“If you’re worried about the Reaper Priest trying something like that, you can rest easy. He has the opposite of a pure heart, and any ellixen within him was stolen from others. There’s no way he meets the requirements.”
Sarielle didn’t look reassured. If anything, her features turned even more strained. “You don’t understand, Viri. That rumor I heard wasn’t that the Priest would use hisownheart and hisownmagic. It was about him usingsomeone else.” Her throat bobbed. “Or in this case,multiplesomeones. Because the third thing that’s needed for the ceremony…is blood.”
Ice flooded Viri as she realized what her guardian was saying.“You think the Priest is going to—tosacrificethe children? That he’ll use them to—” She thought back to what Sarielle had said, horror washing over her as she stuttered, “—to make himself invincible? Is that evenpossible?”
“Anything is possible when it comes to magic as ancient as this. Even the mages of old forbade the use of sacrificial rituals, and for good reason,” Sarielle said. “Think about it. If all the Aurora Comet needs is a pure heart and strong, untainted ellixen, can you imagine how much power the Priest might obtain if he were to sacrifice fifty innocent children? All at once?”
“Fifty?”
Sarielle nodded solemnly. “Captain Farrow sent word an hour ago after receiving final numbers. It makes sense,” she added, sounding hollow, “since fifty is considered a number of power in ancient numerology. The Priest is covering all his bases to ensure the sacrifice works.”
Viri knew nothing about numerology, but fifty children were missing—fifty!—and if Sarielle’s rumors proved true, then the Reaper Priest was planning to slaughter them all.
“When’s the comet due?” she asked, her voice ragged.
Sarielle shook her head. “The Scholars’ Guild is looking into it, but the mages left us with so few ancient texts, and even fewer that speak of magical events such as this. We might not get an answer, let alone in the time we need it.”
“So we have to assume it could be any day,” Viri said, her dismay growing.
“And if we don’t find the children in time,” Sarielle said, “not only will they be killed, but the Priest will have access to magic unlike anything we’ve ever seen.”
A weighty feeling hit Viri, as if there were rocks in her stomach.But her mind kept spinning ahead. “For what purpose?” she wondered aloud. “What does the Priest actuallywant?”
“What does anyone with ill intent want?” Sarielle asked wearily. “Power.”
“There has to be more to it than that,” Viri argued. “Let’s say he succeeds in drawing magic from the comet—what then? What does he plan to use all that power for?”
“If only there was someone who could give us those answers.” Sarielle sighed. “All we know for sure is that we need to find him before the comet arrives. Because if we don’t…Elders help usall.”
Viri barely heard the second part of what her guardian said, having stilled after the first sentence. A now-familiar voice whispered in her mind, more insistent than ever:
“My freedom for your answers.”
Slowly, ever so slowly, Viri asked, “If there was a way to get the answers we need, maybe even learn where the Priest is hiding, but the cost was…steep…” She swallowed, and made herself finish, “Would it be worth it?”
A flash of lightning in the distance revealed the dark circles beneath Sarielle’s eyes. “Honestly, darling,” she said, sounding as exhausted as she looked, “there’s no cost too steep if it means finding the Priest in time to stop him.”
A lump lodged in Viri’s windpipe as her thoughts began to scream at her. She barely noticed when she remained quiet for too long, barely heard Sarielle say something about sleep, barely felt it when her guardian kissed her cheek and left her alone before the coming storm. All she could hear was Reeve’s voice replaying in her mind—but this time, it wasn’t just his offer. It was also the final words he’d taunted her with:
“We both know I’m your only hope of finding him. When you change your mind, I’ll be waiting.”
“Elders, don’t let me regret this,” Viri breathed into the darkness, before spinning on her heel and hurrying to her bedroom, unable to believe what she was about to do, but knowing it was her only option.
She had to at leasttry.
Even if it cost her everything.
The Journal of Celestial Mage Kadmus Castro
Forty-Eighth Sun, Fifth Cycle, Twelfth Age
My ritual at the Midnight Festival was a roaring success.
Magistratus Garrin attended, along with other curious Elverdine shallows, all of whom were astounded when I drew power from the eclipse to amplify their normally limited stores of ellixen. Temporary or not, the magical boost will aid them in many ways, from increasing their strength and energy to swifter healing for their illnesses and injuries. It’s nowhere near the amount of power we mages have, but for shallows, the difference is substantial, even if it lasts only a few days.
To say they worship me is an understatement, though I’ve made it clear that, as their Mage Priest, I am merely their humble servant. That is my calling, my purpose, my honor in life—to help those less fortunate than me. Hopefully word will spread and more shallows will come to the next ritual, one that falls in a fortnight upon the arrival of the Draconis meteor shower.
I must admit, being here on Elverdine is a breath of fresh air. The residents haven’t yet developed magical prejudice, which means they don’t consider celestial magic a “useless” or “lesser” craft, unlike those on the mainland. Back there, only the major celestial events are celebrated by the populace anymore: both equinoxes and solstices, the twilight sun, the advent moon, and the rare comet or conjunction. But even those are more about jollification than sanctification these days. It hasn’t always been this way, though. In ages past, celestial magic was so revered that my Priest forebears were performing rituals every month, sometimes every week, with shallows attending in droves to reap the favor of our blessings and purifications. But now…it’s not only the mages on the mainlandwho reject the power of the heavens, but also the shallows, as if they’ve resigned themselves to a feeble—shallow—existence.
