A shadow fell on Ethan and he felt someone’s piercing gaze fall on him.
“Elder Invictus has beckoned you to the upper level.” He turned around to face a guard. “He insists you come at once.”
“Did he give a reason for summoning me?”
“Invictus isn’t compelled to provide you with a reason. He expects you to come now.” As much as Ethan wanted to brush off the request, he complied. The sentry sounded as if he was on Invictus’ leash as well. What started out as curiosity morphed into anxiety as Ethan joined his mentor on the balcony.
The Elder Cleric surveyed the chamber below, his back turned to Ethan. The guard departed down the stairs, abandoning them to an awkward silence. Ethan didn’t dare speak a word.
“You seem to be conspicuously absent lately,” Invictus croaked. “But I suppose that is to be expected in a time of crisis; we all have so many things to do. It is not a simple task attending to the faithful when they are burdened with fear. They require our attention, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, Elder Cleric,” he said, trying to sound convincing.
“We should gather sometime for prayer, Ethan. I’m sure we could all use some extra guidance in these trying times.”
Invictus paced across the balcony, deliberately avoiding Ethan’s eyes. His mind seemed elsewhere.
“But perhaps the faithful need our guidance most of all, and we must provide it to them… But you have been shirking your duties for days now, leaving me to question your abilities as a priest. You know you can always come to me if you have concerns.”
“I understand, Elder Cleric, and I apologize if I have disappointed you. But I…” At last, Invictus acknowledged him, his face clouded with suspicion.
“What is absorbing so much of your time?” The breath coiled in his chest, stuck as if he couldn’t breathe. He knew Invictus was toying with him, but why?
“Tending my duties.” The cleric eyed him coldly. He knew Ethan had evacuated the temple, yet he refused to openly admit it. He had merely summoned him to convey his displeasure.
He gestured for Ethan to leave, bored with his pupil. As Invictus slithered away toward the darkened halls, his expression of contempt contorted hideously. He lowered his voice to a menacing tone.
“Tend to your duties then.”
Twilight dwindled down to night as Ethan meditated. He knelt in a small alcove in the prayer hall, bowing his head before an altar furbished with offerings of candles. The floor was littered with prayer notes and anonymous cries for help.
Ethan plucked one of the notes from the floor, gingerly holding it between his fingers. Sometimes he wondered if Astalla could hear him, if she truly had departed from their hearts. What if she had forsaken them because of the corruption in the temples?
His eyes fell to the words in the prayer note.
Astalla, if you can hear me, I ask for your protection. Please wrap me in your loving embrace and shelter me from those who would harm me. I no longer feel safe in your holy dwelling. The clerics blame me among other women for your absence.
Please reveal yourself and prove you are still with your followers. I do not pretend to understand your will, but I know you are still there, watching us. I can feel you.
Ethan jerked as a female scream rattled in the distance. It had to be coming from beyond the prayer hall. With shaking fingers, he regarded the written plea again.
I have not betrayed you, Astalla. If anything, the clerics have abandoned their duties in search of power. Save us from them. Please grant me hope.
Love, Kayla
Ethan fell back in astonishment, suddenly ashamed for reading her prayer. So many notes sprawled across the hall, never formally submitted to Astalla. After a moment, he kissed the note and suspended it above the hissing candles. Rising from worship, he pursed his lips to blow out the flames.
He froze as four shadows stretched into the sanctum, followed by the ominous sound of armor. He glimpsed the silhouettes creeping down the hall, goaded onward by a man bearing a red lantern. Ethan gawked at the spiritual advisor as he approached, flanked by three armed guards.
“What is this?” An insincere smile painted Ganelon’s withered face.
“Ethan,” he said. “We do not desire trouble.” The mention of trouble immediately ignited his concern.
“Why have you cornered me in the prayer hall?”
“I suppose it is inappropriate to interrupt your prayer, but it has proven quite difficult discovering your whereabouts. I have been searching endlessly for you... to resolve a certain matter.” Something drew Ethan’s gaze and he peered down at the object clutched in Ganelon’s hand. The iron rod glowed a scalding red. The hairs on Ethan’s neck bristled as he recalled the female scream.
“What in the hells have you done?” he whispered. Ganelon toyed with the instrument between his fingers, tasked with torturing women’s bodies.
All in the name of sexual morality.
His eyes looked sunken and black, and his protruding brows seemed no more than dark furrows. The oils around his eyes slithered like black tears down his cheeks. His hideous, cracked lips curled in a mocking smile.
“Actually, your conduct has been called into question, not mine, Ethan. It seems Auroria has come forth with allegations that you attempted to seduce her...” Ethan recoiled in stinging shock.
“I would never seduce her! Let me speak to her!” Ganelon lunged forward like a serpent baited with prey.
“You shall not speak to Auroria! You have caused enough harm! You have endangered the peace of this temple with your wanton desires.” Outraged, Ethan’s words caught in his throat. He wanted to throttle the advisor and demand an explanation.
In that moment, his worst fears were realized. The priests had indeed become corrupted with power. Ganelon smiled with pleasure.
“You are excommunicated from the faith for your lust,” he said, delivering the final blow. Nothing could have mentally prepared Ethan for those words. Ganelon savored the helpless expression on his face before expanding upon his threat.
“These men will remove you by force if you fail to comply.”
“This is insanity,” Ethan breathed. “If you think you can banish me without a proper investigation, I will disappoint you. I have already shed blood to protect an innocent woman from Cleric Valesius. I will use force if necessary to ensure my safety.”
“You break yet another tenet! Violence is strictly forbidden—”
“Yet you would use force to excommunicate me.”
Ganelon attempted a reply but he had no logical rebuttal. “You are helpless against three guards,” he remarked.
“On the contrary, my magickal gifts are more than adequate to defend me. And rid the temple of your corruption.” For a moment, Ganelon let fear pierce his façade. He knew Ethan could use his spiritual energy for healing, but was it possible he could use his gift to inflict harm?
Ethan emphasized, “Elder Invictus is the most dangerous threat to the temple.” Ganelon looked as though he might relinquish. He glanced at the shrine, his eyes roaming over the statuette of Astalla.
“Seize him,” he commanded. The guards lowered their polearms and approached.
Ethan kicked a flaming brazier, dousing the chamber in darkness. Ganelon cursed with rage and scrambled away from the sizzling embers. Suddenly, he was falling toward the floor and instead of breaking his fall, his hands blistered in hot ashes.
Ganelon screamed as he scratched the embers from his eyes. He failed to seize the cleric when the perfect opportunity presented itself. His sheer determination would lead him to the impetuous Ethan. He would hunt down the young priest and personally exile him.
After all, he was above the religious tenets.
* * *
“What will you do when you confront Margzor?” Arxu asked. They leisurely walked through the markets, retiring to the inn. The guards glanced at them suspiciously. “Kill him?”
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Nishka admitted. “Si
nce we’ve concentrated all of our efforts on finding him, I haven’t given thought to our confrontation.”
“You need to make a decision soon. What will you do?”
“I’ll give him a chance to stop his campaign for divinity. Maybe I can find out what is motivating him to do this. There’s no justification for his crimes, but I want to know why. If he refuses to stop, I’m counting on you to help me end this permanently.”
“You can’t rationalize with him, Nishka. His mind has been broken by a demon. You won’t be speaking to the man himself.”
“I suppose you would skip conversation entirely and resort to blows?”
“I don’t see the value of diplomacy with a mass murderer. He’s committed to his extremist fantasies. I saw the bodies in the temple of Gaelithea. He toyed with them before killing them.” Nishka looked at him in shock.
“This is the first time you mentioned this.”
“I didn’t think it was necessary to go into the details. Many of the bodies were covered in superficial cuts. Finally, he would cut them down when he grew bored.”
“But—”
“He left the bodies on the altar, Nishka. Like a sacrifice mocking Astalla!” He caught his breath, taken back by the surge of anger. “I think we should stop.”
“How long have you felt this way?” a bewildered Nishka demanded. Arxu slumped in the dark alley.
“You didn’t see what I saw. When I looked into the cleansing pool and Astalla revealed him to me…” He shook his head. “There is no good in him. There is no reason. Only hate.” He couldn’t tell her that doubt had infected him weeks ago. He was afraid to confront death a second time and lose everything. “He will not give you the chance to speak,” Arxu said forcefully. “He has something we don’t have, Nishka.” She didn’t speak. She already knew what he was implying.
“An ideology he’s willing to die for.”
With those crestfallen words, he walked away, leaving Nishka behind. She somberly watched him vanish into a crowd of people as equally apathetic as him.
“Maybe I’m willing to die for mine, too,” she whispered.
Nishka had spent hours tossing in bed before losing herself to the oblivion of strange dreams. A knock sounded against her door, shattering any hopes of rest. She scrambled for her clothes but she only succeeded in tangling herself in the sheets.
“Oh, please don’t let it be the innkeeper,” she pleaded.
She would have paid him the day she arrived, but her purse was strangely empty. She suspected that a certain darkling had more than a little to do with that. She hastily wrapped the blanket around her body and wrenched open the door.
“Arxu?” she said, looking blankly at him. “Just a moment, let me get dressed—” The first words out of Arxu’s mouth were not what Nishka expected.
“Nishka, how were you able to heal me?” She looked at Arxu’s chest, where she imagined the wound still looked tender under his shirt. His bandages would require changing soon.
“My mother taught me,” she answered shyly. Arxu lowered his gaze to the floor. Not in the mood to elaborate, Nishka let the conversation trail off.
“I am sorry...” Nishka paused as she began to shut the door. She was afraid she hadn’t heard him correctly, “I am sorry,” Arxu repeated. “…about your mother and the way I’ve been behaving. I haven’t shown you the gratitude you deserve for helping me.”
Nishka fought back the tears in her eyes and managed a smile. She wanted to forgive him, but she was afraid she might cry.
“If you are determined to stop Margzor, I will follow you. I was afraid to face him because I don’t know what awaits me after death.” He found himself holding her hand, desperately in need of a human connection.
Nishka didn’t know whether she felt like crying because she wanted to see her mother again, or if her tears were purely out of joy. She was proud of Arxu for venturing beyond his emotional cage. He was starting to express himself instead of bottling up his feelings.
“Sometimes I’m afraid there isn’t an afterlife and existence ends at death,” Arxu confessed. “And if you die… what will happen to you?”
Nishka squeezed his hand.
“We have to act, Arxu, even if no one else does. Even if we fail in the end.” Tears began to roll down her eyes. “To do nothing at all would be the real failure.” She hugged Arxu, burying her face against him to hide her tears. Arxu could feel her body shaking, her warmth seeping into him.
“Even if you die, you won’t be alone,” she said. “I’ll be there until it’s over.”
Arxu didn’t let her go, wondering if death would be as painful the second time. Maybe he would be prepared.
Fear of death didn’t accompany them as they explored the city. Nishka wanted to spend this day away from the drama of politics, religion, and conspiracy. She only wished to share this moment with Arxu.
Every so often, Arxu would point out shops he remembered from his childhood, and Nishka would excitedly drag him inside. Together, they gathered in the city plaza to watch the yearly spring festival. Seven of the most beautiful, unbetrothed women in Eternitas performed a sacred dance that resembled an ever-changing labyrinth. The dance itself was said to usher in spring and bestow them with blessings of fertility.
“I remember the spring festival,” Arxu said to his astonishment. “I would watch from the rooftops with my adoptive mother as the people danced and exchanged gifts. Sometimes the festival would last all day. I could smell the food baking below and the delicious honey treats they handed out to children. Everyone seemed to come together on that day and enjoy themselves.”
“Why didn’t you join them?”
“It may not come as a surprise to you, but I was shy as a child.”
“Oh, then I’m going to make sure you dance with them today!” Nishka said slyly. “Which woman do you like?”
“No, Nishka, I am not dancing—no!” Before he knew it, Nishka clasped his hands and pulled him into the revelry, spinning around and laughing.
Finally, they ended the day with drinks at the tavern. Nishka reminisced about the brawl in Gaelithea and the crazy antics involved. When she reached the part about Hrioshango setting off an explosion, she almost choked on her drink from laughter. Arxu preferred to see her this way instead of consumed in worry. She was relaxed. Nishka noticed him looking blankly at her smile.
“Are you okay, Arxu?”
“What?”
“You aren’t bored, are you?”
“No,” he insisted. “I was just thinking about you.” Now it was Nishka’s turn to stammer a reply.
“Thinking about me?”
“Yes. You aren’t sad anymore.”
“What makes you think I’m sad?”
“You haven’t smiled like this in a long time.” Nishka didn’t confirm his suspicions, but she didn’t deny them either. When she wasn’t coping with loss, another feeling toyed with her heart. She felt somewhat rejected by Arxu. He didn’t show any sign that he cared profoundly about her—perhaps until now.
“Do you like me better this way?” she smiled. Arxu’s silence only made the suspense grow in Nishka’s heart.
“Yes.”
Nishka didn’t want the day to end as Arxu escorted her to her room. It felt as though she had explored the city with an entirely different person.
Arxu had changed so much since their first encounter. He was revealing more of his personality, opening himself up to Nishka. He even admitted that he liked to see her smile. The endearing thought made her heart beat a little faster. Did he feel anything else for her?
“Arxu, can you help me with something?” He approached, wondering what could possibly require his assistance. Nishka flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned around. She said innocently, “I need help with my armor.” Arxu looked at her quizzically.
“It’s on,” he said.
She replied seductively, “I want you to take it off.”
Arxu paused before walking across the
room to consider the woman awaiting him. His fingers trembled as he reached for the straps on her breastplate.
He could feel emotions rising within that scared him, unfamiliar feelings, excitement that left him breathless. Nishka sighed softly as Arxu slipped one of the leather straps out of its buckle. Arxu fumbled with the fastenings, his hands becoming awkward and inept so near to her. He felt as though he could scarcely breathe; he was afraid to discover how much or how little clothing he would find beneath.
He could not explain why he felt so enlivened and paralyzed. He almost couldn’t form the movements with his fingers to unbuckle her. Arxu quickly undid the straps and turned for the door. He left without a single word.
A confused Nishka turned and watched him leave.
* * *
The streets of Eternitas were no more densely inhabited than a crypt. Again, he was alone as he crept across the city under the veil of night. There was no greater or more decadent time than this, the ripe hours of night. It triggered the primal urges inside every man, exciting his animalistic desires until they could not be contained. He paused at the sight of the guards at the gates, sharing a bottle of vodka among themselves. Their polearms glimmered in the faint torchlight.
He would require a more stealthy approach to the temple. He quietly retreated from the gates and explored a side street devoid of life. His eyes wandered across a sewer grate barely visible on the cobbled surface.
It growled as he roughly pried it loose. Setting it aside, he lowered himself into the sewers.
Margzor plunged into the darkness. He slinked through the filthy tunnels like a creature of the dark, his eyes attuned to the pitch black. Every sound echoed within the dank corridor, the placid drip of water whispering in the distance.
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