I continue down the hall as soundlessly as possible. My eyes search every room and crevice in this place, but no sign of Athan anywhere. As I approach the end of the narrow hallway, a dented metal door stands boldly between me and my frantic curiosity. I reach for the silver handle speckled with flakes of rust, unsure of what awaits me on the other side.
The handle turns.
The latch retracts.
Church bells blast my ears from above with a deafening ring that sends me leaping out of my skin. I jerk the door open and sprint into the dark room.
The door closes on its own. My eyes bounce anxiously, but it’s too dark to see anything.
After a few seconds, I manage to catch my breath as my vision begins to adjust. Like a blind man, I pat the walls in search of the light sensor.
Found it. The lights flicker, unnervingly humming on command.
“What the…?”
Hooks and chains dangle from the exposed metal rafters. Blood, still dripping, falls to a puddle around the drain embedded into the concrete floor. Resting on top of metal tables, an assortment of red-stained knives and mildewed cleavers.
Helpless, I feel my heart drop deep into my stomach. Breathing instantly becomes more difficult. Only rapid, short, and shallow breaths. My thoughts are spiraling too quickly for me to pull myself together. I’m about to pass out.
A hand touches my shoulder from behind. I nearly snap my neck turning around so quickly. An elder I haven’t met stands between me and the only exit out of this… this place.
“What are you doing in here?” asks the old man cloaked in his weathered robe.
I can’t speak.
Paralyzed in the grip of silent panic, wet eyes dilated, I stare.
“What have you done?” I manage to stutter. The words clinging to my shivering lips.
The elder looks at me baffled. “Do you not hear the bells? Stop meddling in the butchery and report to the dining chamber at once,” he barks. His accent is like Elder Thestor’s, but less raspy.
“The butchery?”
“Where else would you prepare the meat for dinner?”
My shoulders ease. A wave of relief washes over me like a cool breeze. A smile cracks across my face, flushed with embarrassment. Wait until Athan hears about this. On second thought, he is never going to hear about this. After everything that’s happened the last few days, I think I can let this little mix-up slide for the sake of sanity.
The cranky elder escorts me to the doors of the dining chamber. They open to a massive room with a long, painted table in the center. Grand pillars of stone stand gallantly along the sides of the room holding a ceiling so captivating I almost forgot I wasn’t in Olympia. Fragments of gold and silver sprinkle across the two stone giants carved into the dome top. The table, equally as beautiful, is cloaked in its own masterpiece. Dozens of chairs on all sides. Every seat is taken except one.
If it weren’t for the art, the room would remind me entirely of death. Every one of them wearing that same cold look. Old men, all similar, but minutely different, slouched in their chairs. One drooling and asleep. Another rocks back and forth, hunched over his plate. Their bloodshot eyes pull towards the ground. Their spotted hands tremble. Where are all the women? Why does every one of them have the same angry face?
I nervously shuffle to the empty chair and sit, feeling every eye on me. No sign of Athan anywhere.
At the head of the table is Elder Thestor. He’s staring right at me as he stands to speak.
“Let us pray,” he demands.
Every head bows in cult-like unison.
“We give thanks to the Giver, who has rightfully cursed this wicked world until she returns to her maker's graces, begging for their forgiveness. We give thanks to the Taker, whose love punishes those who transgress against us. Lords, lift us with mercy. Cover us in your blood. Save us from your eternal damnation so that we may continue to serve you. No sinner shall escape your punishment. No commandment shall be questioned. We may not know what sins the child committed, but we have received your mark. We have absolute faith in you and your pl–“
“Where in the fuck is he?” I shout, slamming my fist against the table. Rage dripping off me, I stand. “Where is Athan!?”
“The boy is cursed! I’ve seen it myself,” shouts Elder Thestor slamming his cane to the floor.
“Where. Is. The boy? I’m not going to ask again.”
My fingers wrapped white around a metal fork.
“His wounds have healed! Not even Olympian food works that quickly! It’s obvious he’s been cursed by the Taker! He must suffer his punishment!”
I push down one of the old men trying to subdue me and burst out of the doors. Sprinting across the town, behind the greenhouse, my eyes spot what I didn’t want to be true. What have they done to you?
He sees me and starts to squirm. His mouth’s bound. His arms and legs are tied behind a new post erected a fairly good distance from Rome. An empty third post stands between them. I loosen the fabric around his mouth as my ears catch the elders shouting from the dining hall.
“A knife! There’s a knife on the inside of my boot! Hurry!” he pants.
I reach inside his boot and feel the knife sheathed against his leg.
The sunlight reflecting off its blade blinds me for a second, as I bring it a little closer.
I’ve seen this knife before.
Its black blade is still as sharp as I remember it. Its handle still wrapped blue with rope, frayed, and weathered now.
“Where did you get this?” I ask stricken with shock.
I’m sucked back to Palin’s
