Page 2 of The Scattered Bones

As I stumble down the steep staircase, I’m careful not to touch the walls. I tripped when I first entered the stairwell and made the mistake of grabbing the stones for support. The frozen blocks adhered to my flesh, and when I yanked my palm free, the outermost layer of my skin ripped off. The torn flesh will remain forever cemented to the wall, and the pain is unlike anything I’ve experienced, so I cradle my hand to my chest as I repeat his name over and over. He’s why I’m here. He’s why I willingly suffer, and so his name has become my prayer. I recite the syllables that are all that remain of the thief. The sound is my mantra, my reason to survive. So, I speak his name over and over and over and over—

The stairs come to an abrupt end, sending me sprawling, and my knees crack against the floor. My worn pants shield my skin from the frozen ground, but they do nothing to soften the impact. I have no tears left, yet I can’t stop the soft sob that escapes my lips. I cry at the pain in my body. At the pain trapped in my memory, that gods damned memory. I mourn his suffering. A suffering so visceral and savage and slow, that no matter how the Sivatag tortures me, it’ll never compare to what he endured. How he screamed and bled because of me.

I pray his name again. I won’t stop reciting it until I’m dead. The dark magic they used and the absence of the god of death means there’s no eternity for him. There’s no afterlife where I’ll see his face, kiss his lips, feel his arms. If I leave this world, we both end, and my stubbornness won’t allow that.

So, with shaking limbs, I stand and walk. I walk and walk and walk. I freeze. I ache. I walk. The earth swallows me whole. The blackness eats at my sanity, and only when I’ve given up hope does the darkness lighten. I can barely move, the blood in my veins sluggish with this frost, but my feet refuse to surrender. The dimness turns an unnatural blue, and I follow it as fast as my battered body allows. It takes an eternity. It takes only seconds.

The blue light hurts my eyes, and I blink as I enter the central chamber of this underground tomb. Magic consumed this place, turning the desert cold and the sand to stone. I squint as my vision adjusts, and when it finally clears, I see where the light emanates from.

My cry is a chilling song of heartbreak and solace. It’s here. What I seek is here, and I move so fast, I stumble at the base of the altar. My knees crack against the stone, but I don’t register the impact. I feel nothing save the relief at finding it and the terror this object evokes. For a second, I’m no longer in a freezing tomb but in the past, standing before him as they begin, as he screams.

“Calm yourself.” The voice is so quiet, I assume it’s my imagination. Even if it’s my mind conjuring The Stranger, it anchors me to the present, and I push to a stand.

I stare down at the altar, afraid to touch it. To touch him. I hate myself for being a coward. He wasn’t a coward. He screamed, but not because he was weak. He greeted his punishment with a dignified rage, regretting nothing despite our brutal outcome. No, he was brave, his gaze never leaving mine so I wouldn’t be afraid. I forced myself to watch everything they did to him so he wouldn’t be alone. It took a long time, magic keeping him conscious to prevent oblivion from softening his suffering. He was awake until the bitter end, and I saw the agony and sorrow and love in his eyes until they blinked shut for the final time. Cowardice never marred his features, and I won’t be weak now when he was remarkably strong.

With a fortifying breath, I pick the object up, knowing the frost will hurt, but I welcome the pain if it means I can hold part of him. Because of the ice, it’s perfectly preserved. The blood is as crimson as the day it was spilled. I scream as black magic shoots through my flesh, but I clutch it to my chest, all the same, pressing the icy surface to my cheek so I can feel him through the ache.

I’ve finally found his second severed body part, and I cling to his leg, enduring the sting of its curse. Tears flood my cheeks as I embrace his thigh, the drops melting his skin where they land. It’s just one leg. A single fragment of his once powerful form, stretching from hip to foot, but it’s a piece of him. Along with his torso that I rescued from Hreinasta’s holy fire, I have more of him than I did yesterday. I can do this because his love gave me faith. His training forged a warrior in my soul, and his death hardened my resolve. I’ll find the rest of his scattered bones. I don’t care how long it takes, how far I have to travel, or how much evil I must battle. I’ll recover every severed limb, and then? Then I’ll learn if The Stranger was telling the truth. If he’ll keep his promise, or if I’m simply a foolish girl so desperate for hope that I’ve placed my trust in a madman.

The Offering

SEASON OF THE HARVEST, CYCLE 78909

Iwas only ten cycles old when my parents offered me as a potential vessel to Hreinasta’s temple. My father was a city magistrate, a man of immense wealth and prestige, and my mother had birthed him seven children. My older brothers would inherit his power. My sisters were betrothed to men who would further elevate our station, but many judged my family for not offering one of their offspring as a sacrifice to the gods. So when I was born, my future was clear. My siblings had their places in this world. They were on the cusp of bringing my father greater affluence, but I was destined for a holier purpose.

It’s an honor to be chosen as an acolyte, though, and each god demands respect and worship, but Hreinasta? The primordial goddess accepts only the purest and most beautiful girls to be raised as her potential vessels, and my mother locked me away until my tenth birthday so that I might appeal to her. I was given every luxury my family could afford, but I was kept separate. The most prolific female tutors were charged with my education, and I was fed by the choicest cuts of meat and ripest fruits. But I was always alone, forgotten in my own home like treasure hidden away for safe keeping. With my raven black hair and my crystal blue eyes, I was lovely even as a child. I was smart and healthy, devoted to my prayers, and my parents knew Hreinasta would choose me.

At the birth of mankind, the gods journeyed to Earth to live among their creations. Legend tells that when their feet first touched the dirt, the land bloomed with blessing, and ever since, Szent has been the capital of the realm, the high holy city. Every dwelling across the continent, from the greatest cities to the smallest villages, possesses shrines to the deities, but Szent houses the only temples the gods dwell in. Some temples are extensive, their followers forming entire communes, while some are so small only a single priest tends the altar.

Sato, the goddess of the harvest, farming, and livestock, has the largest cult. Her acolytes reject all wealth and outside ties when they enter her fields. They remain within her grace until they die, many creating new families, and their children often pledge their lives and fate to her provision. Some choose to leave her fields when they come of age at twenty-one, and some pledge their futures to other gods, but Sato is not jealous. Her followers never go hungry, and those who leave go with her blessing. Her acolytes live completely off the land, for Sato is kind, just, and loving, her harvest always overflowing. It’s why Szent hasn’t witnessed famine for centuries.

Valka, the god of war, is another deity whose cult is vast. Soldiers, assassins, guards, warriors, executioners. They all bow to his discipline, trained from adolescence in the art of bloodshed. Blasphemous as it is, I hate his sect. I despise Valka. It was his hands that broke my spirit and ruined my life. I refuse to speak his name.

Dozens of other gods dwell in Szent. The god of wine. The wed god and goddess of love, their power split between them as they bless all marriages pledged in their name. The goddess of children and family. The god of the weather. All holy. All worshiped, adored, served. Except for the nameless death. He has no temple. The land where his shrine once stood is now only blackened earth and rubble. It’s forbidden to set foot on that scorched dirt. Hreinasta destroyed his altar when she banished his name from history, and despite the centuries, the ravaged land has never recovered. It’s as black and singed as it was the day the Pure One obliterated it.

With the exception of the nameless death, it’s the highest honor to serve the gods, to see them in the flesh, but my father refused to pledge his lineage to anyone but the almighty. Hreinasta, the high goddess, the first. Her cult is the most devoted. The virgin reigns over all, as she is the only remaining primordial after Death’s destruction. When the gods first set foot in Szent, she lingered long enough to choose a vessel. She feared that her virtue would be tested if she dwelled among men, so she gathered the most beautiful women to her side. She confirmed their virginity, and after living alongside them for a week, she chose one to house her spirit. Hreinasta’s physical body returned to the realm of the gods, but her spirit remained on earth inside her host. Ever since that fateful day, her temple raises the loveliest women to await her choosing. Her acolytes remain untouched until their twenty-first birthdays. Only then can she inhabit them, and while she resides within them, they may never feel a man’s touch. If the goddess doesn’t bless them with her spirit by the time they reach thirty cycles, they become virgin priestesses, tasked with raising the next generation of vessels. Hreinasta inhabits and vacates bodies as she chooses, lingering only until the flesh shows the first signs of age. For a deity sworn to purity, she’s obsessed with youth and beauty. It’s why her dwelling must always be filled with potential hosts, each girl more pleasing and younger than her last.

If chosen as a vessel, the acolyte experiences worshiped luxury. To serve Hreinasta is the ultimate honor, to be her host is the sign of transcendent favor. A favor my father craved for his family name.

On my tenth birthday, my parents delivered me to the offering ceremony. My feet didn’t touch the dirt, servants bearing me within an enclosed litter so that no man saw my face. I wasn’t allowed to emerge until we set foot inside the temple where only women served. My father and brothers were the only men I’d ever laid eyes on, but they kept their distance to avoid any accidental contact. Not even my important father was permitted to enter Hreinasta’s inner court, so my mother, dressed in all her finery, led me to kneel in nervous prayer. I was finally going to look upon a god. She might choose me, honor me, love me. Her choice would force me to leave the home I knew, the family I loved, but not being chosen? That was a shame worse than death. I could never face my parents if Hreinasta rejected me, and so I prayed fervently for her favor.

And then the room stilled as Hreinasta’s vessel entered, and the sight left me breathless. She was tall and strong, with tan and intoxicatingly smooth skin embellished with fragrant oils and sparkling jewels. Her white dress contrasted her coloring, and her long hair hung in intricate braids. She walked as if she wasn’t of this world but merely floating through it, and my youthful heart longed to be like her. I believed I wanted to contain such beauty, for I was innocent then. I knew not what I craved.

We waited in silence as the vessel moved fluidly about the room, stopping before each kneeling offering. She chose some, and their joy was radiant. She rejected others, and their despair was so thick it tainted the air. I was the last offering she observed, and she paused before me, studying my face. I could barely control my anxiety, and my mother clutched my hand as we knelt, whether to still her nerves or mine, I didn’t know. My heart sank. It beat wildly. It didn’t beat at all. She was taking too long. She didn’t want me. I’d failed my family, and we would leave in shame.

Suddenly, the vessel bent forward and gripped my jaw with her velvet-soft fingers. She smelled of flowers and spice, and her golden eyes turned my insides liquid. She was so beautiful; her grip was both painful and pleasant, and my mother gasped beside us. She had graced no other girl with her touch.

“Divine,” she whispered, Hreinasta speaking through her, and my soul exploded. “I accept your offering.” She left without another word, but I knew. That was the moment I realized I would be her next vessel. She’d chosen me to house the Pure One’s spirit.

Two

Remember,” The Stranger says, “while the sun travels the sky, you’ll be able to leave the temple of your own free will, but as soon as the shadows swallow it, you’ll be bound within its walls for all eternity.”

I tear my sight away from the ruins and stare at The Stranger. He stands beside me in a shredded yet intimidating black cloak, his solid white eyes peering out from beneath the hood pulled low over his forehead. Wisps of his dark hair flutter on the breeze, and his arms hang crossed over his broad chest. He’s a blackened stain on the eternal green of this lush jungle, and his presence is both a surprise and a comfort. I didn’t expect to see him again, but after my days of solitude in the burning sands, his unnerving presence unexpectedly fortifies my spirit.

I remember little of my escape from Sivatag. I was submerged in the icy tomb, and then I was wandering through the endless heat. Stealing his leg seemed to break whatever evil had created the freeze, and with nearly frozen limbs, I stumbled through the sand until the desert gave way to life. The gods have abandoned me, yet I survived the scorched death. I emerged alive, clinging to what little of him remains, and before I threw myself into the creek where I left my horse, before I drank my fill and collapsed, I opened the heavily chained chest. I laid his leg to rest beside his torso and locked the box, unable to stand the sight of him in pieces. Then I slept. How many days, I don’t know. I ceased to exist.

“Whose temple was this?” I ask The Stranger. He cannot help me beyond his promise. This journey is mine and mine alone; my faith required to be absolute, but when he promised to return what I lost if I found his scattered bones, he’d captured my hands. Something happened when his skin touched mine. A darkness dove deep into my muscles, ensnared my organs, flowed within my veins. He swore he couldn’t help me, so I feared his touch was a curse. Yet from that moment, I could sense my thief’s limbs calling to me. His shattered body, his broken heart. He wants me to find him, to make him whole. Or perhaps it’s our vows that guide me, and that’s how I came to stand before these ruins. Not even death can part us, for we are one.

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