Free Mortals & Deities by Maxwell Alexander Drake

open her eyes to the wonders of the Plane.” She gave the correct response—knew it was correct!
    With her head bowed, she slipped past the Highest and into the hall. Keeping a brisk pace, she headed for the main entrance of the Temple. She had no need to return to her room. She owned nothing save her staff. She shifted the Shadow Cloak under her arm. Once out of the Temple, she would wind through the city to the docks. To the boat that waited for her.
    The boat that always waits for her to sail at a moment’s notice!
    The fact that she had forgotten it even existed clung to her like a bloodbug. For the first time in her life, fear stalked her. A fear she could not see. A fear she could not escape.
    A fear that she is losing her mind.
    —— ——
    As the door clicked shut, Samlin Vilt, the High Priest of Fatint—the Highest—felt something he had not felt in a long time. He felt the prick of worry. Turning back to the sitting area, he spoke to the man in gold-trimmed white robes standing with his hands clasped behind his back. “Is there a problem with the Shikalu, Father?”
    The Revered Father stood in front of the fireplace, where he had stood during the entire conversation with Elith. It no longer disturbed Samlin that the Father could control who saw him and who could not. He stared at the painting that hung there, as he often did when he visited Samlin’s chambers. ‘The Fall of Maja’Kasta’ . The painting showed Maja’Kasta on his knees, his mighty white wings stretched out to either side, held there by Bathane. The God of Deception had one boot planted between Maja’Kasta’s shoulders. Blood trickled down the exposed ribs of the God of Protection and Peace as his rival god ripped his wings off.
    When the Father turned, a thin smile graced his lips. As always, the man’s face was unreadable. “It is time for her to have a new binding. That vessel weakens, degrades. It is losing its ability to hold what she is.”
    Samlin nodded in understanding, though he had to admit most of what the Father said went beyond his comprehension. And what the Shikalu was, beyond a thin, white-haired, gray-skinned killing machine, was one of the many things that Samlin did not understand. “Is it wise then to send her out after the Mah’Sukai?”
    Before speaking, the Father frowned down at the little girl who still knelt next to Samlin’s vacant chair like an end table. The Father had never chastised Samlin about his little treasures . Still, Samlin knew the Father did not share his taste for the pleasures of the flesh. “Time is of the essence.” A small smile sprang to his lips as if he had spoken a joke, and shockingly, he looked as if he was about to laugh. “There are many that still live who will want this Mah’Sukai for their own purposes. Some even who will want him dead. I will deny them those privileges. Two thousand turns of the seasons is a long time to wait. A few of my peers have fallen during that time, and a good riddance to them. Still, there are many alive on this Plane. Hiding. Sulking in their defeat.” Abruptly, the Father flinched, as if realizing he spoke his thoughts aloud. It was not the first time the man had rambled in front of Samlin, though the majority of what the Father said still sounded like the ranting of a lunatic. Although, each time the Father did so, it gave Samlin a window to look through—to gain a bit more knowledge of the power and glory he could achieve if he stayed close to the Revered Father. Insane or not.
    The Father looked up from the girl and locked eyes with Samlin. “No. There is no time. I must have this Mah’Sukai! It has been too long since I wielded true power over the Essence. I have grown weary of being weak!” Holding out his hand palm up, he gripped the air as if grasping an invisible ball. Wisps of lightning, thin as hairs, danced between his fingers. This spectacle was one of the things that separated the Father from mere mortals. Samlin knew of