Blood at the Altar

By A. C. R. Cornelius

Ten years after the trial where Christabel threw down the would-be god, Ssanek, Christa has finally graduated as a full Hawk of the Roost.  But her first mission could prove to be just as dangerous.  The queen has seen something, a danger approaching from the west, Ssanek has returned.  Now Christa must accomplish w

• Language: English
• Publisher: Unearthly Press
• Release date: May 31, 2019
• ISBN: 9780999089354

A. C. R. Cornelius

Allan Cornelius has been creating Fantasy and Science Fiction worlds to play in since he started his first gaming group in high school. Along the way, he has accumulated four degrees, including an Associates in Space Systems Technology and a Master of Fine Arts in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. He currently lives in Colorado Springs with his wife and family and can often be found at the annual Pikes Peak Writers Conference. Whispers at the Altar is his first novel.

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Blood at the Altar is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019, 2022 by A. C. R. Cornelius

All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America

Paperback - 978-0-9990893-3-0

Hardback - 978-0-9990893-4-7

Cover Illustration Copyright © 2019 by Raul Gonzalez

Cover Design by Raul Gonzalez

Maps by Tiffany Munro

Editing by Carrie Gessner

Interior Illustrations © 2017 Raul Gonzalez

Interior Book Design & Typesetting by Ampersand Bookery

About the Author

Title Page

Brogan's Map

Official Map

Copyright

Dedication

A Gift

Graduation

Chisara

Orders

Flight

Resurgence

Goodbyes

Secrets

Direction

Tiraneth

Stories

Comeuppance

Disappearances

Papa

Mama

Evidence

Tresspassers

Doubt

Yahad

Arrival

Decision

Difficulties

Alliances

Plans

Decisions

Parley

Stormbreak

Election

Stormfall

Loyalties

Acknowledgements

About the Author

For Sophia. My stars.

Who helped me find my way home.

A Gift

Vaniel stopped in front of the door and examined the Illusion she’d wrapped about herself. She’d accounted for everything: the long, dark-brown hair that hadn’t seen a brush in at least a day, the plain white dress with its hem perpetually covered in dust and dirt, even the random smattering of ink stains on her sleeves and hands.

She didn’t really need the Illusion, not this time, but it was a sensible precaution. Ssanek always stressed not to change things in the middle of a mission. It was good advice and it had kept her safe for two months of sneaking through alleys and dispatching peasants no one would miss. They had been practice. This was the real thing, and she didn’t want to take any chances.

She clutched her bag to her side, its contents squirming in anticipation, and knocked. She was careful to keep it light and cheerful, just as Christabel would.

Yes?

It’s me, Vaniel said in a perfect imitation of Christabel’s voice. The Illusion did most of the work, but it had still taken months to get the cadence and filthy human accent just right.

Oh, come right in, Christa.

There was a click as the latch released and Vaniel smiled as she opened the door.

Hawk Laisel, former Instructor of the Roost, sat in a chair looking out through a window lined with violets and lilacs.

You do not usually come until midweek, though you are always welcome, of course, Laisel said without turning.

Vaniel schooled her smile into something more ingratiating. Facial expressions always came through in your voice. I know. I just wanted to bring you something. She walked up, circling around to see Laisel’s face. The new spring sun fell upon it, and the scars Christabel inflicted years ago ran across and over her clouded and vacant eyes. The Healers had done their best, but her face still looked like a candle left too long in the sun. Another of Christabel’s victims.

Vaniel would have felt sorry for her—if it wasn’t for Laisel’s blind devotion to the very person who destroyed her. Laisel was weak. And useless. With her sight gone, there was little she could do for the Hawks save act as an advisor. So, she was left to waste away in her room. But she still had magic.

And it was her magic Vaniel needed.

Nothing big really, Vaniel continued as she sat down in the chair across from the woman. But I just couldn’t wait. Every minute she spent here increased the danger of discovery, but she couldn’t resist enjoying herself. She’d been preparing for this moment for years. The beginning of the end.

Oh? Laisel turned her head slightly, the shadows drawing out the twisted lines of her face, and smiled. It was more of a grimace really; the melted skin wouldn’t allow the lips to form anything resembling a real smile. Now you have me curious. Let me guess… Another book?

Vaniel placed her bag carefully in her lap, taking comfort from the shifting form within. No, she said, teasing.

Flowers from the garden?

Vaniel shook her head then remembered who she was talking to. No.

Not another caterpillar.

She laughed, Close, but no. Vaniel edged the bag open. The game was fun, but she couldn’t afford to draw it out too long.

Well, then, I give up, Laisel said, reaching out her hands. What is it?

Vaniel took a deep breath, focused, and solidified the air around in a globe around them. It was a simple trick, one even blind Laisel would be able to sense. But she wouldn’t have the time. Vaniel stood and emptied the bag into Laisel’s lap.

The viper landed in Laisel’s outstretched arms with a hiss and its head lashed out to bite both arm and hand in quick succession.

Laisel screamed, but it only echoed off the barrier of air. She tried to push the snake away, but it twisted tight around her arm.

"Kasitenu foramance issua parse," Vaniel chanted in a hoarse whisper. She reached out, snatched the arm the viper had already bitten, and squeezed, driving blood from the fresh wound.

Christabel! Laisel’s screams echoed louder as her whole body thrashed in a struggle to free herself.

Vaniel’s focus never left the stream of blood that dripped down to the marble floor.

"Setune faris korporiss vatis."

The snake was in a frenzy now, the head flashing out to sink its fangs into Laisel over and over. It no longer bit. It gnawed. On her arms, her hands, her neck, even her face. Venom foamed out of each wound, and her struggles quickly turned to spasms that ran through her entire body.

"Waress vatis... Waress vatis!"

Vaniel released the woman’s arm and stepped back as the blood on the stone at her feet turned black. It hissed and bubbled as it spread, the stone boiling up like tar to surround both chairs.

"Issua vatis Ssanek! Issua vatis sorola Ssanek!"

Vaniel stood firm in the midst of the heaving darkness that used to be the floor, arms raised, her eyes focused on the screaming and twitching woman before her. She didn’t even move as the first spine-frilled serpent rose up out of the stone, sliding along Laisel’s chair and up the twitching leg. It was soon joined by another, and another, each snake weaving around and over Laisel’s convulsing form as their razor-sharp frills opened her skin.

My gift to you, Ssanek! Vaniel screamed down into the blackness. My sacrifice. Feast on her. Grow strong. For as you do, so do I.

The snakes tightened around Laisel’s body, eliciting a scream so shrill and piercing Vaniel worried how much of it may have penetrated her shield. Then, with a jerk, she was gone. Yanked down into the black hole that vanished a second later.

Vaniel took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let it out slowly.

It was begun.

All of the planning, the tortured struggles alone in the dark with only his voice to encourage her, it had all been leading to this moment. Ssanek would return. Already he gained strength each day. But there had been one thing missing. One thing to ensure his power. And now it was his.

Her gaze darted about. The viper she had used for the ritual was gone, along with the chair Laisel had been sitting in. That might raise some eyebrows. Vaniel shifted the remaining chair and the table to the center of the window. That should cause the fewest questions. The only real sign that anything untoward had occurred was the single drop of blood on the floor.

She shrugged. There was no helping that, and a drop that small could mean anything. With quick, efficient movements, Vaniel straightened and adjusted anything she had touched. Only when she was certain everything was as it should be did she release the globe of air around her and turn to leave. She stopped at the doorway to reset the veil of Illusion over herself and smiled as her stomach grumbled.

Yes, dinner sounded like a wonderful idea. And dessert to celebrate.

Vaniel opened the door, looked both ways down the long empty corridor, then stepped out, shutting the door softly behind her.

Hello Christabel.

Vaniel nearly jumped out of her skin as she spun to see Director Elirel rounding a nearby intersection in the hall.

Visiting Hawk Laisel? The Director’s face was a polite smile, a mask Vaniel was all-too familiar with. One that hid a quick and devious mind she’d never trusted. It had been Elirel who gathered some of the most damning evidence against Christabel before her trial. Not that it did any good thanks to the fool of a queen.

Yes, Vaniel said, thinking fast and making sure not to let her accent falter with her rising nerves. I was wondering if she had any last-minute advice.

Ah, yes. Your test is in only a few days.

Vaniel shifted her feet as Elirel stared down at her expectantly.

Well... Did she?

Oh! Yes! But she was tired so I could not stay long. She said she wanted to take a nap.

I see. Elirel sighed. Well, then, I suppose my own visit will have to wait. Thank you for letting me know, Christabel. You have saved me waking her up.

You are welcome, Director. I should be going, though. She edged around Elirel then gave a shallow curtsy before hustling off. She didn’t dare look behind her as she carefully kept her feet from running. It wasn’t until she had put three turns between them that she let out a long, slow breath.

That had been too close.

Graduation

Stop p-pacing, Christa, Sinna whispered. You’re going to get your hair all out of place, and it took me half an hour to get it j-just right.

Christa very nearly told her just how much she cared about hair at that moment but caught herself before the words could come out. Sinna had spent a long time on it. Instead, she stopped dead in front of the door to the testing chamber, reached up to finger her mother’s ring on its chain around her neck, and tried to smile. I’m sorry. But this is all so stupid. Why can’t they just give me my assignment and have done with it. I already proved my loyalty ten years ago. Her hand rested unconsciously on her stomach. She still had the scars to prove it, tiny white slivers spread all over her body, but mostly around her midsection.

"Because nothing in the Roost just happens, Westrel said from where she sat in the nook of a window in the opposite wall. You know that. Especially not graduation." She didn’t even look up from the tip of the long dagger she was inspecting. Her own encounter with the Stone of Trials had been only a few days past and she had been surly ever since. Christa knew it had nothing to do with the trials themselves. Westrel had passed those with flying colors. It was her assignment to the Vanguard that was bothering her.

Christa sighed and leaned back against the door. I know. And I could accept that if I hadn’t already faced the Trials. But—

It’s tradition, Sinna interrupted, walking over to take Christa’s fidgeting hands. So much about you has been unusual. T-They’re probably just going through the motions to give it some sense of...

Normalcy? Christa chuckled. There had been a time when that would have hurt, when the idea of the Directors treating her as something separate from the rest of the Eyas would have made her angry. Now it just made her smile. She was different. She was unique. And that was something to be proud of. If Ssanek had taught her anything, it was that.

Sinna gave that smile that couldn’t help but cheer Christa up. Just let them have their c-ceremony. Then you’ll get your assignment, and it’ll all be over. Except for the ball, of course, she added with a squeeze of Christa’s hands.

Christa’s eyes narrowed, though her smile remained. Yes, yes. And, since I know you’re wondering, yes, I did get a new dress and, yes, I made sure it wasn’t white. They laughed, but Christa didn’t miss the quick swipe of Westrel’s arm to wipe a tear out of her eye.

All of them knew it would be their last night together. With Westrel leaving the next morning for the human border, even if Christa somehow managed to get an assignment here at the Palace, it would be a long time before they were all together again.

Christa sighed. I wish Vaniel were here. You know I went to her Trials. But she barely even looked at me.

Sinna nodded. You know how she’s been since…. Since the Observatory, she whispered the last loud enough for Westrel to hear. Which of course made it completely pointless to have whispered at all.

I just don’t understand. I’ve told her I’m sorry every way I know how. Why can’t she—

Just give her time, Sinna said.

It’s been ten years, Christa said. She knew she was whinning, but she missed Vaniel. Esspecially today.

Sinna nodded. She’s been through a lot. I’m sure s-she’ll come around. She knows we’re all her friends. She glanced pointedly to Westrel, who gave a small smile.

Sinna will keep an eye on her for you.

Christa shook her head. Westrel, I—

The door gave way behind Christa, eliciting a startled cry before Sinna caught her.

Christabel, what in the world... Marellel closed her eyes, waving one hand to cut off Christa’s explanation. Never mind. It is not important. She took a step into the hall and shut the door behind her before Christa could see much more than a large room with what seemed like an awful lot of people.

I just wanted to see how you were doing.

Christa scoffed. Bored more than anything. I should be up visiting Laisel, but instead I’m down here pacing an empty hall. She looked at Sinna and Westrel apologetically. You know what I mean.

Sinna laughed. Would you rather be waiting in the t-throne room?

Definitely not, Christa said with a shudder.

Actually, Marellel frowned slightly. I have been meaning to talk to you about Laisel. Did you know she had left the palace?

What? Christa faced Marellel, her attention caught. No. She never said anything to me. Where did she go?

Marellel’s brows furrowed. I do not know. You see her most often. I was hoping you could tell me.

Perhaps she went to visit family? Sinna asked.

That is the most common story. Marellel didn’t sound convinced though. At any rate, I also wanted to wish you luck, she continued, patting the air between them in what Christa had learned passed for an elven sign of reassurance.

Luck? Christa said with a very unladylike snort. I don’t think luck has anything to do with it. Director Ophidian recommends my assignment to the Secretary, and both of them are in Dalan’s pocket. It just depends where they think I’ll spread the least ‘human taint.’

Marellel’s expression was impassive. Perhaps. But I have a feeling it is not going to be as simple as that.

Christa furrowed her brow, What do you mean? What are they doing?

I don’t know. She struggled for the right words for a moment. Just... Do not underestimate them. Any of them.

Christa nodded. Elirel had taught her that the hard way, pretending to be a friend only to tell Dalan her worst secrets.

But— Sinna started to question, but the door opened again before she could get the words out.

Christabel, daughter of Chrysobel, Fifth Tier Eyas of the Roost, stand and be tested, a voice boomed through the opening.

All eyes turned to look at her as Christa glanced back and forth at her friends. She faced the open door and saw a large circular room a hundred paces across, with tiered seating all around. Seating filled with people. A few cheering, some clapping politely, and even more with stern faces drawn down by tight frowns. And in the center, Director Ophidian, with the same superior smile he always wore.

Christa froze. This was definitely wrong. Why would all of these people come, just to see her get what would undoubtedly be some boring assignment? She searched the faces she could see for anyone she recognized, but the view through the doorway was too narrow. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Westrel standing next to her.

She gave Christa a level look. Whatever he has up his sleeve, you are better. Show him. Show them all. She gave a nod, an encouraging squeeze on the shoulder, and a gentle nudge toward the door.

Her feet came alive once again, and before Christa knew it, she was through the door. The room was indeed filled with people, but rather than focusing on all those who had obviously come to see her fail, Christa picked out those few supporters she could find. She spotted Kadin almost instantly, sitting in the front row to her right.

I’m here, His hands signed quickly, and Christa couldn’t help laughing.

Obviously, She returned, and his laugh, though she couldn’t hear it, sent a warm pulse through her chest.

What was she worried about? She had faced Ssanek. Twice. What could Ophidian possibly do to her? Granted, she hadn’t been alone either of those times, but still...

She stopped two steps into the clear center of the room, a twenty-pace area of seamless stone the same pale gray as the high doomed ceiling fifty spans above. Ophidian, dressed in his finest aquamarine robes trimmed in gold, turned slightly to face her. As he did so, Christa spotted Vaniel sitting in the stands behind him.

She wore a high-collared, lace dress the same colorless black as her hair while her face held the same blank mask it had since the fight in the Observatory nearly eleven years ago. Christa wanted to wave, but the idea that Ophidian might think it was directed at him kept her hands clasped firmly behind her back.

Christabel, Director Ophidian said, his voice echoing off the walls of the large room. You have passed every test set before you as an Eyas of the Roost. Are you ready now to face your final trial and take your place as one of the Queen’s Hawks, bound to her service and the service of all Ellsabae?

Christa tried to read something in his face, his tone, anything that might warn her what he had up his sleeve. Her eyes flicked around the crowd and she spotted Director Dalan, his face cracked with a cocky smile identical to his compatriot, and Elirel, as unreadable as ever.

She straightened, meeting Ophidian’s gaze confidently.

I am.

He nodded once. Though you have faced the Stone of Trials already, and no doubt consider yourself proven to my people, he looked around as he spoke, more to the crowd than to her. A final test is still owed. And, as Director of Elementalist magic, the choice of that test falls to me.

He paused for dramatic effect, and Christa wanted to roll her eyes. How did people like this get into positions of power? But then she remembered exactly who was responsible for his rise to Director, namely herself, and scowled.

After long deliberation and consultation with my peers, I have decided that your unusual circumstances require an equally unusual solution. His gaze focused back on her and his lips widened in a barely concealed sneer. Trial by combat.

A murmur raced through the crowd, and, though Christa didn’t dare shift her gaze from Ophidian’s to see, it didn’t sound complimentary. Duels hadn’t been fought in centuries. Not since the founding of the Roost itself. Still, they weren’t illegal.

Ophidian stood, motionless, until the noise died. You may, of course, refuse the trial. Remain an Eyas.

Christa couldn’t help smiling. He’d like that. Her running with her tail between her legs, never to bother him again. She walked two paces closer, just out of arm’s reach. I’m not the one who ended up on their butt last time, she said in a low voice. I’m not afraid of you.

The director’s gaze hardened. This is not a classroom, child, he answered in the same low volume. And the Dueling Stone can only protect against so much. Is it really worth your life?

Yes. She answered without hesitation.

He shrugged. So be it. He turned to address the crowd. Director Dalan has kindly volunteered to oversee the trial, which will be to the third Wounding. He paused to look at Christa. I will be the opponent.

Dalan stepped forward into the open space, holding a stone that was all-too familiar to Christa. The Dueling Stone will be used, and all rules of decorum will be observed. Any infraction of those rules will result in a Fault. No outside force may interfere. Such interference will end the duel, and if said interference is deemed to be intentional on the part of either party, that party will be named defeated. He stopped in the center of the arena and beckoned both Christa and Ophidian forward. A Wounding will be declared if the result of any action would reasonably incapacitate the opponent without the protection of the dueling stone. He reached out one hand and motioned for each of them to do the same.

Christa inched her right hand out. She had never read the rules of decorum for duels. It had never come up. How would she know if she was violating them? What happened if she got a Fault? She glanced behind her, seeking out her friends. They watched from the front row, faces anxious, and though they were only a handful of strides away, they might as well have been across the city. There was no way they could help her, and Dalan knew it. She looked back at him, at the smug smile on his face and the arrogant grin on Ophidian’s. How long had they planned this?

Ophidian thrust his hand into the space above Christa’s and waited as the Illusionist laid a white cloth over them both. He then backed away until he stood at the very edge of the arena’s stone floor.

Christa reached out to the Essence, let the sensation of it fill her as her senses sharpened and each speck and grain of the room around her came into sharp focus.

Ophidian’s smile faded as his own concentration sharpened. He pulled back, withdrawing three steps as the cloth fluttered down to land on Christa’s outstretched hand.

She didn’t wait, didn’t give him a moment to gather himself. Christa thrust out with her other hand, chopping a hunk of stone out of the floor to hurtle into Ophidian’s stomach. The director lurched backwards.

Fault! Dalan’s voice echoed through the chamber to a murmur of approval.

Christa turned, first to Dalan, then to Marellel, as the cloth fluttered off her hand to the ground. What? I thought— She barely had time to register Marellel’s pointing hand.

The gust of Air took her across the legs, tumbling her face-down before propelling her up.

She screamed, her stomach left behind on the floor. There was a brief feeling of weightlessness, then the ground was rushing up to her. Her head spun, and she barely had the focus to push at the air below her in an attempt to slow the fall. Still, she hit the ground with enough force to rattle her skull.

With a groan, Christa pushed herself up and pulled a shielding wall of rock between her and Ophidian. Or at least where she thought he was. Another blast of Air caught her in the side, blowing her back down to her knees before it wrapped around her.

Christa could feel it under her, a solid wall—no a bubble—of steadily constricting Air. She could see it in the Essence, the motes so tightly drawn together she couldn’t reach through. She couldn’t even work her own Air into it. There wasn’t so much as the smallest crack.

Within seconds it squeezed her knees into her chest. Five more and she could barely breath as it crushed her.

She glimpsed Dalan’s lips move as he spoke and the bubble vanished. She fell to the ground, and as she gasped for breath, she saw Ophidian strutting around to her right. With a smile, she jabbed one hand into the ground, sending a ripple out and under his feet.

Ophidian slipped and sprawled face-first into the floor.

Fault! Dalan’s voice echoed again.

Christa shook her head in exasperation as she climbed to her feet. She had no idea what rules she was breaking, but it still felt good to see that peacock’s face in the dirt.

She stepped carefully left as Ophidian stood and squared against her.

Another blast of air shot at her from her left, but this time she was ready, alert. She caught the blast against a slab of stone, then threw the rock out at Ophidian.

He dodged to the side, broke it in half, and swung both pieces back at Christa.

But Christa had never let go of them, and as they swung around Ophidian, she simply tore the grains of Earth apart, reducing the stone to a dense cloud of coarse dust. Without waiting for the Director’s second cough, she gathered up the outermost grains and pressed them into tiny barbs that hurled into the cloud from all sides.

There was a cry of pain from Ophidian, and a low roar of cheering from her few supporters, but she wasn’t done. A quick grasp on the little water in the air turned the cloud to a film of mud that surged in to envelope the Director.

There was more than one way to suffocate someone.

A Wounding and a Fault assessed to Eyas Christabel, Dalan’s voice rang out, breaking Christa’s concentration.

What? She yelled, turning to face Dalan. Is this a duel or isn’t it?

This being Eyas Christabel’s third fault, Dalan continued without even looking at her. A Wounding is awarded to Director Ophidian.

You’ve got to be kidding me, Christabel grumbled as she turned back to face Ophidian again. She could feel the Fire now. It sensed her frustration, her anger, and surged up in response, eager to remind her just what she was capable of.

Christa didn’t need the reminder. That was why she visited Laisel every week.

A worm of worry began to crawl through her gut even as Ophidian rose, the mud sluicing off his robes to leave them perfect once more. She pushed the Fire down, shut the worry away, and focused. She couldn’t afford the distractions. Not now. But where would Laisel have gone?

A shower of stone missiles from the ceiling sent the thought scurrying back into the shadows of Christa’s mind, and in that fraction of a second, her focus snaped back. She swept the stones to one side with a gust of air while simultaneously shifting the stone beneath her, moving her further to the right.

Only to be met by another blast of air she barely had time to block. Seizing the discarded missiles, she threw them blindly to where Ophidian had been standing as she stepped out from her stone shield. Only to find him hovering near the ceiling and the crowd cowering from her misguided attack.

She didn’t have time to apologize. A solid disk of air spun inches from her face, forcing her to backpedal as more followed. She tried to block with a wall of air, but her own grasp of the element was no match for Ophidian’s and his unseen