‘We must move now,’ came Macros’s voice.
‘What is it?’ Nakor asked again.
‘The Temple of the Black Heart,’ said Macros. ‘The holiest of holies on this world. It is the entrance to the domain of the Dark God.’
‘What are those energies?’ asked Pug.
‘Life,’ said Macros. ‘Given your unusual perspective in this realm, you can see it, as can I, but to the average Dasati, even to the Deathpriests and Hierophants, the air above the temple is clear. You are seeing the life essence of thousands of the dying rushing to that monstrous entity. It is feeding on them. It is growing stronger.’
‘To what end?’ asked Magnus.
‘That we must find out,’ said Macros. ‘Move us to the right, in line with that flickering light to the south-east. It is a lake within the next raion and beyond that lies the Grove of Delmat-Ama. It is there we shall begin to gather information and assess what has occurred, and see if we can make some sense of this insanity.’
Pug remained silent, but he wondered if sense could ever be made from insanity. Thinking of that, he wondered how went the hunt for Leso Varen on Kelewan, and for a brief moment he ached to hear from Miranda and wondered if he would ever hear from her again. Pushing aside such black musings, he turned his attention to keeping them invisible from the thousands of Dasati hiding below.
They sped along in the direction Macros had indicated, until they were again over a series of parks and temples. The parks were almost always on lower rooftops, merely four or five storeys above the ground, not on top of the highest blocks of structures. If there was a single building in the centre, with high-peaked steeples and turreted towers, that would be a temple to His Darkness.
These parks had been arranged in a pattern, Pug could see from on high. The buildings formed a cross, with the parks occupying the remaining space of a vast square, the north-west, south-west, south-east, and north-east quadrants. The northernmost building was a gigantic structure, huge even by the Dasati’s overblown standards. A massive foundation supported half a dozen pillars, with a centre tower rising up highest of all.
‘Look at the size of that place,’ observed Nakor.
‘And more of the life-energy is leaving there,’ Macros said, pointing.
Pug saw that thousands of tiny wisps of the black life-energy were leaking from the top of the highest tower, seeding back towards the massive intake they had observed earlier.
Macros said, ‘Deep under this structure, dozens of levels below this plaza, are cavernous murder rooms. While mayhem is the word for this day, ritualized slaughter takes place on appointed holidays. His Darkness apparently needs a steady supply of Dasati life-energy to thrive, and so has bent the will of his people to this unspeakable practice.’
‘How have they survived?’ asked Magnus.
‘In times past,’ said his grandfather, ‘by conquering other worlds. The Twelve Worlds were once populated by other intelligent beings, and the Dasati put every one of them to the sword or sacrificial altar and have their hearts cut from their chests.
‘Over the ages, they ran out of victims, so they began to prey on one another, evolving into this culture of death and madness you see today.’ Macros fell silent to let what he was saying sink in. Then he said, ‘The truth of what occurred is hidden. History has been overlaid with dogma until the canon of the Dark God and history are the same thing. Only the Bloodwitch sisters have some perspective on what really occurred over the centuries, and their archives are sketchy at best.’
‘Why is that?’ asked Nakor.
‘Over there,’ said Macros to Pug, ‘move us towards that large spire and straight on beyond. That will lead us to the Grove.’ To Nakor he said, ‘For centuries the Bloodwitch sisters were part of the faith of the Dark God, though it’s almost certain they predated his ascension and were servants of a goddess of life or nature.
‘But even though the Sisterhood finally recognized the pointless folly of a society so murderous that even its own young were at risk, they didn’t come to that realization until after much of the old lore was lost. Had I longer to study…’ His words fell away.
Pug suspected Macro’s condition was more dire than he admitted. Certainly there was a sense of urgency in everything he did, and Pug couldn’t escape the feeling that matters were quickly heading for a turning point.