“They’re meant to serve a greater purpose. They will be grateful when it is all through.”
Grateful?
> I highly doubted that.
“Has the goddess Anat risen?” Grey asked.
The man scowled and shook his head. “No. Not yet.”
Thank fates.
Grey
I stared at the miserable little worm in front of me, working hard to keep my attention off Carrow. Looking at her made my brain feel like it was trying to tear itself in two. I could remember some of our interactions, but the blank spaces in my memory were screaming to be filled. A pounding headache had set up in the spaces where the memories had once resided.
I forced my attention back to the young man who sat in the chair, his chin tilted up defiantly.
Moron.
His voice had turned less wooden though, more passionate. He liked talking about his purpose.
“What’s your purpose, exactly?” I asked.
“Our purpose. We are the Servants of Anat, and we seek to serve her will.”
“So, you’re a cult?”
“No, we are servants to the great war goddess herself.”
“She is a goddess of balance,” Carrow said.
The man scoffed. “Misinterpretation. Her desire is blood and war and destruction.”
The fire of bloodlust gleamed in his eyes, and distaste seethed through me. I could all but feel his lust on the air, a slimy film that was exceedingly vile. “No, that is your desire. The goddess’s true wishes don’t seem to factor into this.”
His face turned red, and rage filled his eyes.
“What are you doing with the kidnap victims?” I asked, squeezing his chin tight. “What role do they play in all of this?”
He tried to twist his head aside, but I gripped him harder and imbued my voice with all my power. “Tell me.”
He spit out the words, unable to help himself. “The ones we’ve taken all have a purpose. The goddess has many magical skills—each person taken has one of those skills, and they will play a role in the final ceremony.”
“What kind of ceremony?” That couldn’t be good.
“Ritual killings. For every murder they commit with their power, Anat will regain that magical gift. When all of them are done, she will be powerful enough to rise again.”
Well, bloody hell. I believed it was possible. Rituals like this had been performed throughout the breadth of history. If it worked and she returned to earth, no doubt she’d do so as the bloodthirsty half of an otherwise balanced god.
“Why don’t you and your friends commit the murders?” I asked. “Surely you’re not too squeamish.”
“Hardly. We just don’t want to die, of course. We need to be here to witness the rise of Anat. To receive our just reward.”
“What do you mean, die?” Carrow said. “They’re doing the killing, not the dying.”
He resisted answering her, so I repeated the questioning.
“The murders must end in suicide,” the man said. “The greater violence will provide the energy that Anat requires to rise again to the earth.”