THORLEY

  The man closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the cold altar.

  "Talyja, guide me," he whispered. "Show me the path. Help me serve you right."

  Silence.

  Thorley had been upright. Honest. For years, he'd followed every rule. Prayed to Talyja and felt the warmth—a glow in his chest, holy calm in his mind. Like his beloved god was listening close.

  Until lately.

  It started small. A drink when the temple forbade it. Gambling in back rooms. Skipping evening prayers.

  Then the lustful thoughts. The ones that lingered too long.

  Darkness finally crept in. Temptation clawed harder. He gave in. Didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

  Then came the big one: he took the bribe. Metal coins in his palm. Heavy. Cold. He told himself it was for Glacial city's good.

  After that, the silence began. Peace had left his heart.

  Maybe Talyja forgave the small ones. But this? This must have been where he drew the line.

  Talyja had seen every sin

  …and turned his back on his servant.

  His stomach twisted. A devout, upright man like him, lost to darkness.

  But maybe... if he worked harder. Bringing people to Talyja. Helping them believe. Building their faith strong.

  Maybe Talyja would see. Forgive him. Let peace flood his heart again.

  He clung to that hope and shoved the fear down.

  Thorley left the altar for his room. Prayer echoed in his head. Please. I'll fight the darkness and serve you. Just... speak.

  The temple offered no answer but the soft, settling silence of old stone and fading incense.

  “What did he say?” Eisja’s voice was soft, but it startled Thorley. She stood in a shadowed corner of the corridor, watching him.

  “High Priestess!” he said, jumping a bit.

  “Something’s bothering you. You’ve been at the altar all evening.”

  "Is that it?” The words burst out before he could stop them. His voice shook. “Aren't you angry? I went behind your back. I—"

  I took the bribe. You refused it. But I gave in.

  The confession died in his throat. He couldn't say it. Not aloud. Not to her.

  Thorley’s face turned red. His mind went back to that day in the Inner Circle chamber. Eisja had walked in and seen him there. Not as a guest. Not watching. But sitting with them. As one of the group.

  She'd met his eyes. Said nothing. And walked out.

  The memory burned. Why hadn’t she said anything then? Or since?

  She’d treated him the same ever since. No angry words. No sad looks. Just quiet. Normal. He couldn’t tell what she felt. Was she mad at him? Disappointed?

  Before she could answer, a young attendant rushed into the hall. “Faithful Thorley,” she said with a quick bow. “Chief Rurik is here. He says it’s urgent.”

  Thorley bowed to Eisja. His move felt stiff with shame. “I’ll go now.”

  He followed the attendant through the quiet corridors, his mind still tangled in prayer and doubt. Rurik waited at the main gate’s entrance, his heavy furs dusted with fresh snow. He was bigger than most people in Glacial, a solid wall of a man against the pale stone.

  "Rurik." Thorley clasped his arm. "I thought you'd already sailed to the south to collect the next batch."

  "I stayed," Rurik said, his voice low and edged with purpose. "I've been holding the main gate. Sent my troops ahead to Eirvale. Some physicians also went with them."

  "That makes sense. As for the cleansing rite, I've scheduled a roster for the ministers. We'll be taking turns to perform the rite. That way no one gets tired. I can't imagine doing this for five months straight."

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Have you had time to talk to Eisja? The last time we discussed it didn't go too well.”

  “I wouldn't say that. She didn't give us a definite answer. Our offer is still on the table.”

  “It would've been better if she said no than not saying anything at all. I don't like this. What if she's planning something?”

  He spat in the snow. “She's planning something alright—”

  Rurik’s expression darkened, his eyes sharpening into a hard, focused glare. The air around them seemed to grow colder. “What does that mean?”

  Thorley flinched, taking an instinctive half-step back. “You look really scary right now. Calm down. What would people think if they saw the Chief Guard and High Warden in a heated discussion?”

  “This is serious,” Rurik started pacing. "We should never have let you in the inner circle. Your style is sloppy. How could the king entrust you with something so important?”

  Rurik’s words felt like a slap on his face. “I’m a respected authority figure in Glacial for a reason.”

  “Then act like one!” He barked. Some guards looked in their direction.

  Thorley scratched the back of his head.

  Was this guy he grew up with?

  What had happened to him?

  Minutes ago, he was about to ask Eisja about the inner circle—about why she'd said nothing. And Rurik had interrupted. Rurik's fault, he thought bitterly. If I explained that, maybe he'd calm down.

  But Thorley stayed quiet. Fear held his tongue.

  “I said that foolishly. I don't know if she's planning anything. I haven't had the chance to talk to her. After rituals she's always locked up in her room or the archive.”

  Rurik studied him for a long moment, the silence stretching thin. “Find out,” he said finally, and it was not a request.

  ?? ? ??

  He felt a leathery warmth press against his shoulders. That tickles, he muttered from the depths of sleep. Coarse hair bristled against his neck as a powerful trunk moved upwards until it reached his face. His nose wrinkled at the scent of grass and damp earth.

  Is this… a mammoth?

  It nudged him again, an insistent push. What? Then he understood. It was after the hay. The very pile he was using for a bed.

  “Sorry, friend,” he croaked, his voice rough with sleep. “I’ll move. A hungry man is an angry man, they say. I suppose that goes for great woolly beasts, too.”

  Pale light seeped into the barn. Morning already? How had he ended up here?

  Memory returned, sharp and unpleasant. Rurik’s face, contorted with anger, flashed behind his eyes.

  That was… intense. Really thought he was going to hit me this time. A familiar, hollow ache settled in his chest. Oh well. It’s not like it's never happened before.

  With a soft groan, he pushed himself up from the hay. Every part of him protested, his back a dull throb, his muscles stiff from the hard night’s rest.

  Why didn’t he go back to the temple?

  His gaze drifted across the stable floor, catching on empty bottles gleaming dully in the straw. Oh. That was it. If a stable hand or, worse, anyone from the temple had found him here, reeking of alcohol…the consequences were unthinkable.

  He had to get out. But he couldn't use the front door. He looked around. How did he get in? He saw the high window for throwing hay. He must have climbed in there last night, when he was drunk.

  Just then, he heard a loud sound at the front of the stable. Clank. Then the jingling sound of keys.

  His heart jumped. This was very bad.

  The door bolt began to scrape. Someone was coming in.

  There was no time to reach the window. Thorley looked at the mammoth's stall. It was his only hope. He quickly climbed over the wooden fence and dropped into the stall, hiding in the corner just as the big door opened. Light and the sound of a man's voice filled the stable.

  The mammoth was standing between him and the door. Thorley stayed perfectly still, hidden behind its big, hairy body. The mammoth made a soft noise and took a step, blocking the view of Thorley completely.

  The stable hand walked in. His footsteps came close, then stopped. Thorley heard the man grunt and drag a bale of hay. Then, the footsteps walked back toward the door. The door closed. The lock clicked shut.

  Thorley waited until he heard the man whistling fade away. He let out a big breath. He patted the mammoth's side. "Thank you," he whispered.

  When it was safe, he climbed out. He used a leather strap hanging on the wall to pull himself up to the hay window. He squeezed through and fell into the wet grass behind the stable. He was out, but he was not safe. The temple was waiting for him, on the other side of the city.

  He was glad it was the early hours. The streets were empty, the city still asleep. He moved quickly, finding his way back to the Temple District.

  The district was quiet. The great central temple of Talja stood silent. The elder residences were dark. The healing tents, lined up in a row, were still.

  Then he saw someone. A figure, moving like a shadow along the far wall, head turning left and right, checking for witnesses. He couldn't make out her face. She wore a heavy, hooded fur jacket and a long, dark skirt dangled around her legs.

  She stopped, glanced around one last time, and slipped inside one of the tents. The Apothecary’s tent.

  Thorley paused, blinking. He knew her. He recognized the way she moved. It was the Head of the Apothecary. He’d never learned her name, but he knew her by sight—a solid, serious physician who everyone respected.

  But what was she doing, sneaking around in the dark before dawn?

  A cold feeling, different from the morning chill, settled over him. Glacial was a city with many secrets. He knew that better than most. If even half of them got out, it would shatter the whole city.

  Shaking his head, he turned away. It was not his mystery to solve. He had enough trouble of his own.

  He entered the side door of the temple, the smell of old stone and incense washing over him. He needed to clean up, to wash the stable from his skin and the wine from his breath. He had to prepare for the hard day ahead.