by Darryl Fabia
The family loved their little girl dearly and though they weren’t warriors, they were wealthy enough to hire assassins. Within a day, three bloody bodies were tossed upon the steps of the crypt, and the little girl sprang to life as if she’d never been gone. The family laughed and cried with joy, and thanked the voice of the temple.
“Tell others,” it said, sounding stronger now.
They did. When a friend’s son took ill and passed away, the father told of the sealed crypt and the voice that brought people back from the dead, if others were offered in their place. Knowledge of the voice spread among the rich first, as their loved ones who died came back again, and again, and the city’s assassins grew rich themselves. Then word trickled down to the city’s masses, and many wondered why they should have to lose their sons and daughters, sisters and brothers, wives and husbands. Many families realized their relatives had vanished to become sacrifices for the miraculous crypt, which was slowly becoming a temple of worship for the voice, and sought out other sacrifices to bring them back.
Fires soon lit the city and screaming filled the streets. The desperate dragged carts behind them, often carrying four bodies—a loved one, and three offerings to this newfound god of life and death. Advisors to the city’s king wanted the crypt torn down, apathetic to whether it disturbed the dead, but when word of the suggestion leaked, a great mob formed outside the palace and set to burning down the king’s home, fearing they’d lose any chance of keeping their loved ones should the king dare defile the house of the voice.
The city’s population dwindled quickly, until the voice called for silence, and all listened who wished to serve the presence within the crypt. “There is a village to the north, where stone houses sit in a field of tall grass, and a witch woman assists in all births and deaths. Bring their deaths here.”
The Gray Coast’s survivors realized, to their relief, that they could take lives from anywhere, and the killing in the city paused for a time. The mobs and families organized into death squads, leaving the city in search of villages, and villagers whose deaths could feed the crypt and restore life to the city’s people.
Bloody war swept across half of the sunset lands, spreading from the Gray Coast to the surrounding villages, and then to the cities with much better defenses. Stone walls broke into rubble, houses disintegrated into ash, blood soaked the tall grass, and bodies piled at the wall that had killed Thotan and Kehinde.
But through it all, the temple stood firm, and no one noticed when a clay mask with curved horns sprouting from its sides appeared over its sealed entrance, staring down at all who approached with pleadings and sacrifice.
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Want more fairy tales? Check out:
A Path Far Away
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