Prologue

  Viktor II

  He ate the crystallized blood of forgotten gods. Swallowing hard, Viktor smacked his parched and salty lips. He shifted in his chair and pulled against manacles binding him to the floor. The rattle echoed in the cell. Throughout his captivity, time had become a foreign concept. His world shrunk to the confines of a dark, dry dungeon. His captors always kept him hot and uncomfortable. He wallowed in discomfort for so long that it became comfortable—desired even.

  The interrogator retrieved a waterskin and pressed it to Viktor’s lips. Viktor voraciously drank warm water, spilling more than he swallowed. His captor denied him his fill and tossed it on a rough wooden table. They always gave them just enough water to keep them alive.

  Sweat dripped from his unkempt dark hair. His companion sat across from him in glimmering torchlight. Karolin was bound to a chair, seemingly oblivious to her rugged condition. Her head hung back in a familiar, drugged stupor. Drool dripped down. She moaned blissfully and smiled at him with dirty teeth.

  The lanky interrogator’s tattooed and scarred torso glistened with sweat. He wore a simple black mask. Thin fingers pressed against Karolin’s temple. Viktor knew firsthand of the torturer’s telepathic intrusions. His captors often weakened the mind first with alchemical substances and other hallucinogens. His turn would soon come.

  The interrogator removed his fingers from Karolin’s head, picked up a pale green, round-shaped pod, and cut it with a small knife. Poppy milk oozed out, dripping into a crude metal bowl. He dropped the knife with a clunk on the table. Setting the bowl atop a brazier to heat the milk released a strong stench. He grasped Karolin’s short black hair, jerked her head back, and stared into her eyes. Like always, he recited the same nine words. “Avictean. Empire. Tellius. Essemancy. Loyalty. Compliance. Dissent. Chaos. Destruction.”

  A shadow emerged from the dungeon’s dark corner—the shaman. He had dark greasy hair and even darker exaggerated sacks beneath his eyes. Gaunt-faced, with leathery flesh brown as sand. His skin was a conglomerate of tattoos and ritualistic scars covering his body. Half-naked, the shaman wore loose breeches and soft boots. His simple belt held keys and four different coin purses. His sole weapon was a lone ritualistic dagger.

  The shaman pressed a smooth stone rock carved with a runic symbol against his skin. “How does she feel?” The shaman directed the question toward Viktor, testing his magical abilities.

  “Uncomfortable,” Viktor answered. He didn’t need the telepathic ability of Essemancy to know the answer. The shaman nodded and removed the stone from his touch. Viktor had habitually reserved the salt’s power whenever he could.

  “Bring in the infidel,” the shaman ordered. The black-masked man exited the cell through the open door. “Only through pain can you honor the gods. What sacrifice do you offer?”

  “I offer my body,” Viktor said.

  The shaman dropped a knife by his feet. “Make your offering.”

  Viktor grabbed the knife, flexing his grip around its handle. He held onto hope, but killing the shaman and stealing keys wouldn’t ensure his escape. Whenever the fearless shaman handed him the knife, he observed Viktor’s actions. Viktor’s hope had diminished incrementally until none remained. Viktor cut the top of his forearm with the knife, leaving a trail of blood behind.

  “Have you fully embraced pain?” The shaman asked.

  “I have,” Viktor said.

  “Do you champion the Path of Paragons?”

  “I do.”

  The black-masked interrogator dragged Sir Evert into the cell. The Julk treatment left him a husk of a man—beaten, disheveled, and starving—a walking skeleton of skin and bone.

  “Through me, the gods command you to prove your devotion. Kill this infidel.”

  They pushed Sir Evert to his knees. A Knight of Tellius, sworn to protect those of his faith. Evert looked up. A grizzled face ready to die. His hand trembled. It took every bit of his strength to trace Tellius’ Diamond on his chest—from top, then left, bottom, right, and top again. Evert’s eyes narrowed, and he scratched at his beard; flashing a glimpse of blue crystal—salt. Consuming salt would empower his Essence with telekinetic powers. Evert folded his hands and mumbled an incoherent prayer.

  Viktor wanted to spare Evert, but couldn’t. They had shared meals and labored together, collecting salt from the mines and lake. First, they bonded as brothers, but that blossomed beyond into something more. He wanted to embrace him but resisted. They had already exchanged farewells. Suspecting their captors would desire one last test, they had conspired to do whatever was necessary to ensure one of them would survive. Each had embraced the possibility of their inevitable death, for the Julk always demanded a final sacrifice. Viktor had seen it dozens of times before.

  Viktor didn’t hesitate. He leaned forward and slit Evert’s throat. Evert fell forward onto him, using his body to shield his hands from the Julk guards. With his free hand, Viktor’s fingers squeezed into Evert’s closed hands and retrieved the salt crystal. Possessing salt restored his hope now that he had a vital component needed to weave the magic power of Essemancy.

  Blood covered the stone floor. Sorrow shredded his recent hope, numbness pervaded his body. His stomach roiled. Not from the sight of blood, but from losing Evert’s Essence. Viktor stifled tears—he must or the Julk would question his devotion.

  The interrogator poured milk into the poppy pipe. The shaman shook his head, and the interrogator dropped the pipe.

  Squatting down, the shaman stared into Viktor’s eyes. “Avictean.”

  “Enemy,” Viktor said, preparing himself for what would soon follow. The shaman began the familiar word association like hundreds of times before. Over time, Viktor refined his responses. Each word now triggered an instinctive answer.

  “Empire.”

  “Emirates.”

  “Tellius.”

  “Infidel.”

  “Essemancy,” the shaman said with an awed tone.

  Viktor stared at the shaman’s runic tattoos. “Power,” Viktor answered.

  The shaman hesitated with contemplation. Viktor had always replied this way before. Why does he hesitate now? Viktor’s heartbeat quickened.

  With a curt nod, the shaman continued. “Loyalty.”

  “Blind.”

  “Compliance.”

  “Willing.”

  “Dissent.”

  “Necessary.” Viktor swallowed dryly. His throat scratched, and he clicked his tongue against his mouth’s roof to conjure moisture.

  “Chaos.”

  “Comfort.”

  “Destruction.”

  “Inevitable.”

  The shaman pried the knife from Viktor’s hand and wiped the blood clean on Evert’s hair. He pushed Evert over with a hard thud. Manacles rattled as he unlocked them. With a click of freedom, they clanged upon the stone floor. Then the shaman unlocked Karolin.

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  “The gods tell me they accept your offering. However, they require one ultimate act of devotion.” The shaman gestured with his dagger to Karolin. “Ensure this one follows the True Path of Paragons.”

  The interrogator rolled up his torture tools in a cloth bag and tucked it under his arm. The two overseers closed the cell behind them, leaving Evert’s body lying on the floor.

  Once they were gone, Viktor crunched blue salt crystal hard in his teeth. He smacked his tongue to create saliva to swallow easier. Then he rushed over to Karolin and gently slapped her cheek a few times. “Karolin. Karolin. How do you feel?”

  “Amaaaaziiiing,” she said with a slurred smile.

  Even though they were alone, Viktor spoke just above a whisper. “I’m so close to convincing them. Once we do, we can finally escape.”

  She rolled her head around. Drool fell from her mouth.

  Viktor straightened her head with his hands and looked into glazed eyes. “Listen to me. Listen. I have convinced them, but now you need to convince them. Show the Julk you have accepted their Path. That you have embraced pain, embraced their gods. Show them you have rejected Tellius.”

  “Infidel,” she slurred. Her pleasurable grin soured into a scowl.

  Viktor nodded. “Yes, infidel. Tell them that. We’re so close. When they come again, you must convince them. Otherwise, I fear we may have found their patience limits.”

  She nodded, her head hung low, chin against her chest. Viktor checked her pulse and listened to ensure she was still breathing. Content her condition was stable, he examined Everts’ lying body and knelt beside him. Viktor formed the Sign of the Diamond by pressing his index fingers and thumbs together in front of his chest. He extended his arms toward Evert and said a prayer. “I offer my Essence for your exodus. May Tellius embrace you and forgive me.”

  After he concluded the proper rituals to honor the dead, Viktor intended to make Evert’s sacrifice serve the one True Faith. He dipped his finger in the pool of blood, lifted his shirt, and drew a rune on his chest. He took his time, ensuring the symbol was precise and clean. Once finished, the blood had cracked dry. He reapplied blood again, ensuring the rune was intact. Now completely satisfied, he drifted to sleep.

  Something shook him awake. He opened his eyes, and Karolin squatted beside him. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

  He straightened upright. “Uncomfortable as always.”

  “What happened here?” Karolin flicked her head toward Evert.

  “A sacrifice. Listen, we’re close. Next time they come, prove you’ve embraced their Path as I have.” She startled and stared behind her into the empty corner. Viktor touched her arm with gentle comfort. Her head swung around, fear and anger filled her eyes. “There’s nothing there.”

  Her posture relaxed. “Do you ever feel you’re going mad?”

  “Yes, I’m Karvyean after all.”

  Karolin smirked at the insinuation.

  Viktor craned his neck. “I’ve never felt a stronger bond with anyone else in my life. You’re my family. We may not share blood, but we’re bound by it. Nothing will ever change that. I would have given up long ago if it hadn’t been for you. What we’ve survived together... suffered together... all that matters is living past this moment. We’ve suffered so long that I dare hope for the future. Yet I will.”

  “I feel the same way. I love you, Viktor.”

  Viktor smiled and put his arm around her shoulder to pull her into his embrace. “I love you too.” He loved her as a sister, but something about Karolin’s tone implied a more romantic love he couldn’t reciprocate. “Once we escape and sail across the Enthos Sea, we will gorge ourselves sick with meat, fruit, and wine. The Avictean Empire will celebrate our return. Tellius protected the imperial prince and was a faithful inquisitor. Two Telliusians were pure of heart, their loyalty unwavering. We will survive. I promise.”

  “I have to, otherwise it’s all been for nothing.”

  The dungeon door squeaked open, causing them to break their embrace. They hunched down in the fetal position against the wall. Their two overseers had returned. Despite the black mask, he recognized the same ritual scars and tattoos as those belonging to the interrogator. Only now he wore a dagger at his waist.

  The shaman opened the cell door and motioned for Karolin to stand. “Come.”

  Karolin stood and shuffled toward him. Her feet scratched across the stone.

  “You too.”

  Viktor rose, fighting weakened muscles. Every movement was slow and purposeful to conserve energy.

  Both men escorted them from the dungeon. The door squeaked opened and Viktor squinted at the bright sunlight. Raising his hand to shield his eyes, he stepped outside and stared downward until they adjusted. The sun burned hot on his skin. Viktor surveyed his surroundings. Desert stretched outward in every direction. A towering monolith rose several hundred feet into a clear sky. Its position atop a gentle hill contributed to its imposing dominance against the horizon. White stone, eroded from centuries of harsh winds, comprised it. A ramp spiraled around the outside. An earthy aroma mixed with stale salt permeated the air.

  A dried lake sat beneath the monolith’s shadow. Slaves labored under the watchful eyes of their masters. They gathered salt. Hundreds shoveled salt into wicker baskets while others hauled them to nearby tables and emptied them. Others sorted salt crystals, seeking specks of color among the white.

  Viktor stopped, slipped on a pair of sandals, and stepped onto loose sand. Each step shifted beneath him—he struggled to secure his balance. Scalding hot grains flicked into the sandal soles, burning his feet. He lifted his foot and shook them free. Then he shuffled toward the dry lake like always. Ready to join his family of fellow slaves.

  “No.” The interrogator swatted his arm and gestured to the monolith. This was new. He observed the structure every time he labored, welcoming its shadow shade. The Julk slave masters never allowed any slave to approach the structure. They slowly followed the shaman up a dune. Halfway there, they paused a moment to drink water, which restored his stamina.

  Carved runes inscribed the monolith’s base, their meanings unknown to him.

  “Up.” The shaman pointed toward the stairs. Viktor had never seen anyone ascend atop the structure before. The monolith stood as tall as Tarona’s towers—he estimated over four hundred feet high. His legs already ached, anticipating the ascent. The hair on his neck stood—something was amiss.

  Viktor took a deep breath and calmed himself as they lumbered upward. He focused his will on his Essence. Exhausting the last violet salts they had given him earlier, he sent a telepathic message to Karolin. They are going to kill us, be ready to fight when I attack.

  Disguised by her steps, Karolin’s head subtly bobbed twice, acknowledging his message. They reached the monolith’s summit, which was narrow and flat. To his surprise, no blood-soaked stones perched atop the structure. A breeze cooled his skin. Peering north toward home, along the horizon, he saw hope. A coastline with a town and docked ships. Now the ramp reversed, spiraling back down inside the structure. Viktor wondered what was inside.

  To his knowledge, no one knew of the monolith’s true purpose. Rumors spread among the slaves that the monoliths were ancient sacrificial sites used to appease Julk gods. However, none of them admitted to ever seeing such a sacrifice. Such thoughts seemed foolish. Viktor shook the doubt free. The Julk were sadistic people who worshiped their gods through pain, sacrifice, and self-mutilation. He reasoned the sacrifices occurred inside. Worry wormed its way back into his thoughts as he dared not think of what awaited within. If he intended to escape, he had to act now.

  He stepped forward and purposefully stumbled, falling to his knees. The shaman looked over his shoulder and scowled. Viktor raised his hand to his mouth and gasped a single word. “Water.”

  The shaman passed him a waterskin. Viktor took a deep drink, needing the water to ensure his success. But before he quenched his thirst, the shaman tore it from his hands after a few moments. Viktor struggled back to his feet and looked over his shoulder, assessing the other guard’s position. He stood near Karolin, intent on protecting her first, since she had no weapons or salt. Her condition was far too weak to put up any significant resistance.

  Viktor found his confidence. This would work. It had to work. Channeling his will, the salt’s power flowed within him, binding to his Essence. He siphoned the blue salt’s power, twirled, hand extended, and cracked the neck of his long-time abuser. The Julk interrogator collapsed on the stone with a thud.

  Viktor whirled, hand outstretched, ready to unleash telekinetic power against the shaman. But the shaman’s arm had already extended outward, paralyzing Viktor in place. The two men fought for control of an unseen godly force.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw a smile tugged at Karolin’s lips. She scampered towards his corpse, her weakened fingers struggling to retrieve his dagger.

  “Who are you?” The shaman asked through clenched teeth.

  Viktor resisted the instinct to recite the conditioned answers. Stubborn courage gave him strength. The Julk glided backward toward the edge of the platform. “A man who answered the Grand Vicar’s call to embark on a Great Expedition. One among thousands who sailed across the sea in search of something. God? Gold? Glory? Nothing remains. The Imperial flag lies buried in the sand among thousands of men. I suffered for years at your barbaric hands. My greed and misguided ideology led to—”

  “—Destruction,” the shaman snarled as his heels hung over the edge.

  Viktor shook his head. He harnessed the last salt within him, unleashing a burst of power. “No! I found something I never thought I needed. I found a family. Who I am you ask? I am—”

  Viktor winced as a hot stab of pain throbbed in his back. Unable to focus his will, his arm dropped, and he collapsed. Karolin stood over him, holding a cruel dagger dripping with his blood. “I’m no one, from nowhere, belonging to naught, with nothing to lose.”

  A single tear fell from his eye, but not from the physical pain. With his tear, he honored the emblem of the Knights of Tellius that he embraced long ago. Just as Tellius wept for his followers, now he too wept for Karolin. His exodus would join with the heavens above. He couldn’t form the word, but Karolin’s head tilted, seeming to know his unspoken question.

  “They would never allow more than one,” Karolin said.

  The shaman stepped over him, blocking out the sun, offering Karolin a ceremonial dagger. “Prove your devotion.” Karolin grabbed it. For an instant, Viktor hoped this had all been an elaborate ruse. A trick to cause the shaman to lower his guard before she could strike.

  Karolin stooped and held the knife to his throat. She hesitated, then gave an erratic shake of her head. Her eyes locked with his. Emotionless and empty. The cold bite of steel cut his throat. Blood sprayed Karolin in the face. He choked up blood and gaped like a fish.

  Viktor prayed to the All-Father. He had lived a devoted life, but doubt crept in, sending a sudden shiver through his body. He thought he heard barking sounds. Are the Voidhounds coming to take my Essence? Viktor hoped he would soon see his mother once again.

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