Chapter Thirty-Four #2
Lyras told us that no one truly knew what happened.
Askepollo was a remote town, but prosperous and the central location for followers of Lunos.
Something occurred generations ago and all contact was severed.
At the same time, the wildlands burst into being, the land dying without warning.
A mercenary band was hired to investigate and not only did they return with word that Askepollo was a barren wasteland, but more than half died in the effort.
Perhaps that is why Lyras’s nerves are so shaken. It’s one thing to know the stories; it’s another to visit the ancient center of your faith alongside the Conduit and Aspect of your goddess.
My mind turns. Lyras had said that the mercenaries found a barren wasteland of a city; a far cry from the overgrown ruins we now traverse.
As I look around to find Lyras and ask him, I notice that the rest of the band is stopped in their tracks, all staring at our destination.
Matching their gaze, my feet fall in place, just as theirs had.
Carved into the face of the hexagonal rock are beautiful statues of Lunos periodically along a winding walkway leading to something out of sight.
Likely the entrance to the temple itself.
Lyras and the surviving priests step forward, leading us up to a door etched into the stone.
Beautiful and chaotic symbols weave in and out across the doorway, unreadable yet mesmerizing in an alien way.
With a hushed tone, the band gathers around, waiting. The Lunite priests approach the door and split off, one to each side and Lyras in the center.
“Goddess of the moon, light our path.” The priest on the left of the door pushes on a series of symbols, each one emitting the scraping groan of stone on stone.
“Goddess of the moon, allow us passage.” The one on the right does the same, more symbols give way. Lyras places his hands on twin full moons, one on each door before throwing his head back.
“Goddess of magic, we beseech you! Open the way!” With great exultation, Lyras pushes and for a moment nothing happens.
Then a deep rumble vibrates through all of our feet, slow at first, until our bones are shaking.
Mechanisms within the rocks shift and grind, and the doorway opens, a gust of stale air blasting dust that coats our faces.
We stand at the entrance, too stunned to speak, too uncertain of the darkness before us. Ethereal blue light winks into existence within crystals attached to the walls, revealing a long hallway leading further into the temple.
Mustering her courage, shoulders set, Lyras continues to lead the way and charts a course for us to follow.
A few dilapidated rooms lay off from the main hallway, though we have little time to investigate.
Our footsteps and the soft creak of armor echoes across the stone walls, light reflecting off of the obsidian surfaces with every step until we reach a large entryway.
Lyras gasps before stepping inside the room.
A hot spring lay in the center of a perfectly circular room bathed in afternoon sunlight.
Gazing up at the ceiling, I see the hexagonal stone irregularly intertwined, yet converging to make a dome.
At the center of it is a final open hexagon, as wide as the spring below it, allowing natural light to flow into the room.
The blue crystals that gave the hallways light pepper the walls of this room as well, though the warm sun drowns them out.
Two additional doorways sit along the circular wall, stone staircases leading to them.
Walking down the stairs at our feet, the band gathers at the edge of the water. Steam makes the air thick with moisture, pleasantly so, as the skylight opening provides a natural vent. Lyras rustles himself from his religious stupor and approaches Helia and I while the rest fill out the room.
“This is where we will perform the ritual. Tomorrow night is the full moon and thus the ritual. Once we begin, we cannot—must not—be interrupted.” Lyras casts a meaningful look at Helia, who merely nods, some unspoken message delivered between Lyras’s words.
The hair on the back of my neck rises, knowing what Lyras is implying.
Turning, he calls his fellow priests together and sets about their preparations.
“Spears! Gather round!” Without hesitation, we form ranks at Helia’s command, even the injured.
I notice Andra breathing heavily, though she doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Andra, take the wounded and scout the other hallways. Make sure no one can sneak up on us. Bellius, take the rest and post up at the main entrance. Itho will cook a feast for us tonight; for tomorrow we must be prepared.” Helia’s lips set grimly, likely in expectation of her fated sacrifice or something else.
“Tomorrow, we should expect our enemy to attack. They do not want us to succeed; let’s make them regret making an enemy of the Spears.
” A few cries go up at that, though subdued in the presence of holy ground.