"Covenant Waters - Chapter 3" by Rachel ´Saya´ Lamine

Covenant Waters
By Rachel Lamine

Chapter III

The temple square was bustling with people who resided within the surrounding streets of the elaborate shrine.  The temple itself was breathtakingly beautiful, formed with white marble from the cliffs of Elhiloa in the north, and gilded with gold and ruby from the mines of Cathra and Jaeden in the west.  Commanding columns of rose and azure stone supported the ample roof, two hundred-seven pillars in all, each carved with intricate figures by a master stone mason.  A bearded serpent, fashioned from a multitude of ivory alefant and unicorn horns, with its jaws open and ready to strike, wound around the summit of the grand temple, the gruesome symbol of Milkanah’s servant.  The square was wide and open, an imposing fountain adorning its center and spilling water from the horrible statues of men and women locked in mortal combat.  Two Nephilim with their long swords and dark armor watched over the fray.  Above the Nephilim was the visage of Cain the Unconquerable, the founder of the great city, a man unlike any other, marked by the gods so human weapons could not touch him.

A man in a dark coat, his blond hair hanging wildly down his back, crashed against my shoulder as I made my way through the mass of people toward the lines filing before the priests.  I stumbled forward and he winked at me before hurrying on into the crowd.  Annoyed, I steadied myself and glanced behind me to make sure Aramia and Keshol were still following.  They were, their hair covered with the long, customary veil, Aramia’s more colorful and demanding than the blue-gray one over Keshol’s head or the dark green swathing mine.  I motioned them to hurry.  Aramia’s pout only deepened, but Keshol grabbed her older sister’s stubborn fingers and pulled her forward.

Hawkers, whose obligation was not to the Temple of Milkanah, wound their carts through the throng of waiting people, selling sandals and robes, glassware, cheap jewelry, an assortment of breads, dried fruit and fish, goblets of wine and juice, token charms with the symbol of the serpent to bring luck, anything to make a profit in this wildly bored mob of worshippers.  The offering of the evening tokens happened once a week.  Each family who lived close to the temple was required to bring a token, a small piece of silver marked by the Prince and sold near the palace, to be presented to the priests who would bless it, mark your family in the ledgers as “paid”, and offer it to appease the god of evening.  It was a practice established by Cain and his eldest son Enoch, after who the city was named, in the earliest days of the empire.

The line in front of the temple already snaked around the fountain, so I hurried to take a place at the end, and then settled in to wait.  There was still twenty minutes before the lines would open, but it was always good to arrive early and claim a place in line.  I estimated it would take an hour to get through to the priests once the doors did open.  I sighed.  Aramia was looking around at the crowd, searching for anyone she knew so she didn’t have to wait with her sisters.  Keshol seemed lost in thought, her brown eyes vacantly examining a stream of water as it poured from the mouth of a stone figure with a sword through its gut.  I grimaced, but came to sit beside her on the rim of the fountain.  The water was cool and refreshing as I trailed my fingers lightly through the pool.

The heat from the glaring sun had soaked into the red brick of the street all day, and it was now radiating back into the cooler evening atmosphere, seeping through my long blue dress and heating my skin.  Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, wetting my hair pressed beneath my veil.  The sun was beginning to set, searing shrilly into my eyes and beating down on the crowd of waiting people.  I wiped surreptitiously at my brow, enviously noting Merchant Bellgast and his sons lounging on portable benches only a few places ahead.  Servants held voluminous shades above their heads as they sipped from generous goblets of wine.  My mouth twisted bitterly as I remembered the days a servant had followed me about during the heat of the day, ready to answer my every need.

Though he tried to hide it, my father’s business was slowly falling into ruin.  It wasn’t from neglect, as he worked the hardest of any man I’d ever known, but from an endless string of bad luck.  It had started almost seven years ago when one of my father’s caravans bringing expensive silk and exotic dyes from Moval in Gyrria was robbed and left crippled on the road, costing thousands of drams in expense.  From then on it had been crop failures in Kevv, insect infestation in Teth-Arrama, disease in the pure horses of Numan, and, most recently, frequent quakes and fire eruptions devastating the land as far as our trade caravans reached.   I knew my parents would not return from Mech with the five servants they’d embarked with, selling the younger four and returning with only Kadett, who had been loyal to my father for fifteen years.

A fight broke out near the front of the line, two young masons rolling in the dirt as they tore at each other with an irate vehemence.  Nephilim guards, their spears raised, materialized from the shadows of the temple and broke up the fight, clubbing anyone who stood in their path.  The men were dragged apart and hauled away by two guards.  A murmur of frustration vibrated down the lines as people discussed the spectacle.  A knot tightened in my chest.  Fights frequently broke out in the lines, habitually from men drunk on sunlight and too much wine.  They were always taken away, whereto no one was certain, and appeared the next morning cowed and silent.  Whispers of the cruelty of the guards spread through the city in hushed voices.  Nonetheless, the populace’s infatuation with the god-like Nephilim continued to grow.

“Staca!” Aramia swore, shading her eyes to get a better view of the two men.

“Aramia!” I rebuked, surprised at my sisters choice of foul language, though perhaps I shouldn’t have been.

My sister ignored me and I ground my teeth in frustration.  “That was Gaareh’s brother and her cousin in the fight!” She continued excitedly.  “Oh, I wish I could have seen it up close.”

“No you don’t,” Keshol interceded pointedly, “you might have been clubbed like some of the others who were too close.”

Aramia’s cheeks burned with excitement.  “Staca!” She said again.  I kept my mouth shut, knowing that whatever I said wouldn’t do any good.  “What if Gaareh was hurt?  I couldn’t bear it if she was!  I have to go see if she’s alright.”

“No, you don’t.”  I stood to my feet, annoyance and fear curling in my gut like the tentacled monster of the deep in my father’s stories of the ocean.  I could sense Aramia’s contempt and excitement as acutely as I knew my own name, and it hurt me to think my own sister despised me that much.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to rush over to where two men were just arrested.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m actually concerned for my friend,” Aramia sneered, “I forgot you don’t have any.  You’re jealous.”

It took all my self control not to grab her and wring her slender neck.  I remained silent, knowing I’d been beaten.  As I watched her saunter haughtily into the crowd of people and join Gaareh, the red-headed girl closest to the fight, I felt like crying.  Milkanah, Bershol and Cain, why wouldn’t she listen to me?  Couldn’t she see all I was trying to do was protect her and the reputation of our family?

Keshol’s eyes were glazed when I resumed my seat on the rim of the fountain, her mind lost somewhere deep in thought.  She’d been doing that more and more of late, retreating into herself so she could escape the infuriating dramatics of the outside world.  It took a lot to rouse her from her stupors, and even then, only she could decide if she wanted to reemerge or not.  I sighed and leaned my forehead against my palms, bleakness beginning to scrape across my mind.  It had been a long day, made even longer by the strange disappearance of Shem, Jabrin and Maya’s open infidelity, and Aramia’s crude selfishness.  I wished my father would come home.  I couldn’t keep our family together for much longer.

“Deshereh, what a lovely surprise.”  Arthek’s chilling voice sent my head snapping up, my eyes widening in fear as they met with the emptiness in Arthek’s.  His icy sense hung in the air like a foul scent in my nostrils.  I said nothing as he peered down at me, his eyes dark with a strange, unearthly power.  I knew he would be here, guarding the gold the priests collected for their coffers, undoubtedly managing to feed some of the paid coins into his own fattening purse.  Out of all the women in the city, why was it me he wouldn’t leave alone?

The Nephil’s thin mouth curved into a carnal smile as he watched me.  “Your sister has spirit.  I can feel how much she hates you.”

Anger flared in the pit of my stomach, but I kept my mouth silent, knowing that he could twist whatever I said to his own gain.

“She seems too much for you to handle.” Arthek crossed his arms over his chest.  I could hear the startled whispers of the others in line as they watched the Nephil’s elevated figure deigning to converse with a mortal.  They would revere me with more awe after this.  “You still have yet to speak, my gentle one.”

“I have nothing to say,” I said shakily, praying fervently for him to go away.

“You never greet me, you know.  Not even last night,” he paused as if remembering something, “especially after the service I rendered you with that stranger.  How is he by the way?”

“Healed.”  I wasn’t willing to reveal more than that.

“You have always been talented in tending wounds, even as a young child, if I am remembering rightly.”

I said nothing.

“Why do you never wish to converse with me, dear one?  My speaking to you alone is a sign of the great respect I have for you.”  His suave voice was filled with sarcasm.  I trembled in fear of him, knowing there was nothing I could do to stop him from taking what he wanted if he so desired.

“Think about the advantages you’d gain if you allied yourself with me.  I’d give you jewels and the finest horses in the realm.  Whatever you desired would be yours to command and mine to give.  Your status in life would be elevated.  You would live in a grand house with servants too numerous to count.  You would be introduced to the Prince and his ladies.”

My mind reeled with terror as I realized what he was offering in the middle of this crowded square.  I didn’t want him to give me these things.  I knew that if I accepted, he’d make my life worse than if I were sentenced to an existence in the darkness of the Pit.  I knew he was capable of more cruelty than I could imagine, and he would not hesitate to unleash his brutality on me.  I had never liked him, nor ever could.  There was something so totally wrong with the Nephilim, something worse than words could describe, something I’d never been able to fully define.  My heart was slamming wildly against my chest.  I pressed my fingers against my knees to keep them from shaking. 

“What is your answer?”  Arthek gazed at me shamelessly, his eyes full of fire as he waited for my response.  He held himself over me in a dark triumph as if he’d already won.

My mouth was dry, my mind bewildered with panic as the silence stretched on.

“Guard Arthek!” Aramia’s gleeful exclamation cut through the silence.  I closed my eyes, my fingers trembling in relief as my sister made her way towards us, her friend following nervously at her heals.  Aramia smiled flirtatiously at the Nephil.  Arthek straightened abruptly, his smile turning more sardonic than usual as he casually moved his burning gaze from me to my sister.

“Aramia,” he acknowledged, his voice more silky and inviting than when he had been speaking to me only a few moments before, “it’s been a while since we last met.”

“Oh, but I saw you only last night, after you bravely saved that man.  Don’t you remember?”

Arthek’s eyes flickered in annoyance.  “Yes, you are right.  I had forgotten.”

Aramia’s countenance fell, displeasure clouding her face.  She faltered, but recovered quickly, her smile returning as brightly as before.  Anger burned in my chest at the Nephil’s heartlessness.  He knew how infatuated my sister was with him, but he treated her with contempt.

“Well, I certainly didn’t forget you,” she said playfully, gazing up at him from beneath long lashes.  Annoyance was rapidly replacing the terrified relief at my sister’s openly brazen behavior.  Aramia turned suddenly to her red-headed friend who was staring adoringly up at the Nephil.  Her beautiful face twisted with jealously when she saw that look.  “Arthek, this is my friend, Gaareh, daughter of Makaneh.  She lives over on Fehloa Street.”

“Nice to meet you, Gaareh,” Arthek said elegantly, taking Gaareh’s hand and bending down to kiss it.  The girl flushed as red as her hair, and Aramia crossed her arms in agitation.  I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

“You must come visit us more often, Arthek,” Aramia said loudly as soon as the Nephil let Gaareh’s hand drop.  She stepped closer, “tonight would be a perfect night to join us for the evening meal.  Roast mengdu beast and meat of young unicorn.”  She knew we didn’t have the money for that kind of delicacy as much as I did.

“I regret that I must decline this time,” Arthek murmured, glancing pointedly toward me, “I have duties I must attend to.”

Aramia’s face fell again, but she forced a smile.  “Are you sure it couldn’t be taken care of later?”

“I’m positive.”  Arthek winked at Gaareh, who looked ready to faint, then turned towards me.  “Think about it Deshereh.” Aramia glanced at me sharply.  I fought back tears of terror at the dark look in the Nephil’s eyes.  He bowed shortly and disappeared into the crowd.

I was in a daze as the evening bells tolled, the peals, long and harsh, grating against my ears.  At the signal, the lines opened and the priests began to consecrate the tokens.  Aramia and Gaareh left in a hurry toward the front of the line once Arthek had gone, Aramia shooting me a nasty glance and holding herself aloof from Gaareh.  I knew the red-head had done nothing to deserve the jealous anger Aramia would release on her throughout the evening.  As the lines moved, I took Keshol by the hand and towed her forward.   A cold sense of helplessness settled in around me as we advanced toward the front of the line.  I knew I couldn’t refuse Arthek, not with out serious reparations.  I knew I couldn’t keep Aramia from running wild.  I knew I couldn’t keep Jabrin from his hateful mistress.  I knew I couldn’t repress Keshol from retreating within herself.  These past weeks were becoming too much for me to handle…too much…

A shout rang out as the second fight of the evening erupted, this time behind me, escalating into a miniature brawl as more men came to blows.  This took longer for the Nephilim to subdue.  I paid little attention as the guards attended to their work, the shrieks of the beaten victims tearing into the skies followed by the wailing and pleading of family members as three more men and two women were dragged away.  The tightness in my chest was becoming almost unbearable.

Someone shoved me from behind and I stumbled, pulling Keshol with me as I retained a tight hold on my veil.  “Hurry up lazy girl.  You’re next.”

The priest facing me at the booth was old and wrinkled, his pale blue eyes dulled by age.  His eyebrows were white and bushy, splintering out in all directions.  They were so thick I imagined he had to comb them to keep them in order.  He was adorned in the ornate blue robe of a priest, the sleeves embroidered with intricate needlework in purple and gold silk, the emblem of the serpent emblazoned across the chest.

“Do you bring an offering of the fruit of your labor?” the old priest intoned flatly, obviously bored with the mundane procedure.

“I bring an offering of the best of my crop.  May the great one find favor with me and spare my life,” I responded to the liturgy, pulling the flat silver token from the sash at my waist and extending it toward the priest on my palm, “as was spared Cain the Unconquerable from the evil of Eden.”

“Milkanah has found favor in your offering,” the priest placed his wizened hand over my own, swiping away the token as he spoke the customary blessing, “may you see no hardship in the future.”

I dropped my hand, my mouth twisting bitterly at the irony of his words.  A minority of hardship was something I was unlikely to encounter in the near future.

“Family name?” the priest asked, retrieving his stylus from the flat top of the booth and glancing up at me.

“Miadah the Methusalite,” I replied.  He rustled through a few lengths of scroll before scribbling something in the margin.

“If you wish for a more personal encounter with the great god of evening, if you have more pressing prayers to offer to him, then enter the inner courts of the temple where you can fully feel his power.  Milkanah is more powerful than the Nephilim.  If you have troubles maybe he can smite your enemy.”

I stopped, glancing uneasily up the ascending stone steps wrought with images of Nephilim slaughtering large beasts, of serpents entwining babies, weapons and gruesome warfare, and strange, unearthly beings seducing young women.  I grimaced, but as my eyes took in the stunning azure archway that lead into the inner sanctum I felt a dark yearning to enter, to find this Milkanah and the power he offered.  Maybe with him I could be free of Arthek.  I had worshiped on the temple steps before and felt a strange surge of power, but never entered within.  I needed more of it.

The old priest was watching me with interest, his blue eyes inflamed with greed.  “You seem to be a troubled young woman.  There is nothing Milkanah can not take care of.  Enter within and you will find the escape you seek from whatever adversity you face.  The great one can give you more power than you have ever known, and with that, you will overcome it.”

I sucked in a trembling breath, completely besotted with the dark unknown of the inner temple.  How many times I had stood in this exact place and been immune to the allures of the sanctum?  I was more than desperate for power, power to refuse Arthek and control Aramia and Jabrin.  I was falling apart, scrabbling at loose ends.  Maybe this was what I had been looking for.

“How much?” I breathed, suddenly excited as I glanced toward the priest.

A slow smile curved at the edges of his aged mouth.  “Two drams.  One and a half for you and half for the little girl.”

I nodded, the drams given to me by Shem only a few hours before weighing heavily in my sash.  Before I could reconsider, I pulled out the coins and dropped them in the priest’s waiting palm.  He smiled broadly and waved me through the line of Nephilim guards waiting behind the booths.  Keshol’s cool hand in mine I began making my way purposefully up the temple steps.

The inner courtyard was dark and gloomy, and as we passed over the entry I was immediately overwhelmed by the fragrant scent of incense.  Two large burners were consuming the ruddy powder on either side of the gaping cavern, four priests attending to the fires and fanning the smoke toward the center of the room.  The sanctum was more enormous than I had imagined, the decorum only growing more ornate as I advanced.  An ominous chill shivered down my spine as I watched fellow worshippers pilgrimage toward a small set of silver doors at the back of the chamber, the bright metal forged with hundreds of writhing serpents twisting over each other, their fangs hidden, but their eyes flashing garishly.  An unsettled feeling beginning to churn in the pit of my stomach, I sucked in an incense tainted breath, and forced my feet to move toward the doors and the waiting priests.

As we hurried forward I noted a dark young man, his hair cropped short in the style of a royal attendant, limping slowly toward the doors ahead of me.  His eyes were wide and dilated, his nostrils flaring as if he were in a state of shock.  His breath came in labored gasps.  Fear began to close around my heart like a creeping dragon spider, but I pushed it stubbornly aside.  I had already gone this far.  There was no use turning back.

A threatening murkiness seemed to exude from beneath the silver doors, roaring forth when a new worshipper passed over the threshold.  As we neared them, I could hear the low hum of drums accompanied by sweet, lilting notes from a reed pipe and the gentle strum of a lyre.  The melody was hauntingly eerie, unlike anything I had ever heard before.  The cold feeling of unease deepened.  The young man in front of me was trembling, perspiration breaking out on his forehead, sliding down his neck and beneath his long green tunic.  He stepped up to the priests attending the door and spoke to them in a low voice.  He seemed agitated, and when he glanced nervously toward the entrance of the temple I recognized the fear in his eyes.  One of the priests spoke a few words, his eyebrows knitting dangerously together.  The young man shook his head and the priest spoke again, this time his voice raised in a much harsher tone.  The young man trembled and sweated even more, but he nodded when the priest had finished and entered reluctantly through the doors.  I understood his dread.  My heart began to pound as I stepped forward.

“Milkanah waits within.”  The priest who had raised his voice to the young man before spoke.  Though he seemed only middle aged, his voice was cracked and gravelly.

“Pay homage to the great one within this chamber, where his servants wait to take hold of you and fill you with power.  Do not fear.  You will come to no harm.”  The second priest was young and blond, his purple eyes wide and piercing as he stared demurely down at me.  His dark words only served to fill me with more trepidation.  “Will you come within, and face the unimaginable power of the great god of evening?”

I knew something was terribly wrong even as I nodded my head “yes”, my mouth too dry for words.  The priests smiled and bowed, and pushed open the doors.

“Do not be alarmed,” the young priest murmured viciously in my ear, his hand against the small of my back pushing me over the doorstep, “they’re drugged and lazy.  They won’t bite.”

The doors shut with a resounding clang of finality, and Keshol and I were left in darkness.  The first thing I noted was the smell, well hidden beneath the ever thickening aroma of incense, but it was still there, musky and damp.  As I waited I began to hear the sounds whispering beneath the terrible melody of the instruments, a strange hissing and slapping, and in the next instant I realized what was wrong with this place.  My mind exploded in terror.

The entire chamber was filled with snakes!  Hundreds of them, twisting over and under each other in a riling mass of red and green and black scaly bodies.  Many of them were bearded, gold, red and gray bulbs of skin hanging from their chins, marking them as dragons rather than serpents.  They all moved sluggishly, their mouths closed, heads bobbing erratically as they traveled over and around each other, never seeming to be bothered by the presence of the others.  Fear burst through my body in a devastating wave, jamming into my throat and almost choking me.  I let out a strangled cry and pulled Keshol instinctively close.  Her eyes were wide and open, but she didn’t seem to see the room around her.  How could I have taken her in here? I berated myself as I tried to regain hold of my paniced senses.  What kind of place had I led my baby sister into? 

My breath beginning to come in short, frightened gasps, I turned frantically toward the silver doors, only to find that the surface was flat and unbroken, no handles protruding from the obsidian lacquered backs.  I ran my fingers madly over the hairline fracture that marked the opening, but there was nothing I could do to force them apart. The doors were shut.  There was no turning back.  A yellow spotted snake brushed against my ankle, its skin coarse and rubbery.  I yelped and jumped back, my whole body trembling in fear.  This was supposed to be the house of the great Milkanah, a place where his power was to be felt, so where was he?  I cursed myself for my naïveté.

I was beginning to feel light headed from the smell of the incense and exhaustion, and the room began to blur.  The disturbing sound of the instruments floated softly from somewhere within the cavern, pounding against my skull with terrible animosity.  Milkanah, where are you?  My mind screamed in terror.

Then I saw it—the grotesque statue across the cavern, bathed in light, its numerous inhuman appendages twisting around its bulbous body, hiding it from view.  Snakes curled around its clawed feet, their dark eyes empty, heads bobbing sluggishly.  My knuckles whitened as I clenched Keshol’s hand even tighter.  Suddenly the head, with its millions of eyes, bulged.  The symbol of the serpent set as a crown atop its scaly head shimmered, the eyes glowing white.  I let out a cry and plunged unconsciously into the mass of writhing snakes.  They didn’t react, only slithering around my feet and curling up my legs.

My body propelled me forward, my eyes wide as I locked them on the strange mirage shimmering over the snakes.  Its mouth opened monstrously, the teeth, as sharp and large as a dragon’s, leering in the darkness.  It roared, the sound shaking me to the core, but I stood mindlessly to face it.

Then it spoke, the sound like the screaming of a thousand women scraping across my mind, shrieking obscenities, and I found myself face down on the floor among the snakes, trembling, my mind blank with the acutest terror.  COME TO ME, the beast commanded, I WILL GIVE YOU POWER TO VANQUISH, TO RULE AND CONQUER.  COME.  I lay panting among the snakes, my sister dead beside me, blood pouring from the holes the serpents were tearing into her.  Aramia stood above me, jeering, her arms wrapped around Arthek as she smiled adoringly into his face.  Arthek’s eyes were red as blood, and I watched in horror as his features distorted into a being of darkness and devoured my sister.  Jabrin sat beside Keshol, his features emaciated, blood trickling from the corners of his mouth.  Dark cavernous holes remained where his eyes had once been and he madly clutched a sack of coins in what remained of his hands, the white surface of bone protruding revoltingly from the bloody stubs.  I felt sick, my stomach heaving as my mind reeled in protest.

BOW TO ME! The beast commanded.  BOW AND YOU WILL BE FILLED WITH THE POWER TO SAVE YOURSELF.

I could feel the power the beast was offering, horrifying power, and it flowed through me, raising me up in terrible elation.  I wanted to retain hold of it to annihilate Arthek and the rest of the Nephilim from the face of the earth.  But the cold feeling in the pit of my stomach persisted, expanding across my abdomen so that it hurt to breathe.  I knew that if I accepted the gift I would be ruined.  Coming in here was a mistake—a dreadful mistake that I might never escape from.  Body aching with pressure, I struggled to my feet, throwing the snakes that had coiled around my arms and shoulders to the floor.  They rolled and constricted as if shocked by the sudden impact, but recovered within seconds and lumbered on as studiously as before.

“Keshol!” I shouted, my eyes frantically searching the swaying cavern for my sister.  I had let go of her hand when the beast appeared.  Where was she?  “Keshol!”

“Deshereh!” The faint call came from farther in the grotto, the sound small and frenzied amid the horror of the temple.

“Keshol, where are you?” I screamed, ducking as the entire room began to tumble and shake, stones falling in huge chunks from the ceiling, crushing the mass of writhing snakes as they slithered in a mad fear toward the perimeter of the room.

“Here!  I’m here!” The shout was louder, but I couldn’t see anything, the smoke from the incense burners intensifying until the entire room was foggy with haze.  I gasped in gulps of polluted air, my lungs constricting in agony.

“Keshol!” I wheezed breathlessly my mind beginning to swim, “Keshol…”

A terrible growl echoed throughout the cavern, growing louder until the sound was almost deafening.  I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out, so I stood there, trembling and useless, terror and the image of the beast the only reality in my mind.

YOU WILL RETURN AND YOU WILL SERVE.

I felt a small, cool hand slip into mine, and immediately I could see again, the smoke disappearing in an instant as the earth stabilized.  I gasped for air, my entire body trembling, but the room around me felt dull and lifeless.  The snakes remained, as did the gruesome statue and the incense burners, but the power of the beast was gone.

“Milkanah!” I gasped wretchedly, fervently craving for the power to be present again.

“Deshereh?” Keshol was tugging anxiously at my arm with one hand and pointing at something with the other.  “There’s a door to the back of the temple.  Please hurry.  I don’t like it in here.”

“A door,” I repeated blankly, turning my eyes toward the brightness at the end of the cavern. “Yes, of course.”

With a strangely heavy sensation weighing across my chest, I gripped Keshol’s small hand tightly in mine and led her through the unresponsive den of serpents and into the blazing sunlight.  We emerged on the steps at the back of the temple where far fewer people milled about than at the front where the tokens were collected.  I blinked against the brightness, waiting numbly for my eyes to adjust.  The sun still hung in relatively the same position it had when we’d entered the temple what felt like hours ago.  I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep, trembling breath to keep the tears from falling.  Nothing had changed.  Arthek was still waiting to control me.  Aramia and Jabrin still hated me.  I had just taken Keshol into a den of snakes.

As Keshol and I made our way down the wide marble steps, an even deeper sense of emptiness and despair settled over me.  We turned toward home, and as we did I couldn’t help but glance back toward the great temple shining in the distance.  As I took in the view of the majestic pink and blue stone pillars, I couldn’t erase the dark sense of yearning to return to the shadowy power of Milkanah and the serpents waiting within.