IMMORTAL SECRETS: THE SACRIFICIAL LAMB

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - ACCALIA

"The mix-breed, Accalia Gerheart," one of them says with a devilish curve of his lips. He's glaring into my eyes with outrage, noticing the diamond texture. From behind Chandresh, I glare back. "And Avanish's son, Chandresh Huyana," he finishes, pompously lifting his eyes off me.

Most of them appear the same whether male or female: graying but no wrinkles, beak-like noses, pointy features and blue-diamond eyes but with diverse skin tones. Chins are held high in arrogance. Despite their pearly radiance beaming from within to brilliantly brighten the hilltop, I've never felt so much darkness, I've never felt so lonely, helpless and judged.

Another says, "Why have you both come here with no escort?"

"Or permission," a female demands flatly.

Chandresh responds, "Where is my father?"

"Your father can't help you, young one." They all giggle, as if our lives are jokes.

"Where is my father?" Chandresh tries again, louder, bolder.

One responds while others hiss, "Both of you have broken a Law by coming to the Wishing Hill alone."

Another female with gapped teeth says, "Chandresh, I would have thought your father taught you better."

"I'm aware of the Law," Chandresh says.

"But you came anyway?" a male with a mole on his forehead asks.

"Can't you see," the female with gapped teeth says, reading our body language. "He came to warn her. She didn't know."

They talk amongst themselves casually, like deciding what to have for dinner. They say Chandresh didn't pick a flower, no residue is on his hands. I glimpse mine, a rainbow of colors like dried paint stains my right hand. I hide it behind my back.

When they are in agreement, one says, "You are pardoned, Chandresh."

Another says, "Do not come here again without an escort. You will never receive another warning, now leave."

Chandresh straightens his back and lifts his chin, "Not without Accalia."

"It's not for you to decide. Now leave, before we change our mind."

But Chandresh doesn't move.

"You would risk your life for an abomination?" one asks, surprised.

"I would risk my life for this mix-breed," Chandresh corrects.

They laugh, and one says, "How sweet," as if it was meant to be an insult.

"You're not allowed to harm her," Chandresh says matter-of-factly.

Tension thickens in the air. I grab Chandresh's wrist; his pulse, his heartbeat is racing with mine. No longer are we willing to fight with one another, when a fight with them for the right to live seems inevitable.

Several of them gasp, "Not allowed?"

One arrogantly says, "Dear Chandresh, we are allowed to do what we wish."

"But she's prophesized. As long as she lives, you'll win the war," his voice trails off as if he no longer wishes this outcome, "against the mix-breeds."

A few mock Chandresh, "She's prophesized."

Others mock, "We better not touch her."

Some laugh.

Heavy becomes my heart and I want to cry. They are so detached from empathy. It seems Solom's stories of their heartlessness are true.

All becomes quiet while one speaks, "We don't care about some stupid prophecy, not when it goes against the Laws we enforce."