Collision: The Battle for Darracia by Michael Phillip Cash

Author:Michael Phillip Cash [Cash, Michael Phillip]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy, Epic, Fiction
ISBN: 9781495273483
Google: 7jv7nwEACAAJ
Publisher: Createspace Independent Pub
Published: 2014-03-09T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

V’sair stalked to the temple, walking purposefully down the long aisle to come close to the altar. It was a high-ceilinged room, the walls made of clear quartz, polished to a sparkling shine. Fossils of tiny prehistoric insects were frozen in the depths of the rock walls, testifying to both its age and majesty. It was a cool room, and when filled with Darracians, the walls reflected the array of colors adorning its inhabitants. Today it was empty, so the sleek, ice-like walls mirrored his bleak mood.

The altar stood before him on a high platform, completely carved from clear, solid rock. The legs were a bas relief of his ancestors holding aloft a giant beam for the grand chanter to sing the Songs of Sradda, the prayers of his people. Behind the religious leader was a wide block of wall, polished so that it mirrored the service taking place. It had cracked sometime when Aqin erupted, and as a result the light refracted, allowing for one person to be multiplied into a hundred. V’sair looked up, seeing his face split in two, imitating his own internal schism.

He slid into his place, a pew just like the rest, nothing decorating it to make it special. Ornamentation could distract the pious from their sole purpose of communing with the Elements. A great pit with the eternal flame of the Elements burned bright, its orange and blue flames creating a show of dancer-like movements on the smooth surface. The shadows were compact and small, and as they traveled toward the rear of the temple, they stretched to become distorted images on the wall that seemed somehow threatening. The vast chamber echoed with the hiss and crackle of the flame. His father had stripped religious houses of all ostentatiousness, insisting that in the temple all Darracians would be heard by the Elements equally.

He bowed, placing his head in his hands, praying for guidance. Positioning his fingers in the appropriate spot over his heart, he cleared his mind, letting his cares fall away so he could devote himself to finding solutions. V’sair concentrated on calling out to the Elements, picturing them, recalling the sound of Ozre’s voice, feeling nothing with the exception of his own desperation. He was missing something, his answer just out of his reach. It was as if it were one giant puzzle and the center was missing. The comet, Ozre, the nonstop rain—the solution was hovering before him in a jumble of answers that he could not sort out. He heard the echo of his whispers bounce off the polished, clear walls, but no response was returned.

At the opposite end of the temple, Chanter Brault gripped the chalice in his pudgy fingers. His lips thinned with rage, his eyes darting through the empty chapel. Weak sunlight filtered in from the tall, narrow windows, and he asked for a sign. It had been a close call, but nobody had talked. He was safe, and yet, the king was alone. Could he

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