“Did you ever come to pray?”
Seth looked away. “ . . . No.”
“Thought not.” Pulling his hood down, Percy led us up the impressive—and daunting—set of sand colored stairs leading to one small door propped open by a heavy stone. Holding my breath, I stepped through.
The wonder that greeted us far outstripped the great temple of Brizo in Serifos city. A larger chamber than I’d ever seen stretched before us, rising toward a looming ceiling far above. Stone dark as obsidian drenched us in shadows, and slates made of the same material rose in various intervals, supported by winding pillars set with torches.
Ancient murals covered every inch of the walls, depicting the gods in various scenes I’d never read of in scripture. Brilliant colors strained to escape the fade of time, but only a hint of their beauty had survived the years.
One in particular caught my eye: Brizo, holding her signature urn in one hand and gripping a spear in the other. Dressed in golden armor, she strode into battle, crimson toga flutteringbehind her.
This was nothing like the Maiden spoken of back home.
“Strange, right?” Seth joined me, arms folded. “That your Maiden is so different.”
“Why?”
“I’m not really sure. In our tales, Brizo is a warrior, on par with Haimyx himself.” Seth eyed the neighboring mural, where a man with crimson eyes and a jagged scythe joined her side.
“Do you actually know your own scripture?” I asked, eyebrow raised.
“Roughly.” Seth folded his arms. “The four were a fellowship of sorts. Together, they wrested control of the Empty and rescued the people. With their duty finished, they passed divinity on to their chosen children and departed for the afterlife.”
“Passed on?” I glanced at the Haimyx mural. “So your father inherited the original Haimyx’s powers?”
“And carried on his purpose,” Seth confirmed. “Psythos, Callesis? They have no such inheritor.”
“Why not?”
“That,” Seth admitted, “I don’t know.” He nudged me. “Come on. We need to pray.”
Strange. In Duath Nun’s tales, Brizo was not responsible for pushing back the Empty.
Percy waited behind us, anxiously gesturing down the room. Nodding, I walked past the slates, trying and failing to read the runes etched on their surfaces. A few people knelt in prayer before them, and I figured we ought to follow suit.
Finding a quiet corner, I dropped to my knees before a slate and peered around it, eyeing the most impressive mural at the back of the room, painted across a wall broader than a throne room.
“There you are,” the Oracle whispered, startling me. She drifted to our side, silken gown flowing around her. “Come. I brought you here for a reason.”
Rising, I followed her to the back wall and drank in the mural. Brizo knelt at the center, and Haimyx gripped her shoulders, looming above her. Blood pooled in her hands, reminiscent of the Maiden’s Bloodstone. Darkness swirled aroundthem, but so too did bright, blue flowers.
Several slates clustered around the mural in an odd pattern, bearing more Duathi runes.
Tilting my head, I noticed a nearly hidden detail in the artwork. The shadows swallowing the painting formed the body of an enormous serpent. Its head, hooded like a cobra, swam in the darkness directly above the pair of gods. Faint pinpricks of red marked its eyes.
“What is this?” I asked.
Seth answered. “The final maiden of Elpis. It’s an old prophecy, but no one can agree upon what it means.”
Cerys interjected. “When the final maiden of Elpis arrives, death shall reign. From her blood, new life shall spring. The under and over, united as one.”
I mulled over the words. They could mean many things. “Aren’t you the Oracle?” I asked.
Sighing, Cerys glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. “I hear whispers, but I do not know from where they come.” She lifted her gaze, landing on Percy. “We Oracles are tainted for a reason. The voices come only when we are exposed to the Empty.”
Percy’s eyes flared. “I don’t hear any voices.”
“You have not spent as long by its side as I have.”
