In the Pursuit of Death| ONC 2024

3| The Acolytes of Akul

She shot to her feet, turning her head back in the direction of the cave. "Windwalker."

The horse revealed itself, tilting its head in confusion. Eris's voice brokered no rebuke when she said, "Stay."

And the horse obeyed.

Coming upon humans in the Deadlands was dangerous enough. They were often dehydrated, malnourished, slightly mad. Quick to violence. But humans who started fires, who cared not for the carrions who would be attracted by their flames, were either vicious, or foolish.

With a sense of caution that hadn't been with her since the Ruin, Eris went to investigate.

She laid on her stomach, sand slithering up her body, and watched the fire. It had been recently lit, the palm fronds crackling, the scorch marks on the rotted wood faint. Flames reached toward the sky.

A caravan leaned against a rockface, filled with small trunks, crates, a cage with a black bird whose beak was tucked beneath its wing.

Save for carrions, birds did not inhabit the Deadlands. Eris hadn't seen one fly overhead in a thousand years.

One captured was either meat, or messenger.

Eris made to get up, to hunt the surrounding dunes for the makers of the fire, when a weight fell on her back, pinning her to the ground. Something sharp and cold pressed into her neck.

Eris stilled, flattening her hands against the sands. They eagerly slid over her fingers, her dark skin buried beneath their dullness.

"You do not react." A darkly syruped voice dripped into her ear. "Do you not fear death, sand-dweller?" The voice was closer, the blade, as Eris was certain it was a blade, digging into her further. She felt her skin rupture, a burst of warm blood slicking her neck. "I've heard those who make the Deadlands home are of a different mindset, but surely even one such as you must fear His Lordship?"

Eris closed her hands and set her jaw. Acolytes then. Outsiders to the Deadlands who made their homes in the Ashen Mountains, where Akul's temple had turned to rubble.

What was there to fear from a god who broke his promises, she thought, the warmth of the sand spreading over her cheek. Akul's acolytes were fanatics, prone to burning the tongues of those who raised a voice against their god.

"What is there to fear from a god who loves flowers?" Eris asked.

"But there are no more flowers in the world," the acolyte hissed, their moist breath brushing against her ear. The weight on her back lessened, before altogether disappearing.

Eris got up slowly, wiping the sand from her skin and clothes.

The Acolyte was a man - dark haired, dark skinned. With faded blue eyes and a scar the length of his throat. He wore black robes, a sashed belt. He gripped a toothed blade in a dusty hand. "You know of His Lordship?"

Eris nodded.

"Then what say you? Are you one of us? A sister in belief, who knows His Lordship in earnest?"

"His lordship promises –" She took a breath, steadied her heart and quieted the words she wanted to scream. Instead, she responded, "He promises peace, for his blessing is the end of suffering." She paused. "He is nothing to fear." Of that she spoke true.

The acolyte smiled, his mouth a wide crag filled with yellowed teeth, and pale gums. His hand returned the dagger to a pouch at his hip. "Too often people fear His Lordship's blessings. They fear him." He studied her face but for a beat before his smile widened. "You do not see with fearful eyes." He held out a hand. "I am Brother Bakku, Sister–"