Vohannes nearly shouts the word “distract.” If she had the mind for it, Shara would roll her eyes. Not a particularly subtle message, Vo. …
“I am penitent, Father Kolkan,” says Vohannes. His voice grows stronger. “I am. I am sorrowful. I am ashamed. Namely, I am ashamed that I was asked to be ashamed, that it was expected of me.” He swallows. “And I am ashamed that, to a certain extent, I did as they asked. I did and, and I do hate myself. I hated myself because I didn’t know another way to live.
“I am sorrowful. I am sorrowful that I happened to be born into a world where being disgusted with yourself was what you were supposed to be. I am sorrowful that my fellow countrymen feel that being human is something to repress, something ugly, something nasty. It’s … It’s just a fucking shame. It really is.”
If Shara could move, her mouth would drop open in shock.
“I am penitent,” says Vohannes. “I am penitent for all the relationships this shame has ruined. I am penitent that I’ve allowed my shame and unhappiness to spread to others. I’ve fucked men and I’ve fucked women, Father Kolkan. I have sucked numerous pricks, and I have had my prick sucked by numerous people. I have fucked and been fucked. And it was lovely, really lovely. I had an excellent time doing it, and I would gladly do it again. I really would.” He laughs. “I have been lucky enough to find and meet and come to hold beautiful people in my arms—honestly, some beautiful, lovely, brilliant people—and I am filled with regret that my awful self-hate drove them away.
“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 fuck 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.