Verge of Darkness

  *******

   

  Durmast and Banous could hear a loud banging on the temple’s sturdy oak double doors as they picked their way through the bodies wrapped in sleeping rolls and blankets on the floor of the great hall. Some were sitting up and others standing, eyes fearful at the prospect more demons were at the door.

  The banging grew more insistent and it seemed the doors would be torn off their hinges at any moment. “Open the doors, Sutr damn your eyes, or I’ll take my axe to it,” came a voice, muffled by the thick timbers.

  Most of the people were on their feet, their eyes hopeful, as Banous lifted the restraining bar and worked the locking bolts free.

  A ragged cheer rang out as Moon stepped in followed by Casca. The cheers grew louder as Casca announced that the demons had been vanquished, and people crowded excitedly around him and Moon, slapping them on the back.

  Casca finally managed to extricate himself and Durmast came up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You have done well Casca, and the city owes you a debt it can never repay.” He glanced at Moon, then back at Casca. “Where is the black man…and the others?”

  “The black man’s name is Pagan, Father. He, Liang, and the High Priestess have gone to the demon home world to ensure the Gualich never threaten us again,” Casca told the priest. He shrugged away the man’s hand and moved toward the door. “I don’t think they’ll return.”

  “Gone to the demon home world?” Father Durmast repeated. “You mean…”

  “Yes Father, they were strangers, and they’ve given their lives for us.” His eyes were moist as he and Moon walked from the temple.

   

   

  Epilogue

   

   

  Astianna had found it surprisingly easy assuming the role of temporary High Priestess in Elphemina's absence. She found the various duties a joy, and particularly enjoyed working with the young initiates, but she fervently wished for Elphemina to return to assume her old duties.

  The older woman had been like a sister to her ever since she had been brought to the temple. Two of the priestesses had found her clinging to a piece of driftwood on the shore of the island, burnt and blistered by the hot sun, and near-dead.

  The fifteen-year-old waif who had eked out a miserable existence on the streets of Paros, had stowed away on a ship, hoping big cities like Petralis, or the magical kingdom of Chenghuan she had heard tales of, would offer her a better life.

  Asleep one night safely hidden in the cargo bay – stowaways were usually unceremoniously thrown overboard, though this might have been merciful for a young girl aboard a ship full of men – she had had an unusual dream.

  Hovering in the sky, she saw herself clinging to a piece of timber in the sea. Then she heard a voice warning her this wasn't a dream but a portent of what was to come. Woken by the ship being tossed about in a storm, she clung desperately to the edge of a wooden pallet laden with tied-down goods. Then all went dark when a falling box caught her a glancing blow on the head.

  When she regained consciousness, she had found herself floating in the sea, her thin arms, miraculously trapped between the slats of the now empty pallet.

  At first, she had thought mere providence had swept her to the shores of Kandros. And she had been highly suspicious of the High Priestess's interest in her, for she knew from painful experience that perceived kindness often hid questionable or...perverted motives. But in time she came to realize she was wrong on both counts.

  Her life in the Temple of Mithros had been fulfilling beyond belief. No one shouted at her, was cruel, or beat her, and the temple was mercifully free of lecherous men with their grasping hands and lustful glances.

  Life was strict and structured, and there were duties aplenty, but she learnt so many skills, and her eyes were opened to many wonders. Her talents grew. She learnt how to loosen the bonds tying her spirit to her body enabling her to walk the paths of shadow and trace the threads of possible futures. She learnt how to heal using the power of her mind, and on a more mundane level, how to use weapons of cold steel, and those forged by the light of Mithros, the Sun god.

  She had been surprised when Elphemina, the High Priestess, took her under her wing. True, they shared the same oddly-coloured eyes, but surely it had to be more than that? In time, she learnt that indeed, her golden eyes marked her as destined for something extraordinary.

  Sitting on a raised dais before the young initiates who sat legs folded beneath them on the mosaicked floor, Astianna smiled as she listened to their excited mind-chatter, as their spirits soared over their bodies. Then, she suddenly cried out and fell backward, as a kaleidoscope of thoughts and images flooded her mind.

  Righting herself a short moment later, tears flowed down her cheeks. The memories of all the High Priestesses that had come before her, were now hers. Elphemina, the former High Priestess and envoy of the old ways of Mithros had passed on to the next level of existence.