The Silent Kings Ritual

They were outcasts once, in the old days; The Silent Kings. That’s what all the old-timers heard from their old-timers, anyway. They were Sin Eaters. Mute Sin Eaters.  Mute from trauma, according to most. The three of them were brothers, orphaned together when they accidentally set their mother on fire. The legends don’t record the details of exactly how that went down, but the boys were so traumatized not just from witnessing their mother’s fiery demise, but also being the cause of it, that they never spoke again.

No one spoke to them, either. They were pariahs after that. Accident or not, being responsible for the death of your own mother, especially in such a ghastly manner, will make people think twice before associating with you. The boys survived by scavenging and foraging on the outskirts of town, the townsfolk never failing to drive them away if they got too close.

The only time the brothers ever got any charity out of any of them was when one of them died.

According to – well, a psychic at a local yoga studio if I’m being honest – bad karma literally weighs a soul down and keeps it from ascending up through the astral plane. Throughout the ages, people have tried all kinds of workarounds to this to try to ascend despite their karmic baggage, and sin-eating was one of them. Someone who was already considered damned beyond redemption – like three boys that had burned their mother alive – might as well take on the sins of the less contemptable to give them a shot at salvation.

During the lives of The Silent Kings, the ritual took the form of placing a loaf of bread on the deceased’s chest and leaving it to sit overnight on the eve of their funeral. Before the coffin lid was closed, The Silent Kings were summoned to not only retrieve but eat the loaf in front of witnesses, ensuring that they were, in fact, absorbing the sins of the dead.

This went on for many years until the boys were grown into men, and had still never spoken a word to anyone. One day, the three of them were summoned to complete the same ritual they had completed a hundred times before, and they ate a loaf of bread off the chest of a dead man.

Unbeknownst to anyone present, however, this man’s sins were far worse than any that had come before.

To this day, it’s unknown what made this man so evil, and most say that he surely must have been in league with the devil to explain what happened next.

After The Silent Kings had finished their bread, the priest dismissed them so they could proceed with the funeral. But this time, the boys didn’t leave. Instead, they clutched their stomachs and started vomiting in front of God and everyone, their bodies unable to absorb the man’s many and abominable sins. They just kept wretching harder and harder, and it wasn’t long before they were throwing up blood.

It was obvious that they were in need of medical attention, but even then, the townsfolk had no pity on them. They continued on with the funeral as best they could, hoping that when they returned, the problem would have solved itself.

But it wasn’t just the sins of that dead man that The Silent Kings were purging from their systems; it was all of them. When they had heaved themselves dry, steaming hot blood started oozing out of every pore, and as it evaporated into a crimson mist, it carried the weight of their adopted sins with it. Before they had bled out completely, their bones started to fracture and break until the oldest sins, the ones that had sunk deep into their marrow, were able to escape.

As the funeral procession marched forward towards the cemetery, the sins of their long-dead loved ones were brought to them upon a foul wind. Some experienced them as visions, as whispers without a voice, or simply as long-forgotten memories that had finally been remembered. Pandemonium broke out as they were stricken with grief, guilt, and rage at what their departed kin had done, and plenty of fresh sins were committed that day as well.

What the townfolk had failed to grasp is that sin-eating only works when it’s a noble sacrifice.  The Sin Eater has to take on the weight of another’s sin because they believe that person deserves redemption, even when Karmic Law says otherwise. They are Christ-like figures, and for the ritual to work, they must be revered as such. They must be redeemers, not scapegoats, or no real healing or forgiveness is possible. They just take on more and more sin until it breaks them and is unleashed threefold back onto those who cast the Sin Eater out.

The town never recovered from that tragedy, and it was eventually abandoned. It’s a literal ghost town, haunted by restless spirits who had once sought easy and unearned redemption. Only the Sin Eaters, those Silent Kings, remain now.

You see, it wasn’t just the sin of all those they had taken on that were purged in their final moments; it was their own, too. Their years of selfless service, suffering, and sacrifice had earned them their penance, and when their souls were free of sin, their broken bodies were transmuted into statues of cold iron, skeletal wraiths swathed in hooded robes and adorned with tall crowns. Though they no longer take the sins of others upon themselves, it is said that they will still help you take on the sins of your dead loved ones, if you complete their ritual.

That’s my favourite version of the legend, at any rate. There are others, of course, as with all folklore, but the parts that never change are the parts that are indisputable fact. There is an abandoned 19th century village twenty or so miles from where I live, an abandoned village that inexplicably contains a trio of crowned, iron, skeletons standing beneath a towering oak tree, with just enough crumbling and overgrown brick wall nearby to let you know it had once been a building of some kind. If you want to complete The Silent Kings’ ritual, you’ll have to go to this hovel and pay them a visit.

First, you’ll need three silver dollars. Most people say that older ones work better, but any ones you can get are fine. You’ll have to keep one of them in your mouth though, so make sure it’s not too big, or too grimy. Next, you’ll need a loaf of bread; freshly baked with simple ingredients. Flour, yeast, butter and water. You’ll want to add salt for purity, rosemary for remembrance, and black poppy seeds to represent the sins of the deceased. The standards for the bread aren’t exact, but as a general rule, the Kings won’t accept industrially produced bread. A loaf from an artisanal bakery might do the trick, but it’s best to play it safe and bake the loaf yourself. Don’t worry if you’re not much of a chef; you’re going for humility here. A husk of barely edible burnt bread may even turn out in your favour. Just don’t make it too large, since you’re going to have to eat it all in one sitting. You’ll also need three beeswax candles; not big, but they should all be the same size. I don’t think the Kings are particular about what you light them with, but I strongly urge you to err on the side of caution and not bring anything too modern. You’ll need enough sacramental wine for three goblets, and the most important thing you’ll need is a handwritten note of whose sins you’re looking to take on. Write down who they are, what they did that you think earned them damnation, why you think they deserve clemency, and why you’re willing to bear their cross for them. Lastly, you’ll want a backpack to carry all this in, as you will need your hands free for most of the ritual.

The outskirts of the village are marked by an old wooden sign that’s been there for as long as anyone can remember, standing right beside a narrow path of sand that leads straight to the Kings’ Hovel. It simply reads ‘One Can Only Truly Listen In Silence’. Once you cross this sign, the ritual begins. Everything will go deafly silent once you step across the threshold, a silence which you are not permitted to disturb. It’s basically A Quiet Place rules; stay on the sand path, and do not speak, sigh, laugh, or scream until you have left the village. Normal breathing is fine, and if they’re muffled and truly involuntary, you might get away with a cough or a sneeze. But any elective sound you make could end up costing you your life, so tread carefully.

The ritual may be started any time after sunset, and I’d recommend doing it immediately after to ensure you’ll have all the time you need. Before you step into the village, place one of the silver coins under your tongue, and hold another in each hand, fists clenched tight. Make the sign of the cross first with your right hand, and then your left.  As soon as you step across the threshold, you’ll begin seeing apparitions from the day The Silent Kings died. They’re not ghosts, just scars; memories burnt into the psionic fabric of reality during a tragedy. They’ll start off subtle, but they’ll get worse the more noise you make. Walk slowly along the sand path to the Kings’ Hovel, making no more noise than need be, not daring to so much as rustle the grass. Keep your gaze low, because no matter how quiet you are, you’re still making some noise, so the visions around you will get worse and worse. You could just close your eyes, I suppose, but then you’d be at an awfully big risk of stumbling off the path and making a real ruckus, making it all the worse when you inevitably have to open your eyes again.

The most important thing is not to drop the coins until you’re in the Kings’ Hovel. They create a sort of circuit when you carry them like that, which forms a protective ward against the apparitions, plus keeping one of them in your mouth just keeps you from talking. If you didn’t have the coins, you wouldn’t just see the apparitions; you’d see the sins that drove them to such madness to begin with, which is something you probably wouldn’t be able to handle. The ward has its limits though, and it can be overpowered if you make too much noise or linger too long. Some people are more sensitive to these apparitions than others, so if at any point you feel you’re losing your nerve, turn back. When you reach the threshold of the village, drop the three coins, and never return again. You’ve already made far too much noise.

But if you do make it to the Kings’ Hovel, you should cross yourself once with each hand again before entering, along with making a respectful bow. Once inside, you’ll see that each of The Silent Kings has a chalice in their right hand, an alms bowl in their left, and their mouths wide open. You start by placing the coins in the alms bowls, the grace of the Kings now being sufficient to guard you from the apparitions. Fill the alms bowl on your right (their left) first, then the left, and then use your right hand to remove the coin from your mouth, wipe it off, and place it in the alms bowl of the center king.

Do not spit the coin into the alms bowl. Have some class.

Next, you pour the wine into the goblets, again moving from right, to left, to center.  Gently tear the bread into three roughly equal pieces and place it into their mouths, from right to left to center. Take out your beeswax candles and place them out in front of the Silent Kings – from right, to left, to center – and then light them in that same order.

If you have not done the ritual correctly, the candles will refuse to light. You cannot take back what you have given to the Kings, so you must now make the trek out of the village without the protection of the silver coins. Your odds of surviving this are far from encouraging, but slightly better than if you try to stay until sunrise after losing the Kings’ grace, so you’ll want to make sure you got the ritual right.

But if the candles do light, sit down in between The Silent Kings, and take out your note. Read it silently to yourself. And then again. And again. Over and over and over again, until the candles burn out. Remember that this letter is your mantra; don’t let your attention waver, and be very careful not to mutter a single word aloud when reading. This should go without saying, but if you have a strong inclination to talk to yourself, this ritual may not be for you.

Once the last candle has burned out, you won’t have enough light to read by, though by then I’m sure you’ll have it memorized by heart. You can just sit there for a moment if you like to let your eyes adjust. Fold up the letter, and tear it into three equal pieces. In the same order as before – right, left, and center – take the bread out from each King’s mouth and replace it with a piece of the letter, eating the bread entirely before moving onto the next King. When you’ve finished, you can parch your thirst by drinking from the center King’s cup. If it’s still wine, then you’ve failed. You’ll still have the Kings’ grace though, so stay exactly where you are and perfectly silent until sunrise. Leave the village, and don’t attempt the ritual again unless you’re sure you’ve realized why you weren’t able to accept the sins of your loved ones before and that you can do better next time.

But if you were successful, you’ll find that the wine has been transmuted into water. No need to wait until dawn now. You’re a Sin Eater, and the apparitions will ignore you just like they did The Silent Kings. Make your way out of the village, not breaking your silence until you cross the sign.

I’ve noticed that in most of these types of rituals, you’re promised at least the potential for vast material rewards, even if it’s a Monkey’s Paw situation or there’s a Sword of Damocles hanging over you. But with The Silent Kings ritual, your only reward is that you now carry the weight of your loved one’s sins. You’ll feel them, sinking down deep into the depths of your soul, and ready to drag you down to Hell as soon as you shuffle off your mortal coil. But your loved ones? The people you were willing to go through all of this for in the first place? They’re free. They’re saved. They’re redeemed. Because you took their place, for all Eternity.

Maybe you’re okay with that. Or maybe not? If that’s the case, you’ll need to dedicate your life to transfiguring that sin inside you into something beautiful. You’ll need to live a monastic life, living as selflessly and altruistically as possible, fully dedicating to serving the righteously needy. Any time that you have to yourself you will need to be dedicated to spiritual practices; prayer, study, introspective meditation, that sort of thing. Stay true to this path, and eventually you’ll earn penance for both you and the one whose cross you took upon yourself.

Oh, and you should swing by the village as often as you can during the day. Those of us who have successfully completed the ritual have formed an order of sorts, and we maintain the town sign, the sand path, collect the offerings from the Kings’ Hovel, that sort of thing. We also alert the police whenever we find a body from a failed ritual. Fortunately, no matter how mutilated the bodies are, it’s always self-inflicted, so we’ve never been successfully charged with anything.

But what’s more important than any of that is that we listen to one another, share advice, and show each other support. Taking on someone else’s cross is a heavy burden, and it’s one you don’t have to carry alone. Whenever it feels like it’s getting too much, come back to visit The Silent Kings.

We’d love to talk.