Bloodchild. Anna Stephens

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       THE BLESSED ONE

       Seventh moon, first year of the reign of King Corvus

       Red Gods’ temple, temple district, First Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands

      Lanta, Blessed One and Voice of the Gods, and High Priest Gull crouched in the dark of the temple.

      They had the beginnings of a plan now, an outline that they were filling in through ritual, through communion and intuition and invention. The godblood Lanta had ingested and which even now stained her skin had lent her wisdom and understanding she’d never before experienced. She understood the gods; knew Them, in ways no other mortal could or ever had.

      The secret lay in learning how the Fox God had entered the mortal man Crys Tailorson. If they could understand that, they’d know better how to bring back the Dark Lady.

      Lanta had already offered her own flesh as host, but the connection had failed. They needed a focus, something for the Dark Lady to sense from wherever She was imprisoned, something big enough, bright enough, to draw Her back past the veil and into Gilgoras. And then into Her new body, mortal and divine mingling into a living goddess to tread the earth among Her children forever. Between them, the Blessed One and Gull were beginning to understand what that beacon might be.

       Holy Gosfath. God of Blood and Lord of War.

      The sheer audacity, the magnitude, of what they were attempting frightened her, but the alternative – a world without the Dark Lady, the endless agony of abandonment – terrified her far more. And Lanta did not deal in fear of this type.

      If they could … anchor Gosfath here in the temple, when the time came for the ritual, the Dark Lady would find Her way to Him through the channel of Lanta’s soul and the souls of sacrifices, the promise and whisper of blood spilt in Her name, and from there they could direct Her into the Bloodchild – the holy vessel – and restore Her to life and the world. For that, they needed to be able to bring the god to them. They needed to offer Him something. Tempt Him.

      Lanta took a deliberate breath of the rank air, the heat and smoke, tasting her fear and embracing it, and then she focused. The knife was sharp, but not so sharp she didn’t feel it slice into her arm; what would be the point in not feeling the pain?

      ‘I swear in Holy Gosfath’s name that I will not rest until I have brought the Dark Lady out of death and into Her glorious vengeance.’

      She cut again.

      ‘I swear in the Dark Lady’s memory that I will fly past what remains of the veil and search the Waystations and the Afterworld itself to find Her.’

      Another cut. The temple was thick with tension and the stink of old blood and new, sweat and death and fierce, brittle defiance.

      ‘I swear by my blood and my hope of meeting the gods in death that I will not cease until we have resurrected our Bloody Mother.’

      She cut once more, the pain lancing through her and making her stronger, more determined. A blood oath, carved in flesh and bone and will, new scars on top of old: a promise to the gods, to the Dark Lady wherever She was; and a promise to Lanta herself.

       This is faith. This is determination. This is how we win.

      Lanta gave the blade to Gull and he touched its tip to his lips, licking her blood from the steel. And then he swore the same oath, one cut at a time, and the heat in the temple grew, the stinking slaughterhouse smell drifting from the altar and the godpool they’d blessed with the blood of sacrifice, its clotted surface so thick it echoed back their words and the harshness of their breathing.

      Beneath Lanta’s hands a brass dish full of coals smoked and hissed as her blood dripped into it, filling her head with the path to the Waystation. Opposite her, Gull’s nostrils flared as he inhaled the fumes. Lanta’s fingers coiled through the smoke, sweat sheening her face.

      ‘Holy Gosfath, God of Blood, lend us your great strength in the quest to return your Holy Sister to you and to the world. Grant us the strength to do your will. God of Blood, we honour you.’ The glowing coals sizzled and burst into flame. Lanta smiled cautiously; He was listening.

      ‘Gosfath, God of Blood, separated from your loved and loving Sister, we beseech you to search beyond the veil for the Dark Lady, snatched from your loving arms and our yearning souls. We seek your mighty aid in helping us bring Her back from beyond death. Will you come to us?’

      A breeze rippled through the dry heat of the room, tickling Lanta’s skin, lifting her hair, stealing fingers inside her gown, beneath her breasts and between her legs. It carried the whiff of corruption, the tang of sulphur.

      ‘He’s near,’ she whispered and Gull scuttled further forward, his face a skull ill lit by the glow from the brazier. The heat was so strong it took all her will to keep her palms close to the coals. She sucked in a breath of smoke, held it against the urge to cough, tears stinging her eyes, and exhaled.

      ‘Bring Him,’ Gull murmured.

      Lanta strained, opening herself to Gosfath as she had for years to the Dark Lady. A tickle, a tentative poking, and then nothing. She strained harder, but He wouldn’t come. Gull had more experience with the god, but for this plan Gull would not suffice.

      ‘The СКАЧАТЬ