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That done, he dons his veil, carefully tying it in place.

Before he goes to the temple for the rites he performs his other daily duties in the Sarelik Temple. He walks through the hushed candlelit halls, nodding as he passes other acolytes and the occasional penitent, to the Chamber of the Immurite and sees to her needs, delivering her food and removing her waste. He does the work solemnly, in silence, reminding himself that these mundane tasks are a great honour. The Immurite is one of the most sacred pillars of Zai established by Sarelik’s daughter, Ferra the Blessed, the first Zai Mother. And whatever Zai truly is, Jemel is determined that he will do his duties to the best of his ability and with diligent care.

As Jemel leaves the Immurite’s Chambers and walks outside to cross the grand paved square to the main public entrance to the Sarelik Temple, the wind bites at him ruffling his thin robes and the cloak he wears over them. It is colder than he has ever known it in Attar.

As he enters the temple he finds himself thinking of Xan. The night before he had sat beside him at a fine dinner. Xan had complained about the food, and not without reason. Every dish was unusually rich, heavy with butter and cream. The food had been different under Selim. Still fine on state occasions, but Selim had always insisted on some austere dishes, especially for the acolytes of Zai. Selim had eaten heavy food rarely. If he did indulge for feast days, his tastes were for sweet foods and heavily spiced cakes, not the rich dishes Atticul seems to favour.

Jemel had nodded and agreed the food was too rich for his own tastes and Xan had smiled, “Good, Baraboo,” he had said.

Jemel is still not sure of the meaning of Baraboo and he had bristled at the way Xan had praised him, as if he was a servant and had behaved correctly by agreeing with his master. But it had made Jemel tingle strangely to hear such praise, whispered secretly to him in a language no one else at the table understood.

The rest of the meal had been dominated by Atticul, pronouncing again about the new Golden Age of Azuria — which he claimed would begin at his Ascension — and Jemel working to translate the words into Plumian despite Xan subtly signalling his lack of interest in any of it.

The vestibule of the main Sarelik Temple is busy with so many people that Jemel’s heart starts to race as he steps inside. He feels himself tighten at the assaulting noise of voices bouncing off the high, tiled walls. Most people are dressed in mourning black, excepting the acolytes of Zai, like Jemel in their everyday solemn robes of grey or yellow.

All have ashes smudged on their faces.

He walks through into the main temple room, a huge circle, with the twelve pointed star of Zai inlaid in gold on the floor, each point leading to a statue of one of the Sidusia in a decorated alcove.

Jemel searches until he finds Xan amongst the crowds alongside a page who must have brought him here.

He approaches him with a nod, “Fair morning, Xan of Plumia. I trust you slept well.”

Xan looks Jemel up and down. “I slept as all men sleep.”

Jemel doesn’t know how to respond to that so he says, “Come, let me show you to the seats for noble visitors in the north circle.”

Xan follows Jemel without making any further remarks. He folds his big body onto the cushioned benches beside Jemel in silence.

Jemel leans back and takes a breath. He feels strangely distant from his body. He looks up at the circular ceiling, a dome set with coloured glass creating a second twelve pointed star. When the sun is at its zenith, the light through the ceiling hits the gold in the temple floor precisely, making each of the inlaid points glow like they are alive with fire.

Zai may be a demon, but Jemel cannot deny that the things men have built to honour him are truly beautiful.

The Great Temple is a place Jemel has always found calming, even when it is full of people, although he has never seen it quite so full as this, even on the highest of feast days. In the southern circle a grand choir of brides sing the hymn of mourning. Great runs of beautiful notes, high then low, sweet then loud, achingly sad. The hymn makes Jemel’s skin prickle.

Selim’s body lies before them on a stone bier, dressed in black linen with a golden mark of Zai on his chest.

Behind him the tall jewelled panel at the back of the temple, sparkling gold and glittering with inlaid gemstones, throwing beautiful colours across the bier. Jemel knows this panel has a false back. Doroth Zain told him once it was used to perform ‘miracles’, in the older days of the Empire, when ceremonies commending Zai often included acts of grand magic. But that practice has long been dismissed as pandering to heathens.

It is all quite breathtaking in its grandeur. Jemel has never seen a commendation to Zai like this. This is the first time an Emperor has died in his lifetime.

Gelen the Green steps onto the wide stage at the eastern end of the temple, raised high above the watching crowds. He wears the gold robes of the High Word. This is the first time Jemel has seen Gelen the Green performing in his new role.

Gelen looks strangely out of place as High Word, he is a short, thin man and the gold robes hang too long on him. Jemel supposes he will have them altered in time. He knows Doroth rarely wore these robes, preferring to conduct even the most significant ceremonies in the daily grey and yellow. The mark of Zai, on a gold chain around Gelen’s neck, also looks strangely large on him and hangs down below his navel, almost as if moving incautiously would cause it to hit him right in the groin.

Jemel supposes he should get used to thinking of him as Gelen Zain. And of Doroth Zain as…

What would Doroth Zain be rightly called now? He is High Priest in the North. Doroth Vindar is his original family name. But he does not think Doroth Zain would use that. Especially now the name Vindar is tainted by his traitorous brother. And he would have renounced the name Vindar in the rituals to take the mantle of High Word. Jemel has never heard of a High Word of Zai to leave the role while living. Once a man has been proclaimed the word of Zai in the mortal realm it makes no sense for him to no longer be that.

But unless Atticul makes a pronouncement about it, Jemel thinks the name of the High Priest in the North would probably be simply Doroth now.

Will Doroth ever return from the north? Jemel had assumed he would be back in Attar long before now, but when he left, Selim was Emperor. Everything has changed, but surely Doroth will attend the ascension.

The members of the Rose Court assemble on the stage with Gelen Zain. The sight is strange — most strange, once again, is Warung taking the place of Vindar. Vindar was Selim’s closest advisor and would surely be the nearest thing he had to a friend. Looking at the line of people assembled to commend Emperor Selim to Zai there seems to be no one who knew him closely. No Chancellor Vindar, no Doroth Zain, no Prince Rafus. Atticul has already swept away the old court.

The Choir of Brides ends their hymn, the sweet voices fading away in sweeping harmonies that get softer and softer, signifying the ending of a life; the effect is quite moving. Gelen Zain stands and begins to speak the opening words of the rite. Familiar words about the judgement of Zai and the great life beyond in the netherrealms.

If Zai is a demon and no God, is there still a great life beyond? Under the old religion, Artemia, people believed in the Eternal Return, that all men were reborn and lived again and again. Is that, then, the truth? If Zai is no God does that mean the twelve Sidusia are the true Gods. Should Jemel make rites to them? He has wondered this before. He looks around the chamber at the Sidusia around the walls, each watching on. In the faith of Zai, the Sidusia are claimed to be the twelve prophets who welcomed Zai to this world two hundred years ago as the true God. Each has a story, a sacred aspect and a set of rites. Jemel knows them well. Pershel taught him all of them. From Gi to Gaari. He knows the stories of how they visited Mother Greyheart in visions that formed the old Faith of Artemia at each full moon over a year’s turn. They still mark the moons of the year. And that old religion of the Hevelikar still shares a name with the language of the Empire.