They looked concerned and nervous—perhaps some of them had indeed indulged in wanton pleasures. As the cleric observed the anxious followers, he wondered if they had anything to hide.
“Perhaps we should conduct an inquiry of our own to resolve this matter,” Valesius suggested. Their eyes met in silent conspiracy, analyzing one another for any sign of distrust. It was of dire importance that their mission remained secret. One slip of the tongue could spell disaster for all of them.
“Not a word of this to anyone,” Valesius warned. Nods were exchanged among the clerics. The “corrupted faithful” would be smoked out of their unholy cloisters. Of that, Valesius was certain.
* * *
Margzor walked freely beneath the night sky, passing through a valley beyond the trees. The warmest zephyr washed across the glen, whispering its secrets to him.
He had never felt so liberated from his emotional chains. Somehow, he repelled the curse of depression for several days. He could not remember feeling at peace like this, not for years. Margzor believed he knew what gave him the strength to endure.
The woman who showed him mercy filled his thoughts. He longed for her, he coveted her with passion, he wanted to see her beautiful face alit with happiness. The breeze caressed him again, as if to approve his sentiments.
He could only imagine what he would do to please her, to show her the kind of devotion that few men were emotionally capable of. She may not have done anything to heal his wounds, but she had touched his fragile heart. Margzor had never experienced something this strong before, an emotion that diminished the hate held deep inside. Sorrow and resentment were helpless to this... love?
He shook his head, not out of denial, but rather at the conflicting nature of his feelings. He couldn’t help but smile.
Margzor scoffed at the absurdity of it all. How could he love this woman so fervently without even knowing her name, her spirit, her essence? Perhaps that anonymity only made him covet her more.
Was she indeed the woman he sought? He realized now that hate did not endow him purpose. Love was the only thing that motivated him to survive one more day, to overcome his childhood scars. He would cherish her until the last breath departed from his unkissed lips. He would devote every second to making her feel like the most adored woman in existence.
If only he could speak to the mysterious woman and confess his feelings… even if he had nothing to base his infatuation on.
But what is love if not a mental process utterly bereft of logic, merely suffused with strong emotions? He hoped she would at least listen to him if their paths crossed again.
He almost believed he could let go of his hatred if…
For a moment, he contemplated aborting his plot against Astalla. He halted in mid stride and wondered if he could seriously continue. How could he maintain his plot when he felt no hatred? Perhaps the anger remained, but it was so deeply buried beneath a newfound wave of hope.
The confused man slowly began to walk north. He surmised it was entirely possible to defeat his anger—if only she would bless him with a shred of attention.
Margzor could still feel her soothing touch on his face. From the moment he looked into her eyes, he felt a shift in his heart.
He cared deeply.
He wondered if she could save him from himself.
* * *
The temple in Eternitas remained on heightened alert. Armed guards and clerics patrolled the halls, adding to the foul sense of impending disaster. Followers had been confined to their chambers for the night where they could seek a false sense of hope in their beds.
Offerings of eucalyptus leaves and burning frankincense consecrated the altars, a plea from disciples to their beloved deity. The eucalyptus would molder over time as their questions went unanswered.
Invictus paused by one of the shrines which housed all manner of candles carved in the shapes of women. Disciples would often write their prayers on scraps of paper and burn them in the flames. The fire would send their wishes up to Astalla. Invictus watched one of many prayer notes incinerate, folding in on itself like an imploding star.
“This has never happened before,” he whispered. “I cannot receive Astalla...”
Ethan paced restlessly across the hall.
“Why would she link directly with you?”
“She would only initiate a link if a matter of dire importance needed to be brought to my attention.” Ethan shook his head and stole a glance out the window. The city was oblivious to the danger brewing in its most sacred institutions.
He feared there was more to Astalla’s divine intervention than the Elder Cleric would admit. The young priest could not ignore his intuition, nor could he rationalize his doubts. Regardless, life had taught him the value of caution. For as long as he served this temple, he learned to take heed of warnings.
“Are we in danger?” he asked.
“That is a possibility. I cannot know for certain until I make sense of this.”
“Have you tried reaching out to Astalla again?”
“I cannot initiate the link on my part. I am only capable of receiving the message she conveyed. This is deeply concerning…”
Invictus turned his back on Ethan and wandered toward a small shrine. A jaundiced candle wavered before him, consuming a prayer note. His calloused fingertips extinguished the flame without so much as a twitch of discomfort.
“Perhaps an evacuation is necessary,” Ethan said. “We should not risk staying in the temple. Astalla may be sending us a warning.” He set his hand on the elder’s shoulder. “We can evacuate the temple and return within a week. Guards can remain behind to preserve the sanctity of our home.”
His hand slipped from Invictus’ bony shoulder. The Elder Cleric stood still, barely even breathing. “No,” he replied. Ethan couldn’t believe his ears. Invictus invited Ethan’s gaze, crushing it with his own.
“I am beginning to see this as a trial set before us by Astalla. A test of our faith. She may be about to bestow a grand vision, or ask us to take the next step in purification.”
Stung with shock, Ethan withdrew.
The elder peered over his shoulder with glistening eyes. “Trust in me, Ethan.”
* * *
Astalla bowed her head, waiting for a response from Eternitas. Too many days had passed since she reached out to the Elder Cleric. His silence weighed heavy upon her, pressing down like nails on her chest. She prayed he was still alive.
The high priestess, Ava, waited patiently with Astalla. When she saw the demigoddess’s troubled expression, she knew good news would not come tonight.
“Ava, I must ask a favor of you,” Astalla said.
“Anything, Astalla.”
“Should something happen to me... I need you to act on my behalf.”
“Should something happen to you?”
“Ava, it would be foolish of me to pretend I’m immune to attack. I fear he may reach Praemenon. This human is more dangerous than anything I’ve ever seen. Most dangerous of all is his conviction and strength of will. He will stop at nothing to...” Ava noticed she didn’t even speak his name, as though its every syllable was riddled with blasphemy.
“What are you asking me to do?” Astalla delicately rested her hand on an altar. Her fingers traced the intricate patterns carved into its surface, stalling for an answer. Her reflection portrayed an older woman, not quite herself. She looked weary and broken.
“Protect my followers from harm,” she managed to whisper, forcing the words past her tongue. “I pray it isn’t possible he hunts them down. I can’t imagine even he has the resources to stalk my believers.”
Ava’s gown whispered as she drifted next to her side.
“I promise to secure the temple,” she said. “Even if it means my life, I will take whatever steps necessary to protect the innocent.” Very little distance separated them at this point. They were close enough that they could have kissed if either of them entertained the desire. Ava could see her every perfec
tion … and flaw. The visible signs of worry had creased her perfect skin. Even her eyes were not nearly as brilliant as they once were.
“More importantly,” Astalla spoke, “you must place the importance of my followers even above my safety.” Ava cast a lamenting expression at her demigoddess. She could not imagine losing her most precious friend.
What kind of existence would she lead without someone to guide her? Someone to listen to her? Someone who cared? Astalla substituted all of the things a husband could never provide her. Losing Astalla would be like … losing a part of herself. On impulse, Ava wrapped her in a comforting embrace.
For many moments, neither spoke. Two broken women clung to each other. In some ways they were alike, Ava thought. She had been physically abused by a man. The temple murders at the hand of this monster violated everything that was sacred to Astalla. This emotional abuse was as soul-shattering as its physical counterpart.
Ava swore she wouldn’t let Astalla fall victim to him. She wouldn’t let anyone else suffer needlessly.
“I know how it feels,” she whispered.
Chapter 32
Arxu traced a rose quartz over his wound to mend the skin. The process was not without pain, but it was oddly satisfying at the same time. He was becoming whole again, and he owed his recovery to this mere stone. At once, he remembered the prisoner in Gaelithea who offered him the healing component.
You haven’t changed… Lucretio snarled. Your anger will kill you one day… and possibly everyone around you.
The magick was not particularly strong, but he could feel his flesh knitting. The enchantment provided minimal aid if only for a day.
In his chamber, the loneliness constricted him like a serpent, leaving him feeling hollow. Hrioshango was frolicking in the darkness again and Nishka was strangely absent. He hadn’t the faintest clue where she had gone. He simply knew she had been gone for too long.
Arxu left the chamber he claimed as his own and searched for Hrioshango. The darkling was nowhere in sight, but he could hear spasms of laughter rebounding in the tunnels. Arxu shrugged and set out to search for Nishka on his own. His footsteps echoed in the depths as he approached the entrance.
Emerging from the cavern into the crisp night air, he felt a surge of rejuvenation. That energy faded as he observed the pattern of footprints in the sand. He suspected they belonged to Nishka. They faded into night, beckoning him across the shore. Arxu could not resist.
The scattered sands led him far beyond the cave into a beach glazed in white. She could not be far from here, he reasoned. The lake lapped sharply against the shore and Arxu’s head jerked to his right.
Nishka’s body lay on the sand. The sight paralyzed his heart. Arxu scrambled toward her body sprawled in surrender before the lake. He fell to his knees and looked at her face, her eyes squeezed shut. Her shirt was torn at the hem as if claws had mercilessly tore at her. One of her arms was crossed over her chest to shield herself from an attack.
“Nishka!” Arxu shouted.
He lifted her arm and it slipped lifelessly from his fingers. He spun toward the lake as a strong tide pulled ashore. The glimmering lights shuddered in the distance and Arxu wondered what horrors lurked out there. The orbs seemed to be drawing nearer, pinpoints of light searing his eyes.
A wave of water splashed his face, robbing him of sight. Nishka smiled at Arxu’s confused expression.
“Have you come to save the helpless woman?” she asked playfully, but her voice hinted at the sarcasm underneath. Arxu looked stunned by the words she spoke. “That’s for telling me you only see a woman.”
“Nishka—you aren’t just a woman—” She looked slightly intrigued. “You—you saved my life.” It was hardly the sort of emotional declaration Nishka wanted, but it piqued her interest. Those five words were the closest thing she would receive to an apology.
“That means something to you?” Nishka asked.
“Yes,” the Nightwalker replied to his own surprise.
Nishka secretly didn’t know whether to trust him or not. She suspected he wanted to die. After he exterminated the Defiler, he revealed no interest in surviving his wounds. Nishka wanted to believe him; she wanted him to find happiness again.
“Do I mean anything to you?” she asked. Not even the murmuring lake pierced the silence between them.
“Yes.” Unfortunately, Arxu couldn’t elaborate why. In that moment, exhaustion clouded his mind and suddenly he was falling again.
* * *
Margzor’s eyes opened wide in the darkness. He was awake, ripped from the solace of sleep. What had provoked him to return to reality? Certainly no dream had inspired his terror.
He stretched peacefully on the grass. His limbs unfolded and blood began to flow through him once more. He almost rested his head on the earth when a sound startled him.
Something stirred in the depths of his consciousness, rearing its twisted head from the wasteland of his imagination.
The demon hissed seductively, whispering of the power and control Margzor would obtain. The fantasy of becoming a demigod was growing more tangible in his mind, an aspiration within his reach. An infernal voice crackled like flames in his mind, suggesting the pleasure he would experience soon, goading him on.
The most difficult trials awaited him.
Margzor rose from where he lay and gathered up his sword. He could not rest until he possessed everything he desired. His will ignited, he pressed on through the valley. What obstacles awaited him beyond this luscious field? Would he fall victim to a stronger foe before he seized everything he wanted? What a cruel notion…
The demon was mysteriously silent, not offering any encouragement. That was perfectly fine. His conviction alone gave him strength. Margzor imagined what he would do with godly powers, how he would control his pain. Once he attained power, no one could hurt him.
And he would not hesitate to inflict his will on humankind.
* * *
Ethan departed from the meditation chamber and walked leisurely through the halls. His meditation exercises usually served to calm him and lessen his anxiety. But since the change in Elder Invictus, he remained tense and fearful.
Over the course of a few hours, he had transformed into a draconian purist. Invictus would not listen to reason, only prophecies and theories. Ethan strongly believed the followers should be evacuated, but Invictus forbid him from taking action.
He knew it would be pointless to discuss the possibility of an evacuation for a second time. The Elder Cleric was much too fixated on secret visions to even consider his plea. Ethan sighed and rounded the corner to return to his bedchamber. He would try again to convince Invictus despite the barrage of overwhelming doubts.
A woman’s voice rippled down the hall, carrying a note that sapped the strength from his muscles. He felt riveted in place by the intoxicating harmony, tugging at his impressionable soul. He paused before a large chamber where worshippers would bathe and atone for sins.
He briefly saw her cleansing in the spiritual pools and he immediately averted his eyes. However, the image of a gorgeous woman with luscious black hair and dark skin burned into his mind. Kayla occupied the bathing chamber that evening. Ethan was spiritually torn between his faith and his adoration for her. During his initiation, he swore an oath to resist the temptations of the flesh and its insidious charms.
Yet, he felt something for Kayla that he could not deny. She captivated him with her enchanting smile every time they traded glances down the hall. Kayla was the only woman to attach any value to him. He could not easily disguise his feelings for her. In time, Ethan would be forced to reconcile with the reality that separated them.
Until then, he shut his eyes and surrendered to the melodious voice. Her song inspired him like no hymn of praise possibly could, taking his mind away.
Her melody stopped.
“How many times do you bathe in a day?” a voice said behind Kayla. She spun around to see Cleric Valesius.
E
than darted behind a pillar.
“You seem to occupy the cleansing pools constantly. Perhaps Elder Invictus should consider appointing you the ritual leader.” He wandered along the periphery of the pool. Concerned, Kayla rose from the waters and distanced herself from him. He glared spitefully at her.
“I realize the vestments of our followers are not very concealing, yet you seem to abandon them altogether, unashamedly flaunting your body at every opportunity...”
Kayla covered her breasts with her hands, shielding her body from his gaze. The cleric noted this with a degree of amusement.
“As I said, you often linger among the cleansing pools. Perhaps you are aware of its more significant purpose?”
Kayla remained silent.
Valesius looked condescendingly upon her as he strolled along the edge of the basin. He breathed vilely close to her face, “These pools are intended to cleanse the spirit of sins. I wonder, do you visit these waters so often because something weighs heavy upon you?” His eyes narrowed treacherously. “Are you... repenting for some offense?”
Apprehension grew in her eyes. Unexpectedly, Valesius seized her wrist and yelled hoarsely, “Answer me, woman!” She cried out and pulled away.
“What wretched sins have you committed?!” he screamed. “What have you done that prompts you to purify your spirit and flesh?!” He relentlessly pursued her across the chamber.
“You have been whoring yourself! Seducing the men with your displays in the cleansing pools!”
“I haven’t done anything wrong!” she denied. Tears filled her eyes as she tried to escape the priest. Valesius grimaced and advanced. He wouldn’t let her leave until he could be assured she had not been corrupted. And if she had succumbed to the weakness of lust, he would punish her. A fist brutally struck him in the jaw, knocking him against a pillar.
The Undying God Page 21
