Sacrifice: The First Book of the Fey (The Fey Series) by Rusch Kristine Kathryn

Author:Rusch, Kristine Kathryn [Rusch, Kristine Kathryn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: WMG Publishing
Published: 2011-05-05T07:00:00+00:00

FORTY-SIX

The air smelled odd in the sanctuary. Goose bumps ran up Matthias’s arms as he quietly closed the oak doors behind him. The carvings dug into his palms, and he knew without looking that he had just placed his hands over the scenes of the Roca’s birth. Normally he loved those: the water funnel surrounding and protecting the baby; the frightened faces of his parents; the face of the Holy One etched in the clouds. But on this day he didn’t stop to look. On this day he pulled his hands away from the door and stood in the silence.

A faint scent, one he had learned to recognize in the last year. Blood. In this, the holiest of places.

His mouth had gone dry. He wanted to swallow, but couldn’t. He clenched his fists so that he wouldn’t touch the tops of the pews as was his custom to make sure no one had altered the carvings there. Instead he pulled off his sandals and set them by the door so that his feet would make no sound on the polished floor.

When the Rocaan walked down this aisle, the Auds walked before him, rolling a red carpet. Other Auds followed, rolling up the red carpet where he walked, so that no other feet touched it besides his. Matthias had often thought that the ritual made the Rocaan look as if he were walking on an island of red.

Blood-red.

Matthias’s feet were sticking to the polish. Ahead he saw no one. He seemed to be alone, a fact that unnerved him even more than the odor.

The sanctuary was usually his favorite place. It made him feel refreshed. And sometimes, when the choir sang, he almost felt as if he could touch the Ear of God.

Nothing appeared to be disturbed. Rows of pews glistened in the light flowing down from the stained-glass panels inserted into the ceiling. The panels also depicted various events in the Roca’s life, and as the sun revolved in the heavens, the sanctuary’s interior light reflected different colors on the floor below. At night the lights were invisible, and the place had a dark, mysterious air not disturbed by the candlelight.

The pews had red cushions that so far appeared unstained. Ahead, the red rug covering the altar also appeared clean. No one had touched the silver bowl containing the holy water, and the vials in their shelves under the Sacrificial Table appeared undisturbed. If an attack was to happen here, someone would go for the water immediately.

He was being foolish.

He was being cautious. The smell was faint but ever present.

The air was cold. He shivered once, then continued his measured pace. Finally he reached the center of the sanctuary, where the pews were truncated to form a small circle on the floor. Above him, the largest replica of the Rocaan’s sword hung, pointing downward. He had often wondered what would happen if the sword fell in the middle of a service. But it never had. It was held with ropes

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