by Tam Chronin
"And, finally, there was Nalia, who held herself and her gifts apart. Her domain was magic, part of all things, giving the unifying force necessary to all that the other gods created, but separate from all. She granted them her magic freely, as excited as they were over giving life to Kayan, a world that was much like a child to them all."
"Hello?" Aral kept looking around, trying to find who was speaking. "Who are you? Where are you?"
There was a whisper in her ear. "You don't want to be here for this."
She caught a glimpse of Naran and Davri walking into the temple. Aral opened her mouth to shout a warning to them.
If she didn't want to be here for this, they should leave, too.
The strange vision abruptly disappeared.
"Aral?"
She was back where she'd been before, in the lecture hall. Thera was looking at her with obvious concern.
"Sorry," Aral said, patting her friend on the arm. "Just an odd train of thought. It's fine, we should go to the library."
Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. But she knew in her gut that there was nothing she could do about it. Not yet.
“Sir!”
A chill ran down Naran's spine.
There were throngs of people in the temple. The priest rushing in their direction could be addressing any number of people.
Naran's heart was pounding anyway. He knew. He shouldn't have come here. He shouldn't have asked to come, to see the beauty of the place.
The priest tripped over the hem of his own robe in his hurry. It was a momentary stumble that should have looked comical. Something about the long limbs flailing about seemed sinister and spider-like instead.
"The goddess surely blesses you for this." The priest stopped in front of Davri, catching his breath, the picture of disarming benevolence. His brown hair was hanging in front of his eyes like a puppy. "You have done the right thing in bringing this child to us. Do you know...did he wander off from another temple, or did he run away? Ah, it doesn't matter. I'll take him for you from here."
The silence that fell at those words seemed to encompass the world. The priest snatched Naran's hand, pulling him from Davri's limp fingers. Everything slowed down around them, and he watched sorrow and resolve settle on Davri's face without a hint of surprise. It confused Naran at first, then ice seemed to form in his veins. Davri, his sister's closest friend, was letting this happen. He was being stolen away, and Davri was just watching it happen. The back of his throat turned sour, like the moment before vomiting.
So. This is what it meant to be sick with fear.
Naran could see the eyes of the priest from home.
The one who had spoken so pleasantly of killing him.
The one who thought the world would be better if he would lie down and die instead of his parents.
The one he still secretly agreed with every night as he lay in bed, staring into the blackness around him.
He took a deep breath to scream just as Davri clenched his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and yanked Naran away from the priest. The scream came out as an oddly malformed squeak. It heralded the chaos that erupted a moment later.
Sound returned to Naran's world.
Voices rushed in at him from all sides.
One word floated above the cacophony.
"...sacrifice."
The priest was speaking.
He was saying something to Davri as if Naran were an object rather than a child.
That one word swam through his head and drowned out the rest.
People were pressing in around them.
Naran pulled his hand free of the priest and clung to Davri with all his might.
"No!" Davri was shouting. "His parents died! You can't!"
"He's a sacrifice! He's been marked! The gods—"
Davri picked Naran up and ran.
The last thing Naran saw of the temple was the priest falling in a graceless heap to the ground.
Chapter Two –
Chaos and Confusion
They were down two dozen steps in an instant, Davri's heart pounding, drowning out all other sound. He hadn't even had time to think. Just react.
What have I done?
He pulled Naran around the closest corner, panting a little. He kneeled in front of Naran, taking in the wildness and fear in the boy's eyes.
"Don't say a word."
Davri traced a sigil on Naran's forehead, whispering words of magic to seal it. It emitted the faintest blue glow for a mere moment before sinking into the boy's skin and disappearing.
"I have somewhere we can go. Somewhere to hide. I need you to keep quiet until we get there."
Naran nodded.
"We'll walk slowly, like we're simply enjoying the clear weather and wandering around." Davri then took Naran's hand and gave him a gentle squeeze. "We'll get through this."
As soon as they emerged Davri saw familiar faces from the temple, searching faces in the crowds.
Don't run. Don't act suspicious. Just...don't.
It was hard. He would have given his last copper nub to have a cloak with a cowl right now. It would have looked suspicious on such a sunny day, though. Sure enough, one of the temple supplicants confronted a man from out of town. "Chilly up on the mountain," the man was explaining as Davri forced himself to walk past.
There was a haberdasher hawking his wares from a stand in front of his shop. That would do, perhaps. Temporarily. Until they started using magic in their search.
"Good Master," the haberdasher said as they approached, "it's a powerfully sunny day. A hat for you and your brother, to shade your eyes?"
Brother? Well, they were both pale of skin and had blond hair, though Naran's was golden where Davri's was ash.
"I was thinking the very same thing," Davri said, slipping into the accent of his homeland for the first time in a year or more. He'd shed it quickly so that he wouldn't stand out as an outsider while attending University Magica. But, in this case, he was grasping for any disguise he could find.
Of course, branding himself as an outsider increased the merchant's prices. They haggled, and Davri couldn't express his indignation too strenuously without drawing attention. He walked away paying a silver wheel too much for a pair of matching felt and fabric hats of questionable durability. He relaxed once he put his on, though. Any change might be the difference between escape and capture.
The priests and supplicants from the temple weren't looking at anyone haggling over merchandise, yet. It bought him a bit of time, but at the cost of mobility. They were well within the perimeter being searched now. Soon the faithful would start scowering the stalls and shops rather than looking for people fleeing.
So long as those searching were supplicants and the younger, newer priests, they could hide in the open like this. Davri had a few magic advantages over most. The problem would be when the older priests and the high priests joined the search. For that, he'd need help.
He knew where to go. Getting there unnoticed was the problem. Even with magical aid, bringing those looking for you to your hiding place did no good. He wandered through the streets with Naran in tow, sometimes stopping to talk to a person at random to seem less conspicuous or have an innocuous excuse to hide his face. It was tedious and dangerous, leading them in circles to avoid one searcher or another.
Was it worth it?
That was the question he asked himself as his feet began to ache. He'd almost let them take the boy. Almost. A lifetime of obedience to the gods and their priests was hard to set aside in one moment of injustice.
Ultimately, what would the boy's death cost the world? Davri had seen this day coming in dreams and visions. There was a war coming, whether the boy lived or died, and Aral would be at the heart of it.
There was the answer.
Aral.
She'd already lost her parents earlier in the year, in the spring. She'd lost her freedom so that she could take in her brother. She'd lost the joy and the sparkle in her eye that Davri had loved t
he first time they had met.
What would losing her brother cost her?
This was what he had to do. Saving the boy was the right thing. It might not make a difference in the end, but this was the point of the upcoming war. The worth of an individual life. Davri would be no better than the gods if he ignored that now.
The Temple Magica halls grew unusually silent.
Guests and worshippers were being ushered out, following the incident. The priests and resident supplicants were about to be too busy to watch over the uninitiated.
Krecek Alavraneth extinguished candles, one at a time, with the plain brass snuffer usually reserved for the end of the day. As always, he was reverent and careful, mindful of the prayers symbolized by each flame.
His fist clenched around the handle of the snuffer tightly for a moment; he should be outside, tending to the garden this time of day. Not this.
The whole morning had been an irritation to him, interrupting his routine for a small bump on the head. The fact that they were closing down the temple over a minor altercation was beyond belief. Ervain's grandstanding and hysterics knew no limits.
"I saw my life again before me," Ervain was wailing from the bench he was sprawled out upon. "I almost died!"
There'd been a lot of blood. It had been a scalp wound, so of course it bled profusely. The stench of burning hair had been the better excuse to close the doors. It wasn't as if Ervain had bled to death.
Krecek came upon the offending candle. It was now useless due to the singed hair stuck in the cooling wax. He threw it in the bin. Such a waste.
Once the candles were extinguished, the rack itself was simple to clean. It required a minor spell that Krecek could do fast asleep at this point. The bend of a finger, a subvocalized word, and an application of will. Simple. He'd cast the same spell every day for decades.
In other temples, most tasks were traditionally done by hand. The time it took to perform the action was a meditative sort of worship, done with mindfulness, to the glory of the god or goddess in question. It also ensured that the tasks could be done by anyone, with or without magical talents.
The Temple Magica was dedicated to the greater glory of the goddess of magic. Spells were expected, even in the routine.
"We need to gather everyone!" Ervain was still ranting, filling the sanctuary with his cries. "The boy is going to get away if we stand around doing chores!"
Krecek could feel Ervain's eyes boring into the back of his head.
Yes. The menial chore of cleaning up blood and burnt hair before it had a chance to set in and stain. How dare he?
Also...had Ervain said boy?
Had he been toppled over by a mere child?
The thought amused Krecek for a moment. How pathetic to whine and moan over injury caused by a little boy.
The amusement dried up as quickly as it had surfaced, however. Ervain seemed to be out for blood. He wouldn't put it past the other priest to punish the child for an accident. Ervain's pride knew no limits.
The priests attending Ervain did their best to soothe him. The cries for action eventually calmed. Word was then spread that all were to gather within the sanctuary.
The garden would have to wait.
"What inanity is it this time?" a priestess, Shania, was muttering as she walked past.
It was a common sentiment.
Krecek took a seat, crossing his arms over his chest as others filtered in. He resented being called to meet over what seemed like hysterics. It sounded to him like the incident was probably an accident. This was time he could be spending by maintaining the splendor of this temple. Elevating the awe people felt upon seeing her works and her wonders.
The supplicants and the younger initiates were conspicuously absent. They'd been flitting in and out of the doors, talking to the high priests quietly before slipping outside again. That left the core. Those with actual power. The ones who kept the temple running behind the scenes.
Porrellid, one of the high priests, walked to the front and cleared his throat.
It took but a moment. There were perhaps fifteen or twenty priests and priestesses in the room. It seemed like such a small group.
"We all know Davri Beran," Porrellid began in his nasal voice. "He stops in regularly, full of questions, claiming to be a seeker. Claiming to want to be among our numbers."
"Claiming?"
Krecek wasn't the only one who looked confused. He knew Davri fairly well, in fact. The two had become close, as the young man was one of the few humans who did not grate on his every nerve. In fact, Krecek had been the one to encourage the young man to visit often. He'd introduced Davri to everyone.
What did Davri have to do with this?
"He attacked Ervain in our very halls with no provocation!"
Porrellid's declaration cut through the confused muttering. He looked around at everyone to make sure that the appropriate level of dismay was displayed before speaking again.
"This is not the action of a future priest!"
All nodded, concern morphing into anger.
"Do not blame yourselves, however," Porrellid continued, at once condemning and forgiving en masse, "we were all of us deceived. Even Ervain was fooled, welcoming the instrument of his own undoing."
Davri was charming and his talents were impressive. Everyone Krecek had introduced him to had encouraged him to join them. Talented, quick of wit, with a ready smile.
That ended today.
"He and any of his associates found with him must be brought here for questioning. I still hold out hope that this was a tragic accident or misunderstanding, but it is my duty to correctly ascertain his guilt or innocence. Do not take that burden upon yourself. Just bring him and his friends to me."
There was more confusion.
Associates?
Friends?
Why were they being involved with this, when they all had better things to do?
Why hadn't Davri already been found, since so many already knew him?
Why were they shutting down an entire temple, the most important temple in all of Anogrin, to find one young man?
Were they all expected to leave now to chase him down?
Porrellid didn't answer any questions. He and the five other high priests and priestesses left, ignoring the chaos behind them. Krecek realized that Ervain wasn't in the sanctuary with the rest of them. There was no one left to give answers. It seemed the remaining priests and priestesses were expected to go forth and do as they were told.
How long had it been? Davri's mother had known Arlanz Madri long before he'd chosen to study in Anogrin. She said only that she'd done a job for Arlanz's father, and that the two of them should become friends.
When an oracle tells you to become friends with someone, you do it. Mother or no.
His first year of studies, Davri had come to the café once a week. He and Arlanz had spent hours talking together when business was slow. But, business had picked up. Davri's studies had taken up more time. He felt a twinge of guilt that he'd been away so long, and now he brought trouble nipping at his heels.
The café hadn't changed a bit. The door was a soothing shade of green, and a tiny bell rang out as he opened and closed the door. Two men were talking in front of the window, sharing a stimulating drink and equally stimulating conversation by the sound of it. The chairs were large and inviting. Comfortable. The walls were covered with bright tapestries that suggested faraway lands and very different customs. And the smell...the scent of the herbs, the roasted coffee beans, the sweet creams and caramels, was unlike anywhere else in the city. To the rest of Anogrin it was exotic. To Davri it was a breath of home.
"Davri, my friend!"
The time since his last visit evaporated.
They embraced briefly, clapping each other on the back almost violently. "It's good to see you again, Arlanz," Davri murmured softly. "I must avail myself of your darkest hospitality."
Arlanz was a hulking bear of a man. He towered over most men an
d had the girth to match. His brow furrowed, and the gap between his wild eyebrows disappeared. He didn't say a word, just gestured to the back as he ambled over to the other guests in his establishment. Davri heard Arlanz ask the men if they needed anything refreshed as they slipped into the hidden room behind the shop's storage.
"We'll be safe in here," he told Naran as soon as the door was closed behind them. "You're safe to talk now, if you need to."
Naran took in a deep breath, expelling it in a sudden rush. It was as if he'd wanted to say something but couldn't fit it all into words. He was pale, sweating, and he looked so small and lost. Probably overwhelmed.
"It's okay," Davri said. "It's a lot to deal with."
"The priest—" Naran started, then stopped. Tried again. "He was—"
"I know. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have taken you there."
"No, it's okay. I wanted to go." Naran's fingers curled into small fists. Nine years old. All he was, was nine years old. "It was as pretty as everyone said it would be." A weak smile. Even now, the boy could find something good about it all.
Davri returned his smile and found an old crate to sit down on. He gestured toward the only chair in the room. "Relax. We'll have to stay here for a bit. Your sister will be in classes for a few more hours. Then we'll find her and tell her what's going on."
After a moment the boy nodded and sat down. "Thank you."
The door opened and Arlanz joined them. "We have a bit of time. What can I do for you?"
"I need to hide for a bit," Davri said. "I hate to impose on you like this, but..." He gestured around the room, at the glyphs decorating the walls. "The boy and I are in some trouble."
"What sort of trouble?" Arlanz asked, fingers closing around the medallion that hung around his neck. He didn't look suspicious or put out at the prospect of trouble. Just...concerned.
"Our young friend has been wrongfully marked for sacrifice."
Arlanz went still, not even any evidence of breath for a long moment. He slowly slid the medallion at his neck back into his shirt, patting it deliberately before he shook his head. "They will say that there is no such thing." He looked skyward for a moment, pained. "They are the priests of the gods. They do not make mistakes. They can commit no wrongs."