And Night Descends (The Third Book of the Small Gods Series) (37 page)

This was the inland sea he gazed upon, a body of water he’d never seen. The sun sparkled and glinted on its gentle waves, each of them dispersing a horse-length from the wagon. Kuneprius opened the canvas wider and leaned out, ignoring the pain it brought.

In front of his position, a line of wagons and wains stretched on toward a watery horizon with no apparent end. He struggled his body into a different position to look back. A similar procession of vehicles followed his wagon, but behind them he saw the shore of the Windward Kingdom. No road led to the water’s edge through the driftwood and stony expanse leading to it, yet the caravan had passed and now traversed the fabled water bridge. None but the Brothers knew how to locate it, for it lead to their most holy of places: Teva Stavoklis.

Two thoughts occurred to Kuneprius, the first bringing with it a sliver of hope.

Thorn is alive.

The second followed quickly behind, quashing hope with dread.

Alive to be sacrificed.

Kuneprius slouched back inside the wagon, the canvas falling into place to block the sun and the briny odor of the sea. He hugged his knees to his chest, pressed his face against his legs and allowed despair to take him.

***

Improbably, sleep found Kuneprius again, and the rest of the voyage passed while he was unaware of it doing so. When he awoke to the canvas separating him from the outside world being thrown aside, the day had finished and night had come. Darkness filled the wagon and the muted rush of water greeted his ears. Where the covering lay open, the light of a torch flickered across the face of the man looking in. He recognized Brother Ianix, a man ten turns of the seasons his senior, whom he’d known his entire life.

I’ve known most of the Brothers my whole life.

Where once he experienced comfort amongst these men, a sense of family and belonging, Kuneprius now suspected his life had been a lie, nothing more than a result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. A child of the wrong mother. Where would he be now had a woman not of the order of the Goddess birthed him? Might he have had a normal life?

“It is time, Kuneprius.”

Brother Ianix pulled the canvas open wider, gestured for him to make his way out, but he hesitated.

“Time for what?”

Ianix chose not to reply; they both knew the answer.

“High Priest Kristeus awaits you. Everyone awaits you.”

Ianix offered his hand, but Kuneprius didn’t take it at first. The urge to crawl away and curl himself up in the farthest corner of the wagon tugged at him, but it would do him no good. If Kristeus wanted him, nothing could hide him from the High Priest’s will.

The offered hand remained, patiently waiting, so Kuneprius took it. Brother Ianix gave a gentle tug, pulling him to his feet while steadying him. He’d set a short ladder against the side of the wagon, an act Kuneprius might have seen as an insult at another time, but was glad of while his body ached and complained with every movement.

As he emerged, the muted rush of water he’d heard within grew to a dull roar. A briny tang filled the air and a cool mist touched his face; he licked it from his lips and tasted the salt of the sea.

Brother Ianix’s hand remained on Kuneprius’ elbow and the man smiled at him. His eyes shone with an adoration and respect he’d never seen in them the times they’d shared the mess hall or the prayer room. The expression made him tremble.

“Come.”

Ianix pulled at his elbow, guiding him away from the wagon. The closed space behind the canvas had given him a measure of safety, if the comfort he desired eluded him. Now, outside it, the immensity of his surroundings left him awe struck.

The roar of water emanated from everywhere at once as a circular water wall rose around them. The darkness made it difficult to tell where it ended and the sky began, the only demarcation between the two being the twinkling of the Small Gods staring down from above. Kuneprius diverted his gaze from them, afraid of their judgement.

This is why Kristeus wants me. I’m to be punished for my actions…my sins.

He gulped hard and scuffled his feet, attempting to stop Brother Ianix from dragging him toward the ornate temple filling the center of the opening in the sea. His legs were yet too weak to halt him.

The temple was a wonder of a kind Kuneprius had never seen. A spire rose skyward, its domed roof topped by a slender needle at least as tall as two men. Though the darkness dulled its sheen, he thought both roof and adornment might be fashioned of gold, an incredible expense equalled by the skill needed to create it. A moat surrounded it, the water filling it drawn from the walls of sea encircling this amazing location. From what he understood, this place of worship and tribute had stood since before the Goddess banished the Small Gods, making it as old or older than Draekfarren castle, as old as history itself.

As they approached the building along a stone bridge wide enough to accommodate two wagons abreast with room to spare, Kuneprius peered over the edge at the water below. It swirled and eddied, black in the darkness, but the sheen of the Small Gods reflecting on its surface hinted at its flow. What he realized shocked him.

The water moves away from the temple, not toward it.

His gaze followed the water’s course, drawing his eye to the wall of the sea protecting the temple. At first, he thought of nothing but how it was possible for the wagons to find their way down here. The water wall stood taller than the temple’s spire, taller than any tree or building Kuneprius had ever seen, perhaps as tall as some mountains.

Then he realized it did not cascade down from the Inland Sea above, but flowed upward, away from the temple, as if called to the sky by the evenstar himself.

Kuneprius blinked hard, thinking it a trick played on his eyes by lingering exhaustion, but the water continued its course, defying the laws of nature and finding its way up and up and up.

Brother Ianix led him through an arched doorway as wide as the stone bridge, and the spectacle disappeared from sight to be replaced by another wonder.

No walls separated one part of the temple’s interior from another. Instead, it was a single great room. In Kuneprius’ estimation, the distance from the entrance to the far end measured as much as the lengths of two hundred horses, with its width equal in size. Stones of many colors made up the floor, their shapes similar to each other but different enough he suspected viewing the colorful floor from overhead would reveal a pattern or depiction, and he wondered what it might be.

Brother Ianix continued leading Kuneprius across the great room toward a group of robed Brothers gathered in a circle. Though he knew he should pay attention to them because they would decide his fate, curiosity drew his eyes upward to the ceiling, searching for a viewing gallery from which to observe the floor’s design.

He forgot his search when he realized the temple’s great room lay open to the sky.

But what of the spire and its needle?

Astounded, Kuneprius thought he might be mistaken; perhaps an accomplished artist had painted a likeness of the night sky on the inside. It took but brief observation for him to note the way the Small Gods twinkled; Ine’vesi stood out amongst them, glowering down on him. He forgot the ceiling’s anomaly, the evenstar’s judging glare forcing his awareness back to the fate awaiting him.

He peered ahead over Brother Ianix’s shoulder as they neared the circle of Brothers. Kuneprius couldn’t see into the ring, but one thing stood out above their heads.

The clay head of the golem.

A shuddering breath found its way into Kuneprius’ chest and he averted his gaze to his feet, bare toes visible in the black sandals. It took great effort to control his breathing, which wanted to shorten to fearful pants, but he forced his lungs to fill before he released the air again, attempting to use the technique to keep fear from overpowering him. If the golem stood within the circle, then it made sense the man who’d controlled him would be there, too, the man waiting to call Kuneprius before the Small Gods to be judged and sentenced: High Priest Kristeus.

A thumping startled him and it took a moment to recognize the sound of his heart beating in his ears. Without thinking, he counted the beats.

One. Two. Three.

He glanced up and saw they’d almost reached the circle, looked back down to his feet. His heart raced.

Seveneightnineteneleven…

Not so long ago, he’d have been pleased to remember his numbers, but not now. For every heartbeat he counted, he lent the number to each person left dead in their wake. Each beat he noted brought him one closer to his last.

Brother Ianix slowed and stopped, squeezed his elbow. When Kuneprius looked up in response, Ianix nodded toward the circle. He didn’t want to look, but couldn’t stop himself.

The Brothers closest to them had stepped aside, transforming the ring into a horseshoe, at the center of which stood Kristeus, dwarfed by the clay abomination standing at his side. The High Priest stared toward Kuneprius, a smile on his lips, but the golem glared past him, through him, the dead, blank eyes giving no hint they saw anything. Seeing the monstrosity again brought a shudder across his shoulders. He diverted his gaze to the altar in front of them, its sight making him forget the clay abomination.

The altar seemed out of place in the huge, elaborate room. Instead of being made of marble or gold, jewels or jade as befitted the temple, it was fashioned of plain stone and rotting wood, held together by clay and lengths of hemp rope. The materials used to build it meant nothing when Kuneprius saw Thorn bound and gagged on top of it.

He stood at the edge of the horseshoe, refusing to move despite Ianix’s prompting at his elbow. His head moved back and forth slightly, denying this was happening.

“All hail Kuneprius,” Kristeus intoned, breaking the silence. His clear, loud voice startled Kuneprius as it bounced and echoed from wall to wall. “Our Brother, the savior of the Small Gods.”

Thorn didn’t move. The gray man’s chest rose and fell as tough he still drew breath, but the motion was slight. Concern for the Small God so gripped Kuneprius, it took a moment for the High Priest’s words to penetrate his consciousness. When they did, he raised his eyes, looked from priest to golem and back, unsure he’d heard what he thought he heard.

“S…savior?” His lips trembled as he spoke. He’d thought nothing could be worse than facing punishment from the brotherhood and the Small Gods. Could he have been wrong?

“Come.” Kristeus gestured for Kuneprius to enter the horseshoe, but he didn’t move. “You are a favored son of those who watch from the sky. Come take your place at my side.”

Brother Ianix prompted him more forcefully and his still tired legs could resist no longer. He stumbled forward a step and would have fallen if not for the hands on either side catching him under the arms and holding him up. The two helpful Brothers at the mouth of the horseshoe took him from Ianix and led him toward the altar, the High Priest, the monster. Kuneprius shook his head and resisted, sandals scraping the floor.

“No, I—”

“You helped bring this…” Kristeus waved a hand at Thorn, “this thing to us. Your efforts have provided the fodder we need to fulfill the prophecy and restore the evenstar and his brethren to their rightful places as rulers of this world. Hail Kuneprius!”

“Hail!”

The voices of the Brothers combined as one, the immensity of the room multiplying their enthusiasm to the point of deafening. Kuneprius winced, both at the volume assaulting his ears as well as at what they thought he’d done.

The two helping him brought him to stand between the High Priest and the golem before returning to their spots. They left him close enough to Thorn he could have reached out and stroked the Small God’s forehead, wiped stale sweat from his ashen brow. He raised a shaking arm, intending to do just that, but stopped himself when the clay man’s heavy hand came to rest on his shoulder. Kuneprius let his arm fall back to his side.

“The God Ine’vesi has whispered in my ear,” Kristeus said, directing his words not to Kuneprius alone, but to the entire group. “He is pleased with you, Kuneprius, and wants to honor you.”

The words registered, but he didn’t move his gaze from Thorn. Being closer confirmed the Small God still lived; his chest drew shallow breaths; his flesh, though pale, radiated warmth; his eyelids fluttered but remained shut.

Wake up, Thorn. Wake up and use your magic. Save us both.

Kristeus had gone silent and, for an instant, Kuneprius feared he might have pleaded aloud. His eyes flickered away from the Small God to the robed men but none of them gaped at him as though he’d committed sacrilege of the highest order. He drew a breath, the stink of clay strong in his nostrils.

Everything remained silent and Kuneprius wondered if they expected him to speak. Did they want him to display his gratitude? What if he didn’t?

A sound broke the silence, at once foreign and familiar—the scrape of steel on hard leather. He raised his gaze from Thorn, directed it toward Kristeus.

The High Priest held a knife in his hands, the grip resting on one palm, the end of the curved blade on the other. Light glinted on the polished metal, hinting at ancient words inscribed in the blade, words few in the world spoke or understood.

Mesmerized, Kuneprius stared at the torchlight dancing on the steel like fireflies flitting through a summer night. Seeing the weapon tightened the muscles in his jaw, made him want to flee no matter what the consequences, but he was powerless to so much as look away.

The knife from my dream.

Kristeus extended his arms, moving the weapon closer to Kuneprius. The air in the room became thick; too thick for him to draw enough breath to satisfy his struggling lungs. His mouth went dry and he gulped a sticky ball down his throat with a click.

“The evenstar told me the honor of raising the Small Gods belongs to you, Kuneprius. You are the reason their feet will again grace the ground of our world.”