28. Lina
Lina
I release a breath when we leave the hall filled with Dread, only to find a new threat looming.
It’s thick in the air and rising like a storm.
Nearly a hundred torches are scattered across the room large enough to hold a hundred people.
The walls on the sides are shiny layers of brightly colored stone.
Orange and yellow and white. The back wall is covered with human skulls.
I try my best not to focus on their morbid decoration or consider too long who they might have been.
They don’t try to hide their brutality. I find it so hard to understand how Helena seems happy here. Is that a requirement? Does she pretend to avoid punishment?
At the front of the room is a circular structure of sparkling white stone filled with fire. Kneeling behind the glowing pit are three of the beautiful priestesses, with their necks arched back and their arms wide. Two are in silver gowns, one in gold.
The hair on my arm rises.
There is nothing outwardly wrong here. Three women praying at an altar.
Yet there is the feeling of darkness, a weight that sets my teeth on edge. Like in the forest when silence falls and you know in your very soul something terrible is coming.
The room is quiet, except for the softer flickering of flames.
There are two other couples watching the priestesses and two additional Drahkita’s with no Drak. Two Dread, four beautiful women dressed in blue silk.
I glance over my shoulder to watch my Dread enter the room behind me.
If he has any expression at all, I cannot tell behind that damned mask.
Is he in awe of this place? Is it sacred to him?
Nothing in his countenance gives away his emotions.
As far as I can tell, this is the same to him as entering the dungeons or the cascades or his dwelling.
He takes his place beside the closest Drahkita and I follow suit, standing in line next to him, watching the frozen-still priestess.
After another moment, the door squeals and groans, announcing a new arrival.
A small blond girl with terrified eyes and a warrior with his hand clasped on her shoulder.
He pushes her forward, forcing her into line with the rest of us.
She whimpers but obeys with trembling fingers and tear-crusted eyes.
I fight the urge to comfort her. I wish I were beside her rather than the warrior. My fingers ache to reach out to hers, to cling to her and share our fear together.
I’ve started to notice a few things to help me tell the warriors apart despite their similar attire and covered faces. My biggest clue is their stature. Some are shorter, some are thinner. Some have hair that peaks out from beneath their hood. Some wear chains around their necks.
The warrior to my left has thicker arms than my Dread’s, and is slightly taller. My Dread does not wear any jewelry but he has black locks that occasionally fall over his forehead.
He is the thinnest of the warriors I’ve seen—aside from the guards in our living quarters. He towers over those warriors.
The skull-masked men tend to surround the beautiful priestesses. Are those the acolytes? Or warriors in training?
A soft tone begins ringing through the cool air, but I cannot tell where it comes from.
The redhead in the middle lowers her arms and slowly rises from her knees.
“Today is a special day.” Her voice is as soft as rain but somehow holds power as thick as the black magic the warriors used in their battle. “We have accepted two new Drahkitas into our precious community. You are serving the drakai, Nihil, and the Ancient One. There is no bigger blessing!”
I look to my right and then my left. Surely the young blond who came in after me is the other new Drahkita. The other two must be more established, then. How often must they come here and face the priestess?
“I am Blythe, the Nihil Priestess. I am charged with interpreting the will of the Ancient One, who is the only living being able to commune with Nihil himself. It is his power that protects us from the curse.”
“Bless the Ancient,” my Dread says in unison with the others.
The redheaded priestess, Blythe, stands and smiles. “These are my seers, known as the Makaria. Their names are Deidre and Nakyi.”
The two other women bow their heads, eyes closed and arms still wide in worship.
“You have been placed in our community, an important role filled. But more importantly, today, we will peer inside your soul and find your purpose. We will unravel your heart. And after today, we will know for certain if you are worthy of the Nihil.”
I swallow, uncertain what that could mean. My Dread implied that, to pass their test, I simply needed to not be rebellious, but this sounds like something more.
“We will start with the youngest and newest.” She holds out her hand to the blond that came in after me. The girl trembles like a leaf. Her warrior shoves her forward. The red-haired priestess grins as she catches her in her red claws.
Without another word, she guides the whimpering girl through a doorway behind the glowing pit. One of the worshiping women silently stands and follows them into the other room.
My stomach sinks. I don’t want to be alone with them. Not that I feel comfortable being alone with anyone here.
Before the door shuts behind them, Blythe turns back. “Yasmine, come along with us to aid in her first reading.”
One of the Drahkita on the end calmly follows them into the second room.
I stretch my neck, trying to see through the door before it clicks shut. “Where did they go?” I whisper.
“To the Ancient,” my Dread answers.
Am I supposed to know what that means?
A moment later, the redheaded priestess rejoins us. I frown, looking between her and the doorway. I wish I understood what was happening. What is the test? The priestess in a silver dress was called a seer, but what does that mean?
The golden priestess studies me.
I wring my hands together as I wait. I don’t like not understanding, not knowing what is happening or why.
“You chose a shy little mouse, Azkel,” Blythe says, eyeing my Dread.
He doesn’t respond.
“Moira said to be wary of her, but I see nothing more than a terrified, weak little thing.”
I swallow and look down at my feet. I do not like these women. Something feels so… off about them. The warriors also have this dark feeling to them, but I’d always assumed that was more to do with my own fear.
These women are different. There is something strange about their power. Perhaps they kill just as many as the warriors. Or more.
“Your Drahkita is accepted, Oriah,” the still-kneeling woman in silver says without opening her eyes. “You may leave.”
My eyes fly up to Blythe and then to the Dread on my left. He is leaving? Without her? What happens to her? She wasn’t rejected, so why does she not come back into this room?
My Dread’s hands begin to clench and unclench. Is he nervous? If so, about what? Does my performance mean something to his reputation?
The redheaded woman steps forward. “Your turn, mouse.”
I pause and look back at my Dread. He is the man who used violence to claim me and very well may do terrible things to me later, so I know I shouldn’t look to him for support and encouragement, and yet, he is currently all I have.
He nods once but keeps his eyes steady straight ahead.
Maybe I misread his nervousness. Maybe he is only bored and wants this over with, because he clearly doesn’t care right now.
“Come, Drahkita. You must now receive your reading.”
I press my lips together tightly, trying to push past the voices screaming in my mind, bouncing off my skull, telling me this is wrong. I have no choice, I tell myself. I have to play along.
“You are shy,” the woman says, her hand outstretched. “That is very sweet.”
My brow pinches. Uncertainty swirls around in my body. But finally, I take her hand. I flinch the second our skin touches.
“Tabitha, you come along to aid in her first reading.”
Another of the Drahkitas behind me shuffles forward to follow us.
My feet slide against the stone as I approach the unknown. I duck my head as we pass through the doorway into the darkness beyond.
The ceiling is pitch black with tiny white lights scattered all around, as if it were the night sky itself. Everything else is dark enough I struggle to see where each step leads.
A soft red glow grows as we walk farther into the room. Darkness pulses around us. It…breathes.
I swallow.
Blythe releases me, standing at the door.
“Come,” the seer says. She has a kind look to her, much less intimidating than Blythe and the black-haired woman I’d seen before. So, I obey and rush forward.
“We are in much need of tender beauty here,” she tells me as I reach her.
This room is small and darker. There are no skulls, but instead the back wall is decorated with red curtains. There is a slab of stone covered in a white cloth beneath a symbol painted in gold.
“Our Drak,” the seer says gently, distracting me from my assessment of the room.
“They are filled with necessary violence. They defend. They fight. It is deep within them. We have some fierce Drahkitas, but the soft ones—those are the most special.” She stops to face me and then curls a strand of my hair behind my ear.
I don’t always feel soft. Sometimes, I feel weak. Other times, I feel strong. Calloused.
“You are one of the very most special Drahkitas we have found in the wilds. Out there, where many have lost their lives or their souls. Out there, where so few have the will to continue on. You—you are a bright star. I feel that, even before tasting your blood.”
I rip my hand from her without thinking and stumble back a few steps.
A deep rage fills her features for one instant, and I swear I see her very bones beneath the smooth skin of her face, but it’s gone fast I instantly doubt the image.
“Oh, child,” she croons tenderly. “Do not fear. We require only but a drop from you. I know you’ve heard many horrifying stories.
But I must tell you that there is a reason for every drop of blood we spill.
There is purpose and grace behind each one. ”
The door clicks shut behind me, and I twist to find the other Drahkita waiting. She has dark skin and light brown eyes. She steps forward without expression.
“The process is not as intimidating as you expect, Lina. Watch how simple it is.” The seer holds her hand out to Tabitha, who approaches without a word.
“To be worthy of your blessing, you must offer yourself to the Ancient. Give yourself, body and soul, to Nihil.”
“I am willing,” the woman mutters and holds out her hand. She doesn’t so much as gasp, as the seer pricks her finger with a pin and squeezes until a red dot wells on her finger and then slides down her wrist and to the stone below.
I swallow but watch carefully. The stones are set in a circular pattern with lines of gold between them. The seer lifts Tabitha’s arm and licks the line of blood from her wrist.
“Restoration,” the seer says. “That is your soul’s taste this moon cycle, Tabitha. Devin has been on his exhibition across the desert for nearly a month. His return will come, and you will have the opportunity to restore your bond with him. That is wonderful news.”
Tabitha still shows no sign of emotion. Does she not believe in the prophecy, or does she not care? Or perhaps she has simply learned to hide everything possible from the seers.
“Your blessing is complete.”
Tabitha quietly retreats from the room, leaving me alone with the seer. “Are you ready now, Lina?”
I press my lips together, but I know I don’t actually have a choice. I am being swept away with the current, and the harder I fight, the more exhausted I will become. I must save my defiance for when it will matter.
I employ the mask Tabitha held, and I step forward to have my reading.
“To be worthy of your blessing, you must offer yourself to the Ancient. Give yourself, body and soul, to Nihil.”
“I am willing.” I force myself to say the words, but it is so quiet I can barely hear my own voice.
When the priestess pricks my finger, I can’t help but flinch. Blood pools, slides down my wrist, and falls—but then stops.
The tiny drop of blood hangs in the air above the stones.
Silence stretches as she stares at the blood. Finally, she lifts my wrist, and her tongue slides across my skin.
The air chills. The hair on my arms rises.
The blood falls.
She stares, transfixed, at my blood on the ground. I examine the stones, not understanding the significance.
Moments pass and the seer doesn’t move. She says no more. I try to pull my hand free from her grip, but she is immovable. My breathing begins to quicken. My vision peppering black as panic sets in.
“Chaos,” she whispers.