The Bringer’s face was close to his but they gave no sign of noticing his discomfort. The black and white mask was intent only on the work, as if he were nothing more than an inconvenient canvas. They are so calm! How are they so calm? And then he realized why. They’ve seen vessels struggle before. It’s nothing new to them. And it’s never talked about in the songs nor taught in my lessons. How convenient that our sufferings are lost to history.

He knew that Lord Rochant had an elaborate patchwork of gold on the side of his head, and he also knew there was a mark on his heart. Satyendra was prepared for these. Somehow knowing what was going to happen made it easier to bear. When they were done, he lay there, panting through the mesh, hoping that this part at least, was over.

The lead Bringer made some adjustments to the needle and then the humming began again, this time a silver liquid appearing at the tip. The Bringer moved along the slab to stand by his hips and lowered the needle towards his cock.

Satyendra closed his eyes.

Afterwards, he felt sweaty and hot, but cold too, the stone unforgiving on his naked skin. Fresh ink tingled on his head, his chest and between his legs, and still the Bringers continued to work. He did not really attend to what they were doing, his brain too shocked to make sense of the strange words and movements. Time blurred for a while until one of them produced a box, and from that box a sphere of platinum.

There was something about it that repelled him, even more than the Bringers did.

The lead Bringer took the sphere and carefully, reverently, placed it into Satyendra’s mouth. It clicked into place within the mesh. Not long after, he became aware of his heart pounding in his chest, the brief respite of shock wearing off to be replaced with utter horror.

In his mouth, the ball tasted of metal and death. He bucked within his bonds like a desperate animal, trying to get it out. The presence of the ball terrified him, but when he had spent the last of his energy, he realized it wasn’t as bad as he expected. The ball had no resonance, as if he were touching the ashes of a fire rather than the fire itself.

The Bringers chanted and moved, slowly circling him, their wands moving in unison, their shadows dancing on the ceiling above. In motion, their robes did less to conceal their bodies, and while he could not determine what was wrong with them, he knew that something was wrong. For one, a hump on the side of their ribs, for another, the suggestion of an additional limb hidden away. Are the masks to hide their deformities?