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46 THARAN

Branches scratched Tharan’s face as he followed Lucius deeper and deeper into the Court of Screams. The sound of pounding drums echoed through the silent forest, matching pace with his heartbeat. An ominous tension pulled taut in the air.

A light rain began to fall drip , drip , drip until it was a steady stream, soaking them.

“Keep up! Not much farther!” Lucius called over the sound of the rain hitting their armor. Their breath turned to mist in the cold spring air as their feet avoided mangled roots marring their path.

They’d been walking for hours and still not seen another soul, but now the drums pounded heavy, reverberating in Tharan’s chest.

Lucius ducked low just as something flashed before them.

“What was that?” Roderick whispered.

“Ancient creatures lurk in these woods. Follow the path and they will not bother us.”

Tharan swallowed past his thickening throat.

They moved swiftly and silently through the ominous woods toward the sound of the drums. The flicker of a massive fire painted the night sky with oranges and reds. The smell of burning wood and an incense Tharan couldn’t quite place wafted through the forest.

“What is that smell?” Tharan whispered.

“It’s part of their ritual. What you smell is what happens when a fresh heart is burned.”

“Trinity…” Tharan’s mouth went dry. “What are we walking into?”

“Nothing you’ve likely seen before.” Lucius ducked low and Tharan noticed they were standing in front of an ancient stone structure. “This way,” Lucius said, ushering them through a crack in the wall.

Tharan climbed in and the others followed behind him.

Through cobwebs and dust, he crawled toward the flickering light of the fire. With each step he took, his heart beat faster. The drums grew louder and the sound of voices chanting in unison echoed through the ancient structure.

They exited onto a balcony overlooking a massive fire. People danced around the flame chanting something Tharan couldn’t quite make out.

They were in what appeared to be the remnants of an ancient temple, but time and the elements had worn away at its once-pristine marble and granite leaving only the bones of something sacred.

Tharan’s eyes fell to the carving around the fire, ancient runes of a language long since dead, stained with what he could only assume was blood. Tharan’s eyes flitted to where six bodies were strewn up on poles. Naked and covered in blood, he gasped when he discovered half of their chests had gaping holes where their hearts had once been.

“Amolie, don’t look,” Tharan warned, but it was too late. Her hazel eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. Roderick put his arms around her, pulling her close.

A tall, sylph man wearing black robes stood at the center of the circle. Tattoos wrapped themselves up his exposed hands. Atop his head he wore the skull of a bull, disguising his face.

“That’s their leader, Cyrus,” Lucius whispered to Tharan. “They call him the Blood Shepard. It’s an honor to be one of the chosen to have your heart cut out and sacrificed to the ancient flame.”

Cyrus walked around, holding a heart in his hand. Blood dripped down his forearm onto the white granite, pooling in the carved stone.

Beyond him people stood together, hands linked, heads to the heavens.

“My friends, we honor these six souls who have graciously given their lives to honor Algea. They put their bodies through rigorous torture so that they may be closer to her. Tonight, we honor them by giving their hearts.”

Tharan noticed their gaunt faces barely resembled the muscular sylph they used to be. No, these creatures had become a part of the forest. With their pale white skin and dark eyes, it had been a long time since they’d been creatures of the blood.

The crowd cheered and chanted. “Blood for blood. Blood for blood.”

Cyrus held the heart high in the air, squeezing it so that blood shot from the ventricles. The crowd’s chanting grew louder.

“Blood for blood. Blood for blood.”

Cyrus tossed the heart into the fire and the flame turned bloodred. A sulfuric and sweet aroma wafted through the air.

“We should go,” Lucius said. “It will do us no good to linger. I know a cave we can camp out in for the night and decide what to do in the morning.”

As they turned to leave, a flash of white caught Tharan’s eye and he turned to see the crowd parting for none other than Erissa.

Cyrus bowed and the crowd silenced.

“Mistress Erissa, to what do we owe this visit?”

The crowd kneeled in front of the ancient mage.

“I am sorry to interrupt your ceremony, but I have a task for you.”

Whispers ripped through the crowd.

“For many years I have come here with messages from beyond. I was the one who knew Cyrus was the living embodiment of Algea. And now I have another task for you.”

Hushed questions abounded.

“Tomorrow we will go on a hunt. But not for lamb or boar, but for something much more sacred. Three originals lurk in these woods. We will find them and bring them here where I will perform the sacred ritual that will open the vaults to the Well of Power below. You will be given back the magic that was taken from you long ago.”

The crowd cheered, raising their fists in the air.

Lucius and Tharan exchanged knowing glances. Tharan’s stomach hardened. They would hunt them down. Lucius had been right—Erissa had her claws in more than just Gideon. She was sowing seeds all over the continent. He let out a long breath, hoping no one would see the vapor. If she was hunting for three originals, then she didn’t have Aelia anymore. His heart lightened a bit, and he prayed to Illya Aelia would not come looking for him here, though he knew she would. She was hardheaded and her thirst for revenge would not be quenched easily.

“If she’s here, where are Caiden and Aelia?” Lucius whispered.

“They must be here somewhere. We must go now. We have to find them before she does.” A primal urge rushed through Tharan’s veins. He was so close to saving Aelia. So close to finding the Well. If they could just survive long enough.