I take in the massive numbers of Otherworlders—there are so many. I hope this means that they’ve vacated Cavan. That the Council can bring Empress Iana back to her home and somehow the goddesses will save her life if they don’t retrieve the relic.
Maybe the Otherworlders really are mad, and the attacks were random. No. I don’t believe that. Mad, yes, but I witnessed their raid on my city. It was clever, tactful, and well planned. Anger boils in my chest. I wish the goddesses would send me a clear message, something that would lead my thoughts in the right direction.
As we near the end of the street, a tower rises up before us, lit with crackling white-blue lights like on the Cage. The currents snap and lash against the darkness. Its massive turret branches out at the top, reaching into the air like a claw. The low drumming stops.
I stare up, transfixed. My heart beats heavily against my breastbone and clamp. Then warmth engulfs my hand. I don’t look over at Caben, but I lace my fingers through his, accepting the comforting touch.
Bax turns to us, his leer in place. “Contenders! Kneel before the Temple of Bale.”
Bax leads the leagues of contenders and their ring leaders over a rickety rock and plank bridge toward the tower. Below flows a river of murky, silvery mercury. It bubbles on the surface, slowly moving in a stream that surrounds the dark temple.
From my childhood, I recall vague stories of the Otherworlders’ deity—of Bale. Of how centuries ago she once ruled alongside the goddesses, but was cast out because of her hatred for humanity. She started plagues and illnesses, suffering and wars. And the goddesses—seeing that she was out of control—banished her below the earth.
Where the Otherworlders now call home.
That’s only legend, though. Stories told through time to give reasons for why there is sickness and death and enough hatred to war over. To explain why the Otherworlders fled underground ages ago. If any of it were true, or credible, it would be in the history books we’re given about the goddesses during protector training.
Bax raises a clenched fist, halting us, and we stop just feet away from the giant dark doors of the temple. He raps twice with a large, bronze knocker. After a few seconds, the doors begin to part, filling the air with a low, hollow creak.
An Otherworlder dressed in a black robe stands in the doorframe. Her dreaded coils of hair are pulled into a high bun, and dangling silver earrings bounce against her shoulders as she sweeps her pale hand through the air, inviting us in.
The inner sanctum of the temple is a wide hallway that opens up into a larger chamber as we walk. Miniature sized spires run floor to ceiling, the chemical, light-filled vessels giving off a dark glow. The walls are leafed in silver and gold, copper and bronze; every mineral imaginable has been wielded into images and symbols I don’t recognize. Except one.
The moon.
On the farthest wall of the chamber, high above a dais and gleaming sliver arch, a platinum moon catches the glint from the spire
s. A ring of mercury runs along its circular edge, denoting an eclipse that cascades down into a black marble fountain.
Alyah, guide me.
A dark figure emerges from the shadows of the room. He’s robed in black. His pale skin is wrinkled, and sharp bones shape his face in distorted angles. If I squint, I can see the semblance of a human man beneath the weathered, monstrous features.
He presses his palms together, his fingertips just beneath his pointy chin. “You have brought Bale the shards?” he says to Bax expectantly.
Bowing his head, Bax stares at the floor. “No, My Liege.” It’s the first time I’ve encountered a hint of fear in Bax’s voice. “But we have garnered worthy contenders for the Reckoning. It’s only a matter of time before our spies find—”
The dark priest turns his palm out, halting Bax’s excuses. “The contenders are worthless unless the shards are produced.” He steps down from the marble dais and stands before Bax. His milky eyes hold Bax captive. “You will find the Perinyian protector, and you will discover Laryn’s protector, as well. Both shards will be found before the eclipse or you will sacrifice yourself in penance for your failure to Bale.”
Bax lowers his head farther. “Yes, My Liege.”
Now the spindly priest casts his eyes on us—the contenders—and an icy shiver slithers down my spine. His hazy white eyes take in each contender one by one. When they settle on me, I feel as if his gaze is searing the flesh from my bones. Unwrapping me layer by layer, searching my being.
“Contenders,” he says. “I find you worthy tributes to Bale. Good luck during the Reckoning, and may the victor bear the freedom ring for all eternity.” His eyes slit, and the creepy smile that crooks his thin lips steals the breath from my lungs.
Then we’re being lead back out of the temple.
That’s it?
All this parading us through the streets and being taken into scary temples so that the Otherworlders’ evil priest could determine our worth to fight in the Cage?
I shake my head as we make our way back over the rock bridge. I wish that the Council would’ve taught us more about the Otherworlders. Truths of their customs and beliefs. I wish I understood exactly what’s happening.
A pulse ebbs through my chest. It starts low, building into a faint, separate heartbeat. Warmth spreads through my body, washing over me in waves matching the beat.
I stop walking.
The empress.