A Tale of Forgotten Gods

Chapter 14: The Authority

The whispers chanted the word ’Blood.’ Mo Fei raised the Glaive, examining the blade. The cold haft strangely comfortable.

Then he looked at the empty well. Yes, that must be it. That well should be filled with blood.

It was a vow.

Mo Fei did not hesitate. He turned the double-edged glaive in his hand. A weapon that can cut things twice for precision. He placed its cruel point against the palm of his left hand.

He glanced at the well and walked toward it. He stopped near the well, a basin barely half a meter deep, and he hovered his hand over it.

”Better cost than before,” he whispered; his voice was the only sound in the humming, schematic void. ”It wants my blood.”

He drove the glaive’s point through his palm, closing his eyes. His eyes squinted tightly as he pushed the blade deeper before cutting his palm.

A deep grunt escaped Mo Fei’s mouth. He gritted his teeth. Crimson blood flowed up against the well from his palm, his side already aching.

The first drop fell.

SPLASH!

His blood met the well’s surface, forming a temporary wave that faded. Each drop added a stroke to a fading, ephemeral design.

Mo Fei squeezed his fist tightly, letting it flow more. A stream of crimson dripped down. His legs trembled, his head spinning in dizziness. The well took its time, filling itself slowly. The blood drops increased as if the blood weren’t only coming from his hand.

Tock. Tock. Tock.

Outside the gate, the group saw only a part of it. They saw him stab his own hand. They saw his blood fall into the darkness of the well. They saw him stagger.

Elara covered her mouth, eyes looking away. Grig took a step forward to stop Mo Fei, but Han pulled him back. He shook his head. It was better not to interfere in a ritual of authorities. ”Do not break and enter the circle forcefully,” he pointed at the ground where a line had formed a barrier. ”We can’t enter, so don’t try.”

Grig stopped, his legs stepping back.

Splash!

The last drop fell, filling the well into a shallow pool of blood. He didn’t have that much blood at all. Then the pool spun, blood turning black. Then a large mouth formed on the base of the well. Mo Fei opened his eyes to watch.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp.

The face drank the blood. Its tongue stretched, stretching to lick the remaining drops.

Mo Fei stood motionless, too stunned to speak.

The Glaive clattered in his treacherous fingers before hitting the floor. Mo Fei turned his palm to look. It had gone pale, losing the blood of his hand. He stumbled backward, his hand hitting the wall.

From the mouth, a silver ribbon emerged. The sticky blood slowly covered it. Mo Fei’s body looked blurry from outside.

He reached out his hand toward it.

Snap!

The ribbon in his hand snapped, falling down. The moment it snapped, Mo Fei’s heart stopped beating; his body fell on the ground with an instant shock.

The second silver ribbon wrapped itself around his wrist; his eyes snapped open, his hand finding his chest that began to beat again. ”My... Heart.”

The character 肆 (4) appeared, but now there were no other numbers. In their place, a new symbol seared itself into the silk, glowing with the same moonlight silver as the ritual’s light.

It was a word. A title. The first sigil of his path:

’壹睹’ (The First Witnesser / The Apprentice’s Eye)

”The... Witnesser?” Mo Fei’s thoughts stopped as his eyes finally closed.

’The ritual has ended.’

The lines disappeared, and as they did, three of them rushed inside the chamber. Their faces were etched with worry.

Grig shook Mo Fei’s face, hoping to wake him up. Han’s eyes locked in on Mo Fei’s palm and the side. The blood had stopped or could have... ended? Elara’s trembling hands hold Mo Fei’s. She checked the veins; they were pulsing slowly. He was alive but unconscious.

”He’s lost too much blood. We need to move out!” Elara cried out in urgency of the situation, but where to go?

”Trasia is not far from here, but if we go this path... we will reach the palace of the Overseer. If we go in this situation...” Grig paused in mid-sentence. Han clenched his fist. He was right, yet they had to move.

***

A man stood over the roof of a house. His brown eyes, looking at the path.

”I have managed to postpone the elders’ execution. Some have escaped.” His hands tightened on his throat. ”The cost...” He mumbled.

”The elders are safe, but the Overseer will go after me.” He huffed a low, soft breath.

”I told them this would happen. I had to find chosen ones, or else I knew they’d get killed.”

”Damn it! Why I neglected to bring the necessary items from the previous world for the support ritual... The rules of ascension are intricate, tch.” His hand reached out for the hilt of his blade.

He raised his hand, and a paper appeared, then slowly dissolved in space. Afterward, the man disappeared with no sound.

***

Meanwhile, at the temple. A paper flapped in the air, falling down. Han grabbed it, holding it in his hand.

”Get out of there after the ritual. To the north. Then move to the left of the palace, at a rectangular house. There are light blue flowers; eight of them are blooming. Reach there.”

Han recited those words, each of them carefully. ”Is this a trap? It doesn’t matter for now.”

Han folded the note. ”Grig, carry Mo Fei. Elara follows. The path is toward the north.”

Grig reached out his hand toward Mo Fei, lifting his unconscious body gently. He carried Mo Fei on his back, then turned to face the group.

Then a distant ring of a jade pendant echoed. The sound shouldn’t have reached their ears, yet it did. Han snapped his head toward the entrance. The golden light at the door dimmed. Someone had entered through that.

Elara smelled the scent first, a sweet, melodic smell like honey.

Han’s blood ran cold. That scent, the smell of lavender and the nectar of the most fragrant flowers. That was a sign of nobility. ’ ”That perfume... It’s the Royal Guard of the Honorable Court.”

Han whispered. ”Run.”

Grig held Mo Fei tightly. His eyes glanced at ’Glaive.’ He grabbed the Glaive, but as quickly, he threw it back.

”Argh!! It’s hot!” He roared, covering his mouth to muffle it. Elara cut off a part of her sleeve and wrapped it around the Glaive. Grig nodded and started to run beside her. Han led them toward the northern exit.

Grig heaved Mo Fei’s unconscious form over his shoulder, Mo Fei’s blood soaking into Grig’s tunic.

Elara looked back. The golden light from the entrance reformed. The person was indeed walking patiently, not throwing off their elegance.

Han’s eyes scanned the branching passages. The temple was a wheel; they walked along trying to find an exit.

They burst from a secondary archway.

The cold air slapped their faces. Ahead was the city of true nobles. The smell of woodsmoke that rose from a thousand chimneys was clearer.

Between them lay a vast, terraced descent: the Oracle’s Stair, ice covering the corners.

”If we go this way,” Han gasped, pointing to the stairs. ”We’ll get seen.”

”The house should be nearby the palace,” Grig said, shifting Mo Fei’s weight. ”That means we need to get through the palace.”

”Should we... Split up to find?” Elara said, holding the Glaive.

”No,” Han’s mind raced with thought, his brows furrowing. ”We will get caught one by one or, worse, get beaten to death. Which can be easier when we are split.”

Han took the stairs nonetheless. They followed him, eyes scanning for guards. At the bottom, their eyes lay on a narrow street. No sound of guards’ footsteps came. A perfectly isolated path... for now.

”Move there,” Han ordered.

The group rushed toward the narrow path. Their footsteps dug into the ice beneath them.

Elara followed Han. Grig came last, supporting the weight of Mo Fei. The hot blood ran down Grig’s clothes. It left a few drops of blood behind, tainting the ice red.

They ran through a city that was never meant for ’slaves.’ The surface was clean: no fallen leaves, no dust, just white ice. There were market stalls shuttered against the cold. But the group... They were fugitives who had dared to defy the ’Overseer.’

They entered a patrolled area. Guards wandered there, but they waited as patrols passed. They ducked into a large pathway with various streets.

The city loomed ahead. A large economy where things were taken through power, dominance, and corruption. Around the outskirts of the palace, guards were walking in a clockwise manner, looking for any kind of disturbance.

Then they hid behind a wall. Their gaze swept over the street. They quickly moved out. Just at that moment, at the main entrance of the plaza, a squad of four city guards stumbled upon them. One of the guards hit Han, both moving back. Their eyes froze in a flabbergasted look, seeing the bloody, ragged group of slaves. One was carried like a corpse, and the other three were covered in dust.

”FUGITIVES!?” The guard yelled; other guards’ brows furrowed, confused.

For a few seconds, there was an awkward silence, broken only by the wind. They stared at each other; no one spoke. Sweat dropped from the group’s concentrated faces.

Then

The lead guard’s hand went to his sword hilt. His eyes narrowed, moving from Grig’s massive, threatening form to Han’s wary stance to Elara’s terrified face. Finally, at the unconscious Mo Fei.

”You there!” the guard boomed, his voice echoing in the silence between the walls. ”State your business. This is a restricted alley!” They looked at Mo Fei’s blood-soaked clothes, at the obvious, desperate wrongness of them.

The chase was over in a way, like they had lost the game of tag. The fragile sanctuary of the safe house was probably just paces away, yet now utterly out of their reach.

The honeyed scent on the wind behind them deepened, curling with satisfaction. The mundane trap had closed. The dream trap was about to spring.