Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Sian had to be devout.

Only then could she remain longer in the temple and gain the priests’ trust.

She wore the neat black dress provided by the temple, combed her hair properly, adjusted her appearance, and stepped out in time for morning prayer. Seven o’clock. She joined the line heading toward the prayer hall.

“Oh?”

Sian let out a small exclamation, staring blankly down the corridor.

The hallway, which should have been full of priests and visitors, was completely empty.

What is this?

She turned her head and checked the clock on the table in her room. Seven a.m. It was supposed to be the busiest time of day. Yet in the bright hallway she felt an eerie stillness, like midnight.

The scene and the atmosphere were incomprehensible.

A strange chill brushed her skin, raising goosebumps.

Feeling as though she’d seen something forbidden, Sian instinctively returned to her room. She closed the door, leaned against it, and tried to steady her breathing. Her heart pounded fast. One glance was enough to know that something outside was not normal.

Did they post some notice I didn’t know about? Or maybe a new regulation?

But even so, how could seven in the morning be this quiet? If it were just the priests gone, perhaps, but not when every visitor and every staff member had also vanished. Not a trace of life, as if everyone had evaporated.

Panic threatened to overwhelm her.

She forced herself to breathe deeply, over and over, to calm her insides. Five minutes, ten minutes.

Still no sound beyond the door. The same outside her window.

Sian turned the knob and opened the door. Staying put wouldn’t change anything. She stepped into the bright, unnervingly silent hallway.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her footsteps rang sharply. The vast silence made even the smallest noise stand out.

Something had happened. The world had changed.

But she had no idea why. If I go outside, maybe I can find the cause.

Keeping wary eyes on her surroundings, she walked down the corridor. The silence stretched endlessly. The anxiety she’d pushed down ballooned inside her.

“Hey! Is anyone here?”

She shouted on purpose, loud with fear. But no answer came. Only her own voice echoed back in the cavernous space.

She shouted several more times, but again nothing answered.

The fear that the temple could be completely empty began to creep in.

She turned and pounded on the door of a guest room along the corridor. Bang, bang, bang! Her fist hit with a force that could have broken the door. She knew it was rude but couldn’t help it.

“Is anyone in there? Are you asleep? Wake up!”

She yelled loudly and knocked so hard it bordered on violence. No answer.

She pressed her ear to the door.

No sign of life. The rooms weren’t soundproofed so well that she’d hear nothing. Is no one inside?

Carefully she tried the knob. Click. It didn’t turn. Locked.

Nervous, Sian moved to another door. She pounded and shouted, just as loudly. Still no reply.

Did everyone leave?

This time she turned toward the window. Outside was bright. She saw the same plain scenery she always did of green grass, the simple grounds around the temple. But there was no one in sight, not a single priest or visitor.

The bright, silent landscape was chilling beyond words. What is this grotesque situation? Goosebumps rose until her arms trembled.

Am I dreaming?

Sian slapped her cheek hard. Smack. A sting of pain spread across her face.

Not a dream.

The burn in her right cheek brought with it an overwhelming terror.

It’s not a dream…!

Confused, Sian bolted from the corridor. She had to go somewhere or anywhere.

She rushed across two halls, running as if to escape. Empty there as well. Not even an insect crawling. It felt like everything but herself had vanished.

She was so frightened she couldn’t remember where the exit was. Still she kept running, unable to calm down, as though something were chasing her. At last she reached a dead end and stopped, panting heavily.

Before her stood the double doors leading into the prayer hall.

Almost drawn by instinct, she reached out and grasped the handles. She turned and opened them.

Clunk, thud.

The doors swung wide, and the stained glass poured radiant light like sunshine.

Sian shivered all over at the sight before her.

Rows of black-robed backs.

The people who had been missing now filled the prayer hall to the brim. All dressed in identical black robes, kneeling not on chairs but directly on the floor, heads bowed, hands clasped in prayer.

“Praise be.”

All at once, in unison like a chorus, every voice spoke. The timing was so perfect it seemed impossible, an inhumanly flawless prayer that didn’t sound like it belonged to this world.

Such a grotesque scene.

Sian clapped a hand over her mouth in horror. Her legs shuffled backward.

“Remember this.”

A clear, familiar baritone voice, like a teacher’s instruction, stopped her movement. She turned toward it. Beyond the masses of kneeling worshippers, on the dais. A white robe embroidered with gold thread. A red mantle draped over the shoulders. Holding a prayer book, dressed as the High Priest, stood Actarachion.

“Salvation is granted only to those who strive for it.”

He preached to the countless bowed heads.

“We shall engrave it deep within our hearts and obey.”

Again, the worshippers answered in one voice. Even with such a long sentence, not a beat out of sync, not a syllable wrong.

No human could manage such perfection.

This isn’t normal.

Terrified, Sian stumbled backward. And in that instant, her eyes met Actarachion’s. His black gaze sent chills down her spine, like staring into the eyes of a shark’s corpse she had sometimes seen near the sea. Lifeless, unreadable, devoid of emotion.

Her whole body froze under his stare, paralyzed with fear. Even breathing felt dangerous.

“Sister.”

He spoke directly to her. At once, those who had been bowed in prayer lifted their heads and turned. Countless eyes fixed on Sian. She gasped.

Every one of those eyes was the same as the shark’s. Cold, unreadable, as if some other creature wore a human mask.

Sweat trickled down her back.

Ah. Ah.

She wanted to scream, but no voice came. Even breathing was hard.

I’m scared. I want to run away. I wish this were all a dream…

Her lips trembled. Her fingers twitched like someone with tremors. Her frozen legs began to inch backward.

Actarachion’s eyes narrowed.

“Where are you going, Sister?”

The tone was gentle, unfitting for him. That made it all the more frightening.

Blinded by fear, Sian turned and ran. She dashed down the empty corridor, desperate to escape. Her terrified heart raced violently as her legs pounded the floor. Thud-thud-thud. Her frantic footsteps rang out.

“You lack devotion.”

His chiding voice rang far too clearly. She was already halfway down the corridor, yet it sounded as if he spoke right behind her. Bone chilling.

Sian raised her hands to block her ears as she ran. But still she heard it: the roar of something gushing, a colossal sound and vibration like a flood.

Cold dampness washed over her ankles.

She looked down. Transparent liquid. Water…

No, not water. Too cold, too sinister.

The same substance that had filled the frozen lake. Discarded holy water.

Krrshhh.

An overwhelming torrent surged, filling the corridor with a deafening roar.

Instinctively, Sian turned her head. A tidal wave of liquid filled the passage, rushing straight toward her.

Unbelievable. The situation had already crossed the line of possibility.

This isn’t a dream?

She held her breath without meaning to. There was no escape. The flood swallowed her.

The piercingly cold liquid crushed her body. She was lifted, tossed, battered by the current. Her senses reeled, her consciousness slipped.

Save me.

She thrashed her limbs, but it was useless. Breath ran short.

The corridor filled entirely with that dreadful chill.

Her oxygen-starved mind dimmed.

Unable to hold her breath any longer, she opened her mouth.

“Gasp!”

Instead of cold liquid, dry air filled her lungs. Her eyes snapped open.

“Huff, huff.”

She looked up at the ceiling, panting. The plain white ceiling of her temple guest room, where she had stayed for a week. Beneath her fingers, the coarse texture of the sheets.

Thank goodness. It was a dream.

Even though her cheek still ached…

Relief welled up, and tears brimmed. Then the fever surged suddenly. At first her throat had breathed easily, but now it hurt.

“Ugh… .”

A dry cough tore from her throat, leaving it raw.

Her head spun, her whole body burned. She threw off the thin blanket and panted. The aftereffects of that wager two days ago had finally appeared. After all, she had fallen into icy water and stood nearly naked in the cold air. It was a miracle she had lasted this long.

Bitterly, Sian forced herself upright.

The clock on the table read noon. She had slept a long time. Morning prayers and cleaning hours had all passed. Yet no one had come looking for her. Maybe they just thought the lazy princess had abandoned her discipline after a single week.

She sighed at the sad thought and reached under the bed for her shoes.

Dampness. Her foot shot back, but her socks were already soaked. Alarmed, she snatched up her shoes.

The tips were wet and gleaming. Even the floor beneath them was damp, as though someone had dunked the shoes in water.

Sian wiped at the moisture. The chill bit into her fingers even colder than ice. It was the same as the liquid that had swept her away in the dream.

Horrified, she shook the water from her hand.

So it wasn’t a dream? Her heart thudded violently, her breath rasped irregularly like a hiss  and a scream.

Why were her shoes like this? She had fallen into the lake two days ago, but the shoes had dried by the next morning.

Her mind stalled at the incomprehensible. Did someone do this just to frighten me? Terrified, she curled on the bed, staring at the shoes, then forced herself to move. And then she saw it. A black dress, the plain temple gown, hanging precariously on the bedframe. Damp fabric dripping onto the sheets.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

Two days ago, when she fell into the lake, she had left the wet dress behind.

Yet here it was now, still wet, still soaking her sheets.

Or else…

Sian leapt from the bed. Pain forgotten, she moved quickly.

Her dreadful nightmare was about to become reality.

She wanted to dismiss it as nothing, to believe it was feverish hallucination. She had to. She ran to the washroom, turned on the cold tap, and splashed her face hard. Her head throbbed.

Knock, knock, knock.

Three polite knocks.

Her hands froze on the sink. Shock after shock had made her nerves raw.

Who is it?

Water dripping down, she glanced toward the door.

The clock had read noon earlier. Morning prayer had passed, even lunchtime. Perhaps at last a priest had come to check on her. She chose to believe it.

Her hunched shoulders straightened.

Without even drying her wet face, she staggered toward the door.

“Who is it?”

Her voice cracked.

“Are you sick?”

A man’s voice answered from beyond the door. At once, Sian’s face drained white. It was the same voice she had heard in her dream.

“Did I go too far?”

Too far… with what?

She wanted to ask, but no words came.

No, she didn’t even want to ask.

She remembered those countless eyes staring at her. Empty, inhuman eyes.

With that memory, all the rest resurfaced vividly: the unnatural, perfect chorus; the icy flood that had engulfed her; and him, Actarachion Jerdin, wearing white robes and a red mantle.

Her fingers twitched nervously. She was afraid. If only it were still a dream.

Her hand rose of its own accord, as before, to strike her cheek and test reality. Reflexive, unconscious.

But, hadn’t it hurt earlier, and yet still been a dream?

Can you even feel pain in a dream…?

Her thoughts tangled. Fever blurred her consciousness. Logic slipped away. Her half-raised hand trembled faintly.

On the other side of the door, he gave a sighing laugh.

“Would you like it to be a dream?”

The words mirrored her thoughts exactly.

“Then let’s say it was a dream.”

He spoke as though granting mercy. And Sian’s consciousness went dark.

* * *

She woke up coughing, her throat dry and raw.

Sunlight through the window told her it was morning.

Her third unpleasant awakening.

She turned her head to check the clock on the table. Seven a.m.

Prayer would begin in fifteen minutes.

From outside came the familiar sounds of daily life. Different from her second awakening.

Yet she could not feel reassured.

Her hands shook as she clutched the dry sheet. She forced deep breaths, then sat up. Her eyes went at once to the corner of the bed. Thankfully, no wet dress. Next, the shoes. They lay neatly under the bed, dry. The floor, too, was dry.

Even so, her chest churned with restless unease.

Her wary gaze swept the room for anything off until it landed on a single item: the navy jacket, still hanging on the simple stand, the one Actarachion had tossed her like alms.

Is it possible that holy power could cause hallucinations?

The thought flitted through her mind.

She couldn’t be sure. Holy power wasn’t supposed to harm life. Probably not.

But she couldn’t stop doubting.

The figure in her nightmare had been too vivid. The more she thought about it, the more her doubts solidified into conviction.

Sian rose, grabbed the navy jacket, and clenched it. I must attack Actarachion Jerdin. The thought came like a spell, and she moved as if possessed. She couldn’t endure without learning whether her sudden suspicion was true.

She had to see him. Though she suspected him as the source of her terrible nightmare, still she sought him out.

It was an act of remarkable courage.