Chapter 20 The Devil's belt
"Speak! I’m listening!” said the high priest.
Evie took a few hesitant steps forward. The crowd instinctively parted, giving her space—not out of courtesy, but fear. No one wanted to fall beneath the High Priest’s gaze. His voice was low, almost calm, yet his eyes were bloodshot, the veins stark and angry. It was said that a single misstep could earn one a place tied to the olive trees, left to suffer. No one wished to tempt that fate.
The place was drained of sound as everyone waited to hear her side of the story, but Evie remained frozen, her eyes fixed on the ground, her fingers fidgeting endlessly as she struggled to find her voice.
“Speak now!” the High Priest thundered, “or I will tear your tongue from your mouth with my own fingers!” Evie flinched violently, as did the onlookers. She broke down at once into loud, desperate sobs, much to Levi’s irritation.
“I—I don’t know what came over me,” Evie cried “Levi made me so angry, and I just… I wanted to punish her. I swear I never thought she would take my words seriously. Please, Master… forgive me.” She bowed low before him, clinging to the hope that mercy might yet be shown. But the damage she had caused was far too great.
“It is good that you have confessed your sin and sought forgiveness,” the High Priest said at last. “And I forgive you.”
A wave of relief flooded Evie’s trembling body in an instant, and a faint smile broke across her face. "Thank you, master!"
“ However,” he continued coldly, “you must now give the Almighty unto whom the sacrifice was owed a reason to pardon you, and to cleanse this mountain of the darkness you have brought upon it.” he said, and signaled to one of the men, to Evie’s dismay. She screamed as the man approached her, pleading for him to stop. He ignored her cries. He was twice her size, and in one swift motion, he hoisted her onto his shoulder like a sack of grain. She clawed and bit at him, but it was useless.
“Master, Shall we set Levi free?” one of the men restraining her asked. Levi smirked, he had asked the very same question she had in mind. Of course she would be released—the true culprit had been revealed, and killing the beast had not been her fault. But the High Priest’s response wiped the smirk from her face.
“No,” he said firmly. “She will be sent to the prison yard until we have sought Elyon’s will concerning her fate. This matter is grievous.” His gaze lingered on Levi for a brief moment. There was something in it—sadness, perhaps, or uncertainty that made her heart sink.
“But first,” he added, turning away, “she must witness the punishment.” And with that, he left.
The young priest reached out and ruffled Levi's hair in a deliberately annoying way, his usual seriousness replaced with a sly, teasing grin.
“Lucky golden-haired,” he teased.
“Don’t touch me!” she snarled and walked away, which only seemed to amuse him further.
Evie was dragged into the courtyard where the tree stood, regardless of her cries and pleas. She was made to wrap her hands around the tree, and her wrists were tied with rope to prevent movement. Her temple garment was then torn from the collar to her waist, exposing her bare back. That was the site for whipping and was usually exposed to allow direct contact with the flesh.
More people gathered in the courtyard to witness the punishment, including temple servants who were neither priests nor priestesses. This was an occurrence that was rarely carried out in the courtyard. In fact, it had been over ten years since the last one. It was only done whenever a grave sin was committed… And killing the sacred beast meant for sacrifice was far greater than any offense they had known. That day would be remembered as the first of its kind.
Those who had descended the mountain to visit their families had unknowingly missed an event that might never occur again.
The priest appointed to deliver the punishment stepped into the courtyard wearing his regular garment—a long black leather tunic with a single slit down the front. Murmurs spread through the crowd as his name was whispered.
“Lord Tristan… the gifted… he is one of the four Lords… the Lords are powerful prophets.”
For he was the strongest sword fighter in all of Malakh and possessed supernatural powers, as did every lords chosen by Elyon. Despite how powerful he was, he was very fond of Evie and had always protected her like a brother for as long as she could remember. That he would now be the one to carry out her punishment was a cruel irony—a kind of punishment, one that even the strongest men could not withstand. But He had no choice in the matter.
He stood at his designated spot and looked up at the people to address them. “All servants of Elyon gathered here today,” he said, his voice steady, “may the spirit of Elyon be with you.”
“And with your spirit,” the crowd replied as one.
“You know why I stand before you,” Lord Tristan continued. “This priestess, Evie, committed the sin of deceit against a fellow priestess, and this sin has led to an even greater transgression—one that has not occurred since the creation of man. The White Giant Deer is a creature of unparalleled rarity, and yet, when a sacrifice is required, the spirit of Elyon has always sent such a beast to our gates. Never has He failed us. But today, through Evie’s deceitfulness, this sacred creature has been slain and defiled. She cannot escape punishment, for to do so would invite the wrath of the Almighty Elyon upon this mountain.”
He turned and walked to a small table nearby. Upon it sat a container filled to the brim with salt. Extending his hand, he spoke clearly.
“Hand me the Devil’s Belt.”
He was handed a long whip, its rough, jagged edges designed to bite into the flesh. He first placed it into a bowl of water, then into the container filled with salt, ensuring it was fully immersed before drawing it out, its length brushing the floor. He walked toward Evie, who was fidgeting, and stared at her for a moment.
“Don’t do this to me, my lord,” she cried. “You’ve always cared for me like a brother… please… I’m scared!”
The man before her remained stoic and unreadable—a sign that her punishment would only grow worse and more unbearable if she continued begging. At that moment, he was no longer the friend or brother she knew, but an executioner.
“May the spirit of Elyon forgive your sins and cleanse this mountain of the attack of evil spirits,” he said at last, lifting the whip into the air. It came down sharply upon her bare back, and her scream tore through the courtyard. The whip bit into her skin, and when he drew it back, it carried with it blood and flesh.