Page 32 of Love to Defy You
The two individuals who led us into the chamber rejoin the circle, blocking the exit and trapping us. Another figure steps forward, and when he speaks, I recognize the voice as the leader who called me by my name last time.
“Welcome, candidates. We are pleased you have heeded our call. You have successfully completed the Trial of Strength and emerged victorious. But tonight, you will learn the secrets of our divine order in the Trial of Mortality.” The figure approaches us and walks between me and Henri, where he runs his gloved hand over my casket with a reverent touch. “Tonight, you will enter the casket, and when you emerge, you will be reborn a demigod, and you will formally begin your journey to divinity.”
This performance of declaring oneself a god is juvenile and utterly ridiculous. I already regret letting Mikhail convince me to come here tonight.
I eye the coffin with a wary gaze. Mikhail mentioned the next trial would be easy, and lying in a casket for a brief time seems like a simple enough task. I sweep my gaze around the circle and wonder which of them is Mikhail. He has a distinct bulk to his frame, but it’s difficult to make it out beneath the baggy cloaks.
I’ll play along for now, but I’m annoyed. This is a complete waste of my time when I could be spending my Saturday night balls-deep inside Willow instead. A much better use of my time indeed.
“Candidates, please enter the coffins.” The leader gestures to my casket while pinning me with an intense stare, his dark eyes glinting in the torchlight from behind his mask.
Coward. I refuse to hide behind a costume, and I refuse to back down from his challenge.
The other candidates hesitate but not me. I lift the wooden lid, hinges groaning, and step inside, then lie down on the floor. There’s no padding in here, just hard, unforgiving wood against my back, but I refuse to let the discomfort show on my face.
Moments later, the other coffins creak open, and shoes come down against wood as the others climb in.
“Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs,” the leader’s voice rings out. A quote fromRichard II, which is a little on the nose, but I can appreciate a well-timed Shakespeare reference.
A cloaked figure steps beside my coffin with a velvet drawstring tote bag in his hand. Whatever is in there makes the fabric bulge, and it appears rather wieldy by the way he carries it in his arms. He loosens the strings and upends the bag over my body, letting its contents spill out. The revolting stench of fertilizer hits my nose, and I squeeze my mouth and eyes shut before it lands on me.
Shouts of revulsion and disgust erupt in a frenzied raucous, and the lids of the coffins slam closed with violent crashes, creating a cacophony that reverberates around the chamber. I open my eyes to pitch-black darkness.
“You may be wealthy heirs and princes where you come from,” the leader continues, “but in the end, everyone dies the same. Your bodies will decay and be fed to the worms just like any other mortal. Only the extraordinary will be reborn.”
“In death, we become gods!” the room chants in unison. “We are gods among men!” The hollow sound of thumping chests penetrates the wood encasing me.
I reach up to wipe the dirt off my coat, but my fingers brush against more than just fertilizer. Something slimy wriggles against my hand, and without my eyesight, it takes me a moment to realize it’s an earthworm.
And not just one. Dozens.
“Ugh!” I jerk so violently the casket thuds against the floor. My head and elbows hit the wood like a drum as I scramble to get them off me, and bile rises in my throat.
“Welcome to the Order of Apollo,” the leader calls out in a booming voice. “Apollo was the most feared of the Greek gods,and he communicated the divine will of the heavens through the Oracle of Delphi. When you pass the trials and prove yourselves worthy, you will join an elite brotherhood that rules the globe from the shadows, executing our divine will upon the masses. You will become one of us. You will become a god.”
“In death, we become gods!” they repeat. “We are gods among men!”
I reach above my head to lift the lid open, but it won’t budge. Someone must have locked it from the outside.
“Khuy!“ I kick the lid, but it accomplishes nothing. I push against the sides of the casket, searching for a loose board, but nothing gives. A worm has crawled its way up my pant leg and is writhing against my shin, and the coffin scratches against the cobblestone as I jostle inside.
“But to become gods,” the leader continues, “you must overcome your mortal failings and human flaws through the Seven Rituals of Ascension. These rituals will take place throughout the year, and by the end of the spring term, if you’ve survived, you will become one of us. You will ascend to the most elite organization in the world, and you will be rewarded with wealth and influence, just like those who came before you.”
I try to imagine my father trapped in a coffin with dirt and worms crawling all over him, but the picture is difficult to conjure. Grigor Kurochkin would never stoop this low—unless he was promised infinite wealth and power.
My grandfather was born a poor farmer, but his ambition allowed him to break out of poverty and ascend the ranks of Russia’s government. He reached the pinnacle of his political career when he became the president of Andarusia after the fall of the Soviet Union.
The price of power is steep, but my grandfather was willing to do anything to get his hands on it. Did he sell his soul tothe Order of Apollo to achieve it? Did he condemn his son and grandson to the same fate?
Deep down, I know the answer is yes.
The leader grows louder, his voice penetrating the wood to echo in the hollow space around my body. “But should you fail these trials, or utter a word about the Order of Apollo outside of the brotherhood, you will be condemned to live out the rest of eternity here, in the Underworld. Your skull will be added to the Altar of the Dead as an offering to Hades, and you will carry the secrets of our sacred order into death. A necessary sacrifice in the pursuit of power.”
Doubt begins to crawl up my spine like the worms beneath me. Could they be real human skulls after all? Hundreds of them are embedded in the wall, but if that many students went missing over the years, wouldn’t the university catch on?
The brotherhood has ways to cover it up. You have no idea how powerful they are. Every father knows the risk when they send their son off to university. It’s the price they pay for becoming a god.
I keep my lips glued shut and breathe in and out of my nose, praying that a worm doesn’t crawl its way into my nostrils. The pungent odor of the fertilizer makes my eyes water, but I have to breathe and stay calm.
