The Crown of blood

Temple

The silence that had so often acted as bedrock for Lakhyri's thoughts now threatened his equilibrium. Each moment seemed inexorably long, a sensation he had not felt since his youth. The silence was symptomatic of his worries; no sound from the masters and no word from his outside agents. Too long had passed since he had instructed Udaan to deal with the issue of the Askhan succession. His usual patience was wearing thin.

The only evidence of this disturbed mindset was the tapping of Lakhyri's finger on the arm of his chair. It was a slow, measured percussion, barely making a sound, but in comparison to his normal immobility, it was the same as another man running around in a screaming panic. Lakhyri's followers sensed his unease and cast worried glances at each other. They too felt the absence of the eulanui; usually so reassuring in their oppressive, otherworldly presence, now strangely distant.

The situation was intolerable. Lakhyri was loath to act, but it was now plain that he needed to take steps to ensure things progressed as outlined in the Great Plan.

He stood, causing a tremor of surprise to flutter through the worshippers around him. He looked at Asirkhyr and Eriekh, who nodded in understanding. Asirkhyr beckoned to a youthful acolyte and the three of them followed their master from the circular hall.

The group ascended the stairs that wound up through the centre of the temple, keeping pace with Lakhyri's slow, measured stride. Upon reaching the upper tier, they turned left through a square archway into a small, roofless room. Above, the dusty air swirled, the sky yellow and sickly. The boy was directed to lie on the stone slab. Eriekh whispered an enchantment, his fingers weaving patterns in the air in front of the adept. The boy's look became glazed and his body relaxed, arms flopping to his sides.

Asirkhyr took a stone box from a shelf on the wall and lifted off the lid. Reaching inside he pulled out a small ingot of gold, which he passed to Eriekh. He took out several small pins, with which he fastened the youth's eyelids open. When this was done, he produced a needle-thin blade, one end wrapped with cured skin for a handle. He gave a similar instrument to the other hierophant, though this had a flattened tip like the nib of a pen.

Asirkhyr turned to the boy on the slab.

With tiny, precise movements of his fingertips, Asirkhyr drew the tiny blade across the surface of the boy's eyes. He carved miniscule lines and coils around the pupils while Eriekh placed the gold into a small clay crucible, which he handed to Lakhyri.

The high priest clasped the crucible in both hands and muttered words of alignment and power. The scars and tattoos across his skin heated, the faded grey ink releasing wisps of smoke that coiled around the high priest's body forming awkward, unnatural sigils. The crucible began to blacken and crack while the gold bubbled.

Dipping his knife-pen into the gold, Eriekh hunched over the boy and allowed the shining liquid to dribble into the fine tracery of lines on the acolyte's eyeballs. The gold flowed in hair-thin curves and cooled to form an intricate web of lines and symbols.

When the gilding was complete and the tools restored to the stone box, Asirkhyr said a few more words and passed his hand over the boy's face. With a panting screech, the youth returned to awareness.

His golden-flecked eyes roved around their sockets, seeing nothing. "Where am I?" he asked in a shrill, panicked voice.

"What do you see?" said Lakhyri. The high priest's voice soothed the boy's mood and he lay back.

"Clouds. Storm clouds."

"Where do you see them?"

"Over mountains. I see a city, girded by a wall, on the face of a cliff."

"Magilnada," said Asirkhyr, earning himself a piercing glare of annoyance from Lakhyri.

"The city slumbers," the boy continued. "The rains sweep across the slate roofs. There is something else. My eye is drawn to it."

"Do not fight it. Let your eyes see what they must see." Lakhyri's tone was as monotonous as ever but the boy seemed comforted.

"In the mountains, a hidden rabble. I see a cave. Many caves. They bicker and swear at the weather."

"Tell me of Askh," said Lakhyri.

The boy's eyes roved fro a while before focussing again.

"The sun still shines, but the trees bend in the strong wind. I see the precincts of the Brotherhood, and the palace. There is a chariot race on the circuit. There is nothing to see here."

"See what must be seen," said the high priest, leaning closer.

"I fly towards the desert. There is flame and smoke."

"A battle?" asked Lakhyri.

"No battle. The soldiers have left. I see them now, a day's march coldwards of the fires. They are the legions of Askhor."

"Who leads them?"

"A large man rides a grey and black cat. He has a short beard and carries a spear of gold. I count five icons, five bearded faces of gold. They march at speed. Wagons follow them, with women and children on their boards and walking beside. Some are unhappy, others have smiles."

The boy fell silent. At a gesture from Lakhyri, Eriekh removed the pins from the boy's skin, allowing him to blink. The acolyte looked at the three priests as if seeing them for the first time. He reached out towards Lakhyri.

"So bright," he whispered. He met Lakhyri's cold gaze. "Such a web of colours." "You may go," said the high priest. "Send another acolyte to us." The youth nodded and left with a glazed look and a half-smile. "What does this mean, master?" asked Eriekh. "I do not know. Perhaps Udaan can give us some answers."