades of rain and oily touch, staining it a brownish red, cracks and missing chunks dappled across its stone. The thing was due for another restoration and soon.
Despite the wounds, the queer scene which stood atop the fountain could be deciphered well enough. Two genderless figures, oblong and smooth, both carved of the white marble, both seated cross-legged facing one another. The thicker one wore a tall conical hat of bronze, the scrawny fellow a thin circlet of iron. They played instruments, a drum and flute respectively. The pair was encircled by dry spigots, salted white with water stains. When there wasn't a drought cold water would splash at the base of the figures and folk would flick coppers splashing into the wet for good fortune.
Summer's heat wave had put the kibosh on that. Today the fountain sat bone dry.
Looking rather pagan, the scene atop was out of place with the rest of the fountain, which itself was carved gothic and angular as was customary for Thracian architecture. Ghoulish faces had been mounted around the base. They grimaced up, between her legs, staring with ugly expression at the populace that shuffled past above their heads. And at the feet of the central statues read a broken inscription, with only sparing bits of language to be made out between the cracks and gaps. 'Live it as we believe in living it…' 'To live without belief…' 'A fate more terrible than dying.'
Whatever that means, Meri shrugged absently. She sat on the fountain's edge, lost in her mundane daydreams, as she was wont to do, and waited for her brother to finish reading the A-frame chalkboard at the base of the red-tree.
Peliton square's red-tree was a Stewartia. Whereas most of the squares' greenery had turned brown and crinkled in the drought, the red-tree was yet lush and green, sporting countless pretty flowers blooming white across its hide. Shades of cinnamon bark peeled in thin, papery layers to reveal the whites and oranges beneath. The trunk of the tree was thick and gnarled and cruel, but in a majestic sort of way, like a dilapidated castle or a full moon hidden behind a haze of clouds, a grim beauty of sorts. It would have been such a pretty sight.
Were it not a red-tree.
Assorted body parts hung black and rotting, like past ripe fruit. The hands of thieves, tongues of dissenters, genitals of rapists, the fingers of the lower classes who'd dared to wear the precious metals of the viziers, and the occasional head of a heretic, all swayed beneath the wind, breathing a sour stink across the square. Her older brother, Jason, stood beneath, handkerchief over his nose, cooly perusing through the list of names on the chalkboard and looking for prominent persons and the corresponding crimes they'd have committed to earn an ornament upon the tree.
Meri sat and waited and sweated, the twisting offering in her arms. She was dressed in her Sunday best,a thick cotton dress of white and blue, heavy with frills and puffed layers meant to lend an air of elegance. A crisp, pentagonal bonnet was tied snugly under her chin, so snug she could scarcely turn her neck. The outfit was as hot and sweaty as they come, the sooner she could be out of it the better.
Thankfully, the cathedral of the Maw was close, just across the barrow. A short pilgrimage, at least in terms of distance, but women were no longer allowed out without a male companion so at father's behest Jason was sent in escort.
It ought to have you, father. Meri lamented. Father had woken ill this morning with a harsh cough and couldn't attend the offering himself. A shame, this was to be her inaugural offering, her first gift to the divine. The rite of passage was sacred. Personal. The person she loved most in the world should be there to witness. But the Creator had other plans it would seem.
She'd of course been disappointed, she'd always imagined her hand in fathers as she fed a God for the first time. But he'd been insistent that she go today. With Jason. And ever the dutiful daughter she bid him goodbye and sent off.
"You'll return to me a woman." He'd said then with a big smile that stretched between the apples of his cheeks. Meri smiled sweetly now just thinking of it.
She waited anxiously for her brother to finish up, crossed legs bouncing with restless readiness, soaking up the cool of the marble and doing her best to avoid the sight of the gore.
And the stink of it. She'd resorted to breathing through her mouth the stench was so palpable. It was Sunday today, the flesh had spent all week festering til the whole of the square reeked of death. Tomorrow municipal men would come along and exchange the old for new.
The crows will surely welcome a fresh buffet.
She swept her gaze across Peliton Square, noticing just how much it had changed since her youth. It had been a warm place once, with vendors and dance and color. Bubbling with bloom and laughter. But that was long ago. Back before the Stewartia bore such fruits, before the fountain's rusted hue, and before the inquisition.
It was a gray place now, muted, a cynical inbetween of nothing.
From the other side of the fountain a lonely trumpet played a hymn and as the brass wind shook itself free from the bell, memories rushed towards, soft and sweet, and, in her daydreaming, she fell back in time.
She recalled a somber brass quintet that played here once, when she was but a child. And Meri, unbothered by its melancholy melody, would dance ever cheerily with father, he would take her small hands in his and she'd hop up atop his toes. They'd dance back and forth to their own rhythm, she giggling up dumbly, him smiling down tenderly. Their dance would always end the same, with her spinning in his arms, the world turning to blur, followed by a bone breaking hug.
They'd find, Y'osso, the old sweet cream vendor and her father, always more than happy to indulge her, would buy a cup sprinkled with nuts. She would watch as his proud smile glistened white. Then he'd lift her up, perching her high upon his shoulders. She felt a thousand feet tall up there. In between sloppy licks of the cream she'd whisper naughty things into his ears about the hapless passerby and he'd chuckle his merry chuckle at the silliness of it all. Utter delight it was.
It was the best way to spend the dog days of summer. Back when summer's end meant more than a goodbye to sweat and mosquitos.
Things were different now. A gloom sat heavy here and all that was left of that band now was the trumpet.
In vanity rue time's march, watch the stars fade and the world cool. And him almighty down deep below holds contemption for her march goes on.
"Nothing much of note." Jason said as he strode away from the tree. "Some poor singer lost her tongue, she must have been awful bad for them to cut it out." His wicked smile looked unusually cruel today.
Meri Nodded meekly. It was always better to agree with him, especially on a day such as today. She squeezed the offering tight against her heart. Today Meri was to meet a God. A real one, in the divine flesh.
Meritites
III
"Come now, girl. I haven't the like to linger much longer in this heat." Jason remarked with a sudden impatience. He pivoted on his heel and set off, crossing the square with long, artful strides. Meri sprang up and after, scampering to keep up with him. It was you who stopped to read the red-sign. Meri thought sharply, though she knew better than to voice such thoughts, her brother had an easy rage that was best not to tempt.
He bulled forth, moving quickly and easily through the city walks with practiced effortlessness, either oblivious or apathetic to his little sister's pace. More likely the latter.
Meri balled her fist tight around Jason's overshirt and allowed herself to be hauled behind, her small frame snaking between people as he muscled folk out of the way with a broad shoulder.
Boldness, it seemed, was the only way to get anywhere in this city. It was a quality Meri did not possess much of.
They continued towards the city center where the sea of folk swelled, where rising spires loomed tall above the streets in a daunting skyline, licking up past the clouds.
The bustling crowds pressed in on all sides. Buffeted by the current of peoples, Meri found herself in constant threat of being swept under and away by the pedestrian riptide. As the tumult around her rose Meri could only tighten her grip on Jason's shirt, determined not to lose him in the pressing throng. Her arm quickly grew tired, but still she clung to her brother as if he were the anchor in a storm. And Jason, undeterred, did not slow for her, not even the barest of pace. He simply pushed through, upstate towards the cathedral. Up where folk had money. Up where automobiles clogged every street. Towards the constant growling engines, the blaring of horns, and the disgruntled shouts of frustrated pedestrians, and where it all melded together into a singular tuneless melody that had become an unending backdrop of city life. A backdrop Meri had long since learned to tune out.
Such a small girl like her was so easily lost in Grand Thracia's 'greatness'. But that's what always seemed to happen to Meri no matter where she went. Whether it be school, dances, the square, she'd fall into the crowd and find isolation there in the mob of people.
There was a special sort of loneliness, the most horrid sort, that can only be found in the crowd and Meri knew it well.
With each step they took, and each body Jason brushed past, the distance to the cathedral grew shorter and her excitement greater. "Keep up now." Jason shouted back. "We wouldn't want you getting lost now would we, little mouse." Jason smirked with a healthy dosing of spite. He, of course, wouldn't mind at all if she ended up lost, in fact he'd probably prefer it.
'Little mouse' was a kinder name than Jason's usual moniker for her, 'rat.' But either name described her well. Her mousy brown hair hooded a sharp, angular face with a pair of oversized ears poking their way through the locks. Beady eyes peeked shadowy from beneath a shelf of a brow bone, and dotted with irises so dark they were practically black. A long skinny nose jutted out stupidly. And, most unfortunate of all, a large set buck teeth to complete the look.
She was short and frail, arms like sticks, hunched too. She even acted like a mouse. Twitchy and timid and skittish, prone to fits of shaking, quick to startle, preferring the safety of the shadows to the attention of the spotlight.
Everyone said it, mousey, most said it with disdain or cruelty, some, however few, meant it as a compliment. But either way she hated the descriptor, she didn't want to be some little rodent, she wanted to be a beautiful woman, she wasn't and could do without reminding. She was ugly and small and weak-kneed, not to mention helpless.
And worst of all she knew it so matter-of-factly. No room for kindly delusion.
Sometimes, in the guarded solitude she so often found for herself, Meri would catch herself staring into her bedroom mirror, fixating on all her little imperfections, of which she had a great many to choose from. She'd stare so long her face would seem to melt and slowly she'd realize she wasn't staring at herself, but rather some ghoulish, rattish monster. What man could love this face? she'd think, this ugly little rat of a girl.
As they rounded a corner, the Cathedral of the Maw suddenly slipped into view from behind a gray skyscraper. Meri, one hand still holding onto Jason's shirt and cradling the offering in the other, followed almost eagerly now, growing more excited still. A God will soon eat from my own hand.
And where fear ought to tend, I see anything but, flesh hath forgotten th' teeth that break its bones and grind them to dust.
The Cathedral of the Maw stood out amongst the skyscrapers of Grand Thracia the way a pebble stands out amongst jewels. It was a small stone church and quite plain, perhaps even a little ugly. The untidy gray brick had grown green with mosses and lichens and ivies. A small bell tower protruded sloppily from atop the church. It sat uneven and askew, in constant threat of toppling. It was made of an entirely different stone than the rest of the limestone church, a cheaper brownstone. The whole of it looked slumped and tired, like an old man sitting weak in a recliner. Even for a seat of such a minor Lord it was still a paltry excuse for a house of worship, everyone in the city agreed.
Moreso when compared to the great towers that rose around it. Men toiled in these great spires of metal and rock and glass, they stretched high into the sky. Though she'd seen what sort of "toiling" they did inside, her father had taken her into his office on occasion. They smoked and drank, and sometimes held a pointless meeting or two, sat at desks and joked between the clacks of typewriters. She imagined every floor of every skyscraper in this city was just the same, nothing but thousands and thousands of smoky bar scenes.
Finally, after a particularly crowded bunch of walk, brother and sister arrived but a few paces from the cathedral's edge and fell into a line behind fellow pilgrims just outside the church doors.
Her heart was fluttering now. A God will eat from my palm.
The offering yawned in her arms sleepily.
Meritites
IV
Had they arrived in the morning the line of pilgrims would've coiled about the church like a great serpent. But by mid-afternoon it had dwindled down to more of an earthworm. Meri waited near the tail of the worm with Jason towering beside, only a small step forward intermittently to shuffle the siblings towards the oakwood doors.
Jason, attired in a Sunday fit of his own, cut an imposing figure in a dark gray three-piece suit, an outfit he had long outgrown having witnessed more than a few growth spurts since. The cuffs ended well above the wrist and the collar a pinch too tight. But he chose to don it nonetheless for such occasions, and even Meri had to admit he somehow managed to wear it well.
He twisted uncomfortably. The fabric strained against his shoulders and his fingers kept twitching up to his collar, adjusting it. She could see his impatience slowly turning to anger.
And the heat certainly wasn't helping.
The scorching summer sun was as merciless as it was relentless. Its rays cooked the city in waves of dry, shimmering heat. Meri felt like she was slumming in the Shiloh.
Though truthfully, she didn't mind much.
She was too excited to care. It was her first pilgrimage after all, she wouldn't let a little heat ruin it, nor her brother's sourness.
The line moved forward and the offering shook anxiously in her arms.
Jason pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. "Good Fires, couldn't father have chosen a cooler day for this pilgrimage?" He grumbled.
Meri nodded meekly. Lords, how she wished it was father here instead of Jason.
"The sooner I'm home the better." He said more to himself than to her. And again Meri could only nod Meekly.
Jason had always seen Meri as naught but a pest and he treated her with that same distaste. He'd Somehow inherited the height, the charm, the good looks, and assertiveness, and left nothing for Meri save self-doubt and oversized teeth.
It was father who loved her, it was father who warmed her spirit like no other could, and it should have been him escorting her. How unfair was it he'd woken with that terrible cough. The Creator can be so cruel sometimes. Meri thought.
Oh how you do not know, flesh. Creation is cruelty.
When they'd first left, Jason had given her the sacrifice to hold. "See that you don't fall in love with the offering." He'd said in a way that meant he knew she would anyway.
And she had, the cute little rabbit nuzzled sweetly deeper into her arms. Its fur was completely white save for its black tipped paws and a small patch beneath its nose giving him a little smudge of mustache. It was adorable. She knew she wasn't supposed to get too attached, and certainly wasn't supposed to give the poor thing a name, but she couldn't help it, he was just too cute. She had privately named him Atticus after a mustachioed character in a book she'd read.
She cradled Atticus in her arms, his flopping ears bounced in appreciation of her tender warmth. She scratched absently at the bridge of his little nose and mustache and watched as his eyes flushed close.
"Oh Lords." Jason sighed with a sly smile, "You've gone and bonded with the flesh haven't you, girl." He had noticed Meri, lost in thought, stroking Atticus. "Both of you rodents are in for some disappointment," he chuckled. "But who knows, maybe the Lord won't be too hungry, perhaps he'll leave a haunch for you to cuddle. Or his wee nose for you to kiss," He sneered.
She tightened her cradling arms, though the rabbit's soft fur now an empty comfort. In an instant, the atmosphere had shifted, a cold wind blew through, her brother's cruel words curdled the excitement she'd harbored but a moment ago. It sloughed to terror as the bloody reality of divinity set in.
Each little step closer to those doors now torture. She kept imagining Atticus's severed nose cupped in bloody hands, tears swelled in her eyes, turning the world to a haze.
Jason noticed that too. "Oh my, what did you think was going to happen to the bugger? The Lord was going to offer him a carrot." He laughed a self satisfied laugh.
She stayed quiet and small, her gaze fixed to her shoes and letting the stray tears drip onto the concrete, leaving behind a small trail of droplets with each step forward.
"My, my, girl." He tittered.
The line crept forward. The sun beat down.
"And here we are." Jason announced with smiling words that bled smugness. With a push, he swung open the imposing oak doors of the little church. A rush of cool air enveloped Meri, and the change in air pressure gently ushered her forth across the threshold. The scent of aged wood and burning candles lingered thick within. Her eyes were slow to adjust to the dim interior, Meri's gaze traveled through a bland waiting room, past the line of worshippers, and landed upon the front desk where a tired, bored-looking man occupied the seat. His head was leaned heavy on his fist.
The man's lazy voice echoed through the air as he called, "Next," and the line inched forward at his command. Meri's heart quickened its pace, and a wave of nausea coursed through her. Her voice grew shaky. "Jason, I- I don't want to-" she swallowed and attempted to compose her voice, "to be the one to give him the rabbit." She hardly managed, "could you?"
Her brother rolled his eyes. "Few people could muck up an offering, little mouse." He put a thick layer of contempt onto her nickname.
"Please It's-"
"No!" he said through gritted teeth, "you'll be a woman grown in a week, how is it you're still this pathetic."
Meri stared down at the offering, it stared right back up with its wide brown eyes. Its little nose twitched. "I can't."
"You will." He insisted.
Meri's tears dripped onto the rabbit's fur, it only yawned softly, the little offering had been bred specifically for this task, through years of selective breeding, calm passive rabbits had been produced, rabbits so sedated, so sloth-like, they'd likely fall asleep in a battlefield.
"Jason, please!" She begged.
Jason, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself, she watched his sly smile widen. "Are you crying? Good Lord, you child, wipe your eyes and stand up straight." He snapped, "Must you always embarrass me?"
"Next." The bored voice cut. The line shuffled forward.
Meri squeezed her eyes close and did as Jason commanded, drying her cheeks with her forearms and clamping her teeth hard around her jaw to stifle the welling of tears.
It wasn't long till the siblings were next in line. Meri and Jason approached the desk, it rose up past her shoulders, her little head just barely poking over. The man at the desk wore a bored look upon his face that matched well his bored voice. He was slouched over with his head resting on his hand as he absentmindedly tapped away with his pencil. He seemed to barely notice the pair at all. "Name, offering, and prayer?" He said, practically yawning through the words.
Meri stared up dumbly until Jason elbowed her. "Oh, Meri, uh Rabbit-," She began.
"Full name." The man interjected flatly.
"Meritites Eos," she stammered. "Ra- rabbit. And 'Strengthen my Maw.' Um. Yes."
Her gaze quickly dropped to her shoes as soon as she finished speaking. Her cheeks burned. She always felt so awkward and stupid every time she opened her dumb mouth.
Fortunately, the man behind the counter seemed indifferent to her inherent awkwardness, he simply scribbled down some notes and spoke in his tired voice. "Please be aware that you avoid getting your hands too close to the Lord's mouth, do not stand too close to the Lord either, please beware such things could result in bodily harm. Just place the offering onto the plate and say your words once the offering has been consumed. Once you've said your words you're free to exit out the back. And once more I repeat, do not get too close to the Lord." He finished. "On you go then, Next!" He said the words like he had memorized a script, he likely had.
The heavy doors of the great hall were a struggle to push open, she had to lean on them with all her weight just to get them to budge. Jason strolled in behind her.
The Divine dining room bore little resemblance to the church's humble exterior. This is what the home of a Lord ought to be, she thought. It exuded divinity. Two beautifully sculpted rows of white marble pillars rose like sets of pale ribs on either side of an ornate mahogany dining table. It was adorned with an arrangement of flowers and a single plain yellow plate. The table itself was inlaid with golden stars, and delicate lattice work carvings. The white stone pillars aside seemed to glow, reflecting the sun's rays that filtered slantingly through the magnificent stained glass window at the far end of the old stone church. The window depicted a tan octagon encircled by a gleaming orange halo, with an open mouth glowing in its center. It's pearly, square teeth smiling cheerily down at her.
The rays of light streamed through the window and converged upon a figure seated at the table, shining a sort of heavenly spotlight. Meri had never seen a deity in person before, and she had mentally braced herself to fall to her knees in glory. She'd heard stories of men losing their minds in a divine madness at the majesty and omnipotence.
She had steeled herself for a Lord, a God.
Instead she saw a man. A man as utterly ordinary and frankly, as dull as one could find. Theologians believed the Lords mindlessly adapted to whatever environment they could best express their divinity in, but even still it was hard to believe the 'Holy Dentist' would have gone with something so plain. His hair thinning, his suit a mundane beige with a soup-stained collared shirt and an ugly tie to boot all served to create a wholly unremarkable ensemble. He wore an empty expression upon a gaunt face, slack jawed and droopy eyed. The only intriguing thing about the figure were the silver chains draped about him.
She must not have hid her disappointment too well, "Not what you were expecting, eh." her brother leaned down to whisper into her ear. "Wait till he feeds, then behold majesty." A wide and cruel smile ran across his face.
She stared down at Atticus's little mustachioed nose. Wide brown eyes stared up unknowingly. Trusting her.
"I can't, I just can't" Familiar tears swelled forth once more.
"17, almost 18 and you act like a damned toddler, I swear girl, feed him and let us go, you think I want to be here any more than you." He rubbed his temple.
"I- I didn't ask for you to come along, father did." She mumbled. She watched as his terrible grin seemed to extend and morph into something even worse.
"Oh yes, poor ill father." He hit the 'ill' a little too hard for Meri's liking. "I'll tell you why father was so insistent I get you out of the house today. Dear father had a little business to conduct, you're soon to be a woman grown, you know what that means, little mouse, rat more like, I've never seen a mouse with such a long pointy snout" He snorted at his own little joke, "He's marrying you off, or selling you off if you prefer, though I can't imagine you're worth more than a broken watch and dusted shoe. Some old Priest as far as I know, you'll be his 30th wife I bet." He laughed again, "Now throw the damn thing onto his plate and make those big teeth of yours well, too bad you can't ask him to make them any smaller."
"What? He wouldn't!" Meri cried. It wasn't true, it couldn't be, she was her father's little princess, he loved her, she knew he did, he wouldn't just marry her off without talking to her first and certainly not to some old priest.
Jason only smirked.
Father had always said he would arrange me a marriage with a man of sufficient status," Meri murmured. "Someone who deserved me."
'Though he'll be awfully hard to find.' he'd always added with a big smile on his face. A prince, he promised me a prince.
"Sufficient status?" Jason said with a gall. "Who do you think you are? What do you think it is you're worth? You'd be lucky if he convinced a beggar to fuck you, be thankful he's found you a man with a roof."
"You're lying." she cried, her voice cracking
"Well let's get home and find out why not." He was growing impatient. "Toss the bloody Lord the rabbit and let us head home, let us see this future husband of yours, he and father are probably talking now. Deciding just how many coppers you're worth, 4? 5? Maybe even 6!" Meri squeezed the rabbit tightly to her chest, she could feel the quick racing of his little heart against her skin.
"I'm losing my patience, rat," he spat, "this is life, this is what happens, now quit your crying, neither me nor this Lord here care even a bit, now feed him." Jason gestured angrily at the Lord. Meri sat still, frozen in terror and confusion.
"Come here." Jason dug his nails into the meat of her bicep and practically dragged her to the dinner table and to the Lord. "Feed him! Feed him that accursed rabbit!" He shook her arm violently. Still she couldn't bring herself to move.
The Lord of the Maw seemed oblivious to their presence let alone their squabbling. The mindless deity simply zoned out, fixated on an unseen point at the opposite side of the great hall.
"I can't," she murmured weakly through softs sobs.
"Fucking idiot," He spat as he dug his nails deeper into her flesh and pulled her even closer to the Lord. So close she could smell blood on its breath. "You can't do a thing right can you, I pity the pious coot that is accursed enough to marry you, lucky him though, he'll have plenty of other wives to distract him from your bullshit, now feed him!" Her soft whimpers morphed into a loud ugly sobbing as she did as commanded. She helplessly placed the offering down onto the plate in front of the Lord. Little Atticus, still none the wiser, stared up at her with his big eyes, his adorable little whiskers twitched, his oversized ears danced and flopped about.
Then the God fed.
Jason hadn't lied about 'seeing majesty when he fed' although 'majesty' isn't quite how she would have described it. The Lord of Maws's jaw seemed to unhinge like a snake's, and with two pinched fingers he lifted and dropped the offering into his open mouth and swallowed as easily as a shark would devour a minnow. Meri watched as Atticus vanished down the black abyss of the Lord's mouth.
The disorganized chewing was worse, Atticus's bones crunched like twigs snapping under heavy boots, the red of his blood spurting from the God's holy maw, splattering. Meri could only stare and sob, silent and restricted.
Finally the Lord swallowed and patted his mouth clean with a napkin. Her brother turned to her, "Good, now say your words."
She couldn't, all she could do was cry.