Definition
1 : a priest in ancient Greece; specifically : the chief priest of the Eleusinian mysteries
2 a : a person who explains : expositor
b : one who defends or maintains a cause or proposal : advocate
Hierophant, hieroglyphics, and hierarch have a common root: hieros, a Greek word meaning "sacred." Hieroglyphics joins hieros with a derivative of glyphein, the Greek verb for "to carve." Hierarch, a word that can refer to a religious leader in a position of authority, joins hieros with a derivative of archein, meaning "to rule." Hierophant itself joins the root with a derivative of phainein, which means "to show." The original hierophants were priests of the ancient Greek city of Eleusis who performed sacred rites. In the 17th century, when the word was first documented in English, it referred to these priests. By the 19th century, English speakers were using the term in a broader sense. A hierophant can now be a spokesperson, a commentator, an interpreter, or a leading advocate.
The infiltration of the local cult was not going well. For starters, the only other member of my team I could spot was currently following the cult leader (who, in my personal and extremely professional opinion, was a very bad man) like a slavish dog with an expression of pure, worshipful dedication - almost, no exactly like, some of the more intensely brainwashed cult devotees. I'd say that he was just playing the role extremely well - except, a, I knew he couldn't act that well and b, he wasn't supposed to be on the compound at all. His cover was that of a telegraph pole engineer. He was supposed to observe from above (literally) and sound like alarm if it looked like things had gone sideways.
Well, by my estimation things had now not only gone utterly sideways up shit creek - but we were now definitely heading towards the waterfall of doom without so much as the proverbial paddle.
The cult member standing in front of me gave a small cough and I jolted out of my panic induced mental coma. I gave him a bright smile (as befitting a dainty and delicate woman who was only so happy to surrender her time, rights and ability to choose for herself to the strong man in front of her. The cult's fashion of reverting women's rights and roles way back to the dark ages was one of the many, many things I hated about it.I'd hated it even more after the week I'd had to spend abiding by it's stupid rules. At this point I'd almost welcome the chance for one of them denounce me as a 'witch' (oh yeah, that had happened. I'd started laughing until I realised everyone else wasn't. Luckily I'd managed to break the young woman out of the holding cell she was trapped in overnight and whisk her away before the either of us found out what that big pile, one might say pyre, of wood was waiting for out on the front lawn). Oh boy, if they wanted a witch then by god, I'd give them a witch to fear. But no such luck so far. Instead it was all colgate smiles and pastels and never, ever disagreeing with a man's opinion. Gag.) and dished out the grey slimy broth of what passed for an apparently nutritious and delicious breakfast repast of hearty porridge.
I'd see the accounts for this cult. They sure weren't sending the vast sums they swindled from naive believers on sustaining their devotees. Well, more could always be brainwashed after all, so what was the point of maintaining the ones you'd already drained of everything they had. Better to wear them out and make room for some fresh prey.
These people were scum.
And apparently there was only me left to deal with them.
Well, alright them.
My company didn't really deal with religious matters (despite, well, the certain sense of irony to that situation, if you were in the know) but anything to do with Gods or belief we generally stayed out off it for two reasons, one, on the basis that, if you're not doing harm then you're free to believe whatever half arsed, crackpot faith you have going for you and two, true religious fanatics were actually completely insane, as well as a total pain in the arse to deal with and, to be honest, you were much better off leaving well alone and hopefully they'd return the favour.
So when our mercenary group (a group that was well known for mainly dealing with difficult rescue/extraction operations in war torn, hostile areas) was approached with this particular request to dissolve the cult following that had become based in our home town (or at least the town where we had our main office and many of our staff lived in, myself included) our first instinct was to turn it down. However, the cult group didn't follow either of the two rules of why we didn't take on religious cases. First off, the leaders were not crazy (not so sue about the followers). They were clearly cold headed, cold hearted bastards who were out to make as much money as possible from whoever they could fleece the easiest - namely the vulnerable and desperate. Which did not sit well with us.
Secondly, and this really made us sit up and take notice, was they most certainly did not follow the (and most religions followed this, at least superficially) given rule of 'do no harm'.
They did harm. Lots of harm. From their followers who they bleed dry and left them behind to wallow in their own despair, to the homeless people they snatched off the street and literally bled dry in their own, horrific, religious ceremonies.
Seriously, how they could so easily denounce a woman as a witch and then eagerly send her to burn at the stakes for her 'crimes', while on the other hand murder innocent people (or, 'ending the suffering of those with lives that have no meaning so that they might find redemption and succor in their next life'. I wasn't sure how I felt about those devotees who went along with this course of action with such demented agreement. I knew brainwashing and hypnotism was rife amongst them - but how much of that could really twist a person's character, twist it so much that they found joy in another's suffering and death. This, i decided, was definitely an issue for official law enforcement officers, the justice system and several well trained psychiatrists. I was not going to make this my issue unless someone forced my hand. Right now, I had other things to think on rather than a murky moral debate).
They were bad, no one was stopping them and they were shitting in our own back garden.
So we took the job.
For the past month, we had been gradually sneaking in our operatives for a covert stake out and potential take down. There should have been at least ten other people in this room that were mine.
The only people I could count was myself and the guy that shouldn't even be here. Where had my colleagues gone.
I took a deep breath. Ok, Becky, don't panic. There's a standard operating procedure when shit like this happens. The first thing to do is extricate yourself from the situation, as calmly and unnoticeable as possible and then call for help. Easy. I'll just slowly back out and then in, one, two, thre-
"Witch." A voice hissed behind me.
I turned, the cult leader stood behind me, his face a mask of hate and spite (a mask I know to be a mask, simply because from the dossier we had on him, the man was a straight up sociopath and very rarely (from what we could tell) either expressed or felt emotions like a normal person. He just didn't have it in him. But boy could he fake them. He could do it so well it was actually one of the scariest things about him.).
He threw a white powder into my face and I felt unconsciousness pull me down and out, the screams of the crowd as they howled for my blood chasing me down, down, down into the dark.
***
I awoke sometime later, in the near dark, tied to a pole. A pole that was surrounded by some suspiciously, enthusiastically doused in petrol wood planks. Well, kind of planks, they didn't look that even. In fact, I suspected they just gone through the compound, found any old dodgy wooden furniture they could, smashed it up and soaked it in petrol and hey presto, instant witch burning pyre! Huzzah!
I blame YouTube for a lot of things. Who needs to know how to build a witch burning pyre in this day and age. Honestly. no one cares about historical accuracy you over zealous punk. Stop giving sociopaths ideas.
Apparently, they'd learnt their lesson with the last escapee. No more last night on earth to be gifted as a time of contemplation. Nope, straight into the fires of damnation for me.
I couldn't help it. I began to smile.
It must have been quite the smile too, several of the congregation gathered (that I could see over the enormous ranting head of the cult leader doing his 'of course this isn't actually a brutal form of murder and you're not going to receive consequences from the law/go to hell/will actually be a bad person for burning an innocent person to death' speech, had actually started to nervously back away.
I guess some remnant of a survival instinct that hadn't activated enough for them to avoid and/or escape this cult, was still enough alive to spot a danger like me.
I grinned wider.
More of the crowd shuffled nervously.
The cult leader finally caught wind of this and turned to scowl at me. Oh, it was the other one. The financial one. The one that liked the money, the women, the blood. This one wasn't a sociopath. He was very, very human - more human that the standard kind would like to admit, even in the secrecy of their own head.
He liked pain too. He was always the one to perform the rituals.
I didn't like him. And now he was here.
I grinned even wider. You could see more of my teeth than you should be able to.
The cult leader (number two) dropped the torch, in a move that could almost be called hasty and rapidly backed away.
Like that would save him.
The wood rapidly caught alight and within moments I was surrounded by flames and thick heavy smoke that reeked of petrol and the chemicals the cheap wood had been treated in. For a brief moment, I mourned the clean air and wood smoke of my long, long distant youth. That time had been and gone, long ago.
The smoke smelled filthy - which matched every aspect this place.
"Know your place Becky!" The cult leader (number two) shouted in a way that I suspected was supposed to sound defiant and masterful but, actually, sounded a bit weak and feeble, lost in the thick clouds of smoke that were churning their way through the crowd, like thick grey snakes, wrapping themselves around limbs, torsos and throats in a way that didn't really seem like inanimate smoke should act.
I couldn't help it. I laughed as the flames soared around me. "Seriously, what is it about men that makes them just love setting fire to innocent women? For surely, if we could do all the things you say we can, a real witch would never burn - and you'd never have the guts to try in the first place."
"My name's not Becky." I said, walking casually down from the pyre, the flames having helpfully burnt away my bonds and were now curled around my body and perched on my shoulder - after all, how could the great immortal phoenix be anything other than the spirit of flame itself. It nuzzled my cheek affectionately, we had always been close - close since nearly the beginning of time in fact.
"It's Hecate." I said with a smile that was more of a snarl.
Later, the police arrived to find all cult devotees tangled and ensnared on the lawn - bound with heavy silver ropes that turned to ash once the police touched them. The compound buildings had been burnt to the ground, nothing remained except several crucial pieces of evidence that completely condemned the cult and their actions. That, and several skeletons were neatly set out and laying in the back field - as if they were peacefully waiting to be found.
Speaking of found, the cult leaders never were.
Our client was most satisfied with the service provided.
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