Chapter 5

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The word "kaav" means something between an accumulator and a symbol of sacred power. Andrew could not find an exact translation for this and many other terms, though he tried. Reading the books revealed an interesting pattern: he used words that had an acceptable analog in Russian without hesitation, while local idioms were more difficult. For example, the expression "dead man's hand" meant not a severed limb of a corpse, but a hopeless job, which he did not immediately understand.

Other problems appeared in the use of specific terminology from books. The girls got to the trashed library, which did have some useful literature. Not much, and some of the books were missing pages, but, as the saying goes, a stone will become bread without bread. By this time Celeste had learned to read reasonably well. Alarika attributed this to her waking memory, but the Earthling blamed it on her habit of processing large flows of information. The alphabet is simple, with only thirty-one letters, the hard sign is represented by writing two symbols together under the line, and there is no "shh" sound in Salvian. In short, reading was easy to learn, but the writing was much worse because of the lack of practice.

Now every evening the girls went to the ruined house, carefully covering their tracks. A kind of thirst for destruction possessed the people. If they had known the books existed, they would have burned them. The same was true of Carlon. The priest only tolerated religious literature; art, as he saw it, had to serve purely religious purposes. So they had to be careful, literally one leaf at a time, to pick up the papers that were swollen with damp, falling apart, then hide them in the cellar.

Celesta found a sturdy box of plastic-like material, put the trophies in it, and then covered it with garbage in the far corner. The rats couldn't get to it; it was too dark for humans. They tried to read the most interesting and useful books, which were in a tolerable condition, on the spot. More precisely, Celesta read, immediately overwhelming her friend with a hail of questions. The purpose was twofold: to gain new knowledge, which, with any luck, would be useful in the future, and to keep Alarika from slipping into black melancholy. The beauty could not recover from her outburst of anger, at times overwhelmed by apathy. At the same time Andrew distracted himself, feeling that if he begins to think about his fate, he immediately broke.

By the way, they went back to that abandoned house by the road, looked around the street. The body of the woman killed by the soldiers was gone. Too much time had passed, the beasts and marauders had taken everything of value, destroying traces along the way. It was not even possible to clarify the fate of the soldiers - whether they survived that night or not. The pool of dried blood could not answer that question, it was located where Celesta had last seen the victim. Logically, a person would have been seriously injured by a sound of that magnitude-at the very least, the soldiers' eardrums would have burst. People might have come to their senses after a while, or there might have been one survivor among them who helped his friends. Or perhaps the corpses had been dragged away and hidden by bandits, flattered by the quality of their weapons and armor. The Duke was good at arming his servants.

The need to keep an eye on the priest was annoying. He didn't seem to be doing anything, acting as usual, but every time the girls left the monastery, they noticed... you couldn't call it following. It was just that one of the ghouls suddenly had the idea to follow in the same direction they were going. They had to hide... which wasn't much of a problem: their kin didn't care about them, by and large.

Andrew regretted the confrontation with Carlon. The priest was intelligent, educated, had a certain charisma, was distinguished by his strength of will and personal courage, and cared for those he considered his own. His sense of duty was combined with a certain kindness in his management of the undead colony. Unfortunately, the obvious positive qualities were more than outweighed by religious fanaticism that reached the point of insanity. A few cautious conversations revealed a complete aversion to anything that differed from proclaimed dogma; faith became everything to the priest. Could he have gone mad after the disaster? Without knowing his past, it was impossible to give an unequivocal answer, but looking around, recalling the familiar ghouls, the earthling admitted: in the atmosphere of general chaos, anyone could go crazy. Even the most stable one. Andrew doubted his mental health - let alone other people's brains?

In short, having achieved nothing, but bringing new suspicions to her head, the younger undead began to avoid contact with her senior brother. Instead, she went to the borders of the monastery grounds more often, looking for three possible shelters where she could wait out the day, if necessary. Together. Artak had finally descended, looking aggressive and spending all his free time in the temple. Probably angry about the "stolen" Alarika. Gunn, too, was sinking deeper into himself every night, and he was becoming more difficult to communicate with, and the other undead had been of no interest from the start. They were nothing but a burden. So there was no point in dragging them along.

Cruel? Only a saint would give his last piece of bread to the first person he met, only to starve himself to death. Andrew was no saint and was not about to become one.

However, Carlon had no doubts about his chosenness. He sometimes wondered why the Lord looked to him, but he consoled himself with the thought that the deity knew better. His mental picture of the world was simple and logical and allowed him to see almost every event as a manifestation of a higher power.

The unexpected appearance of a ghoul who had lost her memory was no exception. At first, the priest saw it as a good sign. He was well aware of the shortcomings of the bulk of his flock and understood their inability to serve as instruments of the divine will. The monastery's limit was isolated acts of intimidation-they could do no more. The newcomer pleased him pleasantly with her sobriety and the serenity with which she accepted her fate; moreover, the girl rose on a particular night. The goddess Celeste had long been considered the patroness of enterprises involving danger and unavoidable pain, which in the circumstances very accurately described the everyday life of any rebel. Moreover, unlike her two sisters, the Dark Mother was directly responsible for the "setting" of events, weaving the fates of different people into a single knot. So the priest christened the young girl with a certain trepidation, hoping ... no, believing in her unusual purpose.

Perhaps he shouldn't have let Celesta socialize with the wench too often? He had once, just before the plague, watched Alarika perform at one of the receptions to which he had been invited because of his high status. At first sight, the young singer shocked him with her promiscuity. As time passed, the priest thought there must be more to her than a promiscuous desire to enjoy life, otherwise, the Lord would not have allowed the wench to be reborn. But apparently, that something was buried too deep: Alarika would not accept her destiny.

No. From the beginning, Celesta had not shown the zeal to serve. Carlon convinced himself in vain that the girl's strange coldness was due to a loss of memory and that he would soon have a pure-minded assistant. With each passing day, he watched uneasily the newcomer's growing influence on Alarika, and he did not like the consequences. The girl, seemingly finally broken - though he didn't even use that word in his mind, preferring to think "guided to the true path" - was getting out of control.

He must do something.

"My brother." The priest chose a narrow room in the temple, to the right of the altar, as the place for the conversation. This used to be the place where the ritual objects were kept. Now, alas, most of the valuables had been desecrated or destroyed. But the room has one advantage that has remained unchanged since ancient times, and that is good acoustics. Even the subtle hearing of the undead made it impossible to overhear the conversation, while the quietest sounds arising in the temple penetrated the room perfectly. Besides, Artak felt certain awe from the sense of being close to the mysteries of the cult, becoming especially suggestible at such moments. A useful quality. "My spirit is filled with sorrow. Our Lord's will is being done without due zeal. Look: the coming of his kingdom is certain, the signs and portents given can only be interpreted in one way! Brother against brother, madmen fights among themselves in the ruins of deserted cities, clawing out every last morsel of meat. Pestilence and smoothness, death and chaos rule the world! So why has the prophecy not yet been fulfilled? Why has the Lord not yet appeared in all his glory, seated on his dark throne, to judge the wicked mankind? A stern but fair tribunal?"

Could it be that in his mercy he gives a chance to those who have lost their minds? Spared the wretched? No. The fields are overgrown with grass, wild beasts attack the few survivors, monstrous monsters multiply night after night. It is agony. The God of Darkness is patient, but his patience is at an end. Therefore we, his faithful servants, are called to alleviate the suffering of the emerging world, to hasten the departure of the rotten mortal race. We should not be seen as evil, for our mission is good, though bloody. Just as the surgeon removes the diseased organ to save the whole organism, so we cleanse the face of the planet of a race that has lost its supreme law.

"The truth is, my brother, that there is too much humanity left in us. Don't let our bodies, which need blood and can't bear the fierce glow of the sun, confuse you. All this is external, unimportant. We still think like humans, we think in the same categories and concepts, good and evil for us are still determined by the attitudes we received in childhood. But this is not the way! We went through the second birth, purified. Our souls were in the embrace of darkness, where the Overlord evaluated and weighed them, choosing them out of thousands of similar ones. From now on, only the fulfillment of his designs shall be good for us, all that hinders the attainment of the good purpose shall be mercilessly destroyed. We are different now. This is the test they gave us - to see how soon everyone who rises will accept the changing nature. Embrace your new nature, unite with the demon that nests within, or cast it aside in an attempt to live as before, following the dogmas that lead to a dead-end! It's up to you. It depends on your choice what you will be in the kingdom to come: a sinner doomed to torment - or a master tasting the caresses of the dark maidens!?"

"I see your efforts, brother. You are sincere... What cannot be said of the others! They are lazy and careless. But that's half the trouble. Some have deliberately turned away from their destined path. They are too weak for the honor bestowed upon them, and they long for their former life of sin. As much as it pains me to say, the two unwise daughters stubbornly resist their chosen destiny. They lack the zeal of true faith but are more than enough stubborn and prideful. They are unwilling to follow their duty. Especially Celesta, my mistake and disappointment. I had hoped that in time she would come to the right conclusions and gladly fall at the feet of our Lord, showering gratitude on him, but Celeste won't heed my words. Moreover, silly Alarika has succumbed to her promises. You don't talk to her much anymore, do you?"

"Yes, senior brother," Artak nodded spellbound.

"Your friend's soul is in danger... We have to help them see that we are right. Do you agree with me?"

"Yes, senior brother! - Artak looked with doglike devotion at... the pack master? "Say: what should I do?!"

Andrew had recently come to the unpleasant conclusion that he knew nothing of life in the city. No matter how you look at it, ghouls nested on the outskirts and did not dare to get close to the port or the Duke's castle, which had become the natural centers of Taleya. The guards did not allow it. A rough hierarchy of forces looked simple enough.

At the top were the rulers of the city, who concentrated in their hands both the management of the troops - guards and navy - and the control of the food supply. Whatever they could procure, catch, or grow was first sent to the huge warehouses at the far end of the port, and only then was distributed among the people. The warehouses were guarded as carefully as the castle. It is not known if any factions existed in the duke's territory, but if they did, they were firmly controlled by the guards and used by them as an auxiliary force. For example, they 'volunteered' to participate in hunting expeditions, cleanup operations, and the like.

There were no large gangs left in the district, capable of competing with the city government: they were exterminated. There were a couple of "field commanders" who had about a hundred men under their command, but they preferred to be friends with the higher-ups. Quite a natural desire, for those who tried to pursue an independent policy and claim to leadership, had by this time been killed. As Andrew surmised, in time they would get rid of the rest, too, when they ceased to act as a deterrent buffer. There are still a dozen smaller groups in the vicinity, not so fortunate.

These gangs are needed now. They fight among themselves, seek out and bring valuable booty to trade, take the first blow from roaming creatures, and serve as a source of information. In other words, they function as a prelude, keeping the Duke in the loop while keeping his soldiers safe. Some of the gangs were rumored to have some sort of contract to guard the villages under construction and had moved there. The outskirts of the city belonged to the marauders, who banded together in groups of up to a dozen men.

That is, in fact, all. The informants among the victims did not tell us anything about the internal management structure of the city, or about the system of distribution and circulation of goods. But they did give us some useful names of people who were engaged in illegal buying of all kinds of junk. In the future, connections with criminals might come in handy - there was no point in the ghoul going to official authorities. They also reported a rumor that was of particular value to Andrew. One mortally frightened ragamuffin swore that one or more true wizards of the high aristocracy had survived the Plague in the Duke's Palace and had even retained some of their powers. How much truth there was in that rumor was unknown, but for now, it was the only thread that offered any hope of returning home.

The girls were returning after a successful hunt, glancing around. It was much easier for the undead to move about the city than a living man with hot blood in his veins, but there were plenty of dangers. The mood, however, was good. Two of the men had been able to replenish their energy today, and they hadn't even had to exert themselves: the prey had come to them by itself. Neither Celeste nor Alarika could identify what the two men had used, nor could they detect the scent emanating from their victims, but they offered no resistance. They grinned wryly at the women who burst out of the darkness, kicked them in the head with a stone, and lay down across the room. Perhaps the substances in their blood worked on the Ghouls, for the first time since being transferred into the half-dead body of Andrew, released oppressive tension, and he did not feel cornered beast. He relaxed.

Fortune the Bitch loves such moments.

Artak was looming in the small courtyard in front of the monastery, and he sprang to his feet at Alarika's arrival and moved briskly toward her. He glanced at Celeste angrily but said nothing to her. He turned to the older girl. Apparently, he decided to finally clarify his relationship with his former lover.

"Could we have a word?" Another look away. "In private."

"Of course," Alarika nodded. She, too, was tired of the uncertainty, so she smiled soothingly in answer to her friend's unasked question. "You can wait in my cell if you like and read the Sacred Scrolls. They are on the table."

"Ok."

Artak glanced at Celesta as she moved away, then, unable to hear her footsteps, turned abruptly. He had been meaning to talk to his beloved, who had suddenly grown cold toward him. However, the painter, deep in his heart, recognized the artificiality of their relationship, based more on a shared past and similar interests than on sincere feelings. They got together not because they loved each other. They were both people of art who could talk about things in common, they knew several people from their lives together, and they even used the same phrases. In short, they had a lot to remember.

From their first meeting, they were instinctively attracted to each other, and the shared bed was a mere sign of sympathy, nothing more. Both man and woman hoped to find support in each other, looking for support in the new cruel world. Unfortunately, Alarika did not immediately realize how much her friend depended on religion. At first, his talk of the end of the world had seemed commonplace to her: she had heard it everywhere for the past two years. Perhaps she herself would have become a faithful follower of Carlon had she not been repulsed by the priest's coldness.

Some degree of exaltation, heightened sensitivity is peculiar to all creators. The ability to express emotion goes hand in hand with delicate mental organization and heightened intuition. Why Alarika recoiled from her lover's mentor she could not tell herself. She couldn't trust him, that's all. At some point, at an invisible and insensible crossroads of destiny, Carlon had made a mistake - a small, insignificant one. He threw, unknowingly, an extra grain on the other side of the scale.

Sometimes a glance, not even a word, is enough for two beings to become enemies.

The first insolence had turned out to be her punishment. Three nights in a cell without blood, three nights filled with growing pain. And the grisly realization of the prickly truth: Artak wasn't going to help her. Every night he came and heatedly explained how wrong she had done, fiercely convinced her of her mentor's rightness, urged her to repent, to apologize. She broke down, begged for mercy. She was released, she rebelled again - and wept again in the stone cell, sucking her blood in a vain attempt to stifle her hunger.

Whenever the girl emerged from her confinement, Artak cared for her. He escorted her to the hunt, restrained her attempts to pounce on a knowingly strong adversary, brought her caught and stunned prey. Then helped her get to her cell, scolding her incomprehension. Why does she disobey her senior brother's orders? After all, he wished only good for her. As ruthless as Artak was with men, performing "cleansing" with the efficiency of a machine without a shadow of a doubt, so tenderly and diligently did he care for his wounded friend.

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He liked to feel strong and wise.

"You are avoiding me."

"Is that so?" Alarika fluttered her eyelashes in surprise. "I thought you didn't want to see me."

"Don't be silly. Every time I come near you, you're in a hurry."

"Yes? I wasn't rushing anywhere tonight. And what did you say to me?"

"You know there will be a sacrifice tomorrow!" Artak was indignant. "The senior brother has instructed me to find a gang of suitable size. It is a great honor to choose whose turn it is to enter the realm of Darkness!"

The woman sighed, hunched over as if under an invisible weight.

"Exactly..." Her voice sounded strangely quiet compared to the previous words. "You always have time for Carlon."

"Of course. What else could it be?" the undead wondered. "The Master himself says, from his mouth, that his orders must be obeyed without delay. Or do you still stand there questioning his words? Alarika, how much longer?! It pains me to see you endanger your own soul."

"Killing people to become saints?"

It was unclear whether or not Alarika's last words were sarcastic. Artak thought he was imagining things, and he said heatedly: "Saints of Darkness! Yes, our fate is hard, but who else is to do his will?"

"That's enough, Artak," the former singer sighed wearily. "We weren't going to talk about Carlon or the Lord. It was about you and me. So what do you want?"

The man was quiet. The change of subject was not to his liking, but he answered nonetheless: "I just want our relationship to be the same. You don't want to see me, you avoid meetings, you often leave the monastery. I could understand the need to hunt - if you weren't hunting every day. Again, your intimacy with Celesta is disturbing: there is something strange about this girl."

"Do you think I should socialize with Paltin?" This time there was irony in the question.

Artak was embarrassed: "No, of course not. Brother Paltin serves the Lord faithfully..."

"However, the people he kills suffer greatly before they die. Is that what you were going to say?"

"No, it's just... You really shouldn't do anything with him."

"Yeah, right! Gunn and Tick are out. Celesta, though she may have lost her memory, is intelligent and interesting to talk to. She has good manners, she's friendly, and maybe you were right in assuming she was of high birth. And I didn't notice anything strange about her, anyway."

Alarika was a bit apologetic about the strangeness. There were plenty of those in her new friend's behavior. She had plenty of doubt that the Plague was of divine origin and that she was looking for rational, "earthly" versions of the catastrophe. No one among her acquaintances except Celesta doubted the mystical nature of the Plague. Or language - Celesta's manner of speaking and phrasing would have been more appropriate for a foreigner, though she spoke without an accent. But the woman would rather bite off her tongue than admit that Artak was right.

"The senior brother thinks she is weak in faith," the man said with a frown.

"Is that so?" Alarika suddenly became interested. "Does he have reason to make such a serious accusation?"

She won't be her if she doesn't pull out what Carlon and her most trusted confidant are talking about in private.

Andrew managed to keep a calm expression on his face as he met Artak, though he had to leave quickly to hide a wide smile. Well, that was to be expected: a spurned hero-lover trying to win back an unfaithful lover. The setting, however, is a bit bleak, but that's about it. Nothing for the guy. Despite everything, Alarika loves life too much, while he is steeped in the philosophy of doom. Let's hope the woman understands how the scandal is bad for them right now. She's smart, except she gets sketchy sometimes.

It would be good to stay in the monastery for a couple more weeks. Relative safety plus the possibility of a more or less comfortable existence - that's all we need for now. In the meantime, they could scout the closest quarters to the port, find out the guards' patrol schedule, and prepare a couple of safe harbors. What the hell if they could get a human agent in here? A pipe dream, unattainable next to fanatical ghouls. People are the only source of information about possible ways to return home, to communicate with them is necessary. Thinking about the stupidity of all the upcoming actions, Andrew diligently banished away: to be stuck in another world, and even in a woman's fucking body, he did not want at all.

"Sister Celesta..." A creeping voice made the girl tense involuntarily. "Sister, won't you come into the temple? I'd like to talk to you about tomorrow."

In the last week, communication with the priest was kept to a minimum, but it could not last long. Carlon believed it was his duty to care for the souls of all the members of the community. It was all the more foolish to expect him to ignore a potential "lousy sheep," especially before the big hunt of tomorrow.

"Senior Brother?" Andrew bowed first to the stone cross, then accepted the priest's blessing. On the outside, the local rituals were somewhat similar to Christian rituals; at least, they were baptized in much the same way. On the other hand, there were many more differences as you become more familiar with the religion. "Did you want something?"

"Yes, sister. In his unspeakable mercy, the Lord has shown me a revelation. A great honor has been bestowed upon you!"

While the priest held a solemn pause, the thoughts raced through the mind of the girl in front of him. So he was up to something; it was normal for him to declare his fabrications as the voice of a god. But what exactly?

"Know that you are to lead the next mission and punish the wretched remnants of the rotten seed!"

"The senior brother..." I didn't have to fake confusion; it came of its own accord. "But I've never organized a hunt before..."

And there is still no desire to do it.

"Don't use that word for the grace bestowed upon you," the priest said coldly. "Always be aware of your chosenness, sister, and do not be like a mere mortal. As for your doubts, cast them aside. The Lord helps his messengers in all things, and you will do well."

"But what am I supposed to do? There are no small gangs left in the area, and it's getting harder every day to get sustenance."

"There's plenty of food. However, I will discount your inexperience and remind you of the people who settled in the former bank building on the square with the three fountains."

"Senior Brother, there are a dozen and a half of them!" Andrew was dumbfounded.

"We are endowed with the power to punish the big gang as well."

"There are twelve experienced men with weapons, the building is relatively well-preserved, there are even doors. Wouldn't it be better to wait an extra night and find easier prey?"

"You don't have to worry about the difficulty of the task: think about accomplishing it! Yes, perhaps sinners will resist and damage some of us. Let them! Destruction means only one thing: the time has come for the fortunate to fall at the feet of the deity in glory! Surely you are not afraid of leaving your mortal body?"

The threatening tone of the question suggested only one answer.

"It doesn't scare me, senior brother. But I think I could still be useful in this world."

"That's why the Lord chose you," Andrew noted in passing how easily the priest identifies his decisions with the will of God. I wonder if he often hears voices. "After all, those doomed fools I spoke of had committed unthinkable blasphemy! Their sin cannot be atoned for by ignorance."

Which one is that? Suddenly it occurred to me that the priest mentioned the word "sin" too often today. If I understand, the term he used in Russian translates as "violation of the current world order" and has too many shades of meaning in it. The nuances of the locals' speech sometimes slipped away, causing unnecessary difficulty in conversations and forcing us to remain silent in difficult cases.

"One of the women, driven by animal instinct, dared to give birth to a child," Carlon raged. "You hear that, sister! Plant a fresh weed in a field ready to receive new grains!"

"Are you sure, Senior Brother? At a time like this..."

"I heard the child's cries myself! What should not have happened has happened. Therefore we must correct the mistake and destroy the child cursed before birth. Your duty, sister!"

The further it went, the more clearly the suggestion smelled rotten. Andrew covered his eyes, concentrated, ignored the fanatic's speech, and listened to the silence around him. There was definitely no one in the temple, and there seemed to be no one outside either. If Carlon called for help, would he be heard? Perhaps. But Artak is far away, and the others are sitting in their cells or wandering around the ruins. Even if they heard the screams, they might not care what happens, or they might be too late. The leader is left without his pack, they are alone, the perfect opportunity to sort things out. Andrew was not afraid of a fight. Whatever abilities a priest might have, it takes time to use them, so all it takes to win is to not let him seize the initiative.

"Thank you for the honor, Senior Brother," Celesta interrupted the fervent sermon. "But I must decline your offer. I don't think you're right. If the gods really wanted to destroy the human race, they wouldn't allow women to give birth."

Carlon was abruptly silent, then in a whistling whisper: "What?!"

The girl bounced back nimbly, noticing her adversary swinging forward. Her body turned involuntarily toward the threat, her left leg back, her weight on her right. Her arms lifted, covering her head and vulnerable belly from the attack. Reflexes, damn them. Fate had given Andrew enough situations lately to resurrect forgotten skills - though they would have been better left buried.

The clenched fists were no other than as a threat - the priest stopped. He didn't seem to expect such rejection, but he wasn't going to back down. Actually, it was a pity: no matter how it ended, he would have to leave the monastery; an attempt on the leader's "holy person" would not be forgiven. Tick, for all his phlegmatic nature, would intervene, to say nothing of the others.

"Is that so?" Carlon looked directly into Celesta's eyes and smiled rather pleased. "You chose your fate, heretic."

Alarika had the unpleasant feeling that someone was trying to deceive her. Any woman has a well-developed intuition, the truth is not always listening to the voice of the subconscious, preferring to remain deceived. After all, so nice to see the chosen one most beautiful, strong, gentle, loving ... the list goes on and on. After a while, a life together destroys the illusion, and all the deeds of the man are seen in a new, negative light. What used to like, causes rejection: jokes seem flat, courage becomes stupidity, caution turns into cowardice, and clever reasoning looks full of narcissism, snobbery, and self-admiration. Whether a woman will accept a man with all his faults, or choose to part with him, even the Lord himself cannot predict in advance.

She had successfully avoided the "rejection" stage of Alaric's relationship because it had been smooth from the start. She did not love Artak, she had seen his inherent quirks since the moment of acquaintance, but compared to the other options, this one was advantageous. And for the time passed, the singer had managed to study her former lover well, so now it was not difficult for her to recognize the note of falsity in his words: "So what did the senior brother have against Celesta?"

"She's a stranger, and that's enough. Don't think of her, think of yourself. You spend too much time together, you listen to her speeches, gradually changing and moving away from me. From us. Even I'm not sure how strong your faith is, let alone senior brother's."

"Changing?" Alarika asked. "I guess I am. Only a week ago I wouldn't have dared talk to you the way I do now. And I like this change, you know!"

She hadn't been angry for a long time; she had no more power than a silent, strangled hatred. Now a keen sense of freedom rushed over her, an argument that forced her to put aside her usual caution and say things she probably should have kept silent. The opportunity to speak out was more intoxicating than wine. Artak stared blankly: "You like it?! How can you say that?!"

"I can! I'm tired of it all - of having to pretend, living by the rules, and killing, killing, killing! I want to sleep in a clean bed, go dancing, travel, sing, live not in a doghouse but a big house, wear beautiful clothes, finally feel the taste of food in my mouth! I am tired of drinking blood! Why do I need such an eternity! For what..."

The ghoul stared at the weeping Alarika in a daze; he had not expected the hysteria, and so he was at first confused. But not for long, and the confusion passed quickly. The man's face gradually turned angered, and Artak straightened up and said coolly, haughtily: "Your senior brother is right: you have completely forgotten about decent behavior. Your words are unforgivable. I do not know what punishment His Holiness considers commensurate with such a serious transgression. But I will pray the Lord to restore your sanity. Celesta, as I see clearly now, is truly dangerous and deserves no leniency. The lesson won't work - she must be killed."

"What's the lesson?"

The man backed away from Alarika's glowing scarlet eyes. Inwardly he blamed himself for the foolish way he'd blurted it out. The woman jumped up, gripped him tightly by his clothes, and hissed a menacing whisper as she pressed her face closer to him: "Answer me, what are you up to!"

"A small lesson," Artak was frightened by the fangs at his throat, but he found the strength to chuckle. "I think it's over now, and your friend's in a bad state."

The ghoul was thrown off with incredible force at the same instant, slamming against the stone wall with all her might. By the time he'd recovered, shaking his head, the woman had long since disappeared into the temple. She was afraid she would be too late.

Reality splits into pieces, leaving cracks in the place of memories. A bluish fog swirls around, interspersed with streaks of dark smoke, and scaly shadows occasionally appear in its depths. There are no smells or sounds, the total silence presses on the mind, but it is not frightening. All the strength goes to fight with myself. You want to step, to touch the anthracite-black spot, to yield to the commanding call emanating from the priest. Two human eyes hanging in the void - and a clot of perfect darkness above them. This is what it looks like here. Where - here? One doesn't know, all the same. All that matters is the faint voice at the very edge of consciousness, holding back from falling into the darkness with the last of its strength. It is not so important that the touch will be something worse than death: a persistent caressing gaze beckons, promising unimaginable pleasures, the source of which will be eternal pain. The joy of torment! Total emptiness - lose yourself and forget yourself in the arms of the night!

Alarika stormed into the hall. She did not allow herself to consider what great folly she was committing by confronting the priest. Her gut knew that if she stopped, she wouldn't have the courage to continue, her strength would be taken away by the sticky, nasty fear. So she acted without thinking.

Yes, that's it. Celesta stood in front of Carlon, hands helplessly along her body, while the priest gazed silently into her eyes. It would have been an ordinary picture was it not for the palpable tension between the figures and the thin trickle of blood running down the priest's face. Something was amiss with him. Alarika remembered how easily he had invaded her mind and turned her into a whimpering creature, cowering in a corner of the punishment cell in terror. The divine power allowed the priest much - although he had to pay the price for turning to the Darkness with a terrible hunger afterward. How long has Celeste been holding out? Five minutes? Strange that no one had ever resisted for so long before.

Alarika leaped toward Carlon, striking him in the temple with a single blow. The bone cracked under her hand, but she had no illusions: the rebels are very much alive, and soon he would regain consciousness. And then the punishment would be very severe... she must run while she had the chance. Before Artak showed up and called one of the other ghouls for help. Celesta continued to stare blankly into the void. Alarika had to grab her firmly by the shoulders and shake her violently several times. A faint moan and an attempt to sink to the floor was the response to the rough treatment. Well, better that kind of response than none at all.

"Get up!" Alarika continued to pull on her friend, bringing her to her senses. She slapped her face. "Come on, sweetie. We have to run!"

"What?!"

"We have to run, you hear? Let's go."

She put one of Celeste's arms on the shoulder and held her tightly around the waist, and Alarika led her toward the exit. It's a good thing she's so small and light she can barely reach her temple. Demons, there's Artak ahead: the former lover of the world wouldn't let them pass. What is to be done? Celeste groaned, glancing around with a hazy look: "Where?"

"In the back, unconscious. We're leaving. Can you walk yourself?"

"I will try."

"Come on, honey. We'll get past Artak, run to the basement, wait out the day. I just want to be there in time. He'll scream, the bastard, the scum, the jerk, the fucker..."

The swearing helped calm her, and the slurred muttering gradually tidied up her shattered thoughts. What had she done? Fool! Now they were both dead. They would be after her, looking for her. Where could they go? They could hide for a night, a week, but they'd be found, sooner or later. If not Carlon, then the men or the other undead. She was far less afraid of the creatures of the night than she was of her kind.

Celesta lifted her head, her gaze running meaningfully down the short corridor. Her stride became firmer; she didn't have to be dragged anymore, just a little support.

"Wait. How long until dawn?"

"A couple of hours. Are you okay?"

"I'll survive," the girl grinned wryly. "What was he doing to me?"

"I don't know. They say the priests of Morvan can tear the soul from the body and give it to the Master. I was punished once, but differently: it was just very scary. We'll talk later when we're away from the monastery."

The undead's keen ears picked up the footsteps, and Alarika gritted her teeth: "Demon, I just knew it!"

As Artak entered the corridor, he froze for a moment, refusing to believe his own eyes. The damned girl stood staggering and grinning mockingly, carefully supported by his unhappy lover. What on earth had happened? Where is the elder brother, why did he allow the heretic to leave?

The distance between the fugitives and the bewildered ghoul was no more than four paces, and Alarika took advantage of that. She was still concentrating on Celesta, who was barely able to keep her feet. The older girl nimbly jumped up close and with all her might struck the man in the stomach with her left hand. Her growing claws ripped through his clothes and dug deep into his flesh. Artak crouched; at the same instant Alarika, ignoring the pain in her broken finger, struck him hard on the head with her other hand. As he collapsed to the floor, the woman kicked her lover, who was crouching in pain, several times with pleasure and fury. A muffled growl erupted from her throat, the skin on her face tightened, her pupils turning scarlet again. She might have continued the beating, taking out the fear she'd built up over months of a dull life if it hadn't been for Celesta's sobering voice: "Stop! Alarika, enough!

"Yeah, let's go." The former singer grabbed her friend by the arm, giving the one last punch. "We need to get as far away as possible before they wake up."

The weakness came on suddenly, and this time Celesta had to keep them both from falling. Fortunately, the attack passed as suddenly as it had begun, leaving only an increased sense of hunger. We should get out of here, and fast.

The two shadows slipped silently into the courtyard, passed the gate. Without encountering anyone - one undead silently thanked the gods, the other grinned silently - they strode away from the hostile sanctuary that had become hostile. After walking eight hundred meters in complete silence, they turned and cautiously, climbing over mountains of debris and listening to the sounds of the night, moved toward an old house. It was on the border of the monastery grounds and had the two virtues of a deep basement and a pack of feral dogs that had settled in the neighboring yard. People, fortunately, rarely appeared here: they were afraid of the fangs of predators who had forgotten their former friendship. The ghouls, on the other hand, were not to be attacked unnecessarily by common beasts.

Only when she was buried deep underground did Alarika dare to speak up. She was still shaking, her eyes flashing back to Carlon's face, and then to Artak's astonished, stunned eyes. She felt no remorse for beating her lover-she would have loved to add more. What she felt was fear. She didn't know what to do next, so she simply told Celeste about everything she had seen, hoping to hear words of comfort in return. Alarika believed in her friend.

"Thank you," Celesta said after listening to the emotional narrative. "You saved me. I had no strength left to resist. The priest seemed to be angry. He didn't want to kill me at first - but I resisted somehow. That's when he started pushing me as hard as he could. If you don't hit him, I won't live."

"You saved yourself," Alarika countered, "to last that long... You better tell me what to do next. There's no way back to the monastery, no one to protect us, and Carlon will probably want revenge. He's not gonna let today's defeat go unanswered, is he?"

"We'll find a shelter," the frail girl with the tough, determined face answered firmly, "and probably more than one. Just in case. We do not need someone else's protection: we can handle ourselves, and help others in time. We'll teach them everything we know. Next night, we'll leave the Pit. We'll get to the other end of town, hunt, find a shelter on the way. I'm not afraid of Carlon."

The beauty only sighed, pressed herself tighter against her friend, and felt her thin arms hugging her back in comfort. The priest was frightening her.

"Dawn is coming. We have to go, Alarika."

"Medea. That used to be my name, before the monastery. Forget about Alarika."

"Is that so?" Celesta finally smiled. "It's a beautiful name: Medea."

* * *