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Previous Chapter:  The Reigning Duke of Kath'le Kal

Beginning Chapter: A saint's appetite

In the blackest of places, when a deity was one, it craved a hunger so fierce that it could not be satiated. To embark upon perfection and find relief, it tore its stomach free when the stars were born. That pouch of unsatisfied gluttony scours the darkness still, consuming all in its path until nothing remains. Unlike the others, it is the only one to have forgotten its name. Blind to its sin and free of thought, it holds the abyss behind a thin curtain; a curtain that we call the Hunger; a curtain that we call the Great Devourer. Matter, space, and time are all consumed in equal measure. Not even light itself can escape once caught within the Hunger’s grasp. Few can say for sure what lies beyond the darkness, but we will share this secret. Deep within its belly lies a locked gate, and beyond that is a jaw-less maw so massive it will swallow all of creation. Glory to he who has the key, for not even the Devourer can pick the lock.

SAINT IRANOL, THE HEART OF THE GREAT DEVOURER

“You have one night,” said the gatekeeper, flipping a coin in the air and stepping away from his post.
  Felix wondered if the man recognized him. How long had it been since he last came to the dungeon cells of Bruma’s capital? Nine years at least, and though he hadn’t aged a day, the same couldn’t be said of the prison guard. The man was all hunched now, and his whiskers were gray and eyes shallow with deep circles. Still, Felix never knew his name, but he recognized the scar across his forehead where a well-placed stone had struck.
  Three hots and a cot.
  Brown robes flowing down the dungeon corridor, Felix whistled, twirling a ring of keys in his right hand. There was quite a selection to choose from, or so they told him. So, what was on the menu this year? Perhaps a purse-snatcher?
  He rounded on a cell, tapping a key on the metal bars. A scrawny man cowered in the corner, eyes flashing like a wild beast. Felix pushed his brow against the steel, and his head collapsed like jelly sliding through to the other side. His neck extended five feet from his body, and he hovered above the purse-snatcher like a snake. The man screamed, but no one could hear him.
  The guards had already abandoned their posts.
  He took a deep breath, drawing in the stench of sweat and urine. The thief covered his face as Felix licked the back of his hand. Slipping into the criminal's memories like a parasite, he could feel the cold bite of empty streets and the rush of wind at his back with a basket full of jewels.
  “Get back here!” the guards screamed as he tripped over his foot and tumbled into a pile of snow.
  Soon, rough hands pulled him from the ice, and the world spun like a top.
  “That’s him!” a woman shouted from behind.
  Closing his eyes, Felix exhaled, returning to the dungeon cells. His head pulled back into his shoulders as he smacked his lips, stroking his chin.
  Not enough salt.
  Again, he began whistling as he continued his way down the halls. All the prisoners were awake now, their eyes as wide as saucers. They knew the truth better than anyone. Who would miss them when they were gone? That was the point, after all.
  Halfway down the dungeon, Felix came upon a boy no older than fourteen. The child looked at him with defiant eyes, fingers gripping the cell bars tight, and hair wild like an old cat.
  “Starting your career a bit early, aren’t you, boy?” Felix asked, tapping the keys on the metal.
  “Go to hell!” the kid shouted, spitting at his feet.
  For a second, Felix considered slipping through the steel bars as he had the purse-snatcher. Show this child but a glimpse of the truth concealed beneath a scholar’s attire. Of course, he wouldn’t have shown much; the fanged maw in his hip or the twitching eyes across his back would likely make the boy soil himself. But, no, Felix wouldn’t lose control around children. That was a rule he promised never to break, a taste he never wished to acquire.
  Shaking his head, he stepped away from the child, continuing down the halls. No matter how strong the boy believed himself to be, not even he would forget the screams that night. Maybe fear was what the boy needed to be free of prison, and never again commit a crime. If not, well, when the child became a man, he’d join the menu.
  At the very end of the dungeon was where they kept the worst offenders. The air down there was dank and the halls so dark a normal person couldn’t see, but Felix could. The lens in his eye glowed red as he peeked around the corners to find vacant cells. Most of the inmates were here for petty nonsense, but one man differed from the others. One man slept through the screams. Instead, he was comforted by them. Felix found him in the last room, snoring softly in the dark.
  The murderer was a heavyset man with burns on his palm, a stained apron, and scratches across his face. Like before, Felix pushed his head through the steel bars, his neck snaking across the ground. The wrist was the nexus, the place where blood vessels ran so close to the surface, he could taste the iron. That’s where he plucked memories like strings from a violin. Felix ran his tongue along the man’s elbow to his wrist and palm.
  Suddenly, he felt a rush of wind against his back, but not from running in the cold of night. No, he was in the middle of the streets, peddling carts filled with sweet pastries. Children lined up from the corner of fifth to main just to get a taste. Then came a young lady. She might have been his daughter, with a radiant smile, a lean figure, and a red bow in her auburn hair. That girl came every day just to say hi, a harmless gesture but one that bred sickly desire. No longer would the touch of a stiff corpse from a dug grave suffice. So, he followed her one night and broke her neck in an empty alley. He enjoyed her warmth for less than an hour.
  Felix shook his head, lips puckering from the pungent taste. He settled back between his shoulders and cracked his neck as he turned the key to slide open the door. Then, gently shutting the gate behind him, Felix hovered over the murderer, who still slept as soundly as a child. Unfortunately, Felix had acquired a taste for such bitter meat.
  At least the girl would have her vengeance, that’s what he wanted to say, but the truth was he didn’t care for her fate. That child’s anguish was little more than seasoning. Yes, Felix didn’t patrol the cells looking for those who committed the worst crimes to carry out some sense of justice. He did it because he was hungry.
  Just one bite.
  Felix started with the man’s shoulder, sinking his teeth so deep he chipped the bone. His prey cried out, flailing wildly, pinned to the ground; he may as well have been a child himself. Then, the spider-like limbs from Felix’s back extended outward and plunged into the man’s belly. Silver spittle dripped from the holes in Felix’s chest as the toothless maw upon his left leg engulfed the murderer’s thigh. Finally, his prey quit struggling as the venom reached the man’s spinal cord.
  His dinner always tasted best when it was still flopping on the plate, and so Felix relished in the man’s agony. At first, he took only pieces, a bit of liver, some kidney, and a slice of lung. Getting through the diaphragm without causing the lungs to collapse was an art form he perfected. So, the halls were filled with screams until, at last, everything went silent.
  “Did you get your fill?” a woman asked from beyond the prison door.
  Felix looked up from his meal, picking his teeth with the tip of a rib.
  “Have you come to torment me again, Ilene?” he asked, sitting back against the cell wall, bones crunching beneath his feet.
  “Would you stop bringing that up? I did what I had to do to help you control your appetites,” Ilene said with a wounded voice, crossing her arms.
  She did what she had to do, alright. Even nine and a half years later, Felix remembered the month he spent on a bed of stone with her. Ilene’s lymphatic vessel was beautiful but deadly. Every time he moved in for a taste, she ripped out his teeth, twenty-four to be exact, a mixture of canines, molars, and incisors. He still felt the pain in his jaw, which ached like the wrist of an elderly man.
  Ilene was the reason he felt a sting when his stomach growled. Ilene was the reason he woke screaming in the night. Ilene was the reason he could go an entire year without a single bite. But tonight, was the night of the winter solstice, a time when Saint Iranol glowed so bright in the sky it was a second sun. The eye of Draco called to them, and in this moment of festivity, Felix no longer felt pain when his stomach growled. This was the night when urges couldn’t go unanswered.
  “I’ve never met a scholar with a more tempered appetite.” Ilene said.
  “It’s a little ironic for you to be saying that now, isn’t it?” Felix asked, tossing a bone between the bars.
  “You know what I mean, Felix.” She opened the cell door, pushing her back up against the wall and sliding down next to him. “I will never do that to you again. How many times do I have to say it?”
  “I could stand to hear it a few more times.” Felix flashed her a smile as she rested her head on his shoulder.
  This was the Ilene that he knew well. The one with gills running down her neck and a scar across her cheek. He could feel the cilia beating across her back and knew the kiss of the stingers she hid in her navel. Felix wasn’t afraid of her like this, not as a hybrid, not as a chimera. No, it’s when she molted, and her skin was as smooth as marble that he broke out in a cold sweat and flinched when she crawled into his bed.
  “Did you get your fill?” Felix asked, brushing her hair to one side.
  “Yes, there was a thief just up the way. He was scared even before I got there. Was that your doing?”
  “He didn’t taste right.”
  “Of course not. You always did like the bitter ones. I prefer less pungent flavors.” Ilene looked up at his chin. “You know,” she said. “This is where I first met you.”
  “Is it?”
  “You likely don’t remember as soundly as you slept. I was going to eat you, but then I tasted your wrist and knew. Sweet, savory, and sour. You were a resonant.”
  “You mean meeting you in the market square wasn’t a coincidence?” Felix teased.
  “Be honest.” Ilene traced the scar on his palm. “Why did you come with me to become a scholar? Was it for your mother?”
  “Truthfully,” Felix said, looking back towards the cell door. “I was angry at a god and had nothing better to do.”
  “Huh.” Ilene shrugged, yawning as she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.
  “We better make our way back. Itrit will expect us to gather in the market square to give the inquisition a show,” Felix said, trying to stand, but Ilene dug her fingers into his shoulder, pushing him back down.
  “He can wait,” she hissed. “They can all wait.”
  “You’re a selfish woman. You know that?” Felix laughed.
  “Guilty as charged.”
  It was just as well. Tonight, was the one night of the year where both could rest peacefully: no voices, no lonely cries, or ear-piercing screams. The eve before a Pallid war was always calm, and he couldn’t think of a better person to spend it with.

Itrit made his way through a crowd of onlookers. They were all cheering as a young man was strapped to a wooden pole, stacks of kindling shoved close to his feet smelling of oil and salt. The old scholar moved like a cat, weaving his way from person to person, never touching a shoulder or stepping on a toe. They didn’t even know he was there, and, in a flash, he was standing at the front. Itrit gripped a gnarled staff in his right hand and pressed his weight against the stick, knees aching.
  He wasn’t as young as he used to be.
  “What is the crime?” Itrit asked the middle-aged gentleman to his right.
  “Huh, new in town?” he snorted. “The bastard was caught worshipping false idols.”
  Ah yes, the inquisition’s new decree. Or perhaps it was the king’s decree? Where was it that power truly lied? With the man who claimed to rule, or the men who ruled in his absence? The inquisition had certainly gained control quickly, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, they owed their rise to the pantheon they so despised.
  At first, Itrit thought they would make life difficult for his children, but he was wrong. After all, the Scholars and the Inquisition were after the same thing. To stop the Great Devourer. It was a simple proposition. The hierophants of the sunken valley would preach the ills of worshipping false faith, and, in return, the king would leave a few cell doors open. Pilus, the leader of the inquisition, was a reasonable man if but a little drunk on power. Too drunk to notice the strings pulled tight above his head. Yes, banning the worship of the pantheon simply drove chapels underground, and Itrit was convinced of his god’s hand in the matter.
  “Lift your heads and beg for mercy! Saint Iranol knows the way!” the young man shouted as the guards tossed torches into the pyre.
  The flames erupted into a brilliant display of golden light and snapping thunder. Itrit turned away from the blaze as the young man screamed, hair catching fire and skin blistering.
  Yes, he was certain the pantheon had a hand in all of this, ever since the young goddess Morta nearly destroyed the world, and the wraith deity gifted them the Sundial. Not that anyone but himself remembered. Resonants lived a long time, but even they fell short in years when compared to him. No, Itrit owed his longevity to the ice in his heart, the last gift of the white god. The pantheon worked hard to undermine the progress of their peers. So much so that they gave a mortal outside of the white city the gift of immortality. He used it to create the scholars and rotate the Sundial to blind distant Leviathans.
  Yes, their cause was noble, even if their methods were taboo. Still, they, mere playthings in the cosmic wind, were caught up in a conflict they had no hope of winning.
  Itrit shook his head and looked up at the night sky, spying the blazing torch of Saint Iranol. After a thousand years, the star had grown so bright it nearly outshone the sun. How much brighter would it be in a thousand more? They kept the smaller Leviathans at bay but had no hope of stopping the core.
  Leviathan Iranol, the heart of the Great Devourer, was a festering cancer at the center of the universe. A tumor that had grown to such size that no cluster of stars, no matter how numerous and tight, could compare. Imprisoned within constellations, the other Leviathans were but tendrils, whisps of hair from a balding scalp. How long would they be able to fend off its ilk? Perhaps they were merely buying time for the Basilisk to reset the peninsula once more.
  Whatever the case, he would do everything in his power to stop the coming storm.
  Itrit turned back to the burning pyre. The young man’s cries had long since died down, and the crowd had dispersed when the smell turned sour. Then the ground shook, and the old scholar tumbled to his knees. On the eve of the winter solstice, Iranol sang a twisted tune that shook him to his core.
  “Brace, yourselves,” he said as the crowds screamed. “The next Pallid war is about to begin.”

Drenched in saintly light

Entreat intercession for your plight

Vow to uphold

Our tenet old

Under pain of death

Remember each breath

Each beat of the heart

Recite your part

One calf, for your mother

Four fouls, for another

Wish carefully now

On furrowed brow

Revel in your sacrifice

Like so many kitchen mice

Dance upon the boiling pot, sinner

Saint Iranol has come for dinner

-----------------------------

Hello everyone,

Congratulations on making it all the way through The War For The Pallid Throne! If you want to learn about secrets you may have missed within each chapter, go check out the deacon corner here: The Free Deacon

If you enjoyed this book and want to support me you can pick up a copy of this book here: The War For The Pallid Throne

Description

Previous Chapter:  The Reigning Duke of Kath'le Kal

Beginning Chapter: A saint's appetite

In the blackest of places, when a deity was one, it craved a hunger so fierce that it could not be satiated. To embark upon perfection and find relief, it tore its stomach free when the stars were born. That pouch of unsatisfied gluttony scours the darkness still, consuming all in its path until nothing remains. Unlike the others, it is the only one to have forgotten its name. Blind to its sin and free of thought, it holds the abyss behind a thin curtain; a curtain that we call the Hunger; a curtain that we call the Great Devourer. Matter, space, and time are all consumed in equal measure. Not even light itself can escape once caught within the Hunger’s grasp. Few can say for sure what lies beyond the darkness, but we will share this secret. Deep within its belly lies a locked gate, and beyond that is a jaw-less maw so massive it will swallow all of creation. Glory to he who has the key, for not even the Devourer can pick the lock.

SAINT IRANOL, THE HEART OF THE GREAT DEVOURER

“You have one night,” said the gatekeeper, flipping a coin in the air and stepping away from his post.
  Felix wondered if the man recognized him. How long had it been since he last came to the dungeon cells of Bruma’s capital? Nine years at least, and though he hadn’t aged a day, the same couldn’t be said of the prison guard. The man was all hunched now, and his whiskers were gray and eyes shallow with deep circles. Still, Felix never knew his name, but he recognized the scar across his forehead where a well-placed stone had struck.
  Three hots and a cot.
  Brown robes flowing down the dungeon corridor, Felix whistled, twirling a ring of keys in his right hand. There was quite a selection to choose from, or so they told him. So, what was on the menu this year? Perhaps a purse-snatcher?
  He rounded on a cell, tapping a key on the metal bars. A scrawny man cowered in the corner, eyes flashing like a wild beast. Felix pushed his brow against the steel, and his head collapsed like jelly sliding through to the other side. His neck extended five feet from his body, and he hovered above the purse-snatcher like a snake. The man screamed, but no one could hear him.
  The guards had already abandoned their posts.
  He took a deep breath, drawing in the stench of sweat and urine. The thief covered his face as Felix licked the back of his hand. Slipping into the criminal's memories like a parasite, he could feel the cold bite of empty streets and the rush of wind at his back with a basket full of jewels.
  “Get back here!” the guards screamed as he tripped over his foot and tumbled into a pile of snow.
  Soon, rough hands pulled him from the ice, and the world spun like a top.
  “That’s him!” a woman shouted from behind.
  Closing his eyes, Felix exhaled, returning to the dungeon cells. His head pulled back into his shoulders as he smacked his lips, stroking his chin.
  Not enough salt.
  Again, he began whistling as he continued his way down the halls. All the prisoners were awake now, their eyes as wide as saucers. They knew the truth better than anyone. Who would miss them when they were gone? That was the point, after all.
  Halfway down the dungeon, Felix came upon a boy no older than fourteen. The child looked at him with defiant eyes, fingers gripping the cell bars tight, and hair wild like an old cat.
  “Starting your career a bit early, aren’t you, boy?” Felix asked, tapping the keys on the metal.
  “Go to hell!” the kid shouted, spitting at his feet.
  For a second, Felix considered slipping through the steel bars as he had the purse-snatcher. Show this child but a glimpse of the truth concealed beneath a scholar’s attire. Of course, he wouldn’t have shown much; the fanged maw in his hip or the twitching eyes across his back would likely make the boy soil himself. But, no, Felix wouldn’t lose control around children. That was a rule he promised never to break, a taste he never wished to acquire.
  Shaking his head, he stepped away from the child, continuing down the halls. No matter how strong the boy believed himself to be, not even he would forget the screams that night. Maybe fear was what the boy needed to be free of prison, and never again commit a crime. If not, well, when the child became a man, he’d join the menu.
  At the very end of the dungeon was where they kept the worst offenders. The air down there was dank and the halls so dark a normal person couldn’t see, but Felix could. The lens in his eye glowed red as he peeked around the corners to find vacant cells. Most of the inmates were here for petty nonsense, but one man differed from the others. One man slept through the screams. Instead, he was comforted by them. Felix found him in the last room, snoring softly in the dark.
  The murderer was a heavyset man with burns on his palm, a stained apron, and scratches across his face. Like before, Felix pushed his head through the steel bars, his neck snaking across the ground. The wrist was the nexus, the place where blood vessels ran so close to the surface, he could taste the iron. That’s where he plucked memories like strings from a violin. Felix ran his tongue along the man’s elbow to his wrist and palm.
  Suddenly, he felt a rush of wind against his back, but not from running in the cold of night. No, he was in the middle of the streets, peddling carts filled with sweet pastries. Children lined up from the corner of fifth to main just to get a taste. Then came a young lady. She might have been his daughter, with a radiant smile, a lean figure, and a red bow in her auburn hair. That girl came every day just to say hi, a harmless gesture but one that bred sickly desire. No longer would the touch of a stiff corpse from a dug grave suffice. So, he followed her one night and broke her neck in an empty alley. He enjoyed her warmth for less than an hour.
  Felix shook his head, lips puckering from the pungent taste. He settled back between his shoulders and cracked his neck as he turned the key to slide open the door. Then, gently shutting the gate behind him, Felix hovered over the murderer, who still slept as soundly as a child. Unfortunately, Felix had acquired a taste for such bitter meat.
  At least the girl would have her vengeance, that’s what he wanted to say, but the truth was he didn’t care for her fate. That child’s anguish was little more than seasoning. Yes, Felix didn’t patrol the cells looking for those who committed the worst crimes to carry out some sense of justice. He did it because he was hungry.
  Just one bite.
  Felix started with the man’s shoulder, sinking his teeth so deep he chipped the bone. His prey cried out, flailing wildly, pinned to the ground; he may as well have been a child himself. Then, the spider-like limbs from Felix’s back extended outward and plunged into the man’s belly. Silver spittle dripped from the holes in Felix’s chest as the toothless maw upon his left leg engulfed the murderer’s thigh. Finally, his prey quit struggling as the venom reached the man’s spinal cord.
  His dinner always tasted best when it was still flopping on the plate, and so Felix relished in the man’s agony. At first, he took only pieces, a bit of liver, some kidney, and a slice of lung. Getting through the diaphragm without causing the lungs to collapse was an art form he perfected. So, the halls were filled with screams until, at last, everything went silent.
  “Did you get your fill?” a woman asked from beyond the prison door.
  Felix looked up from his meal, picking his teeth with the tip of a rib.
  “Have you come to torment me again, Ilene?” he asked, sitting back against the cell wall, bones crunching beneath his feet.
  “Would you stop bringing that up? I did what I had to do to help you control your appetites,” Ilene said with a wounded voice, crossing her arms.
  She did what she had to do, alright. Even nine and a half years later, Felix remembered the month he spent on a bed of stone with her. Ilene’s lymphatic vessel was beautiful but deadly. Every time he moved in for a taste, she ripped out his teeth, twenty-four to be exact, a mixture of canines, molars, and incisors. He still felt the pain in his jaw, which ached like the wrist of an elderly man.
  Ilene was the reason he felt a sting when his stomach growled. Ilene was the reason he woke screaming in the night. Ilene was the reason he could go an entire year without a single bite. But tonight, was the night of the winter solstice, a time when Saint Iranol glowed so bright in the sky it was a second sun. The eye of Draco called to them, and in this moment of festivity, Felix no longer felt pain when his stomach growled. This was the night when urges couldn’t go unanswered.
  “I’ve never met a scholar with a more tempered appetite.” Ilene said.
  “It’s a little ironic for you to be saying that now, isn’t it?” Felix asked, tossing a bone between the bars.
  “You know what I mean, Felix.” She opened the cell door, pushing her back up against the wall and sliding down next to him. “I will never do that to you again. How many times do I have to say it?”
  “I could stand to hear it a few more times.” Felix flashed her a smile as she rested her head on his shoulder.
  This was the Ilene that he knew well. The one with gills running down her neck and a scar across her cheek. He could feel the cilia beating across her back and knew the kiss of the stingers she hid in her navel. Felix wasn’t afraid of her like this, not as a hybrid, not as a chimera. No, it’s when she molted, and her skin was as smooth as marble that he broke out in a cold sweat and flinched when she crawled into his bed.
  “Did you get your fill?” Felix asked, brushing her hair to one side.
  “Yes, there was a thief just up the way. He was scared even before I got there. Was that your doing?”
  “He didn’t taste right.”
  “Of course not. You always did like the bitter ones. I prefer less pungent flavors.” Ilene looked up at his chin. “You know,” she said. “This is where I first met you.”
  “Is it?”
  “You likely don’t remember as soundly as you slept. I was going to eat you, but then I tasted your wrist and knew. Sweet, savory, and sour. You were a resonant.”
  “You mean meeting you in the market square wasn’t a coincidence?” Felix teased.
  “Be honest.” Ilene traced the scar on his palm. “Why did you come with me to become a scholar? Was it for your mother?”
  “Truthfully,” Felix said, looking back towards the cell door. “I was angry at a god and had nothing better to do.”
  “Huh.” Ilene shrugged, yawning as she rubbed her cheek against his shoulder.
  “We better make our way back. Itrit will expect us to gather in the market square to give the inquisition a show,” Felix said, trying to stand, but Ilene dug her fingers into his shoulder, pushing him back down.
  “He can wait,” she hissed. “They can all wait.”
  “You’re a selfish woman. You know that?” Felix laughed.
  “Guilty as charged.”
  It was just as well. Tonight, was the one night of the year where both could rest peacefully: no voices, no lonely cries, or ear-piercing screams. The eve before a Pallid war was always calm, and he couldn’t think of a better person to spend it with.

Itrit made his way through a crowd of onlookers. They were all cheering as a young man was strapped to a wooden pole, stacks of kindling shoved close to his feet smelling of oil and salt. The old scholar moved like a cat, weaving his way from person to person, never touching a shoulder or stepping on a toe. They didn’t even know he was there, and, in a flash, he was standing at the front. Itrit gripped a gnarled staff in his right hand and pressed his weight against the stick, knees aching.
  He wasn’t as young as he used to be.
  “What is the crime?” Itrit asked the middle-aged gentleman to his right.
  “Huh, new in town?” he snorted. “The bastard was caught worshipping false idols.”
  Ah yes, the inquisition’s new decree. Or perhaps it was the king’s decree? Where was it that power truly lied? With the man who claimed to rule, or the men who ruled in his absence? The inquisition had certainly gained control quickly, and, if he wasn’t mistaken, they owed their rise to the pantheon they so despised.
  At first, Itrit thought they would make life difficult for his children, but he was wrong. After all, the Scholars and the Inquisition were after the same thing. To stop the Great Devourer. It was a simple proposition. The hierophants of the sunken valley would preach the ills of worshipping false faith, and, in return, the king would leave a few cell doors open. Pilus, the leader of the inquisition, was a reasonable man if but a little drunk on power. Too drunk to notice the strings pulled tight above his head. Yes, banning the worship of the pantheon simply drove chapels underground, and Itrit was convinced of his god’s hand in the matter.
  “Lift your heads and beg for mercy! Saint Iranol knows the way!” the young man shouted as the guards tossed torches into the pyre.
  The flames erupted into a brilliant display of golden light and snapping thunder. Itrit turned away from the blaze as the young man screamed, hair catching fire and skin blistering.
  Yes, he was certain the pantheon had a hand in all of this, ever since the young goddess Morta nearly destroyed the world, and the wraith deity gifted them the Sundial. Not that anyone but himself remembered. Resonants lived a long time, but even they fell short in years when compared to him. No, Itrit owed his longevity to the ice in his heart, the last gift of the white god. The pantheon worked hard to undermine the progress of their peers. So much so that they gave a mortal outside of the white city the gift of immortality. He used it to create the scholars and rotate the Sundial to blind distant Leviathans.
  Yes, their cause was noble, even if their methods were taboo. Still, they, mere playthings in the cosmic wind, were caught up in a conflict they had no hope of winning.
  Itrit shook his head and looked up at the night sky, spying the blazing torch of Saint Iranol. After a thousand years, the star had grown so bright it nearly outshone the sun. How much brighter would it be in a thousand more? They kept the smaller Leviathans at bay but had no hope of stopping the core.
  Leviathan Iranol, the heart of the Great Devourer, was a festering cancer at the center of the universe. A tumor that had grown to such size that no cluster of stars, no matter how numerous and tight, could compare. Imprisoned within constellations, the other Leviathans were but tendrils, whisps of hair from a balding scalp. How long would they be able to fend off its ilk? Perhaps they were merely buying time for the Basilisk to reset the peninsula once more.
  Whatever the case, he would do everything in his power to stop the coming storm.
  Itrit turned back to the burning pyre. The young man’s cries had long since died down, and the crowd had dispersed when the smell turned sour. Then the ground shook, and the old scholar tumbled to his knees. On the eve of the winter solstice, Iranol sang a twisted tune that shook him to his core.
  “Brace, yourselves,” he said as the crowds screamed. “The next Pallid war is about to begin.”

Drenched in saintly light

Entreat intercession for your plight

Vow to uphold

Our tenet old

Under pain of death

Remember each breath

Each beat of the heart

Recite your part

One calf, for your mother

Four fouls, for another

Wish carefully now

On furrowed brow

Revel in your sacrifice

Like so many kitchen mice

Dance upon the boiling pot, sinner

Saint Iranol has come for dinner

-----------------------------

Hello everyone,

Congratulations on making it all the way through The War For The Pallid Throne! If you want to learn about secrets you may have missed within each chapter, go check out the deacon corner here: The Free Deacon

If you enjoyed this book and want to support me you can pick up a copy of this book here: The War For The Pallid Throne