The Memory of Snow by Kirsty Ferry Page B

all that goes with it?’
    There was a beat.
    ‘Yes, Pater,’ said Marcus, his voice guarded.
    ‘All that goes with Christianity?’ repeated the Pater.
    ‘I...I do not understand, Pater?’ asked Marcus. ‘In what
respect?’
    ‘Exactly as I say. All that goes with Christianity. The
belief system. The worship of one God. The people who subscribe to this
religion.’
    ‘I cannot do that, Pater,’ said Marcus softly.
    ‘I ask you once more,’ said the Pater. ‘The people who
subscribe to this religion. Do you renounce them?’
    ‘I cannot renounce them all, Pater,’ said Marcus. His stomach
was churning now. He would never do that. He could not renounce Aemelia for the
sake of this cult.
    ‘I have tried,’ sighed the Pater. ‘Yet I find it in my heart
to continue the initiation. Mithras has willed it. But you must exercise better
judgement, Corax Marcus, in all aspects of Mithraism. You have one more chance.
Then you must face the consequences.’
    ‘Yes, Pater,’ replied Marcus. He made a mental note to give
thanks to Mithras and Coventina when this was over. He would never bring
Aemelia down here again. It was a small price to pay.
    ‘To be initiated into the role of nymphus, you must perform
the slaying. My Sun Runners will guide you to the centre of the temple. You
must slay this animal, as Mithras slayed the sacred bull,’ said the Pater.
    Marcus was guided silently into the centre of the aisle and
there were more scuffles and scrapes. The animal was trying to escape. They
must have drugged it or silenced it somehow; there was no noise from the
animal, apart from a guttural moan that went on and on and on. Marcus
determined to complete the ritual quickly. He had seen animals sacrificed
before; brought to their knees then slaughtered. It would be done cleanly.
    ‘Corax Marcus Simplicius Simplex, slay the sacred bull!’
bellowed the Pater.
    Marcus roared, shouting a battle cry as he charged
blindfolded towards the sacrifice. He felt the blade of the gladius sink into
soft flesh, then force its way into bone.  He heard a gurgling sound in
the animal’s throat, and pulled the blade out. He swung the sword to the right
and yelled again as he brought it the blade crashing through where he
visualised the animal’s head to be. The gladius connected with something, then
sliced through bone. Marcus knew if he hadn’t decapitated the animal, he would
at least have taken a piece of its skull away. There was a soft thud as the
animal crumpled to the ground.
    He waited for the cult members to resume their chanting as he
completed his initiation, but there was a silence in the temple. Something warm
and sticky ran over his foot and he could smell blood.
    ‘Congratulations. You are now a nymphus. A sacred
bridegroom,’ said the Pater. His voice was soft and dangerous. There was a
triumphant edge to it. ‘Remove the bridegroom’s blindfold, heliodromus.’
    Someone pulled the blindfold off Marcus, and he blinked, his
eyes watering. The candelight flickered in the temple and threw shadows over the
bloodied heap, covered in a robe of some sort, in front of the altar. Marcus
leaned over it to see what he had achieved. 
    ‘What – what is it?’ he asked. It was too small to be a boar
or a deer, or indeed any animal he had witnessed in the area. His eyes flicked
across the temple to see where the head was. He hadn’t managed to decapitate
it. He had taken a slice off its skull. Blood and brain matter clung to the
dark, curly hair on the piece of skull. Marcus suddenly retched. He ran back to
the body in front of the altar.
    ‘No. Please, no!’ he cried. He ripped the robes off the body,
dreading what he knew he would see beneath it. A deep gash gaped where his
blade had pierced the chest. He grabbed the hand and saw the delicate gold ring
on the little finger. He brought the smooth, white hand up to his face and
closed his eyes. The floor felt as if it was shifting sand beneath his feet and
there was a