The Secret Shape of Worship (Ancient Awakening #1)

Prologue

IN THE BEGINNING…

The god shuddered.

He blinked.

From the depths of the temple atop his black marble pedestal, warmth cracked through the hard stone of his body.

A soul was near.

That was nothing new. Souls still tethered to bodies came and went constantly. His home was a tourist attraction. Mostly he slept through them.

Years.

Decades.

A century.

But something stood out in this one. The scent of a lotus on the breeze, tickling the small black whiskers at the end of his nose.

His muscles corded.

His heart thrummed.

Already, he could feel the temple calling to the fragrant thing. Doing what it was meant to do. Once every one hundred years, that was the deal he had struck.

He could always smell them, but usually only once they were in his presence. This soul was different. It permeated so strongly he could taste it.

Honey and milk.

He wanted to go. To seek. To find. To shepherd.

Patience. The temple would do its work. It always did.

As his body began to harden again to stone, he allowed himself another whiff of the air and lick of his lips—of the sweetness that pulsed through the ancient rock and made the god of the afterlife shiver with delight.