The Devil
The tormentor, a winged god of fire, began its descent past the horizon. The pavilion ahead let out a shuddering gasp, the gathered crowd weary with the strain the scorching ball of fire bore upon us. Behind me stood a tower of unfathomable size, its peak marking where clouds rested on more merciful days. I could feel it at my back, unmoving, a vessel burning with the fury of a hellish summer. Disgust and anger festered within me like the decaying innards of a dog murdered by the sun. A putrid heat radiated off the tower, coating the pavilion and the granite dais I rested atop. Our gathered congress scrunched noses and pursed lips in disdain.
A looming monolith beat the reflection of the sun into the elliptical pavilion. The receding power of our past hung above the pitiful present with a lingering scorn. Somewhere, far behind the obelisk, storming thunder rumbled as heaven cast down its brilliant sons. Delirium, descending like a dark angel thrown from the clouds above, made his rapid approach.
We lorded above the masses; small figures arranged in a wide arch surrounding the game board of the court floor. At the furthest left end of our high podium sat Imam, draped in his humble robes, flat cap, and rope necktie. His mouth sat in a flat line that betrayed neither wisdom nor submission. To his right sat his priestess, the lesser members of the clergy, and finally the glorious Empress. To my right, gathered the lesser lords, the small kings of trade from across the deserts, mountains, coasts, and rivers. They wore suffering smirks and disdainful frowns along with their clean and decadent garments. The grand power of our court endowed their position, and their faces betrayed our shared contempt.
Summer months festered an inbred hostility towards our fellow men, and the weak pleas and small prejudices we had heard in the sweltering afternoon were given a roaring voice by an angry July. A deafening rumble had blown in on a furious spring wind, our eyes clouded with the raining sand of bitter mortality.
The day’s final case was brought before us just as delirium began to dance. In the center of our amphitheater, flanked by a burning mob and facing a panel of vipers, a lawyer in humble dignity spoke a slow and insidious madness. It seemed at first like a river was flowing from his mouth, a cool respite of simple figures and clear truth. Reports were massing of men entering our grand empire, the numbers were growing fast, a storm was brewing in our midst. Years later I would recall the words “refugees” and “immigrants” had been uttered, but as the storm clouds cast down more fallen angels, a single utterance of “invaders” filled our ears like tar.
The black and white of his tailored robes muddled into a grayish blob as my vision clouded. The details did not matter. As they were spoken into the sun’s punishment they sang a sinister song, liquid fuel for out burning tempers, the kindle for a building madness. They sang of an enemy, an evil we must punish. When the word was spoken that a foreign man had defiled a young girl, delirium again whispered throughout the crowd. Fathers grasped their wives and daughters with whitening knuckles; faces flushed with terrific rage. More tongues began to spit the devil’s song. At some uncertain place in the crowd a dance was being built.
Perhaps in lesser heat, in a gentler shadow, the burning fury would have cleared the underbrush, and the giant growth would have resisted. The mob would raze the fields and scar the city, yet now, as the dry death of a titan caught alight, the scorching flames doomed us to hellfire. A bright and glorious past beamed down upon our squalid present; our senseless rituals were no more than pathetic nostalgia. A melody of rage floated atop the rhythmic beating of our fearful hearts. A shadow slipped through the crowd, dancing bodies following in its wake.
Upon our high pedestal, shadows fell long behind us; twisted and mad figures which flailed and jerked in possession as the lyrics were recited by many more mouths. The trade kings of the baren deserts and the scorched rivers drank from the river of venom pouring forth in gulps to coat their cracking lips and wet their parched throats. Delirium animated them. When they stood to speak, mania so furiously poured out that I forgot the thundering heavens for the raging blaze before me.
Nerves burning with poison, legs locking in a fervor, my body lurched upwards. I flailed like a marionette, crown rocking atop my throbbing skull, arms thrust upwards by the momentum of my spasm. And yet, as I opened my mouth to speak the judgement, turned heads caught the corner of my eye. Staring at me, a face under a small cap, the radiance of a crowned angel, and a modest, impassable, habit. A gentle brown disc sat in each of their eyes; as mania raged and delirium danced, their hardened faces stared at me with unquestioning loyalty, total humility, and bottomless disappointment.
My lips opened and closed twice. More eyes were on me, the devil danced below, and the merchant kings gaped in disbelief. My generals and police waited for their command like starving dogs before dinner. I faced the ravenous mob, my voice stammering out like a child who has embarrassed himself.
“S-ss-stop this. Do anything to stop this.”
Eyes burned into me as I turned away from the setting sun. I deserted my throne, walking towards the tower that cut through the falling storm clouds. Lightning flashed behind the uncaring pillar. I pressed my hand upon the stone, only to quickly pull it away as my hand blistered red and hot. I could feel the fire at my back as the storm overtook us. Shouting and thunder blended into an uproar as the guards moved through the crowd. The screams I expected never came.
As the sun disappeared the horizon went dark.
