Page 117 of The Isles of the Gods
The urgency of my own mission is beating like a drum in my chest now—I don’t know what they wanted, but I know whatIwant.
I know my reason for coming here is pure—I’m here to worship. I’m here to make the same sacrifice my family has offered in Barrica’s service for five hundred years, ever since one of us gave his own life. So the fate of this crew is not for me.
I rise to my feet, gazing at the entrance. Something touches my hand, and I see Selly holding out a box of matches, and her knife. I slip them into my pocket, step carefully past the bodies, and walk inside.
I thought it would be dark in the temple, but pinpricks of light stream down from the ceiling where stones are missing. They fall in patterns, a deliberate part of the design. The place is still dimly lit, though, and I walk forward slowly, shuffling my feet along the dusty ground.
As my eyes adjust to the gloom, I make out the faint shape of the altar ahead of me, strangely uneven. The journal says there should be a statue of Barrica behind the altar—perhaps that’s what I’m seeing.
But as I draw closer, that clamoring sense of wrongness increases. I fumble in my pocket for the matches and strike one with shaking hands, a sick feeling burning in my gut.
I need more light, and I can’t think what to sacrifice—with an urgency I can’t explain flooding through me, I drop the rest of the matches to the floor, and grind them into the stone with the heel of my boot until they’re unusable. An instant later they blink out of existence as the spirits accept them.
I can dimly hear Selly’s voice from the entrance, only a handful of steps behind me, though it’s like she’s speaking from a distance.
“Leander, what is it?”
I reach out to the fire spirits dancing around the head of the match, and in response to my touch they joyfully flare higher, lighting up the scene around me before the flame burns out.
One glimpse is enough, though. One of the others gasps, and I finally understand what I’m seeing.
The altar and the statue of the goddess have been smashed beyond repair.
This isn’t possible.
This can’t be happening.
I stumble forward, nearly tripping over a sledgehammer lying on the ground at the base of the altar. I grab at the edges of the broken stones, every muscle in my body straining as I try to lift them back into place, but I can’t budge them an inch.
I run my hands over the altar, over the piece of the statuethat’s fallen into the middle of it—one of Barrica’s great eyes stares up at me, carved into the stone.
I grab for Selly’s knife, flicking out the blade, and slice it across my palm in one movement—I’ve dreamed of this moment, imagined what it might be like, all my life, but I don’t even feel the cut. I tip my hand to let the blood drip onto the broken stone, my breath coming sharp and ragged as it patters down.
I close my eyes and reach for Barrica—reach for the prayer that’s always allowed me to connect with her. But though she’s here—though I felt her as soon as I set foot on the island—there’s a gulf between us. A black chasm that swallows up my voice.
What was once a prickle of discomfort is now a screaming in my ears—or maybeI’mthe one who’s screaming.
I can feel Barrica all around me, but without her temple to amplify my sacrifice, I can’t channel the strength of my faith into her. I grasp wildly for another idea—should I cut off a finger, my hand, should I give her more blood?
But deep in my gut, I know the answer.
Everything we’ve done, all this way we’ve come, everyone we’ve lost—all of it means nothing. We’ve come too late.
SELLY
The Temple of Barrica
The Isles of the Gods
This cannot be happening.
Thiscannotbe happening.
Leander’s on his knees before the smashed altar, a terrifying, broken sound coming from him, and he doesn’t move when we call for him, doesn’t give any sign he can even hearus.
I exchange a glance with Keegan, close my eyes to pray—I’m trying to help, please spare me—and step over the threshold. I take another step, and another, and then I’m running, crouching beside him to take him by the arm.
He lets me pull him upright—his hands are cold, his face blank of all expression—and he stumbles toward the entrance as I guide him. The sunlight is blinding as we step out into it, and my eyes sting and flood with tears. I only remember the dead bodies at the last moment, clearing them with a skip and dragging Leander to one side with me. Blood falls from the cut on his palm, hitting the freshly turned earth between us.
