Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114925 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Down we went. As usual, a musty odor greeted me, and I wrinkled my nose. Pritis clusters illuminated the congested expanse. Secured to the rocky ceiling, they chased away shadows. In an instant, my blood boiled. CURED had removed every orb from a Soalian’s heart. We produced the light able to repel feeders.
An answering light heated my chest until a luminous glow burst from my pores. As promised, no one noticed. Hands balled into fists, I trekked farther into the underground corridor. Winslet kept pace.
Soldiers in and out of uniform swallowed us. Brakes squealed in the distance, the train coming to a stop near the platform. A door on every cart opened, allowing the throng to swarm inside. My companion released me to push someone out of our path, and I seized my chance, purposely surging into a crowd at warp speed and slipping into an already filled cart. The doors closed, leaving Winslet outside.
Disaster averted with zero casualties. I searched for Cyrus among the faces, hoping, hoping. Boo, hiss. No sign of him.
The cart wobbled and the train shot forward, zipping along the narrow tunnel at a faster and faster clip. Though no one paid me any heed, I felt spotlighted as I gripped the bit of the Rock in my pocket. My link to Domino. To help. The sensation of being watched lingered the entire ride and only increased when I disembarked onto an overcrowded platform.
As I climbed a flight of stairs and emerged into a sunny, bustling cityscape, mouthwatering scents replaced the subtle but awful stench of a leaking battery. To my shock and delight, I caught sight of Cyrus.
I hurried closer. Hmm. Disappointment killed the thrill of excitement. Not the real Cyrus, after all, but a hologram. The display showcased all five royals in the running for king, their images flashing over a building’s wall.
A question scrolled over their heads. Who Will BE Crowned?
“Come, taste the nectar of the gods,” called a woman costumed as a mermaid. She lounged on a large square pedestal that served as the base for a colossal statue of a fish-man, petting him with one hand and beckoning to pedestrians with the other. “Our sea cakes are the land’s sweetest treat, and only half a trill.”
Citizens paused to pet him too. Someone kissed his tail. My entire life, most people had treated these statues as mere decorations while only whispering accounts of sleeping gods in secret. Witnessing this open adoration surprised me. Something had shifted among the masses.
Another problem for later. The Rock called to me, urging me on.
My eyes raked the background, my nerves taut as I hunted for any sign of trouble. The area buzzed with life, vehicles whizzing along paved roads and people rushing down winding sidewalks. Buildings of varying shapes, sizes, and materials flanked the streets. Glass monoliths gleamed under a too-bright sun, their sleek surfaces reflecting the city’s constant flow of movement, while weathered shelters with peeling paint stood in stark contrast. Lavish crystal palaces sparkled atop hills, as lovely as frozen waterfalls as their faceted walls glittered. Alongside the magnificent structures, odd, angular buildings made of a polished golden alloy shimmered, seamlessly fused to sturdy brick buildings.
Intermixed throughout, multicolored lights flashed from signs advertising a plethora of services. Everything from spending an hour with a robotic lover to punching a living (supposedly willing) person to blow off steam. Screeching, fast-paced music resounded, the notes setting my nerves on edge. A feathery breeze carried a blend of new scents, and I caught myself wrinkling my nose again. Fried foods, the metallic tinge of metal, and clashing body odors. The overpowering smells left an unpleasant residue in my nostrils.
Other statues formed by a shimmery silver material that rippled slightly with each caress of wind topped marble bases where people danced, celebrating the deities the images represented. I usually looked past such displays, yet today, they held my attention. I thought, maybe, something was different about them, but what? I pinpointed nothing out of the ordinary.
Except. There. A bronze statue that hadn’t been here during my last visit. My steps faltered. The sculpture depicted Astan, former ruler of Theirland. He was the biggest of the gods and the only one to possess both horns and wings. In this portrayal, he stood tall, one arm half raised, his wings spread wide.
But his horns. I’d seen many renderings of him inside a Theirland temple devoted to his worship. In each, those sharp horn tips had pointed down. In this version, however, the thick, ribbed projections thrust almost midway.
The small change shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it acted as fertilizer to my sense of doom.
Someone bumped into me, and I tripped forward. Okay, time to shelve statue deliberations and move on. Besides, the Rock loomed just ahead. A spectacle of grandeur eight feet tall and eight feet long with translucent stone and circles carved throughout the outer surface. An intricate interweb of crimson veins ran through the center. My heart picked up speed.