11

  I Am a Stone

  Owen ran without really knowing why. The young priestess had certainly put the moves on him very suddenly and equally unexpectedly, but he hadn’t got the impression that he was going to be forced into anything. It had just all been too much, especially in a moment when he had been remembering and grieving over Mandy.

  Feels like they’re trying to trick me into something!

  “Stop!” cried the young priestess from behind him, and he thought he heard fear in her voice.

  He was moving too fast, though. It didn’t occur to him how bad this could turn out until his foot landed in the gritty sand outside of his cell’s door. By then, it was too late.

  There was a sudden weightlessness to his body, and before Owen could understand that his feet had been knocked out from under him, he was landing hard on his chest, facing back towards his cell. Guards stood on either side of him, their ornate spears crossed over his neck and pinning him very effectively where he lay. He didn’t struggle, but opened his hands and kept them visible to show his surrender. There was the faint taste of blood in his mouth and the even more unpleasant sensation of sand between his teeth.

  The young priestess was emerging from his cell, uncertainty written across her face, hesitation in her footsteps. That was the most curious thing about the situation to Owen. Had she messed up somehow? What was going on?

  There was a commotion from the end of the cell block as someone else got the same treatment as Owen had, pinned on the ground and awaiting what would probably be an unpleasant audience with the High Priestess.

  That’s Abner, Owen realised. What on earth is going on?!

  A scream broke the silence then, coming from the cell next to Abner’s. The guards – waiting outside to ambush whoever came running out – suddenly ran inside. Another young priestess fled out of the cell, panic on her face. Shouted commands and warnings could be heard, and then laughter rumbled like a literal crack of thunder from the cell and the guards came stumbling out, falling over each other in their confusion. From outside of his field of vision, Owen saw the High Priestess do the thing where she warped from her position to wherever it was she wanted to be. In this case, that was directly in front of the cell.

  A pair of glowing, golden, eyes became visible in the doorway, and Owen felt his mouth fall open as Isaac exited, stopping just outside of the door. He looked from one side to the other, his wide grin eerie beneath his glowing stare.

  “Now it’s a party,” he drawled, his fingers curled menacingly almost like the talons of an eagle.

  Another horrified scream echoed from the cell next to Isaac’s, but this one was cut off midway through, followed only by a long, animalistic, groan. The inside of the cell lit up like a foundry, and smoke belched from the open door. The high priestess snapped orders at some guards and gestured impatiently towards the glowing cell.

  And then Isaac charged. Owen was left without words as the youth leapt bodily through the air a full six-metres from a standing position, his grin wolfish and filled with violence as his glowing eyes locked onto his very ambitious prey. As powerful as he seemed to be, it was in vain. The High Priestess snatched him from the air with one hand about his throat, her skin glittering in the firelight as if it was solid gold. After all he had seen in this place, Owen had no reason to believe that the High Priestess hadn’t transmuted her arm.

  Isaac’s snarl was choked off and he was driven forcefully into the ground with an impact that went far beyond either what someone with the High Priestess’ build should be capable of or what a human body should be able to receive. And yet Isaac just lay there, defeated, breathing heavily, grinning up at the victor.

  “Why?” hissed the High Priestess.

  “You sent a cute little thing in to my cell,” Isaac wheezed, laughing through gritted teeth. “Seemed like a good idea at the time!”

  A torrent of flame roared from the glowing cell, and Isaac rolled his gaze over in that direction before grinning.

  “Looks like you woke the dragon.”

  The High Priestess bent down low to look Isaac directly in his face. “I have killed so many of your kind that I do not even remember all their faces,” she assured him with a factual earnestness. “You and your sister are worthless as servants. Since you enjoy battle so much, I will permit you to end your days in the fighting pits.”

  The flaming whip seared the night sky and appeared in the High Priestess’ hand, and she flicked out the end of it with the ease of much practise. There was a shriek from within the cell as contact was made, and the glow immediately disappeared as if a light had been turned off. With a vicious yank, the High Priestess brought Jael flying out of her cell to land in a smouldering heap at her feet. She said something that sounded absolutely foul and blackened arms that looked as if they were made of charcoal erupted from the ground and held Isaac and Jael down in a grip that neither seemed able to fight against. Jael shrieked and writhed, sounding more animal than human, and Isaac gave only the briefest of attempts before settling, even his usually nonchalant face seeming shaken and disturbed.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  “I hope it was worth it,” the High Priestess sneered.

  Her hands danced through the air as if weaving some form of invisible web, and Owen saw both Isaac and Jael slump into an open-eyed stupor. The blackened arms crumbled away into nothing but still the brother and sister lay unmoving, although Owen thought he saw a single tear dribble down Jael’s cheek. Behind the High Priestess, the blonde girl was babbling incoherently at what she had just seen, eyes wild, hands on her cheeks as if trying to hold her sanity together. Owen’s gaze slowly panned across to Abner, who was looking with sadness at the siblings, before he moved on to the young priestess who had entered his cell. The same one who had taken him to the hall on that first day. The same one who had brought him to the slave yard.

  What is happening? Owen wondered yet again. She looks as stumped as I am. Was this some sort of hazing for her as well? Did she pass or fail? And why on earth did Isaac and Jael decide to go out like that? And what on earth are they!?

  “Allow the remaining slaves to rise,” commanded the High Priestess, and the guards immediately stepped away from both Owen and Abner, standing to attention. The High Priestess smiled winningly. “On your feet, both of you,” she said.

  Owen pushed himself up slowly, still unsure if he was actually being addressed. He stood where he had been pinned, waiting for whatever the High Priestess’ next game would be. It was proving difficult to stop stealing glances over to where Isaac and Jael lay limply on the sand, but the grit in his mouth distracted him enough. He wanted to spit it out, but didn’t know how such an action would be received.

  “You have both completed your basic training,” the High Priestess smiled benevolently. “You,” and she pointed imperiously at Abner, “will be presented to your master at the next Ascension ceremony to be held in the temple.”

  Abner nodded, and as expected, said nothing.

  “You,” the High Priestess continued, turning to Owen, “will accompany myself and your new master on a fine journey, the likes of which few of your kind will ever see.” She turned to the young priestess and grinned. “Behold, child, your servant.”

  The young priestess’ eyes widened with surprise and – Owen thought – horror. Horror?

  What’s she so worried about? It looks like everyone had the same test and, for whatever reason, Isaac went with it and Jael flipped out. It’s not like this girl is the only one who did something a bit embarrassing…

  “Th-thank you, H-High Bride!” was what the young priestess managed. “I am not worthy!”

  “He seems like a fine, steady, fellow,” the High Priestess chuckled to herself, as if over a joke only she knew about. “You shall have the benefit of a long journey to get to know each other.” The High Priestess rattled off some directives in her harsh-sounding tongue to her guards.

  Two of them ducked into Jael’s old cell, which was still steaming slightly, and reemerged with the charred corpse of the young priestess that had been unfortunate enough to be given that assignment. Another pair led Abner away, and the most he and Owen could manage as farewell was a single, brief, nod. Isaac and Jael, too, were securely bound in chains that seemed to pulse and writhe on their own, emitting something that could have been a heavy and vile smoke, but maybe also wasn’t actually there. In short order, the courtyard was empty of everyone but Owen, the young priestess, the High Priestess, and the wretchedly sobbing blonde girl.

  “Now,” said the High Priestess, “I must prepare for the morning. This sorry thing,” and she chucked the blonde under the chin with something between fondness and irritation, “must be made ready to travel and associate with us.” She turned to the young priestess. “I turn your servant over to your care. Remember that his behaviour reflects on you. Be at the temple gates before the sun rises in the morning.”

  “Of course, High Bride,” the young priestess murmured, still seeming shell-shocked.

  The High Priestess gestured promptly with her chin and strode off, the blonde girl tripping and hurrying to keep up. The torches on the cell block were the only light in the slaves’ courtyard, and Owen stood still, wondering what would come next. The young priestess seemed just as confused by what had happened, and stood there staring plaintively after her superior for a long moment, as if wishing for some retroactive instructions.

  When it eventually became apparent to her that the High Priestess was not coming back, the girl turned slowly, her face now a mask of wariness. She swallowed slowly, as if working up the courage to speak.

  “What is … your name,” she asked hesitantly. “Speak.”

  “Owen,” he said. He still could not believe what he had witnessed that night.

  “O-wen,” she repeated in her thick accent. “What is the meaning of your name? Speak.”

  “I … don’t know,” Owen admitted.

  The girl clicked her tongue reproachfully. “Follow.” Then she turned on her heel and walked off.

  Owen gritted his teeth and did as he was told. He was reminded very unpleasantly about how dangerous it was to walk behind her. The girl had a very graceful and controlled gait, and the simple act of walking made her body move in ways that were very distracting.

  Does she know what she’s doing? wondered Owen uncomfortably. Look at the sand. Look at the sand. Look at the sand.

  “Why do you not know your name’s meaning?” the girl pestered him, still walking. “Is your name only a grunt that you answer to?”

  Owen had never thought about that, and now felt more than a bit embarrassed at not knowing the meaning of his name.

  “Speak!” the girl insisted. “Tonight, you will answer my questions. I do not wish to say ‘speak’ every time.”

  “Yes … priestess?”

  “That is not …” She hesitated. “It is enough. I have decided. I will call you Shikyo.”

  “Can I ask what that means?”

  “Hah!” the girl exclaimed with a mix of surprise and humour. “He takes liberties because I told him to answer my questions!”

  Owen shut his mouth, and they walked in silence for awhile, leaving the slaves’ court behind and entering a nicer, if still utilitarian, block of accommodation. It looked to Owen like living quarters for low-ranking temple workers, although he had no way of knowing for sure. He didn’t speak up again, and the girl didn’t say any more. Owen got the impression that it would not be a good look for a priestess to walk about at night talking idly with her slave.

  The priestess entered through an arched portal with no doors set in it, situated at the far end of a row of what Owen took to be small apartments. It was gloomy within the wide, tall, chamber. Firelight flickered off the dressed stone walls, although Owen could see tapestries depicting scenes he could not quite make out in the shadowy conditions. And then he realised that they had entered a wide, public, bath.

  Steam slowly crept upwards from the surface of the water that steadily lapped at the edges of the pool. The firelight was reflected off it onto the roof, where golden ripples danced across the great slabs of stone supported by large columns of still more stone.

  The priestess strode over to a simple shelf of hardwood and picked up two towels, throwing one so that it hit Owen squarely in the chest. He caught it instinctively before it could drop to the ground, and he supposed the question must have been obvious on his face.

  “You must bathe,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You are filthy. I am … distressed in my … mind? We will bathe.”