Spoiler
Okay, so this chapter is really vague... but by now, most of you should know I'm a huge fan of novels where you very slowly start to make sense of things. It's in Destran's personality to be extremely dramatic and passionate about what he does at the temples, and you DO eventually learn (though you slowly learn it bit by bit) why he hates Lorana so much. So yeah. Enjoy?
Chapter 1
The man stood at the front of the temple, head raised to the ceiling. His robes draped over his shoulders, making him appear as more of a child's nightmare than a priest about to satisfy his body of followers.
“And we are brought here to today to sacrifice this young woman. Take her and devour her soul, let your power be bestowed upon us!” Destran's voice echoed through the temple, followed by a hundred murmuring voices. All nodded in agreement, with the exception of one man.
Zale was not supposed to be here. Laws firmly stated that he was not to step anywhere near the temples, unless he himself was being sacrificed to Destran's dark causes. But that didn't matter to him now, not a single bit. He watched Destran carefully, heart pounding.
“Accept our gracious sacrifice! The one who has gone against your very ways for over a decade! Let her soul be ripped apart, and let us feed on the power you release though her!”
The man was at a loss for words, repeating himself. And still, the crowd gathered hung on his every syllable, hungry for more. They swayed back and forth on their feet, deep blue robes swishing around their ankles.They were longing for the power the semi-conscious girl in their leader's arms would bring them.
Power at the extent of her life. Her blood.
Zale took a slow, deep breath and bent his head, making sure that he was well-concealed behind the blood-red curtains. They clashed terribly with the purple curtains behind the altar, but it wasn't matching materials that mattered to Destran. What mattered to Destran was power. Power and blood. A want that had grown to a longing, and eventually an overpowering obsession. Zale knew, though nobody knew he did.
Slowly, but surely, Zale could feel his resolve strengthening. He said a silent prayer for protection, pleased that Idoneus was with him even now. And of course, Idoneus was with Lorana, the girl Destran was about to murder on the altar. Lorana's grandfather had assured Zale of that before he had even executed his rescue mission. It was a bit of knowledge that both of them needed to hold onto.
“Be pleased by her blood oh great ones!”
Zale's eyes flitted from the robed figure and towards a vase sitting on a shelf in front of him. A vase that was trembling, cracking for no reason that Zale could see.
Idoneus was here.
Please don't let her die now, Zale begged, looking up to the temple ceiling. He looked away again quickly, horrified by the picture depicted on the stone. Woman and children- dead. Their skin full of gashes and slices that formed the symbols of Destran's religion. Most of all, the ceiling's painting was covered in blood, blood, blood. It's what emcompassed this whole temple. The whole land of Kiraliln.
The vase exploded, sending shards of clay in every direction. Zale's body began trembling. Two of the followers screamed as the shards dug into their flesh. Destran only started to shout louder, an attempt at fighting this other power.
“And whatever is binding us here, we pray that we be freed! No amount of power shall protect. This. Girl!”
The crowd composed itself, the two injured followers forgetting about the blood dripping down their arms and cheeks. “So it be done,” the murmured as one body.
It was then that the painting between the two purple curtains began to tremble. Still, the crowd did not stir. Zale felt a cold sweat work its way onto his forehead. There wasn't a single thing he could do against all of these people. The matter was entirely in Idoneus's hands. The fact was unnerving.
Destran pulled Lorana up, slicing a lock of her red hair with a dagger that seemed to have appeared from thin air. The dagger disappeared back inside of his robe sleeve, probably into a hidden pocket. One of his arms snaked around Lorana's neck to hold her in place, the other proudly displaying his find. It wasn't difficult to cut the hair of a semi-conscious woman, but the crowd still cheered their amazment.
Zale lifted his eyes to the painting, heart racing. Please Idoneus, I beg you, spare her. He begged, biting his lower lip to stop it from trembling. He couldn't lose her. There was so much Lorana didn't know, so much he didn't know how to tell her. After this was over, if he could have her back, Zale wouldn't waste a single second. He would show her everything he had wanted to, tell her whatever she wanted to hear from him.
All she needed to do was live.
The painting stopped quivering. Instead, it started shaking violently. Finally, the crowd looked. Even Destran, who's back was to the purple rose dripping blood, seemed hesitant as it clattered against the wall. A crack worked its way into the canvas.
The crowd gasped and Destran turned. Zale could almost see the man's eyes widening behind the veils that concealed his face. Another crack. Then three more. The picture shook more violently, shattering into a million small pieces as it fell. It was ash before it hit the ground.
Destran let out a cry of rage and threw the bright red hair to the ground. Instead of a lock of hair, he was holding Lorana, who let out a pathetic groan that only seemed to agitate the priest more. The violet curtains behind them caught flame, causing Destran to drop Lorana and spin around.
She hit the ground with a thunk, inches away from her would-have-been death. The people were shouting angrily, demanding things Zale didn't quite catch. One of those things, he knew must have been blood. These people were obsessed with it. They grinned when it trailed over their fingers, danced when it dripped from one of their victims.
Zale was about to step forward when the flames lashed out, inches away from Lorana's unmoving body. Destran let out another outraged shout and spun around, seemingly facing the exact spot where Zale was standing behind his red shield. He shuddered and pulled his blue cloak tighter around his body, checking to make sure the hood was low over his eyes.
The altar cracked suddenly, adding to the chaos. People were trampling each other, trying to make it to the exit. Zale took one step forward, keeping a steady eye on Destran and the altar. He was out in the open now, visible to the priest. And still, the robed figure made no move.
The crack grew, running down to the bottom of the altar. The two halves split apart and fell in opposite directions, landing with a crash on the marble floor. This time, Destran ran straight for the exit, shoving past his little minions, his so called flock. He knocked them to the side without thinking twice, just to ensure he would escape with his own life.
Zale took the chance to dart for Lorana, avoiding the tiny shards of clay that littered the ground. The flames were the furthest thing from his mind. If Idoneus had really sent them, and Zale had no doubt that he had, they wouldn't touch Lorana.
Zale knelt beside his friend, running his dark fingers across her pale cheek. They clashed horribly, but it hardly mattered. He had been hired two and a half years ago as her guardian, her protector. Until now he had done a good job. Until now, Lorana's life hadn't been in this much danger. And she still might not survive, considering the fever ravaging her body.
The young woman's cheeks blazed with an intensity that almost made Zale pull his hand away. Almost. He let his fingers linger for another moment more before scooping the girl into his arms. Her frail body hardly weighed anything. No wonder, the girl was always sneaking her food onto her grandfather's plate. There was never enough to go around the slums anymore. Even less now that King Xaniel was dying.
Zale shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, scanning the crowd intently. There was no way they were getting out by the main entrance. The only exit. Zale bit his lip, turning to scan the rest of the temple. There weren't any other doors. Not a single escape route.
The fire blazed, just for a moment, towards the old stone shelves a few meters away from the curtains. It caught the stone, burning a hole straight through it before disappearing.
Zale blinked, frozen to the spot for a moment. Fire didn't burn stone, let alone right through it! Peace settled over him as he strode forward, taking his time to avoid drawing attention to himself. Idoneus was here with them. They would make it out alive and make it away safely.
He stepped through the hole in the wall carefully, making sure not to hit Lorana's head on the stone. He was hardly twelve paces away when the shrieks grew louder. He turned to see the building trembling violently, just as the painting and the altar had. And then, without explanation, it fell. Sickening crunches and thuds and the sound of stone rolling over stone made its way to Zale's ears.
The whole temple was gone. Destran's temple was a heap of rubble lying on the ground.
~*~
Destran's fists clenched as the dust settled around the stone heap. The people had long since cleared the area, afraid for their lives. Those who had been fortunate enough to escape, that is. Destran was guessing that at least two hundred had just lost their lives to two Aquarian followers stuffed inside the wrong land.
But the temple... the temple didn't matter. It was just a building. A beautiful building, yes, but it could be reconstructed in a matter of weeks. No, who could possibly care about such things when the painting was gone? And the curtains? Not even the altar mattered to him then, precious as it was. The painting was their source of power, the curtains the source of their faith.
Destran wrung his fingers together, glaring at the rubble. One thing managed to catch his eye. A small sliver of purple material lay undamaged under the stone, next to a bloodied arm. Destran grinned to himself and strode over, crouching down and plucking the precious find from under the rock.
He held it up to examine it more closely and shook his head. Lorana and Zale would be conquered yet. He rose to his feet, tracing the lines in the fabric with his forefinger. Not just Lorana and Zale. Their whole race- knocked out of Kiralin for good.
