Chương 17: Vol 1. Seroth's Flame

Nestled in between copses of great and ancient pine trees was a small gathering of twelve, each robed in inky black and hooded against the vibrant orange and yellows of the firelight. They encircled a blazing pyre, above which stood a makeshift frame that held up a stone iconographic depiction of Seroth: the first man gently nuzzling his muzzle into his wife's bosom as he tenderly massaged the back of her neck. Vulka stood with her back and her tail rigid. Her muzzle was carved into a stone-cold expression.

Their numbers were minuscule now. The others gathered before her were the last of their organization, but that did not trouble her. Numbers, in the grand scheme of eternity, meant nothing. Purity and loyalty meant everything. They were the true followers of Seroth. The church had fallen into slimy, demonic hands long ago. While its priests were draped in holy vestments, they whispered false prayers and preached false doctrine. But the Followers of Seroth--the restorationists--held the keys to everlasting life.

They alone remembered the truth; the gospel; the word of the divine. They alone remained faithful. Vulka had joined them when she was only a cub, abandoned by a mother and father who had tried to sell her as a slave labourer to satisfy their boozing addiction. She remembered their smell far more than their faces: the sour liquor that permanently lingered on their tongue, the ebony rot of their teeth… she remembered the intense grip on her arm, the coins being counted, and her being loaded into the back of a cart.

Then the Followers found her. Now, they were the only family she had. The high priestess came forth. The firelight painted her silhouette across the ground. She lifted one claw and beckoned. Without a single utterance, two of the girls slipped into the forest. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. For a while, there was only the crackling of the fire and the groaning of the ancient pines. The girls returned with a young cub between them. He was male. Small. Weak.

His limbs thrashed uselessly as he squirmed and fought, clawing at their wrists, kicking the dirt, baring his fangs and attempting to scratch and bite, trying with desperate futility to break their grasp and flee. A tickle ran up Vulka's spine. This part was always exciting. Assassinations in the wild had their place, of course. They were a pleasure in the chase, the thrill of running, the suddenness of a striking blade, the warm blood drenching one's paws. But nothing could ever compare to this.

Nothing was more exhilarating than watching a sacrificial calf wail before the altar. The young boy looked terrified; Vulka was pretty sure she could smell his fear. Perfect. The high priestess nodded. The two girls lifted the boy. He caterwauled. Screamed. Yelled profanities, snarling his muzzle in an attempt to look frightening. Then he began to cry, his tears matting the fur of his cheeks as he pleaded and begged. The pleas were useless, and Vulka was certain the boy knew it.

Yet he continued all the same, his voice growing louder, quicker, more feverish as the flames singed the fur along his back. The girls threw him into the altar. The boy screamed so loudly that the branches above seemed to shudder in response. His fur blackened first, curling away beneath the heat. Then the rest of him began to vanish into the roaring embers---his skin bubbly and red and melting. His screams thinned, broke, strangled into a faded wet rasp. Still, the Followers of Seroth watched.

Still, Vulka watched. She smiled, a wave of religious ecstasy overcoming her. Piece by piece, bit by bit, the boy was given over to Seroth, the one true God. Not the mother--the great evil, but to Seroth, the beloved. Eventually, there was nothing left of him but smoke, ash, and the lingering echo of his satisfying cry. The flame roared larger than before; it had had its fill. The offering had been accepted.

"Praise be Seroth," Vulka whispered. That would conclude this month's altar sacrifice. Seroth would be happy for a little while longer, but that did not mean her devotion was done. After next nightfall, she would need to search for sacrifices to her beloved Seroth.