A Dance of Ghosts

CHAPTER 33

Pelarak, high priest of Karak’s faithful, rose from his bed at the sound of knocking. He grabbed his deep black robe from a hook on the wall, slid it over his thin body, and then opened the door to his room.

“What is it?” he asked another of the priests, a handsome, clean-shaven man named Essau.

“Grim tidings,” Essau said, bowing his head low. “I fear Daverik has been murdered.”

“Murdered?” said Pelarak. “How?”

In answer, Essau stepped aside, revealing two little girls standing in the dimly lit hall. The very sight of them was a prick to the back of his neck. Kneeling before them, he offered them his hands, yet they shied away, afraid.

“Lesha, Jayda, you have no reason to fear me,” he told them. “I am Karak’s most faithful, and so long as you are faithful too, then I am your fiercest protector in all the land.”

Lesha, the darker-skinned of the two, crossed her hands behind her back and looked to the floor. All her body but her face was covered with dark black and purple wrappings, and through the white cloth covering the gap, he saw that she was crying.

“What is the matter?” he asked. “Is it true? Did someone kill your master?”

“With a dagger,” Lesha said. “She told us not to come here. She said…”

The girl’s voice trailed off as Jayda elbowed her in the side. Together, they stood there, bowed, silent, and clearly afraid.

“Who is she?” Pelarak asked.

Jayda was the one to meet his eye this time.

“She used to be one of us,” she said. “But not anymore.”

Zusa, thought Pelarak, and the priest felt a familiar fire burn in his stomach. Would they never be free of that horrible woman? Pelarak stood, ran a hand through his gray hair. Now Daverik was dead, along with four others he’d trained, leaving just these two. The question was … what were they to do with them?

“Wake the rest of the elders,” Pelarak told Essau. “I would have us pray before the altar.”

“Can it not wait until morning?”

Pelarak put a hand on little Jayda’s shoulder, felt her tremble at his touch.

“No, it cannot.”

Down the hall he led the girls, back to the main worship chamber. Before the rows of pews towered the great statue of Karak, with purple fire burning in braziers at his beloved god’s feet, fires that would never dwindle or fade. They, like Karak, were eternal. Pelarak ordered the girls to kneel at the altar, which was still wet with the blood from that nightfall’s sacrifice. They crossed their hands in prayer, quiet and obedient, and it made the priest smile. No doubt they were troubled, scarred by witnessing Daverik’s death and now adrift with an uncertain future, but their souls must have been loyal, for in prayer before the statue of the Lion, they were calm, they were at peace. The same could not always be said of kings and wise men.

“Do not cease your prayers,” Pelarak whispered to them. “No matter what you hear, what my fellows discuss, never cease.”

They both nodded, eyes closed, never looking up.

The door left of the altar, which led to the various barracks and dungeons of the temple, opened, and out stepped Essau.

“They’ll be here shortly,” he said, standing beside Pelarak as they overlooked the statue. He gestured to the two girls. “I’m not sure I understand the need for haste. They’re members of the faceless, now and forever. Are we to choose another teacher?”

Pelarak crossed his arms, fingers digging into the thick, rough fabric of his robe. He’d never been pleased with the faceless, viewing it as an unpleasant necessity at best, a poor punishment at worst. When Eliora and Nava had died and Zusa gone rogue, he’d been content to consider the matter dead. But then had come Daverik, along with the backing of several prominent priests in Mordeina, all insisting it be started up anew. Against such pressure, he could not back down, especially since dogma was on their side. But that didn’t mean he had to like it, nor did he have to honor it … not if it went against Karak’s wishes.

“Our temples have played games,” he said. “And these poor girls have been caught in the middle. You ask what we are to do with them, and it is a question we must receive an answer to. But I will not consult books, nor tally votes among our elders. No, Essau, we will call for the voice of the Lion before we resort to lesser, imperfect measures.”

In groups of two and three came the rest of the elders, until all seven were there with Pelarak and Essau. They lingered about, speaking softly with one another. Still did Jayda and Lesha remain in prayer like proper students. Pelarak knelt beside each of them, putting his hands on their backs and closing his eyes so he might pray with them.

From the mouths of children, he prayed. May there be no other wisdom but yours.

With that, he stood, turned to address the various elders.

“I know the hour is late, but I believe we cannot delay,” Pelarak began, “for one of our own, Daverik, has been killed by the hand of our most shameful failure, the woman Zusa. These two, Jayda and Lesha, have come to us, for they are without home and master.”

“They cannot stay here,” the oldest of them all said, a pockmarked man named Geas. “It has been temple law since time immemorial. The faceless are not allowed to dwell within the holy ground.”

“Not so immemorial,” Pelarak said, turning to face Geas. “For we have writings from Theron the Wise, who first created the order, and he never decreed any sort of banishment.”

“But even Theron ordered them to eat and sleep separate from the rest,” Geas argued. “And in time, Karak imparted us wisdom as to the proper way of dealing with the greatest of betrayers.”

Pelarak struggled to keep his eyes from rolling. The greatest of betrayers? Before him were two girls, neither older than ten. He knew how they’d been taken, defiled by one of the priests in Mordeina. He’d received word that they’d removed the man’s genitals to ensure it never happening again, yet still they’d sent the two with Daverik, demanding they be made members of the faceless. There were a dozen punishments they could have been given instead, down to a mere few nights of fasting and prayer, but no, to Veldaren they’d come. Now they were his problem, and Karak damn it, he wanted the faceless buried and forgotten, not continuing on for decades because of these two young girls, their only fault merely being mice in front of a depraved snake.

“Our high priest did not bring us together to discuss dogma,” Essau said, preventing any further argument. “This matter must be settled once and for all.”

“The faceless have always been a stain upon our orders,” Pelarak said, addressing Geas in particular. “Already we have rules and punishments for those in our ranks who forfeit their shame to their sexual desires, and it is those we should abide by. I say we declare Jayda and Lesha free of the title, free of the wrappings, and introduce them back into the fold, where they may be raised as priestesses.”

“What you suggest is heresy!” said another of the elders.

“Perhaps,” Pelarak said. “But let us discover for ourselves. Let us hear the voice of the Lion decree their fates.”

“Karak will give you no answer,” Geas insisted. “Not when the answer is already known.”

“If we hear silence, then we will debate come the morning,” Pelarak said. “For now, prepare the candles and the knife. We have work to do.”

The ritual was one they’d all performed dozens of times, and they began their work in earnest. Perhaps it was out of duty, or faith, or merely wanting to go back to bed, but they arranged the candles in several concentric circles about the altar, as well as fetching the other required components, with record speed. As Pelarak watched, the ceremonial knife in hand, Essau slid over to him, back to the others as he murmured.

“You know Karak does not like to involve himself with our discussions of dogma,” said the priest. “It is beneath him.”

“Perhaps,” Pelarak said, eyeing the two girls. “But you’ve felt it, haven’t you? Karak’s presence … it’s heavier upon our city. Something approaches, some moment or crossroads … and I think tonight, he will answer.”

Essau glanced to the others, frowned.

“I pray you are right, because those two won’t stay in this temple otherwise.”

The circles made, the candle lit, the girls bowing before the great statue of Karak, all was completed as Pelarak took the knife and stepped through the ring of priests that stood with their arms raised to the ceiling. His mouth suddenly dry, he knelt and took a silver bowl from the feet of the statue and placed it before the two girls on the altar. He saw Jayda’s eyes flick open just a moment, widening at the sight of the bowl. She’d be the first, Pelarak decided.

“We seek the voice of the Lion in a world that has known only silence,” Pelarak said, reaching out and taking Jayda’s hand in his.

“Karak, hear our prayer,” echoed the rest of the priests.

With his free hand, Pelarak tilted Jayda’s face up with his finger, and she opened her soft blue eyes. Fear lingered in them, but she was strong, she was brave. He smiled, knowing she would make him proud.

“The pain is ephemeral,” he told her. “The blood is full of power, yet so easily replaced. Cry out to Karak. Cry out for his voice, his words, his wisdom and glory. Can you do this?”

Jayda’s lips trembled, but she bobbed her head up and down.

“I can,” she said.

“Karak, hear our prayer.”

Pelarak put the knife to the palm of her hand, edge against the dark wrappings.

“Close your eyes,” he said.

She did, tight as she could. Taking in a deep breath, Pelarak offered his own plea for guidance. With a single smooth movement, he cut across the little girl’s palm, opening up a streak of red that quickly flowed across her revealed pale skin. Grabbing her wrist, he held her hand over the bowl, let the blood drip down as she screamed out in pain.

“Karak, hear our prayer.”

He held her, firm, unmoving, and despite her tears, despite the constant flow of blood, she did not fight him. Instead, she closed her eyes and prayed with an earnestness that made him all the more furious at the man who had dared defile one so young, so full of faith.

“Please, Karak,” she prayed through her sobs, “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

When the bottom of the bowl was completely covered, Pelarak pulled her away, taking a cloth set beside the bowl and pressing it into her palm. Gently, he let her hold her wounded hand against her chest, and heart heavy, he turned to Lesha.

“Your hand,” he told her.

The knife cut across her dark skin, and she screamed, even louder than Jayda.

“Karak, hear our prayer.”

“We stand before you humbled and unworthy,” Pelarak said when the bowl was filled, both girls kneeling with heads bowed, cut hands bleeding into cloths pressed against their bodies. “We stand, we pray, we beg that your voice guide us. These two, what are we to do with them? Are they to remain faceless, or shall we welcome them back into the fold?”

He took the bowl as all around him, the priests echoed his prayer, begging Karak to answer. The candles flickered, shimmered a rainbow of colors before becoming deep violet. The room bathed in its glow, the statue of Karak towering above, Pelarak took the bowl and lifted it high.

“Let us hear the roar of the Lion!” he cried, and he flung the blood across the statue. The red splashed upon the stone breastplate, the armored greaves, the feet, the hands. Pelarak held the bowl in one hand, the blood dripping down beside him to the floor, as he stared into the eyes of his god. In the sudden silence, they heard only the sniffles of the two girls. Pelarak waited, tense, yearning for Karak to answer. He’d staked his reputation on this, as well as the fates of Jayda and Lesha.

Nothing but sniffles.

“The Lion is not with us,” Geas said.

The eyes of the statue flared red, the violet flames surged, and Geas had but a moment to gasp before the fire of the candles leaped from the wicks and poured down his throat. They robbed him of sound, of breath, and as Pelarak watched in stunned silence, the old priest collapsed and died. Pelarak’s mouth hung open, his mind reeling, unsure how to react.

From all four corners of the room came a chilling wind, and in its howl, the two girls’ sobs grew louder, more terrified. As the other priests fell to their knees, begging Karak for mercy, Pelarak flung himself between Jayda and Lesha, and he pulled them about to face him. Their eyes were open but rolled back into their heads as they shook. It seemed to be a seizure, but still they cried, and then those cries became something different, something more.

“This city trembles,” Jayda said, her voice firm and controlled despite the shaking of her body. “It aches, it pleads, but it will not know peace.”

Pelarak clutched her to him, trying to keep her still. Her head lolled back, and when she spoke again, Lesha echoed her words.

“All will burn,” they said. “This city, this land, this nation, this world. All will burn.”

Suddenly, their arguments over the faceless felt so petty, so simple, and mired in worthless dogma and pointless tradition. The very temple seemed to shake with the violence of their vision, the statue above shimmering with a horrible power.

Fear the power of the gods, Pelarak thought, a line from a sermon he’d once delivered. We are but dust to the divine, and we will never be enough to withstand their presence.

“Karak, my god,” Pelarak whispered as the other priests wailed, fearing the temple would collapse upon them. “Tell us your wisdom; tell us what we are to do.”

The girls spoke in unison, but as they did, the priest realized the words were not for him, nor intended for any of them. They’d dared thrust themselves into a world beyond understanding, one of visions and power eternal, and now they must pay the price.

“Nathaniel,” the girls whispered, softer now, gentler. “You must understand. The only hope is in my prophet’s return…”

On the floor of the hallway, Nathaniel writhed, but he could see it no longer nor feel the carpet against his skin nor hear the cries of servants gathering about him. Instead, his vision was dominated by fire and destruction overwhelming the city of Veldaren. Nathaniel stood just outside the wall, naked and pale, as he watched fire spread as if guided by invisible hands.

Nathaniel, spoke a voice, one Nathaniel recognized as clearly as he recognized the voice of his own mother. It was deep, frightening, carrying authority no mere human could ever possess.

“You must understand,” Nathaniel heard himself whisper, echoing Karak’s voice. There was no thought to this, no ability to resist. “The only hope is in my prophet’s return…”

Someone cried for a priest, but the words came as if from a thousand miles away. His feet lifted off the ground, the world shifting away from him, and then Nathaniel was soaring over the tops of buildings, watching them all shake and crumble. Roar after roar shook his bones, as if enormous lions had taken up residence within the city. Desperately, Nathaniel prayed for it to end, yet he was denied such a blessing. The city was ash. A pair of red eyes watched it from afar, and he felt their cold pleasure in witnessing the destruction.

While immersed in the fire, he’d felt intense heat on his skin, yet now he felt a chill as wind blew in from the west. With its arrival, the night sky covered with clouds, and thorough darkness overcame the land. Standing amid it, Nathaniel felt intense loneliness and despair. The city was gone. Everything was dust, and within the wreckage, he knew he was but one of a thousand charred corpses. The vision was so hopeless, the darkness so complete, he didn’t understand the point in showing it to him.

And then Karak spoke.

You can save them, Nathaniel, said the cold voice of an imprisoned god. You can save them all.

The vision shifted, and the shadowy form with the red eyes was before him, arms crossed, body hidden by a black robe. The man said nothing, but as Nathaniel’s sight widened, he saw that the city of Veldaren stood once more.

This is my prophet, whom I love, Karak whispered. You are not meant to fear him, my child. You are to embrace him. Melody’s heart was true, but she was fooled by the traitor priest, Luther, who would tear down my beloved city, destroying it with fire and destruction. But there is still hope. There is a way to spare this land, save its people, and bring about true order. It is you, Nathaniel. You will be the boy who opened the way, if you would only listen and obey.

People’s hands were on his body, but again, he felt them like one feels a waking limb. At that moment, he was lost in the presence of another, grand and powerful, overwhelming him, suffocating him. But within it he sensed the hope Karak spoke of. Within it, he knew he could make a difference. So, he whispered the words that ended the vision, sent it crashing down with only the promise of a future answer.

“Tell me what to do.”