daughters of Middengard for you and those of your men whom he feels are worthy of the blessing.'
'Yes, your eminence.'
The shuffling of feet filled his ears, scraping and eating at the floor as they came to surround Garren. He swallowed before lifting his eyes to see what they had brought him.
The Ordakai, childlike in stature, were deceiving in their guile and agility. Servants to the Laionai, they scurried about the keep and courts like diseased rats, eating what food they could find, and stealing what caught their fancy. Without language or gender, Garren doubted they would exist at all if not for their masters.
Their horned heads turned, looking him over. A fat, clumsy one stumbled forward, holding a chalice in its hands and cooing as Garren pulled it from stubby, crusted fingers.
Always cool to the touch regardless of the climate around it, the chalice had been blessed by the Goddess for use in worship and was half-filled with a pungent red wine. He held it in his hands, as he had done thrice a year for nearly five years, waiting.
A side door squeaked open, the rusted pins groaning with the weight, and four vessels ushered in a bound human who futilely thrashed about, hissing his anger through his bloodied mouth.
Their eyes met, and to Garren's surprise the man seemed almost grieved that the High Lord was present, a noticeable withering of his spirit visible in the lines of his face.
'You look like him,' the human whispered.
Garren rose to his feet and approached him, amused at the meaningless chatter. The moment he touched the man he knew. 'Adorian.' Confused, he looked to the Laionai.
'A new age has begun. This night's worship, and this Adorian's blood sacrifice, celebrates a turn of the tides for Adoria. An army of humans, legions of those whom the winged ones have for so long protected, will rise against them. Do not question the divide, High Lord, for Her Holiness has spoken in faith that it will fail them when they need it most. Your commanders have been given one year's time to ready this army.'
'Then blessed are you to be consecrated this night.' He glared at the Adorian and the vessels that struggled to hold him. 'Tadraem has chosen well.' Dismissing them to the sanctuary, Garren turned back to the Laionai, and knelt before them. He repeated the prayer of Saint Ereubus, the sound of his words almost overpowering the sound of their exit as he was left alone.
With nothing but the familiar walls of the inner sanctum to keep him company, he lifted his lips to the rim of the cup, sipping a small portion. A smile deepened across his face as he stood. He extended his arms, speaking the words to dedicate the spoils of his victory and the communion wine to the Goddess. As he did so, a light surrounded him, shimmering golden in the darkness. It started from the floor at his feet and wound its way up his body like a great snake, twirling and hissing as it went. He could feel the power surging through his veins, connecting him to the great Mortal Coil just as the Goddess had promised her chosen ones so long ago.
But as he opened his eyes, just beyond the radiance that enveloped him, the face of another peered back. Her hair appeared as a burning red flame swirling around her face, her eyes a piercing blue. She wore a deep purple cloak, its hood concealing only a fraction of the light, far stronger than his own, that shone forth from her.
Dropping to the ground, he brought his arm over his eyes in a poor attempt to shelter his face. A voice came from the vision, speaking what he thought to be Adorian, leaving his body shuddering in fear as he listened. Only when he felt both his own strength and the girl's dissipate from the room was he quieted.
Still trembling, he dropped his arm by his side and stared out into the shadows. His breath came fast and heavy, his chest burning from the exertion. He rubbed his hand over his breast, clenching his teeth. He had yet to regain his composure when he heard another voice outside of the room.
'My Lord?'
The guards. Garren struggled to his feet and rushed to the door, grasping the iron handle with his hands and bearing his weight against it to keep it closed. His tone belied his answer.
'I am in prayer!' he barked. Garren felt his knees go weak, falling to the floor with his back against the wooden door.
They made no protest. It meant nothing to him that the very act of doing so would likely gain him an entirely new set of faces to detest — ones far less willing to abandon him at his request. It was a wonder any of his guards lived to old age. It wasn't until he looked down at his hands and saw the red hue staining his breeches that he realized what he had done.
What little of the wine was left had settled into a shallow puddle on the floor. Groaning, he made a futile attempt to salvage it. Once it finally occurred to him that it was useless, he pulled a kerchief from his pocket to soak up what hadn't seeped into the stone.
Frustrated, shaken, his head filled mercilessly with the girl's voice, he made his way to the kitchens with as much discretion as possible, considering his position. He found a suitable wine, allowing one of the Ereubinians serving there to refill the chalice.
Garren hesitated in the doorway to the sanctuary before entering. It looked like service had begun long ago, but he had just entered the inner sanctum. Hadn't he? He grew disoriented, unsure of how much time had passed.
Candles were lit along the pews, revealing rows of vessels dressed in white robes behind all those of the lineage who attended. He had seen the humans in this attire for observance his entire life, knowing that though he would not live to see the day, it would come to pass; eventually humans would no longer exist in this state. There would be no need for separation, for they would all be of Ereubinian descent.
Garren entered. He had taken no more than two short steps when, in complete accord, every human turned at once to face him. The room grew quiet as prayers hushed, the attention causing a succession of heads from the front of the room to turn also in his direction. Startled, he froze, trying to understand what had happened, but realized he would do better to ignore any significance in the event. After shaking himself from his shock, he walked to his seat beside Aiden, just a few rows from where he'd been standing. As he sat down, he realized that he had been holding his breath.
'Garren,' Aiden whispered. He appeared horror-stricken at the humans' recognition of Garren. 'I believe we have something to discuss.'
Garren said nothing. He remained unmoving, his head bowed, following along with the recitations.
'Did you hear me, Garren?' Aiden asked.
Garren glanced at him, narrowing his eyes. 'We will talk about it after service.' He bent his head back down, his eyes staring listlessly at the floor. He felt his friend lean back onto the pew and join voices with the others. After a few minutes, the room again grew quiet as the candles that lined the pews were blown out one by one. All that remained alight was a single flame on the altar. Garren lifted his head and watched as a tall Ereubinian approached, kneeling in front of it.
The black-robed Ereubinian raised both hands into the air and spoke in the language of the Laionai.
'Nech ordai neroman,' the words echoed in the sanctuary. From the sound of his voice, Garren recognized him as Kolevar, the retiring High Priest. From the center aisle, two more figures in similar garb entered the room with the captured Adorian between them, his head peering at the floor. The Adorian was clothed in white and wore a gold cloak. The cloth of his shirt had been gathered at his neck, revealing only his pale face, framed by the hood that rested on his shoulders.
Garren watched, speechless, at the willingness of the Adorian, who was left standing untethered at the altar before Kolevar, who had risen. Was this not the same creature he'd beheld?
Tadraem, who had been announced earlier in observation as the new High Priest, had already been given the blade that would take the Adorian's life. As he came to stand next to Kolevar, his gaze turned to Garren, who suddenly realized that in his truancy, he had failed to bring the chalice to the altar.
'My Lord Garren, it is only fitting that tonight's sacrifice come from your hand, for no other is as proven in service or faith to Her Holiness.'
When the knife was placed in his hands, he should have felt pleasure. When he lifted the chalice to the Adorian's lips, he braced himself against rebellion, only to see him accept it of his own accord. Garren should have felt peace. Instead, the blade rested like a leaden weight in his grip. He swallowed an unnerving and unwelcome measure of disgust as he looked into the Adorian's eyes, to see that beyond the facade of subservience was something far less understandable.
You look like him, the Adorian had said.
Unwilling to show reluctance, Garren did not hesitate in sliding the blade across the Adorian's throat, spilling
