Leben appeared to the Dasi, and they knelt in misguided worship.
Maeve leaned against the creature, whispering in his ear with a smile, as Kiesha watched from the lonely darkness. The priestess of Anhamirak hid her tears.
Maeve wept as she was wrapped in the arms of the Nesera'rsh. She had done what she needed to protect her people, but she had lost...everything. Everything that mattered to her. Without her, the balance ruptured, and the Dasi began to crumble.
Cjarsa, falcon priestess of Ahnmik, watched the first of her disciples fall to Ecl. Leben had given them wings, and he had given them madness. One was not worth the other. This had to be stopped.
Kiesha shrieked as magic that should had called rain for the crops brought lightning and deluge. She cradled a drowned infant in her arms. Her people were dying, and everything she did to try to help them only made it worse.
Araceli and Brassal, the priest of Namid, struggled; Araceli's daughter was caught in the middle, and at the end she was limp and cold. Brassal backed out of the room with his hands held in front of him; he stared at them as if they were alien growths instead of his own flesh.
The Dasi's altars were scorched, frozen, shattered-only ruin left behind-and their priests and priestesses struggled against the magic that cut their bodies and souls. They cursed Maeve, who had enticed Leben into giving them these "gifts," the magic of their second forms. When people began to die, the new serpents blamed the falcons-those who worshipped death, sacrificed to it. Magic and blades and fire and blood...so much blood, soaking the red sand.
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