Storms of Destiny (6 page)

Now she knew why the Hidden Rites were shrouded in such secrecy, concealed in the bowels of the mountain. It was only because of Master Varn’s illicit teachings that she’d learned the codes that had allowed her to ferret out the tunnels leading to this place. He’d warned her against going down to the lowest tunnels, and now she knew why.

The chamber contained a huge obsidian altar-stone, a solid square block of blackness that seemed to draw the light of the torches as it lay gleaming and ready.

Ready for what?

Not for the children, it seemed. Thia tried to make herself crawl on, away from what she knew must be coming, but she was frozen with horror. She tried to close her eyes as the

High Priest, in his scarlet robe, raised a stone knife to the first little one’s throat. But she could not look away.

A quick slash, a hideous, gurgling moan, and the little girl collapsed, twitching, her white robe spattered with scarlet even more vivid than the High Priest’s robe. Carefully, the High Ones collected a generous dollop of blood, then poured it into the rushing river, chanting loudly all the while.

The remaining children screamed and wailed, and a few of them struggled to break past the line of priests, but to no avail.

Quickly, one by one, each child was sacrificed. They saved the boy who had tried to escape until last. The child kicked and shrieked, bit and fought like a wild snow-cat from the heights, but they held him hand and foot and head, and the knife moved, slicing slowly through his pulsing throat until finally he was still.

Thia bit down on her finger until her own blood flowed sickly sweet into her mouth, making her chapped lips sting as she fought not to be noisily sick.

All thought of dinner and why she had come down here had vanished. The novice knew she was doomed. Boq’urak saw everything, was All-Powerful. Surely He could see her now. Surely any moment a blast from the heavens would strike her, reducing her to a charred heap of flesh and blackened bone. But that would be better than living with what she had learned, Thia thought, blindly wiping away tears.

The children, the children … those poor little ones …

But the expected smiting did not come. Thia watched dully as one of the High Ones made a summoning gesture, and two more entered, half supporting a swaying figure between them. The novice recognized the young woman …

Narda, a first-year priestess. She’d been a year ahead of Thia throughout their postulancy and novitiate.

Narda was a pretty young woman with dark eyes, hair the color of winter snow-roses, and a full, womanly figure. Thia did not know her well, but she remembered what an expert cook she’d been while they’d served together in the kitchen.

Now Narda’s dark eyes looked twice their normal size.

She was smiling, an ecstatic, wide smile of complete bliss.

Drugged, Thia realized.

One of the High Ones threw a handful of dust onto a brazier that was burning near the collapsed bodies of the children, and coils of reddish smoke began eddying up from the coals. Thia pressed herself against the floor, trying to breathe shallowly, lest she lose consciousness from the intoxicating fumes.

Narda’s Mentor, a High One whose name Thia didn’t know, approached the young priestess, and her smile widened even further as she gazed at his familiar features.

The chanting, which had subsided to a throbbing back-ground murmur, picked up tempo and grew louder, increasing in intensity until it made Thia’s head pound even worse than the fumes from the smoldering brazier.

Waves of
something
began to fill the air. Thia could not see it, could only sense its presence. It was like sensing the place where lightning had struck only moments before … a prickling of the downy hairs on her body, as though some unseen hand had tipped a sacrificial bowl filled with cold, congealed blood and allowed it to engulf her spirit. The novice struggled not to scream aloud in protest against that unseen presence.

When she glanced through the hole in the parapet again, she saw that the High Ones were stretching Narda out on the huge block of black stone, securing her wrists and ankles to rings embedded in the rock. Narda’s Mentor bent over her and with one fluid motion, tore the priestess’s white robe from neck to ankles, rending it in two. For the first time, Narda’s smile faded; her expression of dreamy contentment vanished.

The priestess shook her head, her gaze focusing on her Mentor as he stood at her feet, his voice rising above the others in the chant. She shook her head again, then cried out in fear.

Thia could not see the Mentor’s face, but she was aware, suddenly, that he was Changing.

Changing …

At first it was as though his shadow had gathered around

the outlines of his body, gathered and rippled in the torchlight. The shape of his head altered, grew broader, more domed. His hands … they curled, and ridges of scaled flesh sprouted upward from the backs. The fingers were engulfed, turning to talons like those of a lizard.

By all that is holy—he is becoming Incarnate!

Thia knew that Boq’urak could transform Himself into the bodies of his High Priests for brief periods of time, there to work miracles. She knew that from her illicit reading. But to even reveal that she knew of the Incarnation Rite, Master Varn had warned her, would mean her death. To actually
see
it … she stifled a whimper of utter despair.

The chanting intensified, but all of the priests had fallen back against the walls, as though they did not want to be too close to the god when He became Incarnate.

With a muttered growl, the transforming Mentor threw off his robe. He had nearly doubled in size, and was half again as tall as his human height. Tentacles sprouted from his sides, two on each side, flexible tentacles tipped with a sucker at each end. In the depths of each sucker was a viciously curved claw or tooth. His skin darkened, darkened … It was now a smoky violet, now a brownish purple …

Scales erupted from beneath his skin. A ridge of frilled flesh poked up from his back, ran down to a tail that suddenly extruded, whip-thin. His body seemed to constantly crawl and shift, as though it were somehow fluid, mutable.

Thia felt her mind reel, and fought to stay conscious. She couldn’t afford to faint.

The Incarnate’s breathing intensified, changed rhythm, and He growled again, louder, as He bent forward. His transformed “hand” came up to rake His talons along Narda’s bared body.

The priestess, who had closed her eyes as though she could not bear to see what was happening, opened them. Her mouth opened, and Thia’s throat ached in sympathy. Narda was trying to scream, but like one caught in a nightmare, she could not force any sound to emerge. Narda began to thrash and struggle as the Incarnate fell on her, between her parted thighs.

Thia saw His body plunge downward, and finally Narda’s scream burst free and rang in the air, rising even above the sounds of the chanting. For a moment Thia wondered if the Incarnate was going to devour the young woman, then she blinked in horrified realization. The novice had been only six when she’d left the farm, but farm children grew up quickly, and no effort had been made to keep her away from the sight of the animals mating.

Mating …

Thia gagged, choked, and time seemed to slip sideways, away from her. She did not—quite—lose consciousness.

Some shred of self-preservation made her cling to a thread of reality. She returned to full awareness to find herself lying with her cheek pressed against the floor, her eyes tightly shut. She had to force herself to open them.

The novice pushed herself upward and managed to crawl a few feet farther along the gallery, forcing herself not to look. She could not shut out the sounds, however, the wet, gurgling noises, the sucking sounds. There was no further sound from Narda.

How could Boq’urak’s High Ones lend themselves to such a rite? How could they let themselves be used in that fashion? Had her own Mentor, Master Varn, let that happen to him?

The thought of her esteemed teacher lending his body to be used in that obscene manner made her reel sideways, until she fetched up against the stone parapet again.

If you faint, they’ll find you. You’ll be punished. The same
thing might happen to you. You have to get away. Away from
the temple, away from Verang, away from Amaran. Get
away, away, away, away from that thing!

That thing, the Incarnate … Had it discovered her? She couldn’t stop herself from looking down, through another hole in the stonework.

The chanting was now at its height. Plumes of reddish smoke filled the air, curdling and thickening as they wrapped tendrils around the body of the now fully transformed priest. He was enormous—the body of the god

nearly eclipsed the black stone altar. With a last, obscene plunge of His torso, He stiffened, then a shudder rippled through the giant frame. The tail lashed like an angry cat’s.

Boq’urak reared back, straightening, and Thia could see Narda’s body. Her throat was a bloody ruin, and huge puck-ered circles oozed red along her sides. Her parted thighs were scarlet.

The god raised His head, and for the first time Thia saw the countenance of the being she had been trained to worship above all.

Boq’urak’s face was wide, with a frill of flesh where the priest’s brows had been, extending across His face to shield slits that had replaced His ears. The god had eyes, two huge, staring, lidless eyes that seemed to see everything. No nose. A sucker appendage with a single tooth served as the creature’s mouth. The facial skin was lighter than the body, a pale gray.

Thia stared into those eyes, and knew that Boq’urak saw her. Saw her, and knew her for who she was.

She was dead, and she knew it, but her body refused to believe. With a gasp, the novice scuttled through the doorway and, scrambling to her feet, ran like a hunted animal.

Her mind was whirling, and she barely retained sense enough to check the doorposts for the secret signs. Her flying feet carried her up steps, down tunnels, up more stairs.

She turned the corner into the hallway leading out of the ziggurat, breath sobbing, feet like two lumps of ice— —and crashed full-force against a solid, unyielding form.

Her mind gibbered and teetered on the edge of utter madness for a moment, then she realized the newcomer was human.

She staggered back, gasping, and looked up, ready to babble explanations and apologies.

“Master!” she cried. “Oh, thank Boq’urak!”

Master Varn stood gazing at her, his dark brows drawing together in concern. “Thia! Child, where have you been?”

“I … I …” She dragged in a deep breath, marshaled her wits, forced her mind to cast off its panic and work again.

She made the proper obeisance of a novice to a High One, then plunged into the ritual response, grateful not to have to think about what she was saying. “Master, this unworthy one begs forgiveness. I am late to supper. Assign me penance, that I may redeem myself and cast off my sin.”

He was staring down at her, and his eyes, behind his hooded lids, were filled with a mixture of exasperation and humor. “Thia, child! What shall I do with you? Late
again
!

Do you know how many—”

He broke off as Thia grabbed his sleeve, clutching it in both hands, twisting. “Master Varn, do you know what they’re
doing
down there? They killed children! And Narda—”

She stopped, gagging, one hand pressed to her mouth.

Master Varn stared down at her, his black eyes intent.

“What? What are you saying?”

“It’s true, I
saw
it!” Thia whispered. She was shaking and her knees threatened to buckle. Master Varn put a steadying hand on her shoulder, and gratefully, she rested her forehead against his chest. His warmth steadied her, comforted her.

“You
saw
?” his voice was strained. “Tell me what you saw, child.”

“A monster,” she whispered into the folds of his robe, whimpering at the memory. “Horrible.” She raised her head.

“We have to stop them.”

“I understand,” he said. “We must—” He broke off, eyes widening, then narrowing. His entire body stiffened and he blinked several times. Then his gaze once again fixed on her.

Thia gazed up at him, feeling a chill that had nothing to do with the fact that it was winter and the ancient stones were as cold as well water. “You, you believe me, don’t you?”

“Yes I do,” he said steadily. “I know you, child. You could never lie to me.”

“Have you ever seen … it?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “No, of course not.”

He’s lying.
Thia knew it immediately.
How could I have
been so stupid? Of course he’s seen it!
She felt betrayed.

Only her realization that she was in terrible danger kept her from collapsing into tears. She bowed her head, hiding her face against his robe, thinking fast.
He’s a priest of
Boq’urak. They say Boq’urak can communicate His wishes

to His priests. Boq’urak is Incarnate even now. Could He be
communicating with Master Varn?

Whether or not the Incarnate was sending instructions to her Master, she couldn’t take the chance that Varn would let her leave, after what she’d admitted to seeing.
I have to get
away!

Just then her Master wrapped both arms around her, holding her tightly, rocking her. Once she had longed for such an embrace from him. Now, she shuddered with revulsion.

He was whispering softly, so softly that the novice could barely make out the words. “Child, child … what shall I do with you?”

Thia gulped, forced herself to think clearly.
I must get
away.
She raised her head and looked up at him. “Master, we can leave together. Fetch your cloak. I will wait here.”

Gently, she pulled back, and he released her.

Thia smiled shakily at him. “Hurry, Master!”

He hesitated, and for a moment Thia thought he was going to turn away. Then he shook his head. “No. You must come with me.” He took a step toward her.

Thia took a step back.