Maiya looked at her blood-soaked hands, having just spread the innards of a dead Ash Beast around the Childrens’ temple.
I hate my life.
Who was it that said with power comes happiness? Whoever it was, Maiya wanted to wring their neck.
Yes, Maiya’s bank account in Sonam had ballooned to a dozen serics. She’d been offered a place of her own—something of a small mansion—within Sonam’s Royal Quarter, complete with a staff full of maids and butlers of her own. It even had a sweeping view of the vast city.
Or so she heard; she’d never had the chance to see it.
What good was wealth and power if she couldn’t even enjoy it?
After Bahurai, everyone returned to the Childrens’ compound under Jatan Forest, just a stone’s throw from Sonam. So close, and yet, she couldn’t have been any farther. Maiya hadn’t had a single spare moment to slip away and return to the city.
The princess wanted to meet immediately, but Maiya’s new ‘Blessed Chosen’ duties took priority. Maiya had to make preparations well in advance, informing a half dozen Rectors and even a few Vicars—the highest level priests. Even then, the Children insisted she be accompanied by a guard. She’d agreed, only because she was planning to give them the slip the moment they entered the city.
Maiya was counting the days. Just a few more weeks, and she could visit home. She could see Neel again.
But before she could do any of that, she was to meet with a far more unsavory character, first. The Blessed Chosen—the ultimate leader of the Children of Ash. Their most hallowed member, second only in holiness to the great Prana Swarm itself.
Or at least, that had been the case until Maiya arrived. Now, she was suddenly a prophet, equal in status to the Blessed Chosen, and slated as the successor to the title, for which she was now being groomed.
What exactly that entailed, she couldn’t say. Only that the leader of the Children of Ash put reclusive hermits to shame. Nobody she’d ever talked to had ever seen them. No one knew their gender, or even what they looked like. For all she knew, she could’ve met them already without even knowing.
Kin’jals intelligence network didn’t even have a morsel of information about his identity. They suspected the title of Blessed Chosen rotated somewhat rapidly, though for what reasons, they only had guesses.
What Maiya did know, was that she was going to wring the Blessed Chosen for answers. Answers about that tome she’d found. About what it’d done to her. And about the true purpose of the Children of Ash.
For as much as she wanted to pass them off as a band of crazy cultists, Maiya had begun to suspect there was more to them than met the eye. Secrets hidden behind secrets. Like that chamber with the vines and the tree.
“Well? Where is he?” Maiya asked impatiently as she paced around the large hall. It was the same chamber where she’d undergone her blood initiation, and every moment she spent here made her skin crawl. That it was underground, three stories in height, and built to accommodate several hundred people, only made the space even more uncomfortable for a meeting between two people.
Perhaps the Children felt that only such a massive room was fit to hold a meeting between their two most important people.
“Please, we beg your patience, Blessed Prophet,” the Vicar said, bowing repeatedly. “The Blessed Chosen will be here in a moment.”
“I have already arrived,” a thunderous, deep voice boomed. His voice echoed off the walls, and the fact Maiya couldn’t see him only added to the drama. If the man was trying to make an entrance, he’d certainly achieved it.
“Begone,” he commanded. “Leave us.”
The Vicar bowed deeply and rushed out of the hall, slamming its great double doors behind him.
Maiya waited in silence for the man to make his appearance.
As with most temples, there was an area dedicated to the seating of the audience—just a wide open space where people could sit cross-legged on the ground.
Instead of an altar worshiping the various gods, however, an enormous wooden statue stood in the position of honor. The Childrens’ interpretation of the Prana Swam sat prominently in the center of the room, rising nearly to the roof. If Maiya hadn’t known it was wooden, she’d never have guessed—the deep red hue hinted at just how many blood dousings it’d been through.
And, standing under the statue, was a large, clean-shaven man. A very large man. Somebody who looked all too familiar, in fact.
Maiya’s voice caught in her throat. “The Silent One?” she muttered.
The hooded leader approached her with long, confident strides. Even his gait was identical.
The man drew to within ten paces and threw back his hood.
Maiya simply stared at his face for a solid ten seconds, uncomprehending.
“S-sorry,” she said at last. “I mistook you for someone I know.”
He was not the Silent One, though he looked so similar. The heavyset face, the bushy brows. They were almost identical.
“Would you, by any chance, be related to—”
“Blessed Prophet,” the Blessed Chosen said, cutting her off, “your time is precious. As is mine. We have important matters to discuss. I recommend we not tarry.”
“R-right,” Maiya said, off-balance. His uncanny similarity left her incredibly confused. Confused and frustrated.
The resemblance he bore to the Silent One was uncanny.
Did the Silent One know? Is that why he disappeared so suddenly?
Much to her worry, she hadn’t seen her big friend in days; he’d vanished the moment they’d returned from Bahurai. Not only did she fret over his safety, but he’d vanished at the worst possible moment—when she’d needed her friends the most.
Since there were no chairs or table, the two stood. An awkward way to have such a meeting, though Maiya supposed this, too, fit the nature of the organization.
“Blessed Chosen,” Maiya said in her smoothest voice, “I apologize. It is an honor to meet you.”
The man gazed at her with intense eyes. The same eyes as the Silent One. Except, with a predatory gaze she’d never seen from her friend, the gentle giant. As if the Blessed Chosen were contemplating whether he could kill her right then and there.
He probably is. I represent a direct threat to his position.
Maiya didn’t flinch.
“Tell me everything. What happened to you back there? I need to know.”
“Er, alright…” Maiya said, her stage voice slipping. The Blessed Chosen was just about the opposite of everything she’d expected. She’d been fully prepared to meet with a mad zealot—the maddest of them all. What she’d gotten was a stoic, rational individual that didn’t seem at all like he had any screws loose.
In a way, it was far worse. While she might’ve recently gained authority within the cult, having a competent leader at the head of the snake would prove far more difficult to oust.
Ira, I’m afraid this isn’t going to be easy.
“I… that room,” Maiya said, meeting and matching the Blessed Chosen’s own gaze, “with the vines. When I touched that trunk, I blacked out. Though, it’s odd. I feel like there was more. As though I was waking from a dream. A long and terrible dream. Do you know what that was? What is its significance to the Children?”
And why does this cult really exist? she didn’t add. If this person truly was as capable as his demeanor suggested, she’d have to play her cards carefully. The moment he suspected she was a spy would be the end of her.
“You feel nothing, then? No different?” Maiya thought she saw an earnest hope in his eyes. As though hoping she’d agree.
“I…” Maiya paused. She’d been about to say she was fine, and yet… Even a full week later, something felt off. Wrong, somehow. She’d initially attributed it to the stress of recent events, but now she wasn’t so sure.