Chapter 29 #3
“Ah, so that’s where it was,” Orithyia said, unperturbed. “No matter. You! Come here. Pick her up and bring her near the entrance.”
An acolyte rushed to obey, grabbing her and dragging her along as Orithyia meandered to the temple steps.
“How old are you, acolyte?” Orithyia asked.
“Twenty, Your Holiness.”
“Family?”
“An uncle.”
“Close?”
“No, estranged.”
“And your health?”
“I’m in perfect health, Your Holiness.”
A wicked grin split the old woman’s lips.
“Good. Remain nearby as my attendant.”
“It will be an honour, Your Holiness.”
“Yes, it will be,” Orithyia chuckled.
A shiver rolled down Aurora’s spine, and something told her the acolyte’s fate was grim indeed.
No, think. She didn’t have time to worry about the fate of others.
She couldn’t change her fate, her deaths.
Her visions were absolute. Fate could not be denied, but maybe…
maybe it could be tweaked. Altanus was doomed.
Drakon would become the Beast of Old. Orithyia would torment her incarnations for millennia.
But the woman Aurora was here and now had not foreseen her own death. She hadn’t foreseen Theron’s.
If Aurora could get to Theron, she could use her artefact, take him with her to her time.
History and Fate would still be satisfied.
King Theron of Aureum would “die” during the first cycle of calamity…
and be brought forward to her cycle of calamity.
As long as they were together, there was the slimmest chance they could turn things around.
As a queen, she had more power than any of her incarnations for the next three thousand years.
Maybe, even without Silvanus, she would be able to kill Drakon, or turn his time back so far he would be weak enough for Theron to slay the beast. Then they could deal with Orithyia.
In all her lives, Aurora had been ignorant of the high priestess’ true allegiance. Armed with the truth, they stood a chance at surviving her machinations.
It was the faintest of chances, but she had to seize it.
At the temple entrance, the acolyte shoved Aurora to her knees. The shield protected her from scraping her knees, but that was all. In her current state, she was merely a doll with a flexible shell encasing her.
Bleeding, wounded citizens trickled into the temple district, ignored by the scores of clerics standing unnaturally still outside the temple of Passion.
Near the threshold to the district, carnage reigned supreme.
Monstrosities bubbled up from the ground or swooped down from the roofs of nearby buildings, swallowing all those desperately seeking refuge.
Fires raged across the city, the streets soaked in blood, the air thick with smoke, her ears ringing from the screaming.
Only a few clerics were left to help the people of Altanus, using their magic to cut a narrow path through the monstrosities.
And through it all, Orithyia stood unmoved, her focus on Passion’s temple.
That must be where Theron was.
If her foolish plan was going to work, she needed more magic. Calling on Aureum was her only hope. But to do so, she would have to drop the shield. She couldn’t risk it just yet, but she could prepare herself for the moment.
Aurora hugged herself, pretending to sob silently as she felt around in her robe for her calendar artefact. Once in her hands, she doubled over, bringing the artefact to her face. Still pretending to be overcome, she moved the bands along the sphere, her hands shaking as the dates raced forward.
Screams and cries for help pierced her ears.
A hundred years, five hundred, more. Mothers cried out for their daughters.
Children for their siblings. Two thousand.
Desperate pleas to the Triad went unanswered.
Twenty-five hundred years. The rings of constellations whizzed across the sphere.
Planetary rings rolled, aligning and breaking apart, calamity after calamity spelled out by the calendar in her hands.
A rush of smoke poured into the district, burning debris crashing down and blocking the road.
Three thousand. Drakon rushed past them, grabbing mouthfuls of debris and flinging it aside, Batea screaming orders at the paladins.
Aurora’s hands shook. The beast was here.
Focus!
“Priestesses! Batea god-napped Knowledge! Arrest her now!” Orithyia called out.
They turned as one, breaking away from the horde in front of the temple of Passion to intercept Batea. The screams grew louder.
Three thousand years had been a rough estimate. Another century, a few decades, now to the exact year. The mangled body of a priestess flew through the air, landing at the bottom of the temple’s steps. A spray of blood coated her shield just above Aurora’s brow. Bile rose in her throat.
“That beast really is a magnificent chimera,” Orithyia mused. “But what should the last ingredient be?”
Ignore her!
The lovers’ constellation had been over the western sky the autumn of her dig. Aurora fine-tuned the month. Click, click, click. The notches slid along the sphere as summer turned to autumn.
“AURORA!”
Theron.
No, the day. She needed the right day. Aurora fumbled with the ring. So close.
“Right on schedule,” Orithyia sighed.
“Batea! Clear the way!” Theron ordered, his voice rising above the din.
“You can’t!” Batea cried.
A blaze of divine energy lit the sky. Aurora looked up as it shot through the air, aiming straight for Orithyia. The high priestess brushed it off, a shield of divine light protecting her. Divine magic? Had Hyllus aimed his bow?
No, across the plaza, Theron stood on the steps of the red temple, a bow made of blazing light in his hands.
Divine magic rolled off him in waves, cutting through the choking ash in the air.
Dark crimson hair fluttering in the breeze, his wide shoulders thrown back, Theron’s gaze pinned her, a promise in their golden depths. Her heart leapt. He was coming for her.
“I can!” Theron shouted. “Because I am the avatar of Passion! Clerics, to me! Take back the temple of Knowledge from the High Priestess of Lies!”