Chapter one
Ashara
The Owl
All the fountains of the great deep sputtered forth, and the windows of the beyond were opened. And the veins leaked uponthe earth for one hundred cycles.-7:11–12 - Book of the Dendralis
“In the first year of Thromarra’s dawn, three hundred cycles ago, tides of blood rose from the deep.
The blood plagues.
His fountains sputtered forth, and the windows of the beyond were opened.
And the veins leaked upon the earth for one hundred cycles.
Our Father, as punishment for our wickedness, greed, and ambition, had unleashed His almighty penance upon the lands we call home.
Ferrovia, upon Garnet Mountain’s easterly ledge, was the first to drown.
From holes and cracks in the ground, His crimson flood bubbled and pooled, turning all those in its mighty wake to stone—bloodstone.”
Unbeknownst to him, Druid Capriche had been befouled by an owl. Roosted in the chappellum’s beams, it peered down at him, appearing to admire its fine work. A wet smear marked his shoulder, streaking his pauldrons and robes in green-brown and white. I pressed my lips together, swallowing a smile, intent on examining the straw at my feet. If my gaze found Demetri’s, it would be our undoing. It was hard to take the sermon seriously when he was dripping in bird shit, but laughter in the chappellum was no small sin. Should the acolytes detect even the tiniest snigger…well, I was unsure of the penance but hadn’t the nerve to find out.
“The First to be swallowed by the blood plagues was a child.”
The parable of the First was told every phase; with each new moon came the reminder of why Thromarra still endured to see another. Leaving the safety of straw, I returned my gaze to Capriche, making sure to avoid his shoulders. Instead, Itraced the spire of iron melded to his helm; it twisted upwards, absurdly long, pointing to the beyond.
Can he joust with that thing? Demetri had asked me a phase or two past. Threading my hands, I returned to examine my lap, begging my lips to heed caution whilst Capriche droned on…and on, and on.
“The child we ordained as the First. She was the first, but not the last, to be turned unto stone. Our Lord is unprejudiced in matters of flesh. Mankind had fallen so low that none were spared the heights of His wrath, even the babes.”The babes like Adelaide. The promise of a smile wilted to nothing, slain by the frost of her absence.
I eyed Demetri across the pews, checking to see if he had indeed nodded off—Capriche’s monotonous drawl enough to tempt even the most devout to shutter their eyes. My gaze was drawn instead to the narrow sliver of bench beside him. A thigh-width of unoccupied oak that may as well have been a valley, such was the depth of her absence. His arm was draped across its back as it always was, as though unaware Adelaide’s brambled curls no longer existed beneath it. Someone squeezed my hand, and I fixed my stare forwards, my mother’s eyes burning holes into my cheek.
“‘Behold!’ proclaimed the Blood God, ‘that I, Father to all, bring the plague of bloods upon ye, to destroy all flesh for your transgressions and sins. You have cast me aside. You have betrayed me, my children. And now, everything that lives, grows, and dies, shall perish in the blood that was owed.’”
A faint trickling drew my attention left. A lad, no older than nine or ten winters, shuffled in the pew, face puce like beetroot. The sweet musk of urine rose from the straw, a dark patch spreading at his crotch.By the pits. It was hardly a choice, humiliation or pain, but the Dendralis forced our hands, nonetheless. Every Seventh Day, chappellum was mandatory.Once the doors of judgement were sealed, no one from the enclave was permitted to leave, not even for the latrine. It was either mess yourself in the pews or face the acolyte’s belt. Now, I chose to fast on the morn of sermons, having learnt my lesson both ways. By next phase, the lad would do the same.
“The First welcomed her death, her offering. It was a privilege to be chosen as the first to render her due.”
Had Adelaide thought the same? Had she been grateful to deliver her render before the seed of womanhood could take root? Was it a blessing to remain a child eternal?
“And thus, His great, bloody tides rose higher. Taller than mountains, broader than valleys. After the First, it swelled to a monstrous wave, crashing down over the mountain to the towns and cities beyond.”
Every Thromarrian knew what happened next. We were not permitted to forget.
“Thromarra ran red.”
Capriche’s large hands elevated towards the stained rose window above him, framing the pulpit. It bathed the light stone of the chappellum in crimson, each fragment of glass tinted red. The tips of his fingers caught the light, as if dipped in fresh blood.
“Fathers, brothers, sisters, and mothers turned to stone with His blood-stained touch. Though most relics were lost to the passage of time, the First endured. Her eternal resting place now atop our Grand Templum. May She serve as a reminder to all those who forget: Blood Demands Blood.”
“Blood Demands Blood,”we echoed.
The owl fluffed its wings, spooked by the noise.
My mother reached for my hand, threading it with her own. Her thumb, grooved and scarred from needles and pins, rubbed small circles atop it. Relaxing into her side, I let Druid Capriche lull me into a perverse sort of calm.Death. Offering. Sacrifice…Always the same message, though the parables changed. Our lives were the cost for the Blood God’s mercy, all of us chained by the threat of His wrath.
“For many cycles, the tides raged and raged. The kingdom of old crumbled; rulers fled, stone or dead. Thromarra was bleeding, and the plagues would not ebb.”
