Dark Communion (Godswar Chronicles Book 1) Page 5

  Ayla grinned, pleased with herself for getting it. “A foot chest?”

  Blabbermouth nodded, his bald head shiny with sweat. He made an “L” with his fingers and then held up two more fingers in his other hand.

  Second one on the left, it said.

  Max sat at the table closest to the secret entrance and put the bowl down. He swept his hair out of his face and scooted closer to the wall.

  “Not to spoil the moment, but we need to talk.”

  Ayla left them to it. They needed to discuss what happened outside now that Alex felt better, and she needed to wash and eat. She reached and took the bowl from the other table, and then sidestepped back to the aisle.

  Ayla walked to the sleeping quarters, unable to stand her own stink. She pushed it open and turned to the barrel. The men spoke in hushed tones until Alex raised his voice for her benefit.

  “Someone was in my hiding spot, and I got caught.”

  Ayla shook her head as she held the bowl under the spigot. It filled slowly, as the voices returned to normal volume. Halfway done filling up, Max yelled.

  “You came in the front? Dammit! Did anyone see you?”

  Alex muttered something back.

  She topped off the bowl, wondering if he told the truth so she would know what not to say. Though spotted or not, she could not imagine anyone finding the secret entrance. Even if they did, no minotaur could fit in those tunnels anyhow.

  Ayla prayed over the water and carried it to a far corner, away from the beds. She poured the sweet, luminous water over her head. The wound on her back healed, and the smell from her hair and tunic was rinsed away. She sighed with relief and moved to the second trunk on the left. The bread was stale, smelled like a dirty sock, and was positively delicious.

  Max yelled again. “They’ll get into the crypt from upstairs, you idiot!”

  Ayla came back out of the room, curiosity piqued. They sat at the table next to the blood-soaked one. Alex had removed his cloak and sat wearing a tunic like the others, with his arms resting along the back of the bench. Max and Blabbermouth sat together, opposite him at the table.

  “All they know is that we used the drain to get in the city,” Alex said and waved Ayla over without looking. “The crypt’s been hidden for two hundred years. We’re safe. You’re missing the point of what’s happened here.”

  Max folded his arms. “And that is?”

  Blabbermouth signed and then pantomimed pulling an arrow out of his own shoulder. Ayla didn’t catch every word, but she got the gist. She sat next to Alex with the bowl of water and the bread.

  Max spared her a glance. “I figured we would wait till the kids were in bed before we talked about that.”

  “Are you afraid of me?” she asked around the bite of bread she was chewing. “You looked scared when I healed Alex.”

  Blabbermouth signed, faster than before, not giving Ayla a chance to guess what the gestures meant. He gave her a furtive glance, then waited for Alex’s response.

  Alex scowled at him. “They can’t heal wounds.”

  Max signed his response slower than Blabbermouth, but still fast enough that she couldn’t follow any of it.

  Ayla slammed her bread down on the table making everyone but Alex jump. She stood and glared at the side of Alex’s head. “What did they say about me?”

  He didn’t look at her. “Blabbermouth thinks you’re a witch and Max thinks we should find out if anyone is looking for a lost slave.”

  “I’m not a witch, I’m a Priestess, and no one is looking for me here. I came here because the Goddess herself told me the Freemen would help me.”

  Max folded his arms and turned in the bench to lean against the stone wall. “The last time the Freemen helped a priestess was a hundred years ago. Know what happened to them?”

  Ayla shook her head and swallowed. She didn’t, and wasn’t sure she wanted to.

  “They were all burned at the stake,” Max said.

  Ayla’s gaze dropped to the bowl of water on the table.

  Burned alive; her stomach turned cold at the thought. Her throat tightened, turning her voice into a whisper. “The light has many guardians.”

  Max scoffed. “They’re called minotaurs, and you probably led them straight to us.”

  Minotaurs didn’t burn slaves – not to Ayla’s knowledge – but she understood why a Priestess of The Dark Queen might burn at the stake. There was no darkness within a flame, no place for the Goddess to come and comfort her.

  Alex stretched and rotated his renewed shoulder. “If no one’s found either entrance to the crypt in a hundred years, they’re not about to now.”

  “If this is a crypt, what’s upstairs?” Ayla asked.

  Alex broke off a small piece of the bread in Ayla’s hands for himself. “Storage room along the inner wall. Across the main road from the Smith. The entrance is through there,” Alex lifted his chin in the direction of the back wall. “With what’s left of the men who were buried here.” Another door, shorter than the one to the sleeping quarters, stood obscured by the two tables against it. “There’s some stairs to a trap door buried under tons of who-knows-what.” He bit into his piece of bread.

  Ayla looked up at the low ceiling. “It’s a temple.”

  Max followed her eyes up to the cobblestones glowing in the lamplight. “How do you know?”

  “For one, the tunics. You pulled them off of the bodies in there, right?”

  “We aren’t the first ones to do it,” Max said.

  “They’re priests,” Ayla explained and pinched the short sleeve of her wet tunic. “Priests wore these before the fall of the empire. And the benches came from a temple just like the one where I met the Goddess.”

  Blabbermouth shrugged. So?

  “How long has it been a storage room?”

  Blabbermouth pressed his lips into a firm line and turned his palms up. No idea.

  She fixed her attention on Max. “Did the last priestess find it? The temple, I mean.”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Temples are places of the Goddess’ power. She said that when Tor destroyed her temples, it weakened her – or something like that.”

  Alex reached under the table. Bloodstained cloak in hand, he stood and sidestepped his way past Ayla to the center aisle. “We’ll talk about getting you up there tomorrow. Let’s get some rest.”

  “We still need lamp oil and moonshine,” Max said.

  Alex slapped Blabbermouth on the shoulder as he headed for the bunk room. “You can handle that, right?”

  Blabbermouth flipped him off, and then waved as he spread his fingers. Screw you. The sun’s up.

  Alex laughed. “Then it can wait till I get up. Unless you want to do it, Max.”

  Ayla followed Alex down the center aisle, with Max behind her.

  “No,” Max said, “I was up waiting for you all night. I need to get some sleep.”

  When Alex reached the door, he turned to face her. “Pick a bunk, or sleep out here. Your call.”

  He pushed the door open to the sleeping quarters and Ayla headed for one of the unused bottom bunks without blankets. Max went to one on the opposite side and stripped off his tunic. Ayla waited for him to turn around, but he didn't. He dropped the tunic to the floor. Smiling at Ayla, naked, he winked.

  He meant to embarrass her and succeeded. Ayla’s cheeks flushed, even as she glared at him. In retaliation, she stripped off her own tunic and dropped it to the uneven floor in a wet heap. The only thing Ayla wore was her hoop snake medallion, boots, and a challenging gaze.

  Max’s jaw fell open, and his cheeks turned pink under his long blonde bowl-cut. Ayla knew men found her attractive. She never had a shortage of interested boys, and even kissed one in the fields once. Though, after her mother died, she lost all interest in romance.

  Alex laughed and tossed her a new one, then turned around before stripping down. His wet tunic slopped to the floor, revealing a crosshatch of whip scars on his sinewy back. She averted her eyes, put on the new tunic, and sat in the bed with her back to the headboard.

  Alex turned back around with a blanket. He handed it to her as he ducked under the top bunk and sat on the bottom corner of her bed.

  Max scoffed, incredulous. “What? You going to tell her a bedtime story?”

  Alex leaned toward Ayla with a smile that did a poor job of hiding the irony in his voice. “Once upon a time, Max woke up dead. Everyone was happy. The end.”

  Blabbermouth sputtered and snorted in the other room, laughing.

  Ayla liked Alex’s wit, too, and matched his tone. “Great story Alex. What’s it called?”

  “Well, Priestess, it’s called…” Alex stared at Max with a sardonic smile. “Max Finally Learns Respect.” He turned back to Ayla. “By Alex Freeman.”

  If Ayla had any previous question about who led the Freemen, she didn't anymore. She held her breath, stifling a laugh.

  Max covered himself and mumbled under his breath.

  Alex put a hand on her foot. “I just wanted to say thank you for saving my life.” He lifted one eyebrow. “Even if it was your fault I got shot in the first place.” He patted her on the foot and stood up.

  She shook her head as she laid down. “I wasn't the one who got caught.”

  Alex laughed as he went to the far wall, over by Max, and blew out one of the sconces, then the other. The room filled with the scent of oily smoke.

  Too warm for a blanket, she kicked it down to the foot of the bed. Her body sank into the plush mattress and a sigh escaped her lips. She’d never slept on cotton before. With a full stomach, almost nothing could spoil a night’s sleep on this bed.

  Almost.

  She rolled on her side to face Max. Alex walked around the room and blew out the
lights, one at a time. Ayla held up her hand and asked him to stop, leaving only one lamp still lit by the front door. She fixed on Max.

  “Max?”

  He kept his hands folded behind his head as he lay naked on top of his blanket.

  “Yeah?”

  “The last male to touch me was a minotaur. I drowned him in his own blood.”

  Alex stood by the door and looked at Max with a raised eyebrow. Max rolled over, muttering.

  Ayla gave him her back, as well, and closed her eyes. “Goodnight, Alex”

  Alex left the one lamp lit. His bed creaked. “Goodnight, Priestess.”

  She held the snake medallion in her hand and whispered a prayer for Deetra, thinking about their parting hug and the way Deetra touched her lips after Ayla kissed them.

  She would never again meet someone so brave, or have another friend like Deetra. She ended the prayer without a request, leaving it to the Goddess, as the bed carried her off to sleep.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  See You in the Abyss

  A thump from above woke Ayla from a dreamless slumber. In the dark, it took a moment to remember where she’d fallen asleep, but the soft bed and smell of sewer reminded her. Light filtered between the gaps of the warped door to the main room.

  She stretched, and one of the other beds creaked, accompanied by a yawn. The door to the dining room flew open, filling the sleeping quarters with dim lamplight. Alex came in and leaned to the side under the short ceiling. Ayla sat up.

  “What’s going on?”

  Alex pounded his fist on the open door. “Max, Blabbermouth, Get up!”

  Max sat up, still dressed and wearing boots from his guard shift.

  Blabbermouth threw off his blanket, and Alex kicked a tunic off the floor at him.

  “They’re coming,” Alex said, headed back out of the door. “Let’s go.”

  Ayla got dressed, not knowing how long she slept. Underground, she had no sense of time.

  Blabbermouth followed Alex out first, smacking himself on the cheeks to wake up.

  Max walked out next and flashed her an exaggerated smile. “G’morning, Priestess."

  “Shut up, Max,” Ayla said, finished tying her boots, and followed him out.

  In the next room, Alex and Blabbermouth shoved a table against the squat door that led to the stairs to the temple. Max dragged another table into the aisle. Blabbermouth and Alex lifted it together.

  “They’re clearing out the storage room,” Alex told her without looking up. “We don’t have a lot of time.”

  They flipped the second table atop the first two, wedging it against the door. “I just can’t figure out how they found us.”

  Ayla’s hand went to her medallion. “They’re in the temple?”

  Max dragged another table into the aisle, legs scraping along the uneven floor. He shooed Ayla back.

  Alex flexed his fingers and shook them before grabbing one end. “I told you, it's a storage room now.”

  Ayla stared past him, at the door. Rage welled up within her, like icy water in her gut. The temple in the forest was a place of miracles and even as a ruin, inspired awe. The cursed half-beasts were stinking up her Mother’s home like a barn. Their gall turned Ayla’s upper lip to a sneer.

  “Shitting in your bed doesn’t make it an outhouse,” she said.

  Alex paused. “What?”

  “It’s still a temple, it doesn’t matter how it’s being used.”

  Blabbermouth rapped on the table and then tapped his foot on the floor. Back to work, it said.

  Alex told Blabbermouth to wait with a raised finger, then met Ayla’s gaze. “Why does it matter?”

  The smell of the Goddess’s breath lingered in Ayla’s nostrils. “My Mother’s angry.”

  Blabbermouth threw up his hands. So?

  Ayla fixed Blabbermouth with her gaze. Wisps of darkness, like smoke, clouded the edges of her vision. He took a step back, tripped on a pew, and sat in it with a thump. Max moved behind a table.

  Ayla sneered at Blabbermouth and spoke through gritted teeth. “Don’t disrespect my Mother.”

  Blabbermouth shook his head and held up his hands.

  More hoofsteps came from overhead, not far from the barricaded door. Alex stepped into Ayla’s peripheral, his face obscured by her dark tunnel vision. A quiet seething anger rose into her cheeks.

  He watched her as if he’d just stumbled upon a dangerous animal. “Love the eyes. It’s a good look for you. Wanna hear my plan?”

  Ayla waited silently, not the least bit amused.

  Alex cleared his throat again and gestured to the pile of tables. “We barricade, and leave. Only one problem.” He lifted his chin at the secret hatch, opposite the door to the bed quarters. “We’ve got about seven or eight Furless in the canal waiting for us. It’s gonna be a fight in a three-foot tunnel.”

  Ayla’s brow furrowed. “Furless?”

  Max filled her in, looking at the secret entrance to avoid her eyes. “Human traitors. Loyal to the Cows.”

  Ayla turned toward the hatch. Alex only lit a few of the lamps, leaving deep shadows in the underground room. She lifted her chin at the entrance to the canal.

  “Let them in.”

  Blabbermouth’s eyes opened wide and he got to his feet shaking his head.

  Alex signaled him to stop and lifted one eyebrow at her. “They’re not just gonna walk in. But we can try.” He came away from the pile of tables and back into the aisle. Alex signaled Max to go and open the door and he obeyed.

  Alex flicked his wrist. The hidden short bow on his forearm sprung open, throwing apart his sleeve. An arrow clicked out of the sheath on the arm at his side and slid down between his fingers.

  Ayla shook her head. “No weapons. Just let them in.”

  Blabbermouth headed toward Ayla. She gave him another look and he stopped.

  Max threw the crossbar and pulled the metal handle. The stone door cracked open and the stink of sewer wafted in. The few lit lanterns around the room flickered. Max backed away and stood behind Ayla.

  Alex positioned himself at her side. Their eyes met. Ayla acknowledged his fears with a short nod. Muffled hoofsteps hurried on the floor above as they waited.

  The Furless in the canal exchanged hushed words. The sound of grinding stone filled the crypt as someone in the canals pushed the door open farther. Ayla stared at the door, the darkness still in her periphery. Lantern light passed through the opening.

  Blabbermouth covered his face with his hands.

  More hushed words came from outside as a foot stepped down onto the floor. A man entered, using the stone hatch for cover.

  Ayla rolled her eyes and gestured to the Freemen. “These men won't attack you, just come in.”

  A scowling older man straightened in the entryway. He kept his grey hair short and wore a metal breastplate over a brown tunic and pants. He fit under the six-foot ceiling, but his hair brushed it. One hand held a longsword out to his side.

  “You surrender?” he asked.

  Alex looked at Ayla and she laughed without mirth.

  “No.”

  He half turned back to the door, his armor reflecting the lamplight. “I got nine men out here, armed to the teeth.”

  Ayla smiled again and spoke with deliberate calm. “Then tell your men to come in. There are enough seats for everyone.”

  “They will be just fine right out here.” He glanced up at the ceiling. “All we need to do is hold you. The guards will be down here in a few minutes.”

  “What is your name?” Ayla asked; focused, ignoring the hurried hoofsteps above.

  “Dylan, Captain of the Hornstall Human Guard,” the Furless replied.

  “You don’t need to hold us here,” Ayla approached him, whispering the prayer.

  The Furless pointed his longsword at her. “Stay put.”

  Ayla’s voice vibrated the air. “Dylan, put it down.”

  The Furless leader dropped it to the floor. He looked down at the weapon, confused, and mumbled a curse under his breath. Ayla walked over to him. His gaze went to the symbol of Ayla’s Mother on her chest, then back to her eyes.

  The color drained from his face. He shook his head, as if denying who she was. The Mother’s breath filled her lungs, burning like smoke. She put a hand over her chest, eyes watering, and exhaled.

  Her Mother’s ire vacated her body through her mouth in a billowing cloud of black smoke. The Furless leader recoiled from it and stumbled into the open hatch, coughing. The smoke curled into tendrils and rode the air into his nose and mouth.