The Season of Blood
Thunder rolled across the sky like the voice of angry gods.
Rain fell relentlessly upon the kingdom of Natron, drumming against rooftops and flooding the empty streets. Lanterns flickered weakly beneath wooden awnings, their flames struggling against the wind. Doors remained shut, windows barred. No villagers wandered the roads tonight.
Storms like this belonged to the spirits. Or the gods. But within the palace walls, another storm was unfolding.
Deep inside the royal shrine chamber, candlelight flickered against ancient stone walls stained by centuries of ritual smoke. Shadows crawled across the ceiling like restless spirits. The air smelled of wax, incense, and iron. Blood.
At the center of the chamber stood a dark altar table carved from black obsidian. Resting upon it was a human skull, yellowed with age, its empty eye sockets gazing toward eternity.
Beside the altar, tied to a wooden post, a fat goat trembled and bleated in fear.
The royal family stood before the altar dressed in long black ceremonial cloaks. Around them gathered the palace priests, their faces hidden beneath heavy hoods. Their voices rose together in a deep chant that echoed through the chamber like the beating of distant drums.
The chanting intensified. A tall priest stepped forward. His name, Badri; Deputy priest of the royal family. He was a stern man in his forties with sharp cheekbones and calm, calculating eyes. Ritual markings painted his forehead in thin red lines.
In his hand gleamed a ceremonial knife.
The goat struggled as Badri grasped its horns and forced its head upward. For a moment he paused, whispering something beneath his breath.
Perhaps a prayer.
Perhaps an apology.
Then the blade flashed.
The goat's throat opened in a clean, practiced cut.
Dark blood poured into the bowl waiting beneath the wound. The priests' chanting grew louder, deeper, almost feverish as the blood slowly filled the vessel.
When the bowl was nearly full, Badri lifted it carefully and carried it to the altar.
He placed it beside the skull.
The chants thundered through the chamber.
Badri raised his arms.
"We call upon you, mighty guardians!" he declared in a powerful voice. "The royal family stands before you seeking guidance."
Lightning flashed outside the palace.
"The king's youngest son, Prince Avana, has reached the age of marriage. As our sacred tradition commands, his first wife must be offered to you as sacrifice. But we do not yet know the woman who will please you."
Thunder boomed across the sky.
"Reveal her to us!" Badri cried. "Show us the path, and we shall obey!"
The chanting became frantic.
Suddenly—
A violent bolt of lightning struck the palace roof.
A blast of white light poured through the shrine windows and struck the bowl of blood directly.
The bowl shattered.
For a brief moment the chamber burned with supernatural light. The candles flared violently. The skull began dripping fresh blood from its hollow eye sockets. Gasps rippled through the room. Smoke rose slowly from the fractured bowl.
Badri stepped forward cautiously, his heart pounding against his ribs. Sweat slid down his temple as he leaned closer to the swirling smoke.
Shapes formed inside it.
Visions.
Whispers.
A girl.
A village.
A house near a river.
Badri froze.
Then slowly, the smoke faded.
The candles dimmed.
Darkness returned to the shrine.
The chanting fell silent.
King Bazi lowered his hood.
Even in the dim candlelight his presence dominated the chamber. Tall, broad-shouldered, and commanding, the king carried the weight of a ruler who had never known defeat.
But tonight, something restless flickered in his eyes.
"Tell me, Badri," the king said quietly, "Did the gods reveal anything?"
Badri turned. A confident smile spread across his face, "Yes, Your Majesty. The gods have shown me the woman who must be sacrificed."
Lady Gema, the king's second concubine, gasped softly. She was a beautiful woman with long blonde hair that shimmered like silk even in the dim light. Standing beside her was her son. Prince Avana. Only eighteen years old, yet already tall and handsome with the noble bearing of royal blood.
King Bazi nodded once, "Excellent work, Badri." His voice hardened, "Can you find the girl?"
"Yes, Your Majesty.", Badri nodded.
"And where is she?"
Badri bowed his head slightly, "In the fifth village from the capital."
The king considered this.
Rain hammered the palace roof.
Then he spoke, "You have my permission to retrieve her. Begin your journey at once."
Badri bowed deeply, "Yes, Your Majesty."
King Bazi turned toward Lady Gema and Prince Avana, "Do not celebrate yet," he warned coldly. "This ceremony must succeed. If it fails…" His gaze lingered on them both, "You know the consequences."
Lady Gema lowered her head, "My son and I will not disappoint the royal family."
Prince Avana bowed, "Trust us, Father."
Outside the storm continued to rage.
But far from the palace, dawn was quietly approaching.