COVENANT OF ASHES: She Was born to curse him

THE SECOND COMMANDMENT

COVENANT OF ASHES

BOOK 4

CHAPTER 3: THE SECOND COMMANDMENT

The Second Commandment was never written on the gate.

Selah learned that at dawn.

"DO NOT SPEAK WITH KINGS," the iron said.

"DO NOT TOUCH THE ANOINTED."

"DO NOT LOVE WHAT GOD HAS MARKED FOR WRATH."

Three lines. Ten words.

But in the archives, on her grandmother’s scroll, there was a fourth line, scraped out with a knife.

DO NOT FORGET WHO YOU WERE BEFORE THE LAW.

Selah ran her thumb over the gouge in the parchment until her skin hurt.

Outside, the city was loud. The king was gone but the drums were back. This time they were ours.

"Gather for the public curse," a guard called. "The Elder commands it."

She washed her face. The cut on her lip had scabbed. The piece of crown was hidden in the hem of her robe, digging into her thigh with every step.

The courtyard was full. Hundreds. Farmers, merchants, mothers with children on their hips. All of them looking at the temple gate like it could save them.

Malak stood on the steps. White robe. Gold cord. The book of law in his hands.

"Today," he said, voice carrying, "we remind the heavens that we have not forgotten the covenant."

He looked straight at Selah.

"Priestess. Speak."

She walked forward. Barefoot. Ash bowl in her hands.

The crowd parted.

She could feel their eyes. Hunger. Fear. Hope that if she said the right words, the rain would come.

She dipped her fingers.

D.

O.

N.

Her voice was steady. "By dust you came. By dust you will answer."

O.

T.

S.

"King Jareth," she said. "You are marked. You are cursed. You are cut off."

P.

E.

A.

K.

A baby cried. Someone coughed.

With each letter she felt it. The hum in the stone. The answering in the air.

But this time it was different. This time the H did not smudge.

This time the gate did not shudder.

Because he was not there to hear it.

When she finished, Malak nodded. "The curse is sealed."

The crowd exhaled.

"Now bread," Malak said. "From the temple stores. For those who have waited."

Servants came with baskets. Selah was ordered to help distribute.

Her hands were shaking.

An old woman took bread from her. "Thank you, daughter," she whispered. "Pray for us."

Selah nodded. She could not speak.

The last basket. A boy, maybe nine. Thin. Eyes too big.

He looked at her and said, "Are you the one who prays for the king?"

Selah froze. "What?"

"My brother said he heard you," the boy said. "In the night. You said his name."

Selah’s blood went cold. "You’re mistaken."

The boy took the bread and ran.

Malak was watching.

After, she was summoned again.

Not to the archives. To the chamber of branding.

The room smelled like oil and burnt skin.

"You were seen speaking to a child," Malak said. No preamble. "What did he ask you?"

"About the rain," Selah lied.

Malak circled her. "Do not take me for a fool, Selah of the Ash Line. Your grandmother was weak. Do not make me think you are too."

Selah kept her eyes on the floor. "I am not weak."

"Good," Malak said. "Then you will do the Second Rite tonight. Alone. No witnesses. To prove it."

The Second Rite. No priestess had done it in 40 years.

It was not a curse. It was a test.

Spend the night in the gate chamber. No food. No water. No sleep. If God accepted the curse, the gate would glow at sunrise. If not, the one who spoke it would be marked.

"Yes, Elder," Selah said.

That night she went to the gate chamber with only the bowl and her robe.

The iron was cold.

She sat. She waited.

Hour one: silence.

Hour two: the wind.

Hour three: a sound at the door.

She did not move.

The door opened anyway.

Jareth.

No crown. No guards. Just him. And a waterskin.

"You look awful," he said quietly.

"What are you doing here?" Selah whispered. "If they find you—"

"They won’t," he said. "The guards are drunk. I paid them with the last of my gold."

He sat down across from her, not too close.

"I heard you today," he said. "You said my name like it hurt."

"It does," Selah said.

Jareth held out the waterskin. "Drink."

"I can’t. It’s part of the rite."

"Then I’ll drink for you," he said. And did.

They sat in silence.

"Why did you come back?" Selah asked finally. "After the crown. After the note."

Jareth looked at the gate. "Because of what you said. 'Then we burn together.'"

"I didn’t write that," Selah said.

"I know," Jareth said. "I did. I left it to see if you were afraid of fire. You’re not."

Selah closed her eyes. "The Second Rite. If the gate doesn’t glow, they brand me tomorrow."

Jareth’s jaw tightened. "Then we make it glow."

"How?"

He pulled out the small book again. The real scroll.

"We finish the commandment," he said. "The one they cut out."

Selah shook her head. "I can’t. It’s law."

"It’s a lie," Jareth said. "And you know it."

He opened to the scraped page. Read it aloud.

"DO NOT FORGET WHO YOU WERE BEFORE THE LAW."

His voice echoed in the chamber.

The gate did not glow.

But something else did.

A line in the iron, thin as hair, lit up. From the bottom up.

Selah stared. "What is that?"

"The truth," Jareth said. "It was always there. Under the ash."

More footsteps. Fast.

"Someone’s coming," Jareth said. He stood. "We have to go."

Selah grabbed his arm. "If you run, I’ll be blamed."

"If you stay, you’ll be branded," Jareth said. "Come with me. Just to the cistern. One night. Then come back and tell them I forced you."

The door slammed open.

Torches. Guards. Malak.

"Traitor," Malak spat.

Jareth did not run. He stepped in front of Selah.

"Touch her and you’ll have to go through me," he said.

Malak smiled. "Finally. The king delivers himself."

The guards moved in.

Jareth drew a knife. Not to fight. To cut.

He sliced his own palm and pressed it to the gate.

Blood on iron.

The line of light flared. Bright. White.

The whole gate shook.

And words appeared, burning under the ash. Words no one had seen in 400 years.

"WHEN THE KING BLEEDS FOR THE PEOPLE, THE PRIESTESS SHALL CHOOSE."

Malak staggered back. "What sorcery is this?"

"It’s not sorcery," Jareth said, breathing hard. "It’s the covenant."

The guards grabbed him. Chains.

They did not touch Selah.

Malak turned to her. "You did this."

Selah stood. Her legs felt like water. "I did nothing."

"You spoke to him," Malak said. "You let him defile the gate."

Selah looked at the glowing words. At Jareth’s blood on the iron. At the chains on his wrists.

She made a choice.

She stepped forward and put her hand over his, on the gate.

Her blood mixed with his.

The light doubled.

And the last line appeared.

"AND THE TWO SHALL BE ONE BEFORE GOD AND MAN."

Silence.

Then Malak screamed. "Seize her!"

The guards hesitated.

Selah looked at Jareth. His face was pale, but his eyes were clear.

"Run," he mouthed.

She didn’t.

She let them take her.

They dragged her to the chamber of branding.

Malak followed, shaking. "She is corrupted. She must be marked tonight."

The iron was heating in the brazier. The shape of the gate.

Selah knelt.

She thought of the boy with the bread.

She thought of her grandmother’s scraped scroll.

She thought of Jareth’s hand in hers.

The door burst open.

Not guards.

People.

Dozens. From the courtyard. From the city.

Led by the old woman who had taken bread.

"Don’t you touch her," the woman said. "She fed us."

More came. Farmers. Mothers. The boy.

Malak raised his hand. "This is treason."

"No," the old woman said. "This is mercy. And we’re tired of curses."

They stood between Selah and the brazier.

Malak looked at the crowd. At Selah. At the glowing gate down the hall.

He lowered his hand.

"Take the king to the cells," he said. "And the priestess to confinement. We will decide her fate at sunrise."

They pulled Selah up.

As they dragged her past Jareth, he looked at her.

Blood on his hand. Chains on his wrists.

And he mouthed one word.

Stay.

She nodded, once.

In confinement, she had no lamp. No water. Only the piece of crown in her hem.

She held it to her chest.

The gate was still glowing. She could see it through the slit in the wall.

The Second Commandment had been spoken.

Not by law.

By blood.

And now the city had to decide which god they served.

The one of the gate.

Or the one who bled for them.

Dawn was hours away.

And Selah had never been more awake.

End of Chapter 3.