Then again, the Twin Sanctuary did not possess a massive stone slab at its heart. A slab that could be only an altar, and whose deep red stains were most certainly dried blood. A man lay upon it, hands tied behind his back in the same manner the villagers had bound Keles. His mouth was gagged, and his eyes blindfolded. He had been stripped of all clothing but his undergarments. Whether he was unconscious or sleeping, she did not know, but there were at least visible movements of his bruised chest. Two men stood guard over him, clubs in hand.

Keles tried to remain calm when she spoke. To her relief, there wasn’t the slightest quiver or hint of worry in her voice.

“Who is that man?”

Eshiel halted just shy of the half circle. The accompanying villagers fanned out to either side, and they moved with a purpose. Those carrying torches lifted them high, casting light about the cliff.

“An imperial soldier we captured on patrol to Chora,” Eshiel said, referring to the nearby village whose elder had guided Keles into the forest. Eshiel shed his robe so that he was naked from the waist up. All across his muscular body were winding tattoos, and for every curve or circle there was a matching scar, some a full foot in length. Whatever had been done to this man, it had been brutal. He turned to her, no more smiles on his face or sharp banter on his tongue. His voice lowered, meant only for her. “There is no coming back, Keles. If you stay, you become a part of this, all the way to the necessary end. I will not blame you for leaving… though I would be disappointed.”

The movement of the people ceased, for they had taken their places. Completing the ring, Keles realized. What had been a half circle was now full. Stone and flesh, the everlasting and the ephemeral. Torches burned in the human ring, while only moonlight lit the six weathered pillars. In the center, the prisoner and the man with the knife.

“Lycaena has never preached a need for blood sacrifice,” Keles said, feeling the first hints of panic nibbling at her mind.

“And what need was there in a time of peace?” Eshiel asked, this time louder and for all in attendance. “On calm days, the sword stays sheathed, but let it be drawn when night falls and the burglar comes prowling.”

The bound man rolled onto his back, a faint moan escaping his lips. He sounded drugged, which would explain his lack of struggle. Whatever hope had dragged Keles here vanished as she watched Eshiel lift the knife. This couldn’t be right. This was madness. The people would indulge Eshiel’s slaughter of imperial soldiers because they were frightened and angry. It was rebellion framed as ritual. It was war disguised as worship. Stars help her, there were children in attendance.