The Shadow's Spear

25.1 Banquet of Falas

Anoran stayed kneeling as the crowd departed.

A hand touched him on the shoulder. “Anoran, get up,” Pelan said. “Apparently, we have a private audience.”

“A private audience with…?”

“Falas.”

“Oh.”

Some combination of dread and excitement welled up in his stomach.

One of the angelic figures led them through the hallways of the temple to a tiled room. Inside, hot water poured from golden trenches and trickled into a large bath. They took turns washing.

Anoran shaved and combed his long hair and looked quite presentable. He came out, wrapped himself in a towel, and found that his dirty, torn clothes had been replaced with a white tunic and pants.

Their attendant came back in the room.

“We had a friend named Termon who came here with us,” Kohal said. “Do you know where he is? I thought he’d rejoin us somewhere in the valley.”

“The son of Fuellion was not permitted to come here. I can explain later, but for now, hurry and ready yourselves.”

Anoran would have preferred a few days rest. Instead, he was rushed, hair still wet, through magnificent, marble hallways which he did not have time to admire. They began to ascend an enormous, spiral staircase.

“I’m starving,” Anoran said. “Could we get a bite to eat before the meeting?”

The guide laughed. “Don’t worry. You’ll be banqueting with Falas.”

“Eating… with him? He eats?” Pelan asked.

“He does as he pleases, so for your sake, he’ll eat,” the man said.

Pelan ventured another question. “Who are the people who live here?”

“Those of my race were created by Falas, and we live to serve him. But, not being one of the seven races, we cannot have children. The rest have come from the outside or were born from those who have.”

A window showed the peaceful lake. The sun had fallen behind the mountains, and clouds formed in the paling sky. But with the light of the temple, the valley still seemed bright.

“We’re here,” the guide said. He handed them veils then opened the door for them.

Anoran had eaten at a dining room in one of the mansions of Maeva, but compared to this one, that was a mud hut. Pillars of shining marble supported a high ceiling which was covered in a bright mural of of low, rolling hills and trees. Wild beasts of all sorts roamed the hills together, lions and deer side by side. Lakes and streams dotted the landscape, and on the horizon stood a tree which rose like a mountain into the skies.

Flower-filled vases and sculptures sat around the room in alcoves carved out of the walls. In particular, one little vase caught Anoran’s eye as lonely and off-center. It was gold and silver, studded in red gems, and bore symbols of sun and moon and stars. It seemed familiar, somehow.

Six paintings hung from the walls, one for each Taner. Falas shone. The sky’s most magnificent clouds shrouded Pelori. Ular leapt from the surface of the sea. Faenturi struck the earth with a hammer and split it asunder. Leaves cloaked a barely-visible Isil. And last of all hung a picture of a form under the full night sky, handsome and with a generous smile. It looked like Vorlo, but handsome. Anoran wondered if that’s what he’s looked like before his corruption.

Steaming food piled high on the table. Crystal goblets reflected rainbow light, and empty, golden plates sat in front of intricately carved chairs. On each seat rested a gold-threaded, velvet pillow.