The Dragons of Nova (Loom Saga #2)(4)
Far on the horizon, at the highest peak, was the Temple of Lord Xin, the Deathbringer. It shot upward, like a sword spearing the land itself, in a single column: a pointed obelisk that both unified and severed earth and sky. Against the morning light, it was awash in ominous shadow.
Petra adjusted her grip on the boco. She feared no mortal man, but the gods were another matter. She would repent to the Death God in triplicate when this was over for using his temple in her fight against Yveun Dono. In the meantime, she could only hope Lord Xin turned his eternal gaze upon her fondly. Petra would believe that she was truly his chosen daughter, so if there were to be death dealt today, it would not be her or Cvareh’s.
With a chorus of flapping, the boco quartet landed on a nearly too-small ledge at the base of the temple. A yawning entrance, simple and unadorned, waited before them, cut and smoothed from the gray mountain stone. Petra dismounted alongside the others, silence their fifth companion.
She toed to the threshold of the entrance, the bright daylight cut in a sharp line of shadow. Petra closed her eyes and covered them with both palms, a sign of servitude and respect. One knew not what waited in eternity; the crossing happened only when one’s eyes closed for the final time.
Petra stepped into the temple.
Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim lighting. Not a single candle burned and the world beyond cast long shadows over the twenty sculptures that lined the long hall. Nineteen alternated placement on either side, visages of every other god and goddess in the pantheon. Lord Tam held out scales, Lord To cradled an open manuscript with the delicacy of a babe, Lady Che held her trumpet of truth to her lips—the statues stretched on and on, atop their ornate daises.
There was one variation to the statues found in Lord Xin’s temple: they all wore a large veil atop their faces. The shroud of death was settled upon every brow, including the sculpture at the very end of the Lord of Death himself. Lord Xin’s visage had been carved with such elegance that his layered robes seemed to move with ethereal grace, even in stone. His veil was stretched taught over unknown features, pulled by an invisible wind. He looked as though he could at any moment become flesh and steal the life from any of his divine brethren.
Some worshipers took note of the unorthodox party as they traversed the hall. They offered bows of their heads to the King, though Petra was certain the gestures were far less than the prostrations he was accustomed to on Lysip. But the King’s demeanor was unchanged. Yveun Dono was either humbled into muted silence in the presence of the Death bringer, or he was too upset for his magic to hold any further aggression.
Petra led them back behind the statue of Lord Xin and into a narrow stair. Darkness engulfed them, so thick that even her eyes couldn’t penetrate it. She slid her hand along the wall, recognizing every subtle shift of the craftsmen’s work. Her feet knew the exact spacing of every step, memorized over years of pilgrimage.
One of the Riders stumbled, the noise breaking silence’s purity. Petra withheld a snapping remark, not wanting to shame her Lord further by doing the same herself. Still, she bared her teeth at the blackness behind her.
It would be in her right as the Xin’Oji to kill any who shamed her House’s patron without need of a formal duel. Yveun Dono certainly knew this, and his measured steps were barely audible; even his breathing was hushed. Certainly, his magic sparked violently, but he kept his physical manner in close check. He would never make it that easy for her.
The weight of the stone grew suffocating as they continued to spiral upward. Silence stretched into infinity. Darkness tore at the mind, turning seconds into hours.
The Riders’ breathing became labored, and not from the strain of the stairs. Petra didn’t turn or offer them even a thought of pity. Yveun Dono kept pace and didn’t falter.
Slowly, the sound of wind whispered freshness to them. They took one more wide curve and arrived at the apex of the obelisk. A single oculus cut through the darkness like a triumphant banner. It offered the temptation of a world beyond, a lone portal and no more.
Upon the floor was a circular divot, recessed as if the light itself had worn away the stone in time. Cvareh was curled within it like a snake in an egg, taking up nearly all available space. He was as naked as the day he was born. His palms covered his face and his body was still. His barely moving shoulders betrayed that he was alive at all.
Petra crossed over to her brother. His months-long meditation had been pretense, but now that he was swaddled within the embrace of Lord Xin, she would observe convention—and not just for Yveun’s sake. She knelt down at the rim of the recessed area, covered her eyes with her palms and brought her forehead to the floor.
“End bringer.” Her hushed whisper sounded like a shout. “Your child beseeches you, return Cvareh to us. Return him in both body and soul with your infinite wisdom and eternal truth.”
Three breaths, and Cvareh stirred. His breathing quickened to a normal pace, his muscles rippling under his powder-fair skin. With painful slowness he rolled forward, his face still covered by his hands in a position that mirrored Petra’s. His back straightened, each vertebra clicking into place. His head tilted back, and he finally pulled away his palms, blinking into the light.
She sat in tandem, opening her eyes as well. The relief that flooded Petra didn’t need to be faked. It surged through her at the sight of her brother, powerful and whole. The Lord of Death had not taken his soul yet from her side, not down upon Loom, not now as punishment for using his temple in her maneuvering against Yveun Dono. He rose again, and again, stronger than ever.