Palace Walls

Part Five

Pale bones wither across the field as the moon shimmers behind a delicate gray veil of clouds. Wolves howl a helpless hymn. This is the hour of the unspoken, the unseen, the unheard, the unfelt heartbeats.

This is the hour of sacrifice. When a priest or priestess bleeds into a flame, they will see the visions of the Light-Land. When a priest slices the limbs from his better fellow's torso-- he is fully prepared to be nurtured by the Goddess; as helpless as any fresh-born child! He has more luck than the poor weak child tossed to the seas, for at least, prior to death, he sees the visions of our Goddess swirling like fire in his blood. Our pyramids have secret chambers for the longest blood-letting, with creaky wooden machines running jagged wires across our backs and tongues, the sweet shimmery blood dripping into clay pots bearing the face of our Amma, whom we strain ourselves to see; the Neo-Jotun may say this is a torture chamber, but great sacrifice is torture to those without faith. On Great Amma's Day, our ancient kings and queens used to dance and pierce their flesh with Ice-Daggers on the balcony of their sand-palaces, letting their warm blood rain upon our chanting faces. And they were beyond powerful! To drain the body of blood is to drain it of all that blurs it receiving True Divinity. Yet...it takes the strength of a thousand Neo-Jotun soldiers for a holy Cyclops to give so much of himself to a land no one had returned from.

Holy, holy, holy Amma...may we see the wonder of your being-- and the unearthly beauty of your realm!

When our People die, they are reborn from the Goddess Amma Potamoia into the Light-Land. They awaken suckling the breast of Potamoia, ascending by means of her warm, sweet milk. Thus, it is very important that our People are buried with her image so they may become the virtue they have sacrificed their vices for.

Bless us, O Amma!

--Hex 365, from the Cyclops funerary text-- Lost Pyramids of the Dunes

Lady Salmon ran her long fingers along the edge of the shore. The sand was hot and rough against her smooth tan skin, and the warm white froth of sea-foam made her breathe a bit deeper, walk a bit slower, see a bit clearer. She stood up straight and gazed into the hazy horizon. Pink-gold clouds broke into wisps across the faded blue sky, as the sun dwindled into an orange flicker of light. She squinted. Another day wasted! she thought, Another day I could have spent enjoying myself, seeing new things, making memories...reduced to this dull excuse of a life!

In the distance, cracked Cyclops pyramids loomed over the dunes. She squinted in the sunlight, before lifting an emerald sun-shade to her eye. They were high, yet sturdy-- carved from a grayish ivory stone that guarded the cavelands several years ago. Cracks and crooked middles made them look like amateaur sculptures, but each was marked by a tiny, square space in the middle. Every space flickered with the gold-orange wink of a candle. The flames were blurred by the throbbing heat, but Lady Salmon clearly saw two thick-boned figures walk toward one crumbling pyramid.

Cyclopes! Had to be! She couldn't tell if they were male or female, but they had shaved heads and wore loose, white robes secured by light-blue sashes. Their single eyes were shielded by round, black glasses with one lense, while their mouths were tight and wordless. She felt sweat seep from her forehead and breasts. My Goddess...how do they handle this heat?

The figures knelt before the candle before singing a low, sleepy song in the harsh, caveland language. Lady Salmon wiped the sweat from her face and kept watching. One of the Cyclopes stood and turned sideways, before unsheathing a long, silver dagger. The kneeling Cyclops kept their head down and continued to sing as the standing one ran the sharp blade down the kneeler's left shoulder. Lady Salmon's mouth fell open as she saw thick, crimson blood ooze from the Cyclops' socket as the arm fell into the sand. Hot, sour nausea rolled in her stomach until she felt something chunky slide up her throat. Pressing her hand to her mouth, she darted toward the sea, and-- heart racing --vomited into the water. She lifted her neck slowly-- one vertebra at a time-- and felt tears sting her eyes. Her breath steadied slowly, yet her heart still race. A hard, metallic voice thrummed through her ears: