The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith) (2 page)

With the tips of his fingers tingling from the power that flowed through his hand and into the rock, Terin fought back against the power interfering with his master’s work. One by one, his fingers went numb, and the stab of a thousand needles crept up his arm.

A pebble bounced from the edge, its clatter lost among the cheers of the Citizens and the cacophony in his ears. The cry swelled to a shriek, and the Speaker’s influence shattered.

The cliff groaned, and the stone beneath Terin trembled. Mortar flaked away, and a web of cracks raced upward. White chunks tumbled and bounced off the cliff face, plummeting to the ground hundreds of feet below.

Terin pressed closer to the granite and clung to it. The plateau rocked beneath him, and before he could grab his sword, it bounced over the edge. With a thunderous roar, the wall and a chunk of the cliff collapsed around him.

In the glow of the dancing lights, Terin caught a final glimpse of God’s roses before they were pulled down to the city below in an explosion of dust and stone.

~*~

Under the cover of dust and darkness, Terin jumped down from his perch. His legs crumpled beneath him. Staggering to his feet, he hurried toward the columned manor. The ground lurched beneath him as it shifted in the aftermath of the collapse.

If the dancing lights remained, they didn’t penetrate the gray cloud settling over the gardens. Terin choked on the dust and clapped his hand over his mouth, but it didn’t spare him from the burn in his throat and lungs. The ache intensified with his every breath. Hurrying to the veranda, he slipped behind one of the pillars supporting the stone overhang. As the rumble of the landslide faded, the Citizens’ screams grew louder.

Several figures burst through the double doors leading into the manor. They ran past the twin statues supporting the second story balconies. Terin caught a glimpse of a mosaic portraying white and red roses before the dust billowed in and obscured the foyer.

Under the cover of the clouds of dust, Terin dove through the door. Another pair of statues stood guard within. The billowing robes of a sword-bearing woman offered him shelter from those rushing through the cloud to the outdoors.

Terin waited until the dust shrouded everything—and everyone—in white before making his move. When the foyer emptied of the stream of those headed outside, he emerged from his hiding place, ducked his head low, and shuffled down the hall.

With his heart pounding in his ears, Terin glanced through his dust-coated hair for something to offer him a clue to the whereabouts of the papers his master desired. It took all of his will not to look up at those who did pass him by, his collar warning him whenever his eyes lifted from the ground.

There were a lot of things slaves weren’t supposed to do, but the collar’s insistence wasn’t enough to stifle the temptation to look. Too often his master desired more than asked, and if Terin didn’t anticipate those wants, his reward would—yet again—be the lash.

If Terin failed beyond what his master viewed as tolerable, he’d face the Arena again. A shudder ripped through him with the same intensity of the cliff’s collapse.

He wouldn’t find death there. Others would, however, and he’d be powerless to stop it. Terin shuddered again, and focused his attention on the job at hand. If he got caught, not only would the arena await him, his master would be watching and waiting to reclaim him. There were things worse than death, and his master wouldn’t hesitate to find a worse punishment for him.

The shiver started at Terin’s toes worked its way up his spine.

“You!” The heavy step of a boot on stone approached from behind. Terin whirled and struggled to keep his head lowered. “What are you doing here? This is off-limits to slaves.”

A hand struck out at his face, a blur in his peripheral vision. Terin twisted away from the blow; the tips of the man’s fingers brushed against his cheek instead of catching him full in the face.

The instinct to strike back and remove the threat burned in Terin’s chest. His foot slid back and he adjusted his weight.

The collar sent a jab of pain through his throat, cutting off his breath. Terin balled his hand into a fist and danced back out of the Citizen’s reach. Through his bangs, he risked glancing up.

The Citizen, covered in pale dust, closed the distance between them. A finger caught Terin under the chin, lifting his head up. “We’ve no slaves with green eyes. Who are you? Who is your master? What are your orders?”

Terin clamped his mouth shut. When he didn’t answer, the collar burned his neck. The slap struck his left ear and snapped his head to the side. He scrambled back, ducked beneath the snatching hands of the Citizen, and sprinted down the hall, his breath burning in his throat and lungs.

The slap of running feet followed him. Terin slipped by someone emerging from a room. A lantern cast light and shadows down the hall. Shouts rang out for him to stop. When Terin didn’t obey, orders for his capture echoed in the corridor.

The hallway branched into four different wings. Terin skidded around the corner and collided with someone. His face slammed into a broad chest and he bounced back, the breath rushing out of his lungs. A cloud of dust choked him from the impact. Terin didn’t remember snatching for the man’s clothes as he fell, but they hit the floor together. Terin kicked up and out with his right foot. His ankle throbbed from the impact of his foot against the man’s chest, and the Citizen let out a startled cry.

With his muscles straining, Terin threw the pale-haired man over his head. The Citizen hit the ground with a thud. Rolling to his feet, Terin scrambled for the end of the hall. The doors lining the way were closed, and a great window fashioned of many square panes of thin strips of iron stretched from the floor to the ceiling.

Without slowing, he twisted around and crashed through it. The window shattered, and shards of glass and metal bit at his shoulder. The ground he expected on the other side wasn’t there.

Terin fell.

~*~

Invisible hands jerked Terin to a halt, leaving him to dangle upside down staring at the lights of Lower Erelith City far below. The Speech holding him place stabbed at his ears and thundered through his skull. With each breath, the grip tightened until he couldn’t even manage a wheeze.

“Bring him up,” a man’s voice called from above.

“Is it really worth the effort?” a woman asked. Someone snickered. “Let him fall. No one will care.”

Laughter rang out. Voice light with amusement, a man replied, “Are you going to be the one to retrieve the collar, then, mistress? That’s a gold collar he wears. I won’t be at fault if he dies in the Arena for his crimes.”

“I’m sure its owner will understand,” the woman grumbled. “I can always send down one of my slaves if needed.”

Terin struggled to draw a breath to Speak and free himself—even if it meant plummeting the hundreds of feet to the ground below. Not even the flash of heat from the collar quelled his desperation as his lungs ached with the need for air. His vision dimmed until the lights below were nothing more than faint specks in the darkness.

His right hand tingled and a chill spread up his arm. The Speech holding him shattered and he gasped in a gulp of cool night air. He didn’t drop far before several hands grabbed ahold of his legs.

Instead of falling to Lower Erelith City, Terin’s face slammed into the cliff. Stones pierced his cheek, gouged at his stomach, and scraped his arms and knees. The little air he’d managed to gasp in rushed out of his lungs.

“He broke my window. The Arena is too good for him,” the woman said with a sniff.

Terin was dragged through the broken window, the shards of glass tearing through his side and arms. The heat of his own blood didn’t compare with the surge of pain radiating from his throat.

The collar knew; it knew he’d failed, and punished him for it.

He was thrown down to the hall’s polished stone and a boot cracked against his ribs. “Who is your master?”

Terin bit his lip. The answer was on the tip of his tongue, and he swallowed back the need to obey the Citizen. It didn’t matter what Terin said; if he bowed to the Citizen’s will, the collar would punish him for defying his master, like it punished him for his failure to escape without getting caught.

“Check his collar,” the man growled.

It wouldn’t do them any good, but Terin didn’t say anything. He suffered through the fingers digging at his neck and the collar in silence. Nails tore his skin in the effort to get beneath the ring around his throat.

A man Spoke in a whisper. Terin tried to blink away the darkness, but he could barely make out the tiles of the hallway floor, and they were shrouded in gray.

“It isn’t marked, sir.”

“What do you mean? All collars are marked,” the woman said.

“I’d turn him over to the military right away, sir. Only a few are allowed by the Emperor to have unmarked collars, and if he’s one of the Emperor’s slaves, it’ll be our heads if we don’t return him,” the Speaker replied.

“Just my luck. Summon the guards, then. If he is the Emperor’s slave, he can be retrieved from the Arena.”

The boot cracked against Terin’s rib again, and the pain of it robbed him of breath.

The Words for sleep were murmured in his ear. Before Terin could mutter the counter, his will crumbled and he descended into the depths of unconsciousness.

With luck, he’d never awaken.

~*~

Blaise leaned against one of the cathedral’s many columns and fought the urge to sigh. The man skulking in the garden darted from the sculpted hedge to the rose-covered fountain. The figure paused at the statue’s feet to drink.

If the early summer evening was a bit warmer, Blaise might’ve enjoyed the hunt. His prey crossed to the cathedral’s promenade designed to let worshipers admire the church’s two-storied stained glass windows.

One by one, the lanterns within flickered to life. The windows shed colored light on the pale stones until ghostly roses decorated the walkway.

Without lowering his head in prayer, his prey trod over the roses, the light illuminating the man’s dark doublet. Blaise narrowed his eyes. There was no evidence his prey wore a slave collar.

It’d been at least three or four years since a Citizen dared to infiltrate the cathedral instead of sacrificing a slave.

Blaise sniffed. The scent of fear hung in the air, growing stronger when his quarry hurried by where Blaise hid. Savoring the metallic taste teasing his tongue, he shoved away from the column and followed. The hem of Blaise’s frock coat swept out behind him, the white fabric bright in the moonlight. Lifting his gloved hand to adjust the collar hugging his throat, he undid the top button and slipped a finger between the material and his skin to loosen it.

The red of blood clung to him when he passed through the window’s portrayal of God’s roses. Blaise’s lip curled upward. Blood and fear. Both scents taunted him, rousing the instincts that refused to die away despite over a thousand years of living among humans.

Humans who, despite the insistence of Blaise’s tongue and stomach, were not food. He didn’t dare prey on them yet, not while he wore their form and hid among them, and certainly not without His permission.

Not until a human sinned beyond redemption, their soul too tattered and worn to return to God’s garden. Blaise almost wished the fool would turn and notice him.

If the man ran, Blaise would have an excuse to hunt. If the man got away—just for a little while—Blaise would have the excuse he needed to let loose and stretch his wings, which were trapped beneath the veneer of thin, flimsy human skin. Frustration erased the sweetness on his tongue and replaced it with a strong, bitter flavor.

His prey didn’t turn and run. To Blaise’s annoyance, the man didn’t even hurry in his prowling around the cathedral, adopting the stride of someone who belonged there, of someone who admired the art of the windows. The only indicator that the figure didn’t belong there at all was the infrequent pauses to stare into the shadows of the veranda in search of a way into the towering monstrosity of a cathedral dominating the Church Ward.

The temptation to reveal himself and show the fool the way into the building rose, and Blaise forced it back. He smothered his impatience by drawing a deep breath.

The scents of fear, blood, and excitement taunted him. The taste of it roused Blaise’s appetite; he licked at his lips and his stomach rumbled.

A worshipper seeking God’s compassion or the soothing words of a bishop felt such things. The intensity of it, however, was unusual and roused Blaise's hunger.

That left one other option: The man sought the Heart of God, and thought so low of the Erelith Church of God to believe he could acquire what the Emperor and all of his power could not.

Until Blaise had proof, he couldn’t lift his hand to strike. A sigh escaped him, and he followed the unbeliever.

~*~

Blaise whispered God’s Word and enticed the side door to obey his will. The metal and wood resisted for a moment, but the click of it unlocking carried to where he stood behind the stone framing one of the windows.

The Citizen twisted the vine-engraved knob with no sign of having heard the sound. With a soft, triumphant cry, his prey pushed through the door and vanished inside. Blaise counted to thirty before following.

Giving the man a head start made things a little more interesting.

An empty hallway greeted Blaise, the silence adding to the heavy weight of antiquity to the church. Lanterns hung from chains far overhead, illuminating the stone floors polished smooth with age. Rose mosaics lined each side of the hall.

Blaise breathed deep and followed his nose. The scent of fear was all but gone, replaced by the richer aroma of anticipation and excitement. It led him around the central sanctuary toward the inner cloister.

Toward Alphege, who carried the Heart of God. Blaise’s awareness of the relic manifested as a tingle in his lower spine when he concentrated on it. Its voice was similar to someone still lost in sleep; mumbles without words or true feelings.