Storms of Destiny by A. C. Crispin Read Free Book Online

water rushed through the chamber, cold and dark as the mountains in winter. The chill of the black water reached the novice even in her high perch. Great stone icicles hung from the ceiling and thrust upward from the floor, glistening in the light of dozens of torches.
    Beside the rushing river stood a huddled group of children, a full score of them, ranging in age from perhaps ten to a few that could barely toddle. All were dressed in the white flowing robes of Boq’urak’s Chosen.
    Thia made a low sound in her throat, even as her hands went up to cover her mouth. Children? Babies ? Dressed for the sacrifice? By all that was sacred—no!
    But there they were. Most of them were crying, and the ten High Priests moved among them with alabaster bowls, carefully collecting their tears, encouraging them with pokes and frowns to cry harder. One youngster, a lad of perhaps nine who stood scornfully tearless, suddenly broke and ran for the entrance, but was roughly dragged back. He began to weep, and the High Ones scurried to catch his tears, as though they were to be treasured above all.
    Thia had lived with sacrifice as a daily part of her life since she had first come to Verang. She’d been taught to think of the Chosen as fortunate, because as soon as they died, they would be with Boq’urak in the Paradise Beyond the Sun. It helped that the Chosen were usually enemies of Amaran, either outlaws, captives, or enemies of the state.
    They were not innocent, they were being given a wonderful opportunity to redeem themselves and to enter Paradise.
    But to sacrifice children? Innocent children? It was unthinkable! How could Boq’urak demand this? How could anyone do this?
    Now she knew why the Hidden Rites were shrouded in such secrecy, concealed in the bowels of the mountain. It was only because of Master Varn’s illicit teachings that she’d learned the codes that had allowed her to ferret out the tunnels leading to this place. He’d warned her against going down to the lowest tunnels, and now she knew why.
    The chamber contained a huge obsidian altar-stone, a solid square block of blackness that seemed to draw the light of the torches as it lay gleaming and ready.
    Ready for what?
    Not for the children, it seemed. Thia tried to make herself crawl on, away from what she knew must be coming, but she was frozen with horror. She tried to close her eyes as the
    High Priest, in his scarlet robe, raised a stone knife to the first little one’s throat. But she could not look away.
    A quick slash, a hideous, gurgling moan, and the little girl collapsed, twitching, her white robe spattered with scarlet even more vivid than the High Priest’s robe. Carefully, the High Ones collected a generous dollop of blood, then poured it into the rushing river, chanting loudly all the while.
    The remaining children screamed and wailed, and a few of them struggled to break past the line of priests, but to no avail.
    Quickly, one by one, each child was sacrificed. They saved the boy who had tried to escape until last. The child kicked and shrieked, bit and fought like a wild snow-cat from the heights, but they held him hand and foot and head, and the knife moved, slicing slowly through his pulsing throat until finally he was still.
    Thia bit down on her finger until her own blood flowed sickly sweet into her mouth, making her chapped lips sting as she fought not to be noisily sick.
    All thought of dinner and why she had come down here had vanished. The novice knew she was doomed. Boq’urak saw everything, was All-Powerful. Surely He could see her now. Surely any moment a blast from the heavens would strike her, reducing her to a charred heap of flesh and blackened bone. But that would be better than living with what she had learned, Thia thought, blindly wiping away tears.
    The children, the children … those poor little ones …
    But the expected smiting did not come. Thia watched dully as one of the High Ones made a summoning gesture, and two