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

and fought to stay conscious. She couldn’t afford to faint.
    The Incarnate’s breathing intensified, changed rhythm, and He growled again, louder, as He bent forward. His transformed “hand” came up to rake His talons along Narda’s bared body.
    The priestess, who had closed her eyes as though she could not bear to see what was happening, opened them. Her mouth opened, and Thia’s throat ached in sympathy. Narda was trying to scream, but like one caught in a nightmare, she could not force any sound to emerge. Narda began to thrash and struggle as the Incarnate fell on her, between her parted thighs.
    Thia saw His body plunge downward, and finally Narda’s scream burst free and rang in the air, rising even above the sounds of the chanting. For a moment Thia wondered if the Incarnate was going to devour the young woman, then she blinked in horrified realization. The novice had been only six when she’d left the farm, but farm children grew up quickly, and no effort had been made to keep her away from the sight of the animals mating.
    Mating …
    Thia gagged, choked, and time seemed to slip sideways, away from her. She did not—quite—lose consciousness.
    Some shred of self-preservation made her cling to a thread of reality. She returned to full awareness to find herself lying with her cheek pressed against the floor, her eyes tightly shut. She had to force herself to open them.
    The novice pushed herself upward and managed to crawl a few feet farther along the gallery, forcing herself not to look. She could not shut out the sounds, however, the wet, gurgling noises, the sucking sounds. There was no further sound from Narda.
    How could Boq’urak’s High Ones lend themselves to such a rite? How could they let themselves be used in that fashion? Had her own Mentor, Master Varn, let that happen to him?
    The thought of her esteemed teacher lending his body to be used in that obscene manner made her reel sideways, until she fetched up against the stone parapet again.
    If you faint, they’ll find you. You’ll be punished. The same thing might happen to you. You have to get away. Away from the temple, away from Verang, away from Amaran. Get away, away, away, away from that thing!
    That thing, the Incarnate … Had it discovered her? She couldn’t stop herself from looking down, through another hole in the stonework.
    The chanting was now at its height. Plumes of reddish smoke filled the air, curdling and thickening as they wrapped tendrils around the body of the now fully transformed priest. He was enormous—the body of the god
    nearly eclipsed the black stone altar. With a last, obscene plunge of His torso, He stiffened, then a shudder rippled through the giant frame. The tail lashed like an angry cat’s.
    Boq’urak reared back, straightening, and Thia could see Narda’s body. Her throat was a bloody ruin, and huge puck-ered circles oozed red along her sides. Her parted thighs were scarlet.
    The god raised His head, and for the first time Thia saw the countenance of the being she had been trained to worship above all.
    Boq’urak’s face was wide, with a frill of flesh where the priest’s brows had been, extending across His face to shield slits that had replaced His ears. The god had eyes, two huge, staring, lidless eyes that seemed to see everything. No nose. A sucker appendage with a single tooth served as the creature’s mouth. The facial skin was lighter than the body, a pale gray.
    Thia stared into those eyes, and knew that Boq’urak saw her. Saw her, and knew her for who she was.
    She was dead, and she knew it, but her body refused to believe. With a gasp, the novice scuttled through the doorway and, scrambling to her feet, ran like a hunted animal.
    Her mind was whirling, and she barely retained sense enough to check the doorposts for the secret signs. Her flying feet carried her up steps, down tunnels, up more stairs.
    She turned the corner into the hallway leading out of the ziggurat, breath sobbing,