The Temple of Sacrifice

by Tameri Etherton

  Her talons had barely touched the ground when Faelara leapt off, urging them to hurry. With reluctance, Taryn shifted into her womanly form and yanked her sword from its scabbard while dashing up the stairs. The outer temple door creaked open as they entered and the group paused, waiting for discovery, but silence met them. They continued to the inner door and Faelara used her ShantiMari to slide it open soundlessly. One by one, they crept into the cold temple and fanned along the outer wall.

  Circular in shape, Taryn could see the entire area from where she hid behind a column. Eliahnna lay on a marble altar in the center of the room. Once white, it was now stained a sickening rust from past sacrifices.

  It was an eerie repetition of nine months earlier when she’d found Sabina in a similar fashion, except this time she wasn’t dealing with half-witted underlings. The miscreants were her father and brother. She gripped the hilt of her sword until her knuckles turned white. What was with her family? Power hungry motherfuckers always ruining a good party.

  Zakael patrolled the outer area, his ShantiMari swirling in a tempest around him. She could sense his lust for her. It wasn’t the sexual lust she’d come to expect, but a lust for her blood. Suddenly, she wished she’d taken the extra minutes to change into proper fighting gear.

  With as little sound as possible, she tore her gown at the knees and stepped out of the fabric. A cold wind whipped up her bare legs and she cursed her father, brother, and the mad god who drove her here.

  Rhoane motioned for her to approach from the other side of Valterys while Baehlon kept an eye on the front. Taryn covered herself and Faelara in shadows, then snuck around the back of the temple. When they were all in place, Rhoane signaled for Taryn to address her father.

  Valterys stood with his hands above the unconscious Eliahnna, a knife held between them. Blood smeared his face and clothes, and Taryn prayed fervently that it wasn’t her sister’s. He muttered indistinguishable words in an archaic language that teased her memory.

  The floor began to shift. Raised edges in the tiles formed a labyrinth of sorts that led to a hole about the size of a gold coin. Flames danced up from the tiles and Rykoto appeared. His fire eyes and blood-smeared lips were a terrifying sight—a face Taryn knew all too well.

  She stepped out from behind the column, holding her sword aloft. “Aren’t you missing something, Father?”

  Valterys paused in his chanting and the raised tiles slithered in a chaotic mess. Rykoto hissed when the flames lowered, his forked tongue slashing out of the fire. “Actually, you’re just in time,” Valterys said. The flames rose higher with his continued chanting.

  Taryn tiptoed carefully around the tiles, avoiding the flames as she made her way to the altar. “Put the knife down.”

  He raised the blade higher, chanting in a louder voice, “Two sacrifices for our god.”

  Taryn edged close enough to touch Eliahnna’s neck. She could feel a faint pulse, but not much more.

  “Your sister lives.” Valterys’ laughter echoed off the marble floor around the columns.

  The sound of steel clashing against steel rang out and Valterys jerked his head to the side, listening.

  “You didn’t think I would come alone, did you?” Taryn asked. She slipped around the altar to face Valterys. “And you honestly can’t believe I’m going to let you hurt Eliahnna.”

  She swung her sword high, catching him in the shoulder. Valterys staggered back, gripping the wound. “I’m not armed!” He held the dagger out toward her. “You can’t consider this a weapon.”

  With his attention distracted, the flames vanished with a lingering cry from Rykoto. Taryn lunged at Valterys, aiming for his legs, then his torso. He spun around, jumping into the air away from her. His movements were too quick to follow.

  When she turned to find him, a fireball flew toward her. She sliced through it and dodged several more before she was able to pinpoint her father. She ran to where she saw a faint outline of his ShantiMari and sliced through his power, revealing him as he hid behind a column.

  Faelara, see to Eliahnna. Get her out of here.

  In his hands, Valterys held a heavy sword. When Ynyd Eirathnacht met it in the air, an electrifying jolt sizzled down her arm. “Now who’s not playing fair? Using a Black weapon against me? For shame, Father.”

  He met her blows, striking at her again and again with his longsword. He would cut at her before leaping away, flying up to the ceiling or across the floor. She studied his movements, trying to anticipate his next move, but he surprised her each time.

  Behind her, Baehlon and Rhoane fought Zakael, their ShantiMari spinning around the room as they fought with swords and power. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Faelara take Eliahnna out of the temple. With her sister safe, Taryn fixed her attention on Valterys.

  He crouched on a balcony near the top of the temple with shadows pulled over him. Taryn cloaked herself in darkness and focused on a spot just to his right. In an instant, she was beside him. “Nice view. It looks so much prettier from up here, don’t you think?” As she’d hoped, he dropped his cover.

  “Someone’s been teaching you to use Dark Shanti, I see.” He looked to where her voice had come. “Was it Anje? My cousin always was getting in my way. Such a shame his boy lived.” He sliced randomly with his sword.

  “Missed me,” she said from right behind him.

  He spun around, cutting the air with wild strokes. His eyes were flecks of steel set deep in his hardened face. “You can’t win, Taryn. You should have stayed with me at Caer Idris.”

  “Why? So you could feed me to your lunatic god?” She danced away from him and met his attack with her sword. “No, thank you.”

  “I wasn’t going to let him have all of you. Just a taste of your blood, nothing more.” Valterys cocked his head as if listening for her footfalls, but her slippers made no sound on the balcony’s marble floor.

  A section of the temple exploded, rocking them backward. Rhoane roared a curse and his ShantiMari shot upward, through the torn ceiling. Zakael’s laughter taunted the Eleri and then abruptly stopped.

  Concern flicked across her father’s face and jealousy warred with her anger. It was juvenile, really, to covet her father’s love. Like Lliandra, Valterys saw her as a means to an end, not a daughter. A weapon for the mother, a sacrifice for the father. Her little-girl fairy tale was that someday they might love her for who she was and not what she could do for them. Facing Valterys now, she burned any remnants of the storybook family she craved. It was never going to happen.

  She threw off her cloak of shadows and assailed him with a vengeance. He met every thrust and parry with a strike of his own. Valterys raved, his ire cracking the balcony. Taryn lost her footing and fell hard on the temple floor while he floated in the air high above, laughing at his daughter.

  Shoulder throbbing, ears ringing, she leapt back up into the air toward him. His look of surprise flitted across his face only a moment—he had gravely underestimated her. Like everyone else.

  She attacked with her sword again and again. The air around them vibrated with a pinching viciousness. He gathered his power to him, stealing it from the sky down to the tiniest shadow. She pulled her own into Ynyd Eirathnacht. The sword jumped in her hand, excited to feel the strength of her ShantiMari.

  It glowed white as she swung it out to the side in a broad slice at Valterys’ legs. He faltered mid-jump and her sword caught the front of his leg above the knee. He cursed her, sending a ball of power slamming into her midsection, throwing her against a column. Sparks lit the backs of her eyelids. The wind whooshed from her lungs. She scrambled to keep herself from falling, to regain control.

  Taryn? Rhoane’s voice echoed in her mind and she struggled to answer him.

  I am fine. Stay with Baehlon. The sound of their swordfight echoed around the chamber.

  Her father’s laughter taunted her as he sent another flaming ball of Dark Shanti at her head. She dodged it, jumping to the side to avoid his rapid-fi
re attacks. His sword pulsed black with a strange power Taryn didn’t want to acknowledge. For the first time since she entered the temple, she knew fear.

  Valterys was a master of the Black Arts.

  The realization cut her deeper than she’d thought possible. How was it she could be related to such a monster? Marissa’s words echoed in her mind, but she refused to believe she could ever be like them.

  Valterys sensed the slip in her confidence and thrust the sword at her. A fierce light burned from the blade. When Ynyd Eirathnacht met it in mid-air, the force knocked Taryn to the ground. She rolled to her feet, gasping for breath. A searing pain shot through her vorlock scar, opening it anew. Valterys advanced on her, sucking her power.

  Rhoane, he is stealing my power. How can I stop him?

  Cut the thread. Only you can see it—it must be you.

  Taryn searched frantically for a thread but saw only darkness. Valterys was almost upon her. She was weakening with each step. Ynyd Eirathnacht pulsed beside her and she spun it around like a dervish, making Valterys pause long enough for Taryn to spy a tiny sliver of inky black linking her to his sword.

  With what little strength she had left, she sliced through the thread. A sharp bell clanged and she stumbled backward, as did Valterys.

  The Black sword lost its glow as her strength flowed back into her. Taryn strode toward her father, anger roiling along every inch of her skin. He scrambled up, casting himself far into the air above her. She leapt up to where he bent double, catching his breath. Before he could raise his sword, she kicked him in the gut and then spun around to punch him alongside his head with her fist.

  She moved with speed and precision through her karate moves, her mind empty but for Valterys. His movements were jerky as he held his sword out for protection. She cut through the black steel with all the force of her ShantiMari. It shattered with a deafening screech, tiny fragments raining down to the floor.

  Valterys gaped at her, fear in his eyes. Rykoto laughed maniacally from his living grave far below.

  “Tell him to shut up,” Taryn said through gritted teeth. “Or I’ll kill you.” She held her sword at his throat.

  “He wants your blood, Taryn. He won’t stop until he has it. You are the only thing that can restore him to his former glory. Kill me if you must, but there will always be another.”

  He snapped his fingers and a staff appeared in his hands. He butted her scar with the end of the rod and she staggered back, breathless from the pain. “You’re making this too easy.” Blades appeared on each end of his spinning staff.

  He advanced and she studied the rotation of the staff, pacing the timing. When he was two steps from her, she cut upward, slicing the weapon in two. Undeterred, he raised the broken pieces like clubs, ready to crush her skull. The next several heartbeats moved in slow motion. She swung her sword to counter his attack when Zakael appeared behind Valterys, his sword impaling her father through the chest. Valterys’ shocked stare met hers. Zakael whispered in his father’s ear before pulling his sword free and vanishing.

  A sickening crunch of bone echoed in her head as her sword sliced through Valterys’ neck. Ynyd Eirathnacht shrieked, as did her pendant. Rhoane’s cynfar sang out to join them. Valterys’ head bobbled once, then rolled off his body, falling to the temple floor. Taryn stared in calm silence as his body rocked forward and then it, too, fell through the air, landing in a heap on the altar.

  It seemed to her she stared at the night sky for the span of ten lifetimes, when in truth it was no more than a moment. The stars blinked against their velvety blanket as they always had. The crisp air smelled clean where she floated above the temple. A light snow started to fall and she wanted to laugh. Snow in summer. But of course, this far north, it was perpetually winter. Something had been lost—hopefully much more had been gained.

  She floated to the temple floor, stepping around her father’s mangled head to where Zakael stood with his sword held aloft. She gently lowered it. “Why, Zakael?”

  “You should have taken my offer. It’s not too late.” His eyes flicked to Valterys. “I would hate for that to be you someday.”

  Rhoane moved to strike Zakael, but Taryn stopped him. “There has been enough bloodshed this night. Take Valterys and leave this place.”

  “Taryn, do you think that wise?” Baehlon asked.

  “What choice do I have? He is my father, too.”

  A soul wrenching scream from the temple entrance shattered the moment and they turned as one. Marissa stood in the doorway, surveying the destruction and the body on the altar. She gasped for breath, a hand on her swollen belly as she sank to the floor. Zakael rushed toward her, but Taryn ran past him, calling for Faelara.

  Faelara knelt beside the princess and prodded her body with her fingertips. “What were you thinking, taking this risk?”

  “I had to stop him,” Marissa choked. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she groaned in pain. “Nadra help me.”

  A river of clear liquid ran beneath Marissa, and Taryn stared at Faelara. “It’s early.”

  “About two moonturns, by my calculations. We’ll need to deliver this baby here.” She positioned herself between Marissa’s legs and pushed the princess’ gown over her knees. “Keep her with us, Taryn. I need her help to get this child out. Baehlon, get some snow and melt it until it’s hot.”

  “I don’t have that kind of power.”

  “Yes, you do. Now don’t waste any more of my time. Zakael, make yourself useful and find me something to wrap the baby in once it’s born. A cloak would suffice. Rhoane, help Baehlon with the water.” Rhoane raced in one direction and Zakael in another, returning moments later with his wool cloak.

  Marissa groaned louder and Taryn counted how long the pain lasted. “The contractions are close together. Can you see the baby’s head?”

  Faelara grinned. “I’ve been looking at it all this while.”

  Marissa grabbed Taryn’s arm and squeezed. “Don’t let him do it. You must stop him,” she wheezed.

  “It’s all right, Marissa. Eliahnna is safe,” Taryn reassured her sister.

  “No, no.” Marissa moaned, falling back against Taryn’s lap. She soothed her sister while observing how Faelara maneuvered the baby’s shoulders. Marissa cried out again and then went limp. Sweat rolled down her face and her lips turned an awful shade of blue.

  Zakael ran off once more and returned with Taryn’s discarded fabric. “To clean the baby,” he said, offering it to Faelara.

  “Thank you, Zakael. Just hold it for now.”

  Rhoane and Baehlon entered with a large ceramic basin filled with steaming water. At Faelara’s furrowed brow, Baehlon explained, “The offering bowl.”

  Faelara nodded and indicated they set it down beside her.

  The men watched with a mixture of awe and terror as Faelara shifted and pulled on the baby. Marissa screamed with each tug until finally the little thing slipped free. Faelara held him aloft. “It’s a boy.” She took the cloth from Zakael, gently wiping the newborn until his skin was pink and clean.

  Marissa struggled to sit up, demanding her baby. Faelara cut the birth cord, tying it with a thread of her Mari before handing the baby to the princess. Marissa beheld the child and half-sobbed, half-gasped. “Oh, Armando.”

  “Is that the child’s name?” Faelara asked.

  “No, he’s the father,” Taryn and Rhoane said in unison. A look of relief crossed Rhoane’s face.

  A thousand score of Eleri voices whispered in her mind, telling of the Black Princess’ betrayal and deceit. Marissa’s oath to Rhoane saw its completion. Her name would forevermore be a hideous curse to all Eleri.

  “No,” Zakael argued, his ShantiMari flaring with terrifying force. “This child is mine. He will be more powerful than even you.”

  “It is you who is mistaken, Zakael.” Rhoane’s power flared, equally strong. “You know what happened at Gaarendahl. Were you aware Marissa told me this child was mine? She manipulated you just as
she does everyone, even those who have shown her kindness.” His stern gaze never left Taryn and a thrill rushed through her.

  “Ask her yourself,” Taryn challenged.

  Zakael knelt beside Marissa and said with more tenderness than Taryn ever thought he could possess, “Marissa was with child long before your visit to Gaarendahl, and I am the only one who could have fathered him.” He took the baby from Marissa, his eyes shining with unshed tears.

  The crown princess wept quietly and lay back against Taryn, defeated.

  Zakael searched the child’s face, looking deep into his dull brown eyes. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “You swore to me you’d been with no other.”

  A wildness entered his eyes and Taryn wrapped a protective arm around her sister.

  “You swore, you stupid whore! He was supposed to be my Eirielle.” With a grunt of disgust, he thrust the baby into Marissa’s arms. “This child has no ShantiMari. He is no son of mine.” The venomous glare he gave Marissa made Taryn’s insides quail.

  The walls vibrated with Zakael’s anger. His ShantiMari, deep grey and spinning in a fury through the open space, overwhelmed Taryn with its enormity. He’d withheld more than teaching while they were at Gaarendahl. His power, edged in the telltale signs of Black ShantiMari, was far greater than either Lliandra’s or Valterys’.

  “I hope you die a long, painful death in the fires of Dal Ferran, you worthless cur.” Every word was like a hammer to anvil and Marissa flinched deeper into Taryn’s lap with each syllable spat at her. “Never seek me out again, for certainly I will end your existence.”

  Zakael whirled once, transforming into a feiche. His powerful talons gripped Valterys’ head before lifting into the air. It wasn’t until he was a speck in the sky that anyone spoke.

  “We must get Marissa and the baby to Talaith. It is too cold here for them to last,” Faelara said, her voice trembling.

  While the others made the necessary preparations, Taryn stroked her nephew’s dark curls. He looked like his father in miniature. Marissa slumped in her lap, her eyelids fluttering closed, her breathing labored.