Page 14 of Devour
Most people rightfully fear them. The gigantic scaled beasts they ride into battle, twice the size of any horse. The powerful warriors wielding axes with arms as large as my torso and covered head to toe in black cloth, sometimes even skeleton masks. Only their black eyes are exposed.
It’s enough to unnerve any man or woman.
Fear or not, some do still hope to be taken into their underground city where they believe they would be safe.
They are the last solid society for a hundred miles now, so I suppose I cannot blame some for yearning to be accepted by the cult. The cult may cut down anyone who stands in their way, they may sacrifice innocents to their death god in gruesome rituals, but the few who are accepted into their community inside the mountain are fed, at the very least.
I’ve seen enough of their atrocities to know they are notgood.
My life has been filled with more torment than joy, but there is one horrifying memory that will never leave me. One single moment that echoes through my mind daily.
I shiver, remembering the cackles of their golden priestess as he screamed.
Lucca was my friend, but he had very little happiness in his life, even before the famine and curse. His father left bruises along his arms and whipped him monthly. His mother was a “witch” outcasted by our village.
He deserved so much better than he ever received.
Especially his end.
When the cult came, my town surrendered him without a second thought. They exchanged him for safety.
The warriors whipped him in front of the whole town. They used him as an example. I was down the street when it started, and I ran as fast as I could when I heard his voice crying out, but my father intercepted me.
I tried to aid him, my friend. I tried to escape my father’s vice grip, but I was too young. Too small.
I was more than a hundred feet from them, able to hear his screams and the howl of the whip and their echoing chants that claimed he was a heretic but not close enough to see their eyes. Not close enough to tell him he was not alone.
He was not abandoned by all who loved him.
I loved him. And I would have fought for him.
At fifteen years old, I’d never felt more helpless—and it was in my father’s arms.
It hurt more than he could have ever fathomed, but I knew where to place the true blame.
So, even while others claim the cult is virtuous, that they only hurt violent offenders and only take those who volunteer, I know better.
Lucca was innocent, and they tortured him for entertainment. His screams will forever haunt me.
I blink the memories away, and after another few moments of stillness, I must move. My muscles ache, and my heart is restless.
Leaves rustle and crunch beneath me, but Astella doesn’t chide me, so I take that as permission. I carefully climb from the hollow and spy out from the dried tree roots. There is no movement. No sound.
I wait, watching for whatever sign Astella has noticed that suggests we are still not safe.
Then, a black wing catches my attention high in the trees.
The crow caws. They are one of the few animals that frequent the forest this close to the desert. Occasionally, we’ll see vultures, but for the most part, during the day, it’s vacant.
“The crows are following them,” Astella answers the question I didn’t ask.
Seeking the flesh left behind, I think but don’t bother to voice my dark thought. I shiver at the image of crows picking at the corpse of Troy and Lorraine.
I have my own reasons to distrust the death cult, but Astella has even stronger feelings about them. Much of what I know about them comes from her.
Astella grew up on the north coast, near the cult’s capital island. She’s seen their movements from the shadowed caves and learned even more from her family. While my village was ignoring the threat, praying it would simply go away, her family was gathering information.
It’s one of the reasons we intend to head into the mountains to find her people. They have more information than any of the villagers could imagine. They’ll know how to stay safe from the Drak’yn’s reign.
