Free Son of Ereubus by J. S. Chancellor Page B

in some way to respond like it was still marked with responsibility, still burdened with the tasks of keeping the organs functioning, but finding it unnecessary as it performed them.
    “Yes, High Lord. We find your appointment appropriate, as we believed when we gifted it to you. In light of your recent achievement, it is time for you to be joined with a breeder. It is the Goddess’ will to reward you for your efforts. We trust this gratifies you?”
    The Ereubinians had been held to eugenic law for centuries. He understood the reasoning — it was the only way to ensure the continuation and eventual purity of the lineage. Humans were not allowed to bear children of their own, but a select few were chosen as breeders to carry the blood of Saint Ereubus.
    “Yes, your eminence. Deeply.”
    “We trust you have seen to the position of High Priest?”
    Garren nodded, “Yes, your eminence, I informed Tadraem upon my return from Palingard.”
    A smile erupted across the thinly stretched, translucently pale skin of their lips, revealing an absence of teeth. They laughed; a low and guttural sound that sent shivers across Garren’s flesh.
    “Very well, very well, son of Ereubus. Then as custom dictates, may the High Priest choose one among the daughters of Middengard for you and those of your men whom he feels are worthy of the blessing.”
    “Yes, your eminence.”
    The shuffling of feet filled his ears, scraping and eating at the floor as they came to surround Garren. He swallowed before lifting his eyes to see what they had brought him.
    The Ordakai, childlike in stature, were deceiving in their guile and agility. Servants to the Laionai, they scurried about the keep and courts like diseased rats, eating what food they could find, and stealing what caught their fancy. Without language or gender, Garren doubted they would exist at all if not for their masters.
    Their horned heads turned, looking him over. A fat, clumsy one stumbled forward, holding a chalice in its hands and cooing as Garren pulled it from stubby, crusted fingers.
    Always cool to the touch regardless of the climate around it, the chalice had been blessed by the Goddess for use in worship and was half-filled with a pungent red wine. He held it in his hands, as he had done thrice a year for nearly five years, waiting.
    A side door squeaked open, the rusted pins groaning with the weight, and four vessels ushered in a bound human who futilely thrashed about, hissing his anger through his bloodied mouth.
    Their eyes met, and to Garren’s surprise the man seemed almost grieved that the High Lord was present, a noticeable withering of his spirit visible in the lines of his face.
    “You look like him,” the human whispered.
    Garren rose to his feet and approached him, amused at the meaningless chatter. The moment he touched the man he knew. “Adorian.” Confused, he looked to the Laionai.
    “A new age has begun. This night’s worship, and this Adorian’s blood sacrifice, celebrates a turn of the tides for Adoria. An army of humans, legions of those whom the winged ones have for so long protected, will rise against them. Do not question the divide, High Lord, for Her Holiness has spoken in faith that it will fail them when they need it most. Your commanders have been given one year’s time to ready this army.”
    “Then blessed are you to be consecrated this night.” He glared at the Adorian and the vessels that struggled to hold him. “Tadraem has chosen well.” Dismissing them to the sanctuary, Garren turned back to the Laionai, and knelt before them. He repeated the prayer of Saint Ereubus, the sound of his words almost overpowering the sound of their exit as he was left alone.
    With nothing but the familiar walls of the inner sanctum to keep him company, he lifted his lips to the rim of the cup, sipping a small portion. A smile deepened across his face as he stood. He extended his arms, speaking the words to dedicate the spoils of his victory and the