Page 39 of Bewitched

“It is written in Murian, Medea. I know you are not versed in our written language—that is why I’m telling you. The other two temples are for Hapsren, the goddess of the home, and Cnoir, the goddess of love.”

“Murian? But you speak like I do. I don’t understand why this is different.”

“Yes, we speak the same, but this is the way our written language looks.”

“Oh. Interesting,” she said, perusing one of the goddess statues and then the other. “Power, home, and love. These are all things I like. Hmmm. Mayhap I should try the temple of love first. Nay, I think I’ll stick with power. I’m sure that is where I’ll find the crystal key.”

“But Medea, this is the temple of Zoroct, the most powerful of the gods.”

“I know that. You already told me.” She was becoming impatient, and just wanted to go inside and look around.

“You can’t go in there.”

“Why not?” she asked. “I’m powerful, too. I don’t see a problem with it.”

“True, you have powers, Medea, but this is different. Besides, you heard what the elf said. You are going to have to make an offering or sacrifice of some kind to the god in order to be granted entry.”

“That’s silly. No one can keep me from going inside. I’ll just pop in, get the crystal, and pop back out again. It’ll be easy.” She waved her arms and disappeared, leaving Rhys standing there, feeling as if something horrible was about to happen.

“Zoroct’s eyes, don’t tell me she transported inside, Brother.” Darium ran up, followed by Zann. The women were right behind them.

“She did,” said Rhys, feeling as if Medea was doomed. “I tried to stop her, but she just wouldn’t listen.”

“The girl can’t go in without first giving an offering,” explained Alaina. “If she doesn’t, the gods will just take something from her in return.”

“Stay here. I’m going after her,” said Rhys, starting across the bridge. He got to the door, and heard a sound from above. He looked up to see what looked like an old wizard. He was standing on a small balcony that protruded from the pyramid.

“I am the guardian of the temple of Zoroct,” said the old man who looked more like a spirit than a physical being. “What offering will you give to the god of power? Tell me, and I will let you know if he grants you entry.”

“I—I don’t know what to offer. What does he want?” asked Rhys, hoping he did everything correctly. The last thing he needed was an angry god.

“Zoroct likes power,” came the old man’s crackly voice.

“Power,” he said, pondering the word. “Well, I have super strength that I was born with, but I really can’t give it up,” he told the old man. “I need it. You see, I’m a knight. Is there something else I can offer instead?”

The old man looked over the balcony, stretching his neck. “I suppose Zoroct has all the strength he needs. What about that ring on your finger?”

“This?” Rhys held up his hand with a gold ring embedded with a ruby in the center. King Osric had given it to him last year when he had earned the title of head knight.

“Yep. That’ll do. Throw it up to me,” said the man, holding out his hands.

Rhys removed the ring. “Are you sure you’re going to give this to Zoroct?” he asked suspiciously, having a feeling the guardian was going to keep it for himself.

“Don’t you trust me?” When the man said that, Rhys figured this was all some sort of test. He didn’t question it further. Instead, he tossed the ring up to the old man. The man caught it, shimmering brightly. “Wait here,” he said, and then dissipated into a cloud of smoke.

Rhys waited as instructed, but after several minutes with nothing happening, he wondered if he’d been made a fool of by some trickster or thief. He was about to enter the pyramid anyway, but after one step, he stopped in midmotion.

“You may come into my pyramid to worship,” boomed the mighty voice of Zoroct from the clouds, as he gave Rhys permission to enter. The bridge shook beneath his feet as the god spoke from The Haven. Rhys let out a breath of relief, thinking that he was about to be struck down dead instead.

“Thank you, mighty and powerful god, Zoroct,” he answered, looking up to the dark sky, not seeing a thing. Still, he thought he needed to be grateful and polite.

“However,” the booming voice continued. “The witch will pay for not bringing me an offering.”

“That girl is not from here, my god, Zoroct,” said Rhys, still looking up at the sky, feeling a little foolish speaking to the air. “She doesn’t understand. Please, can you forgive her?”

“She’s a stranger to Mura and yet she sneaks into my temple? That is one of the worst offenses ever.” The bridge shook again and this time Zoroct’s voice was filled with anger.

“Uh oh,” mumbled Rhys. Once again, Rhys said the wrong thing and now he was sure there was going to be trouble. Medea was in great danger.