4 Hours Earlier

  “I haven’t come all this way to play dress up!” Lapat sighed. “I require information. Records. Inquiry into their inventory, perhaps. I will not participate in this festival farce.”

  “You will participate, or you will not be allowed inside the temple walls,” Jana said calmly. “Your new friend’s invitation states it is a formal affair. If you’d like to get inside to talk to the priests, you have to act the part. Here is one of my father’s old suits. We will have it tailored to suit your shell.” She handed him a dusted powder blue suit with pants and a black cane to match.

  “You cannot be serious. I will look like a barnacle. I haven’t seen ruffles or canes like this since I was a child.”

  “Just try it on,” Jana laughed. “You need to get going soon if you want to be there before the Spirit Lights come out.”

  “You mean the aurora borealis?” Lapat scoffed. “I don’t have time for pretty lights. There is work to be done.”

  “Go put on the suit, you grump,” Jana teased.

  Lapat stepped away and pulled on the dusty suit. It pinched and tugged uncomfortably but fit well enough. “How do I look?”

  Jana stifled a chuckle. “My father would have many words to say about wearing leather gloves with a suit like that.”

  Lapat scratched at his wrist nervously. “It keeps off the dust, that’s all. And I will be returning this colorful outfit the moment I depart from this atrocious affair.”

  “You are allowed to enjoy yourself. I know you are worried about fixing things. But-”

  “I am not worried,” Lapat said quickly. “I will fix this. I will beat this sickness. Even if I have to dress as a buffoon to do so.” He pulled down on the sleeves once more as they rode up his arm.

  “I think you look just fine.” Jana peered out the window as a group of revelers stumbled past, laughing loudly.

  “Thank you, Jan. Will you not join me?”

  “Join you?” she laughed. “Heavens, no! I will avoid the ruckus of the night just fine, thank you! Now, go on. I’ll be here when you come back.”

  It appeared as though all of Meerside had vacated their homes and turned to a bottle. Every tavern was filled to the brim, every street was flooded with crowds, and the noise was as vexing as it was persistent. Lapat forced his way through the crowds and, though delayed by drunks, interrupted by the intoxicated, and begrudged by the belligerent, he made his way across the city from Jana’s apartment to the western bluffs.

  Either weighed by the damp air or the rivers of sweat running down Lapat’s back, the powder blue suit quickly grew heavy and suffocating. As he reached the top of the Gods’ Fist, nearly collapsing to the ground, he yanked the collar free. “I... am... too...old...for this.” He looked up, sucking in air and taking in his surroundings.

  The sun had just fallen behind the white temple at the cliff peak. Crisp white pillars sat neatly on the manicured earth, glowing as if cast in gold in the evening’s rays. The whole structure seemed to float above him. As if abhorred by his disheveled state.

  “So far above us mere mortals,” Lapat panted angrily. He caught the briefest hint of the massive statue of Malina inside. “Let my exhaustion pay your tithe. You won’t hear any prayer from me. Leave me be to my work, and I’ll bother you no further. You’ve never been any good to me before.”

  Fighting back a snarl at the superior attitude of the structure, Lapat flashed the invitation Gian had given him at the gate and found attendants were no more in touch with reality than the temple. For every white robed disciple, there were ten laymen in outrageous outfits. There was a pearl bead dress that clattered with every step and a jacket of feathers that shed and littered the ground. Lapat scoffed at a lord surrounded by his staff in all manner of black and yellow puffy jackets, their movements giving to mind a buzzing hive.

  Lapat wiped back another handful of sweat, his jacket pinching his gut uncomfortably. “At least pretend to enjoy yourself,” Lapat whispered. “You are a guest after all.”

  He searched the party for the white robes of the Order, repeatedly approaching a disciple and beginning a line of questioning, only to be turned away. What he had assumed was a single occurrence of rudeness culminated into a habit of disrespect as every priest and priestess nearly fled his conversation. He repeatedly sought to pursue them but was blocked and denied by the other partygoers and their pompous interruptions. By the time the sun had set, he’d not had a single conversation with a member of their Order.

  “This is pointless! Why will no one speak to me? What am I doing wrong?” A flash of irritation crossed his face as his jaw tensed. “I have every mind to abandon all good manners and grasp one of these white robed devotees by the shoulder and shake them until they assist me!” The anger balled his fists, serving only to irritate the infection further, driving even greater rage to his predicament.

  “My friend!” A familiar voice shouted happily.

  Lapat turned, the dark cloud in his mind parting as he saw Gian’s round face emerge from behind the crowd. “My friend, I knew you’d come! I just knew it!”

  Lapat smiled back politely. “It is good to see you as well. How are you?”

  The fat halfling waddled toward Lapat in a hurry. He had traded in traveling clothes for a decadent red toga. His puffy cheeks were flushed from drink, and stains of food decorated his drapery like the hungriest of abstract paintings. “I am beyond swell! Look at this feast!”

  Lapat pointed to the tables of delicacies that surrounded them. “I see there is even more food than you promised.” He pointed to the gravy dripping from Gian’s chin, “And it appears you have been eager to try them all.”

  Gian wiped the gravy off with a finger and licked it. “Ha! Goosenbase gravy! Delicious!” Others nearby scoffed at him and scurried away from the pair. Gian took no notice, and if he did, he did not show it to Lapat.

  “My friend, when did you arrive? I searched for you. Bah, no matter, I am certainly glad to see you! These people are such bores!”

  “My apologies, I came seeking to speak with a member of the Order. You see, I require access-”

  “Oh! Have you tried the Sylan soups?” Gian interrupted. “They are to die for!”

  Before Lapat could speak, he was dragged to a nearby table. This one was layered in large black cauldrons that steamed the air with scents of garlic, paprika, and flavors Lapat couldn’t place. Gian grabbed a ladle and a wooden bowl.

  “No, it is quite okay, I don’t”- Lapat tried to insist.

  “Nonsense!” Gian harrumphed and filled the bowl to the brim. “Just taste a bit. Come on. It is the Night of Lights after all! Even all the grouchy city guards get tonight off to relax and have a little fun. Live a little!” He thrusted the bowl over, its contents splashing across the rim and onto the grass.

  Lapat peered inside. The soup smelled of river trout and some sort of sea clam. It was sharp and hot in his nose, his stomach trembling in response. Lapat had never been known for his iron-clad gut. When he was a student at university, he partook in the celebration of the 50th anniversary of the dreaded Blood War. At a friend’s suggestion, Lapat had tried one of the spicy Solstill-style kebabs. Lapat had spent the next two days trapped in the bathroom: sick in the worst of manners. But Gian stared at him expectantly, and so Lapat took a small spoonful.

  “Excellent, is it not?” Gian beamed.

  Lapat stifled a cough as the flavor clawed at his esophagus, “Yes, thank you, very good.” He nodded to a servant carrying a tray of drinks and quickly exchanged his bowl for a sweet beer. “My friend, perhaps you can help me-”

  “Next, you must taste these delectable little red fruits that grow on the farms not far from here. Hayberries or grassberries, I believe they are called. Something to do with ‘straw.’ And of course, after that…”

  Lapat sighed, nodding along as Gian continued to list all the different cuisine options that were present. It was only when the halfling nearly choked on a chicken bone that Lapat was afforded the opportunity to speak.

  “Gian, I need your help.”

  “Well, I know that.” Gian beamed. “You don’t know the first thing about taste if that beer is-”

  “Gian,” Lapat snapped. “Listen to me.”

  The halfing stepped back as if Lapat had reached out and hit him. “Okay, my friend. I don’t mean any offense.”

  “You didn’t offend me,” Lapat hissed, trying to calm himself. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just need your help. I need to speak with someone.”

  “Oh? A special someone you have your eye on?” Gian wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “You old rascal! I thought you said you have a wife!”

  “I do have a wife, one that I love very much. Listen,” Lapat closed his eyes, fighting the irritation buzzing through his mind, “This is important. Serious. A matter of life and death.”

  “Why didn’t you say so!” Gian pulled Lapat in close, as well as he could, being at half his height. “If it is important business, let me show you the ropes. I know just the people.”

  The halfling led Lapat to an open table, grabbing another drink as they settled in. “Now look over there, you see that lonesome group? That there is as important as you can get.”

  Lapat followed his gaze across the space. Though the grass was open and sprinkled with intermingling groups, one corner stood apart. “Who are they?”

  Gian snorted in derision. "That there is our utmost special city council and their lackeys that plague this whole affair. A bunch of dreadful folks for an evening of pleasure. See the old guy? He is the Voice of Treasury: Aolin Curncebos”

  An elderly half-elf with a trimmed white goatee stood in the middle of the group. Wrinkled hands grasped a bronze cane as if it were all that stood between him and his final fall.

  “He is the grandson of a son of a grandson of some founder of the city. Sure, every six years they have their little vote amongst the wealthy snobs on who gets to hold the baton next. But Curcebos got his job from his daddy, and his daddy’s daddy.”

  Lapat nodded but was not interested.

  “Beside him, the sweaty orange one is Daneal Tunip: the Voice of Law.”

  A pear-shaped human in a red suit was chewing on his fingernails. He shifted constantly, his eyes never still, head flicking around like a child afraid of getting caught sneaking sweets.

  Lapat twisted his nose in discomfort. “Does he suffer from some sort of malady?”

  “They say it’s just a tic. But other people think it is all that orange powder he dyes his skin with, seeping into his brain.” Gian leaned in close, “Some whisper that he got in wrong with some of the seedier types around town. Up to his ears in debt and slippery as a beaver.”

  “If he is so corrupt, why don’t they get rid of him?”

  Gian sighed, “Because half of the folks here either owe him something or are owned by him. Maybe the same thing. Well, except for that one.” Gian nodded to an isolated member standing at the edge of the group. “That woman there is the newest addition: Alez Debrev. She’s the Voice of War. Cold as stone and twice as tough.”

  The female dragonkin had scales dark as oil with white highlights along her spine cresting at her scalp. Her snout was short and pointed, her jaw rigid and strong. Sharp white teeth revealed themselves when she spoke. Unlike the others in formal dress, she wore a dark blue military cut uniform with white trim, echoing the sigil of the Meerside guards.

  “Terrifying and beautiful.” Gian shivered.

  “I’m not sure these are the types of people I require,” Lapat said, still searching the crowd for more priests.

  “Oh, but you must hear about this one.” Gian leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper. “See, she came up from the Dips. No family or name to rely on, surviving on the streets long enough to sign up for the guard. Got into the barracks and out of the gutters. But five years back, some bandits had been financed by a minor lord to harass the Gold Road so he could get an upper hand in some trade negotiations. Debrev’s unit was sent to deal with the bandit problem. She was just a kid, only a few months out of learning how not to trip over your own blade. And well…” Gian gulped, “You ever hear about House McCormick?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Lapat shook his head.

  “Exactly. After she slaughtered the bandits and got the name of the Lord financing them, she went out to their estate to confront them. You know, bring them to justice and all.”

  “By herself?” Lapat peered at the woman. Her cold eyes surveilled the party with a distant but terrifying focus.

  “All by herself. See, the McCormicks thought themselves tough stuff. Real old school take power by the blade types. The eldest son had won his way across the continent, dueling and cutting down anyone who crossed his path. The rest of the family weren’t slouches either. So, when Debrev shows up looking to make an arrest...”

  “I assume they didn’t take to it very kindly?”

  “That is one way to put it,” Gian chuckled. “Kid challenged Debrev to a duel. Fancy swordsman and all, thinking she was just some local grunt of a guard. And well...”

  “And well?”

  Gian took a long sip from his glass. “She killed them. Every last one who rose a blade against her. Whole family of fighters, fencers, brawlers, gone. After that, she torched the estate and erased every record of them. When she came back to Meerside, not a scratch on her, well, no one has challenged her since.”

  “How...savage,” Lapat hissed. “Demonstrate a barbaric behavior, and they made her the Voice of War?”

  Gian shrugged. “In a way, no one has protected Meerside quite like her. Especially with the new emperor in Solstill waging war in the East. Gods, half the city thinks she could take on an entire legion alone. Let her loose on that new warship, The Council’s Blade, and who knows. But to be honest, she just scares the hell out of me.” Gian’s voice shook. “I’d rather not speak of her anymore, my friend.”

  “Yes, please let us move on.” They strode away and into a safer place, one with more tables of food for Gian. “You seem to know everyone here,” Lapat said.

  “A man of taste has to know people of taste!” Gian laughed. “For good and bad!”

  “If I could be so bold, do you think you would introduce me?”

  “Of course!” Gian smiled proudly. “Whose ear do you want me to pull?”

  Lapat licked his lips anxiously. “One of the Order. Preferably someone with some authority.”

  Gian’s eyes went wide. “I think you have the wrong idea about taste, my friend. I don’t associate with those lunatics. Their leaders, like that High Priestess, are even worse.”

  “A High Priestess? Gian, it would be the greatest favor. I cannot detail the purpose, but please believe me when I tell you it is vital I speak with her.”

  “My friend, even if I did want to step close to one of those ‘Holier than thou’ freaks, they aren't going to talk to me or you. They are a locked-up tight bunch. Keep to themselves and only themselves.”

  “Is that why they’ve been avoiding me all night?” Lapat asked.

  “Well, that and if you aren't gonna donate to the pot, then what good are you? How do you think they afford this party? The temple we are standing under?” Gian shrugged. “Donations and favors. That suit doesn’t exactly scream of deep pockets.”

  Lapat’s stomach sank. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Pray, I guess,” Gian chuckled. He stopped, seeing the despair on Lapat’s face. “Relax, my friend. Enjoy the party! Maybe something will come up.”

  As the last whispers of dusk faded into the western sea, a buzz of excitement filled the air. “Ladies and gentlefolk!” A tall thin, man approached the party with his arms raised high. He had on the uniform of a jester; a tunic spotted with splotches of color. He smiled at the crowd, gathering their attention. But it didn’t reach his eyes. Pale gray eyes that sent a shiver down Lapat’s spine.

  “It is my privilege to bring before our honored guests a revolutionary new device! This invention comes from the deepest mines of Frosthaven. A trade secret of the dwarves now brought to life before you all for the very first time!” A rumble of wheels and wooden machinery rolled into sight, pushed by a stout jester covered in tattoos.

  “A ballista?” Someone in the crowd jeered. “You brought a weapon of war to a Night of Lights party?” The crowd grumbled as the short one adjusted the contraption. His tattoo-covered hands flew across the knobs and wheels of the device.

  “Please, if you would!” the jester insisted. “This is a gift for the special guest of tonight’s festivities! Holiness? Are you amongst us tonight?” The crowd looked around and parted, revealing a small figure in white.

  “Of course, they must honor her.” Gian rolled his eyes, “There is your High Priestess Raiphera, I’d bet. She used to be the Deacon, head of Malina’s church in Lightfall. But she stepped down a few years back. And now whenever she leaves their capital out east, all the priests and nuns shit their pants in excitement.”

  Lapat stared at her as she moved through the crowd and toward the performers. She had the same bright white robes as the others of her faith, but a golden sash hung from a pointed cone headpiece and wrapped around her shoulders. Beneath a thin white silk, the elvish High Priestess looked ancient. She stopped beside the jesters, warily eyeing the device. The tall jester reached forward, but a wall of metal appeared between them.

  “No touching,” the armored figure growled. The Paladin was a mass of gilded steel with the light of Malina engraved on its chest plate.

  “Yes…of course.” The jester smiled sickly.

  “What do you wish to show me?” The old woman demanded.

  “A gift! A rift! Oh, don’t be so miffed!” The stout one giggled, but the tall one ignored him.

  “Harnessed at last by mortal hands…” The performer looked to the temple and then to the sky. “I give you...The New Spirit Lights!” With the toss of his hand, the ballista fired with a loud snap. The crowd fell back, startled as a small black shell flew directly up into the sky.

  The Paladin moved in a flash, its body covering the High Priestess. “Run!”

  The crowd hesitated, watching as dozens of feet up, the shell stopped, and began to plummet back to the ground. Screams filled the air as people rushed to escape. Lapat heard the tall one shout at the stout one, but it was too late.

  Gian grabbed at Lapat, trying to pull him away, but Lapat’s mind was clear.

  I can catch it. I can stop it.

  The High Priestess was hobbling away; he had to hurry. He closed his eyes, letting his senses crash into him. The grass bent beneath his boots, the sweat beaded down his neck, the hot air clung to his every breathe.

  He searched his mind, the old paths welcoming him home. Come to me. I know you are always there. Return to me once more.

  A golden door rose to his mind’s sight. Awash in ethereal light, it beckoned him closer.

  “Lapat!” Gian shouted. “We need to go!” The screaming was louder now, Gian’s tugging more desperate as the shell rocketed down.

  Lapat reached for the door. A familiar buzz filled his veins, warming his bones like a strong drink. The scent of pine washed off him, as familiar as his own home, as sweet as any drug.

  “Lapat!” Gian screamed.

  Lapat opened the door. Celestial light burned his skin, scalding it as power filled his chest.

  “LAPAT!”

  He opened his eyes, and wind flew from his lips. A gust cracked against the shell, slowing it, stopping it, then pushing it back. The shell floated there for a moment, until it suddenly detonated with a roar. A flower of color burst above them. Sparks of lemon yellows and chocolate browns painted the sky above, crackling as they fizzled.

  All was silent but the echoes of the explosion and gusting of magical wind. Then someone cheered. Then another and another until the entire party was in applause. Lapat felt the buzz of their excitement, but it could not match the torrent in his chest.

  The door is open. The power is in me. It IS me.

  It was an old song he’d never forgotten. It was the touch he’d been missing. The golden light was on him, the magic filling him, making him better. Whole.

  “Lapat, you did it!”

  “Yes, yes, I did.” Lapat smiled. His blood was hot, electric. Flowing through him with strength.

  Of course I did. This was child’s play! This is what I should be doing. Not holding back. Not afraid. The door was open, his power stretching out at last.

  “That’s my friend right here!” Gian smacked Lapat’s back, breaking his focus, pulling him out of his mind.

  No! Not yet! Please! The vision in his mind shook, the door trembled.

  Gian spoke, congratulating him, but the words were muted.

  The golden light dimmed, faltered.

  Don’t leave me. Lapat begged. Stay with me!

  But the door in his mind’s eye closed, the light cut off, and his power vanished. Gian slapped his back again.

  “You saved everyone! And look at that sight!” Above them, fizzles of light coated the sky, burning away like embers.

  Lapat couldn’t look. Searing ripped through his lungs as if set alight. His world spun. His infection flared with pain, gripping the bones that were strong as iron only moments ago.

  The people around him clapped his back and shook his hand in thanks. But it felt distant, distorted, deaf. Lapat tried to smile. He tried to stand, but his muscles wouldn’t listen.

  “My deepest apologies, gentlefolk!” The thin jester called. “My idiot assistant set the shockpowder incorrectly. But the issue has been rectified!” As if to prove his point, another shell was launched, one which exploded at the peak of its flight high above its viewers. The crowd oohed and awed while another hand grasped Lapat’s shoulder. He spun to see the High Priestess staring up at him. Her satin face covering had fallen away, and she had a thin smile across her wrinkled face.

  “Thank you, sir. You did all of us a great service.”

  Lapat bowed unsteadily, his body still trembling. “Only doing what I can, your Holiness.”

  The priestess shot a sharp glance at the jesters. “I will be speaking with you two. Gideon?” The Paladin nodded and stomped beside the ballista, his steel plate shining even in the dark of the night. “Keep an eye on them.”

  “Your holiness,” Lapat panted. “If you’d be so kind, I’d appreciate the opportunity to speak with you.”

  The high priestess turned back; the smile faded, and irritation burned in her ancient eyes.

  Lapat hoped the lights shining above did not expose the sheen of sweat gathering on his skin. “You see, I am a scholar of the Arcane Arts from the University of Meerside. I believe there are some records under your Order’s care that would benefit my research greatly. If it pleases you, ma’am.

  Something flashed in her eyes, but she quickly masked it. “Of course. I am happy to speak with the gentleman responsible for saving us. I’m afraid I do not recall your name.”

  “Lapat. Lapat Braveson, your holiness.”

  “Well…Lapat, let us go somewhere to speak.” She waved a hand at the explosions of lights above them. “Somewhere quieter? Perhaps the gardens?”

  Lapat nodded enthusiastically and waved to Gian to go ahead without him. They walked silently around the Temple’s marble pillars and towards the western side of the building, where the crowd was thin. But as Lapat followed the High Priestess away from the party, he could have sworn he felt the jesters’ eyes burning on his back.

  Quickly, they were alone, and Lapat struggled to summon any conversation, too nervous to talk out of turn and lose his chance to speak with her at all. At the most western edge of the temple, he stopped.

  Before them were rows of hedges, the entrance to a large garden. But far above him, the night sky came alive with curling waves of light, true Spirit Lights, not that of manmade imitations like the shockpowder contraption. They were purple like the sunset after a storm, green as the forest floor, the light pink of a first kiss. Lapat breathed in deep; they were truly beautiful. The colors did not clash, did not tangle; they danced. Woven together like threads of a great loom visible for but one night alone.

  Lapat lowered his head. Before him, past the garden and the bluffs upon which the temple sat, was the Endless Sea. Crashing endlessly and reflecting the Spirit Lights like a dark sister.

  This time next year, my love… Lapat mused. We may be looking at the lights together, healthy and happy.

  He followed the High Priestess past the hedged walls and raised soil beds and deeper into the green maze. At its center, rather than the ornamental and beautiful plant life that took a seat at the front of the Temple grounds, here, utility ruled. Though he recognized a crop of carrot stems, Lapat knew little of the horticulture that surrounded him.

  Rosie would, Lapat thought. She’d look at the one with four leaves and know to mix it with a root from another to soothe a throat or cool a fever.

  Lost in his thoughts, Lapat looked about in confusion. “Your Holiness?” He stepped forward hesitantly, seeing her kneeling in the dirt, examining a thin green reed.

  She shook her head. “Musgo de la muerte arrastrándose. Creeping Death Moss in the common tongue.” Slowly, she turned the reed to expose a dark purple smudge. “Do you know why it bears that name?”

  Lapat stared at the plant; it seemed young, small, having fought hard to reach the sun’s light. “No ma’am, I do not know.”

  She continued to stare, twisting the plant. “It is due to its unique nature. The moss comes from somewhere else. Perhaps the dirty boot of a careless gardener. Or carried by the wind from some distant farm. But once latched onto a source of life, the moss will embed and conceal itself. Feeding off its prey. Living within it. The plant and its caretakers are none the wiser.”

  The Spirit Lights continued to flow through the sky, but Lapat felt a darkness surrounding him.

  “Any defenses that would exist to fight its infection are left mindless and numb to its presence. It rises to the surface only when it is ready, when the moss has pupated to a new stage, prepared to absorb the source entirely.” Her fingers hovered over the plant, falling to its base.

  “At this point, the moss has already killed its host. There is no cure to stop its spread, as it has already taken everything from its victims. The only solution is to destroy it before the disease spreads to others. Putting the entire garden at risk.”

  Another shockpowder shell exploded in the distance. The night air was warm, but a chill ran down Lapat’s neck. “A foolish gardener will hesitate to destroy the plant. In an attempt to save it, cure it.” Her hands glowed bright white as they wrapped around the reed’s base. The scent of cloth and molds washed off her magical presence. “Do you, Lapat Braveson, take me for a fool?” In a flash, the entire reed was burnt away, the light blinding.

  Lapat blinked rapidly, clearing his vision. He found the High Priestess peering into him, her face inches away from his.

  “I tell you now, a warning. Return home. Abandon your search.”

  Fear washed over Lapat. “I didn’t mean any harm, I’m sorry.”

  “I see into your heart. I know what you truly seek. But it is the will of Our Lady and Her kin that such a sickness exists. We are not worthy of their magical grace. The path you follow will only result in torment.” She placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Leave now. Do not seek what is better left lost to us.”

  “Lost?” Lapat stared back at her in shock, “So it is true? There is a cure?”

  “You are not understanding, and in your defiance, you refuse to acknowledge that the gods alone decide our fate.”

  “Your gods. Not mine. I seek knowledge, not prayers.”

  “The power you seek goes against the natural order. There is a price for all things. Even the gods know this.”

  “You can keep your order; I’ll pay any price. I need that cure, and now I know you have it.”

  The High Priestess sighed and stepped away from Lapat. “You are not understanding. It comes from a broken time. It is not for us to use. It is from the depths of hell itself. Using it does only one thing. Bring about doom.”

  A cure, I found it. I finally found it.

  “Where?” He stammered, the energy building inside him. “Where is it?”

  The High Priestess whipped back to face him. “It is hidden. As it must stay.” She pointed a crooked finger at his chest. “You will not find it. You will not bring this burden upon the world.”

  “This could be used to help people! Heal them! And the power alone, it must- “

  “Your selfish designs will not doom this world!” Her fingers began to glow white. Magic burned in the air, the smell of incense wafting in waves towards him. “Braveson, to save the garden, I must kill the corruption before it spreads. Our Lady bade me to protect Her flock. And so, I shall.”

  There was no time to think. Anything he could do, could cast, would take time; time he was out of. Lapat raised his hands, ready for the burning end. But screams sounded out above him.

  Two bodies were plummeting down from the highest level of the temple. In a flash, the High Priestess turned her hands to them, and the white glow encompassed their forms like a bubble. Their rapid descent slammed to a sudden stop, inches from the ground. and Lapat heard them both retch in pain. A long rope and hook thudded to the ground between them.

  Lapat rushed forward, “Are you two, okay?”

  “Sister Verna?” The High Priestess gasped.

  The girl, wearing white robes, groaned. “Domina?”

  “Hells below,” the Hellkin boy hissed, trying to stand.

  Lapat reached to help them up, but a green light caught his sight. Between them was a ring, shivering in an emerald glow. “What in the manner of the arcane...?”

  It pulled at him.

  A magnetism drawing upon his cells, urging him closer. Its power called to him as familiar as an old friend. But it was different; a recipe changed, a melody out of tune.

  The ring was wrapped around a bleach white bone covered in markings; runes Lapat had never seen before.

  In a trance, he grabbed for it.

  The High Priestess screeched. But she was too late.

  The moment Lapat’s fingers brushed the ring; it slid from the bone that held it.

  An impossibly bright light flashed, engulfing everything.

  Blind, the world was all too dark and without shadow all at once.

  The explosion of light absorbed everything.

  Lapat had no time to think. He was at once present and then suddenly gone.