Unhinged

Cerik bowed low as Malav stalked past him. When he straightened he glanced to the now smiling beggar and the grim faced Silosyil. Keeping his voice low he approached the man respectfully, “He has some awareness of what occurs around his dead soldiers. We must be very careful. I have no offering but I would ask you to get as many of the people here to safety as you can. Without Charyic here to still his rage I fear what the city will suffer.”

“A friend of trouble is a friend of mine.” The beggar tapped him with the staff and the bells jingled merrily.

“You’d-you’d let him go? After that walking nightmare said-” Cerik raised his hand cutting off Silosyil’s words.

“Charyic brought out the best in him, in her absence only the worst can be found.” He turned his attention back to the beggar who was silently shaking his head. “She deserves better. But the world can only take so much of Malav in a rage. If he has become a walking nightmare, the only way to end it would be to reunite them and let the world wake to his better nature.”

Studying the beggar’s face Cerik stepped back, “I will do everything I can to take care of Lady Charyic. She’s a sweet girl.”

At that, the beggar’s face cracked in a mad grin “Sweet girl, sweet girl. Trouble isn’t mine. Mischief calls the tune.”

Cerik caught himself smiling, and bowed his head, “Mischief may call the tune, but Charyic is a thief to her core. Please, be careful in your escape.”

The bells on the staff jingled and when Cerik looked up the old beggar seemed to have vanished. He turned to speak to Silosyil and found she had gone as well. He frowned and moved purposefully toward the temple. Malav would ask about the girl and he needed to find a clever lie to tell him.

He rubbed his head as he considered his words carefully. Walking through the eerily empty market he caught a glimpse of one of the sweets stalls hanging open. He smiled ruefully, an offering for Ayil could not be amiss.

Nessis’ favorite sweets, little balls of powdered nut and sugar mixed with thick sweet milk and rolled in sweet powders or candied nuts, sat in rows before him. He took a bag from behind the counter and began to fill it. Nessis would have been devouring them and he popped one of the too sweet confections into his mouth in her memory after the bag had been filled. Offering in hand, he moved more confidently toward the temple.

Upon entering, however, his confidence evaporated. The temple was in ruins and priests and priestesses were being dragged by the dead to the altar to be sacrificed as Malav watched with a look of vicious delight.

As if answering his unspoken question, Malav spoke with pride, “Malies is the only god I concern myself with.”

“Ayil should bear some consideration, my King.” Cerik’s urgent words earned him a sharp look. “The beggar said that she calls the tune. I brought an offering for her-” He stopped speaking as Malav raised his hand.

“Have you sacrificed Ayil’s priests yet?” The amusement in his King’s voice was clear.

“No, Dread King.”

“Leave a mark in your blood upon the face of each of her priests. And then resume your sacrifices.”

Cerik watched as four priestesses turned to fix the King with incredulous looks. They shuddered and flinched as the priestess of Isemal obeyed. The dead men holding them released them the moment they were marked and the priestesses of Ayil clustered together in fear.

He approached cautiously and offered the sweets apologetically. “It-I am sorry. It is not nearly enough.”

To his surprise, one of the women reached out and touched his face before taking it. “You have done what you could.”

Risking Malav’s wrath he made the subtle Iskesh gesture for help coupled with a soft chittering. He knew he lacked skill with Iskesh but he wanted to send them to the thieves for help in escaping.

The one who had touched his face smiled faintly. “We know. He is family.”

Malav’s hand fell on his shoulder heavily. “Family?”

“Malies is striving to build one.” She spoke as calmly as she could manage, keeping her eyes on Cerik. “He has been welcoming Iskus and he wants Ayil as well.”

A glance at Malav’s face convinced him to risk speaking, “The beggar claimed your wife no longer belongs to the King of Fools. ‘Mischief calls the tune,’ were his words.”

“The priest of Malies claimed she serves Isemal now.” Cerik saw the point of the blade rising as Malav spoke. “Which has lied?”

“Neither, Dread King.” The priestess of Ayil spoke gently. “She served Ayil in Iskus’ service without knowing it, and now she serves her in Isemal’s, though she is now more aware.”

“Ayil is the reason my wife clings to Esus.” Cerik knew the dangerously cool tone of Malav’s voice.

The older man raised his hand as if to brush something from his face, the Iskesh gesture called for silence. Malav did not notice it, but the priestesses did. They remained demurely silent.

“Ayil sways back and forth, my King, her fickleness is part of her charm. She can be enticed and persuaded.” Cerik strove to keep his words cautiously optimistic and his face carefully neutral.

“Not when she has placed a wager against you in the game.” Came an almost smug voice from behind him.

He turned with Malav and made a gesture behind his back for the priestesses to go as the priest of Malies spoke further. “Malies is pleased with your offerings. He calls you before the altar, favored King.”

Cerik stood well back from the gore covered altar. Whatever his King discussed with the god of root and bone, he hoped it would end with Lady Charyic back by his side quickly. King Malav was beginning to seem unhinged from the pain of her absence.