Interlude: Caesarion

Caesarion

“Beware, cultivator. Your sins are set in stone.”

Caesarion knelt upon the cool marble of a dead man’s dias, back straight and regally poised. His words were carefully measured, his voice a royal tone. Shadows of painted gold encircled both of his eyes, blending seamlessly with their outer rings – gold, where a common man’s eyes were white, and pure gray where a common man’s eyes had color – to create the illusion that his eyes were twice their true size. He stared wide-eyed and unblinking, his gaze an otherworldly thing.

Across from him, on the eastern side of the tomb, a man sat with a book balanced in the cradle of his crossed legs. He was well-manicured in the way of most self-made men, wrapped head-to-toe in flamboyantly dyed silks with a ring on all ten of his fingers. The man’s lips were still painted by the contents of his last cup. His demeanor was cool and self-assured, but the shadow of his self betrayed him. His shut, the dark silhouette behind him, fidgeted in clear unrest.

In the center of the tomb between Caesarion and the man, there lay an open coffin. Inside of it was a shriveled corpse, drained of all fluids and preserved in strips of linen. All of its organs but for its heart had been removed before the coffin lid was first closed. Now the heart was gone as well, nothing but a bloody stain upon the corpse’s bandaged chest left to mark its absence.

Caesarion raised the dead man’s beating heart up with both hands. It was hot to the touch, like sun-baked sand. With reverence, he lowered it onto the golden scale before him.

The heart abruptly throbbed and slipped out of his hands, hitting the marble dais with a gruesome wet sound. The man made a strangled noise of protest in the back of his throat.

“Calm yourself,” Caesarion scolded him, though his own ears burned as he scooped the heart back up and set it on the scale. “The trial has begun.”

The merchant lord turned the pages of his book, settling on the thirtieth chapter. Of course, he didn’t need to actually read the glyphs recorded on the papyrus while he recited them. He’d long since memorized their contents in life.

“O my heart, gift of my mother,” the man spoke, his voice ever so slightly strained, “O my heart, gift of my father. O my heart of lasting ages.”

With a hand still dripping red, Caesarion pulled a raven’s pitch black feather from behind his right ear. The merchant’s voice began to tremble just like his shut.

“Do not stand up as a witness against me. Do not oppose me in this tribunal.” The merchant held Caesarion’s gaze with tight apprehension. “Do not betray me in the presence of the Keeper of Balance.”

Caesarion placed the raven’s feather on the empty scale and watched it swing.

“For you are my ka!” the man gasped, gripping his book desperately. The scales swayed, the heart rising while the feather fell – and then rebounding. They both watched intently as each side rose and fell, seeking equilibrium.

When the motion of the arm ceased, the heart hung above the feather. The man of great means heaved a sigh of profound relief, turning to the next chapter of his book-

“Almost.”

The cultivator jerked his head up, startled. “What?”

Caesarion looked down on him, severe and unblinking. His eyes were starting to burn. He kept them open anyway – for the effect.

“We’re not finished yet,” he declared, and pulled another feather from behind his ear.

“That’s not-!” the man lurched, but his sins held him in place. Caesarion plucked the raven’s black feather from the scale, and before the heart could swing back down to the stone, he replaced it with a swan’s snow-white feather.

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The scales swung. The merchant gnashed his teeth, and his heart pounded on the plate. When it finally settled, the heart hung once more above the feather, lighter than the swan. The man sagged forward.

“Another.”

“No-!” The cultivator watched in horror as Caesarion plucked an eagle’s yellow feather from behind his left ear and swapped it with the swan’s. The scales tilted slowly but surely, the heart falling, falling…

When the scales had finally settled, Caesarion tilted his head. Left first, then right. Absently, he adjusted his neme when the oversized headdress slipped and began to fall.

He squinted. It was very close.