To Please The Wind

Disclaimer: All characters are my own creations. Lethe is sixteen,which makes him legal where I live, but I know that other countries have their own standards. Obviously, I do not endorse underage sex. The codes that I chose describe this first chapter -- I\'ll warn you about other stuff as it comes up.

“So Pray To Gods Who Ask You For Your Blood
For They Are Strong And Angry Jealous Ones”
-- Toad The Wet Sprocket

The chime maze. Only the most devoted were allowed to walk its paths. Only the most devoted were allowed to hear the prayers that all things offered up to Aeolus, god of the winds. Wooden chimes, long and hollow, sung the praises of trees, thanking Aeolus for the breezes that exercised their branches. Sea shells, hung close together on silk strands, rattled their gratitude for the hurricanes which tossed them ashore. Strips of metal, forged by the blacksmiths of distant cities, called out their debt to the currents which had fed the fires that birthed them. And then, there was me. I had served Aeolus all my life. Yet, as of late, there was precious little for which I thanked him.

A few more steps brought me to the maze’s center. Not some grand temple, as other religions build to their gods, but a simple clearing. In its center, a tall pole stretched up toward the open sky. Here, the offerings brought to Aeolus flapped in the wind -- brightly colored streamers and embroidered flags, which priests like me had tied to the pole, believing that the prayers of the faithful would be answered. But now, even as I knelt and bowed my head, I knew better. I knew that prayers are never answered.

If prayers were answered, then surely my god would not deny me the one thing I have asked for, over and over again. Surely he would not deny me my faith.

Faith is like a shadow. Silent. Dark. Something we learn to take for granted. The night may hide it, the day may stretch or shrink it, but it is always there. A man does not expect to wake up without his shadow. And after twenty-seven years in service to my god, I did not expect to lose my faith. But I did. For the sake of one man, I lost everything.

“Rasmus?”

At first, I thought it was only my imagination. Thought it was only my doubt which had twisted itself into the sound of his voice. Taunting me in this most holy of places. Calling me away even as I tried to pray.

But the voice repeated itself, soft as a tentative caress. “Rasmus? Teacher? I’m sorry for disturbing you, but I think it’s time for my lessons.”

So I had no choice. I opened my eyes and gazed up at him, standing beside the spot where I knelt. Sixteen. Just barely over the threshold into manhood, his skin still an untouched canvass. As he looked at me, sunshine fell through his long hair, and the amber strands seemed to trap flecks of light like a sieve catching bits of gold. Lethe -- named after the mythical river of oblivion. Aptly named. He was the river I had drowned in. He was the oblivion that had claimed my faith.

And, unless I acted, by tomorrow evening he would be dead.

“Rasmus?” Lethe repeated for a third time, beginning to look concerned.

Hastily, I masked my mood with a smile and stood up. “Do you really think you need any more lessons? It seems to me that the pupil has surpassed his master.”

Lethe blushed and his cheeks turned the color of summer apples. For a moment, his eyes couldn’t quite manage to meet mine. “Thank you. But I’d like one more, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.” How could I refuse him? Turning away from the pole, with all its flapping pennants, I started back toward the chime maze. But Lethe protested.

“I--. That is, if you think it would be alright. I’d like my last lesson here.” His eyes, which had been too shy to meet mine, turned toward the sky, shining with trust and adoration. “Perhaps Aeolus will see me. See how hard I’m trying to make myself worthy of him.”

He wasn’t afraid. But then, how could he be? When we’d never taught him fear. We’d never taught him anything, except that his whole life served a single purpose.

Every hundred years, a great storm comes to our city, and during that storm a single child is born. Despite being male as often as female, they are called the Brides of Aeolus. After being born, the child is handed over to the priests, who raise him or her. We give lessons in etiquette, grace, logic -- every aspect of body and mind is perfected. And then, on their sixteenth birthday, on the anniversary of the great storm, they marry the wind. Which is a very pretty way of saying that they drink poison and die.

“Here?” I glanced around the empty clearing, then back at Lethe. He wasn’t afraid. So why couldn’t I draw from his strength? Why did his faith pull me even further away from my own? “I don’t see why not.”

Lethe grinned, quick and bright. Then, looking guilty, he subdued his elation. After all, his joy was meant for gods -- not men. Still blushing slightly, he let his white robe fall to the grass. “I’m ready.”

The skills I taught formed the last part of Lethe’s education. In fact, my lessons had begun only three months ago. But many priests regarded them as the most important. After all, numerous shortcomings could be forgiven a bride talented in the art of giving and receiving pleasure.

I intended to teach Lethe well, without preference or bias. I intended to be as impartial as those who tutored him in dance or mathematics. I did not intend to fall in love with him. And yet, somehow, I did.

Lethe stepped forward. Except for the vial, hanging from his throat on a strip thin leather, he stood before me completely naked. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. Then, with all the awe and reverence that I used to reserve for my prayers, I reached out a hand to touch his face.

Instinctively, his gaze flicked downward, and his eyelashes brushed against my skin like delicate snowflakes, drawing shivers from the deepest parts of my body. Then, remembering his lessons, Lethe brought his eyes back up until they were level with my own. Beautiful eyes, gold as honey. Eyes that held mine while Lethe moved his face beneath my raised hand, kissing each fingertip. Kissing my wrist. Kissing a path along the underside of my arm.

My mouth opened, but no sound came. As if I’d forgotten how to speak. As if no moan or scream could ever be enough to express the way he made me feel. Lethe’s kisses reached the spot where my skin vanished beneath the sleeve of my robe, and he hesitated. Then I felt him begin to loosen the ties which secured the white fabric around my body. A moment later, my robe tumbled to the ground like a fallen cloud.

The heat of sunlight on my bare skin made me bold. I caught Lethe’s face in my hands and brought his lips mine. His mouth was soft and pliant, easily yielding to my tongue’s hunger, and I plunged deep into him, devouring his taste. Trying to lick up every last drop.

Apparently encouraged by my passion, Lethe pressed his body close to mine. The sensation of uninterrupted skin and muscle almost overwhelmed me, but even then, his fate came between us. The glass vial, still dangling from the leather cord around Lethe’s throat, dug into my breastbone, hard and unwelcome as a stone in my shoe. But it would have been unthinkable to ask him to take it off. At birth, each Bride of Aeolus was gifted with a similar vial. It contained the poison they would eventually drink, and they wore it all their lives, to show the world that they embraced their fate. To suggest that Lethe remove the vial, even for a moment, would be the highest heresy.

And yet... And yet, there was a part of me that wanted to rip it from his throat and hurl it back at the sky.

My hands slid down Lethe’s sides, tugging him closer, lifting him up into my kisses. I could feel his arousal growing, and soon it was too much for either of us to remain standing. Still groping at each other, reluctant to be separated for even a moment, we sunk into the waiting grass.

I could feel Lethe’s body beneath mine, trembling in anticipation. I could feel his heart, pounding in his chest like a wild bird beating its wings against the bars of a bone cage. And the thought of his body grown still, the thought of his heart grown silent -- it struck me with fresh pain. Angry at things I couldn’t change, I pinned Lethe’s arms over his head and kissed him with fresh aggression. If his life had to end so soon, I could at least fill his last hours with a lifetime’s worth of pleasure.

Eventually, however, the necessity of applying the oil Lethe had brought forced a pause in our passion. Propping himself up on his elbows, Lethe looked at me with an earnest expression. “Rasmus? Do you think I’m worthy of a god?”

Strands of gold hair trickled down the sides of his face, and light shone through the vial’s colored glass, casting scarlet shadows across his lithe body. He looked like a gilded rose. “Yes,” I whispered, as he spread his legs apart. “Any god would be lucky to have you.”

For a moment, Lethe grinned. Then I entered him, and his lips puckered into a delicate “O” shape as he moaned his pleasure. Slowly, I pushed myself deeper, and Lethe’s hips bucked against my hands. His moan turned to a sharp cry of delight, and his head fell backward, spreading his hair across the grass like a golden veil. Oh. Oh. A cry tore from my own throat, but physical ecstasy wasn’t what called it forth. I was caught between joy and despair -- the joy of witnessing unimaginable beauty, and the despair of knowing that it would soon be beyond my reach.

Sweat glistened on Lethe’s lips like dew. His tongue kept trying to dart out to lick the moisture away, but every time he started to make any progress, I thrust myself deeper into his ass, and his tongue tumbled back inside mouth, consumed by another gasp of pleasure. And all the time, his chest rose and fell with increasing force, battered by the storm of sensations building within him. Perhaps hoping to keep himself from being swept away, Lethe snatched at handfuls of grass. But he only succeeded in ripping them up by the roots. And as he lost himself in the wild disorientation of ecstasy, Lethe began to pray.

It was not something I taught him. As far as I knew, no other Bride of Aeolus had ever done anything like it. But Lethe did. Every time. Whenever I questioned him about it afterward, he told me he didn’t even remember what he said. The words just came to him. It only seemed natural to take earthly joy and transform it into praise for heaven.

Usually the sound of his soft, barely audible worship filled me with affection. But today, it conjured only anger. Heaven would have Lethe soon enough. Why did it have to claim even these few, precious moments? Why couldn’t this belong to me alone? Unconsciously, my grip on Lethe tightened, and I shoved my body against his with unusual force. As if the strength of my passion could pull his soul out of the clouds. As if, by crushing our chests together, I could shatter the vial of poison, and prevent tomorrow from ever coming.

Lethe writhed beneath me, his cries shrill and hungry. Then, his body arched against mine, and his eyes rolled back until only the whites were visible. Unseeing, his hands clawed at my back. And he did something he’d never done before. As he started to shudder, torn by the final moments of ecstasy, Lethe whispered my name. “Rasmus...oh god, Rasmus...” For one brief, bright moment, he included me in his prayers. Elevated me to the same level as his god. That, more than anything else, brought me over the edge and I spilled my pleasure into Lethe.

Too dazed and exhausted to move, we lay together until Lethe finally broke our silence. “I should go. There’s a lot to do before tomorrow.”

I knew he was right, but I couldn’t make myself release him. He deserved so much more than this. He deserved to travel, to see foreign lands, to fall in love. He deserved to have children, to grow old as they grew up. Oh, I’d heard the stories -- everyone said that being a Bride of Aeolus was a wonderful existence. Everyone talked about Aeolus’ palace in the clouds, and his hundreds of invisible servants, and the luxury that awaited the chosen few. I’d believed all that, once. But now, when I closed my eyes, I didn’t see it. I saw Lethe, cold and unmoving, lying in an honored grave.

Gently, I cupped Lethe’s face in my hands. Searched his eyes for some sign of doubt -- some excuse for doing what I so desperately wanted to do. But there was nothing. Just golden honey, pulling me deeper.

“Rasmus?”

Hiding my reluctance, I relaxed my grip, allowing Lethe to roll from my arms. “Of course. I have things to do, as well.”

We both stood and put our robes back on. When Lethe had finished, I pretended to still be adjusting mine, eager to let him get a head start. I couldn’t stand the thought of walking back through the chime maze with him. Couldn’t stand hearing the wood, and the shells, and the strips of metal, all singing their happy songs, and knowing that what they celebrated was his approaching death. I would have to be at the ceremony tomorrow, I would have to watch the man I loved drink poison. That was enough. That was all I could stand.

Seeming to sense my mood, Lethe started on ahead. Then, about halfway to the opening which led into the chime maze, he hesitated and glanced back at me. A smile split his lips. Quick as a mischievous child, he ran back to me and pressed his lips to my cheek. “Thank you, Rasmus. For all that you’ve taught me. Especially this last lesson.”

And I knew. Knew that I would betray my order, my god, and even Lethe himself. Knew that I would betray them all to save his life.


Prologue (Part 2)

It had been late afternoon by the time I finally managed to slip away. Now, evening shadows spilled across the path beneath my feet, creating false turns and detours. Sometimes the mirages fooled me. Then, realizing my mistakes too late, I was forced to retrace my steps through the low, rolling hills. No trees or buildings provided easy landmarks. Instead, ankle-deep grass surrounded me on all sides, rippling in the slight breeze like waves on an endless green ocean. And, like an ocean, refusing to hold any signs of my passage. Convinced that I was hopelessly lost, I nearly turned back several times. But finally, reaching the top of another hill, I saw the boulders in the distance -- giant black blots against the setting sun.

For a moment, I hesitated. This would be my last chance to change my mind. I was about to risk my life. And even if tonight’s gamble paid off, there was still no telling what the eventual outcome would be for me, for Lethe, or for any of those who served Aeolus. But I suppose love makes a man reckless. Because I only held back for a minute, before striding toward the cluster of boulders with fresh determination.

As I drew closer, I could see the features gouged into the black stones. Gaping mouths with tongues dangling between jagged teeth, carved beneath empty eyes. Rain had beaten at the faces, pock marking them with tiny holes, while moss and lichens obscured some of their features. Legend claimed that they were the abandoned idols of some religion older than anyone could remember, older than even Aeolus himself. But to me, they looked like immense black skulls, unburied and forgotten, left behind to rot.

It was a bad place, cursed by the deities and haunted by the dead. But that made it the perfect hideaway for a man rumored to believe in neither gods nor ghosts.

A shrill whistle, like the cry of a startled bird, echoed among the stones. But I knew there were no birds here. Bracing myself, I stopped walking. Only a moment passed before two figures emerged from behind one of the boulders. A man and a woman, both dressed in dark, patched clothing. A ragged scar ran down one side of the woman’s face. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What business do you have in this place?”

“My name is Rasmus. I’m a priest of Aeolus. And I’ve come to see your leader.”

“Hesperos?” The woman drew her sword as she stepped closer, and I could see that a long black mark had been burned into its blade, perfectly matching the scar on her face. “What business does a priest have with a bandit?”

“That, I’m afraid, is something I’ll only reveal to Hesperos.”

The man, who had initially hung back, also moved nearer. And blanched as he recognized me. His name was Damian, and he often made secret trips to Aeolus’s shrine, to pray to the god his leader denied all belief in. It was from him I’d learned most of what I knew about Hesperos, as well as where he could be found.

“It sounds like a trick,” the woman muttered. “I say we kill him.”

But Damian shook his head. “No.”

The woman arched her eyebrow, but Damian didn’t elaborate. So she only shrugged. “Alright. But I hope you’re not wasting our time.”

Poking her sword in my back, she urged me forward. And, as I obliged her, it once again occurred to me that I was playing a very dangerous game.

Hesperos was a new presence in the area, but already he’d begun to make quite a name for himself. His raids were bold, often staged against great odds, and he was famous for his arrogance. Equally whimsical in both his cruelty and his kindness, no one ever knew what fate they might meet at his hands. And yet, despite all that, he was also rumored to be a man of honor. A tangle of contradictions. And I had staked everything on the slim chance that those contradictions -- arrogance, whimsy, and honor -- would come together in the exact combination that I needed.

Eventually, we reached the center of the boulders. A campfire had been built there, and about twenty people were gathered around it, eating, or talking, or attending to the care of various weapons. Almost as many horses were tethered to stakes driven into the ground. My escorts guided me to the far side of the campfire, ignoring the curious looks they were given, until they stood before two men arguing about some sort of map. At first, neither man noticed us. But my companions seemed reluctant to interrupt them. Finally, one man glanced up and nodded to the other. That man, whose back had been to us, turned around. And I knew I’d found Hesperos.

His mouth was small and hard, like the pit some exotic fruit, and the lines of his cheekbones seemed ready to cut through his skin. Strands of his jet black hair had been hastily shoved behind one ear. For a moment, when the last rays of evening light struck his back, his face seemed as ancient and skull-like as the carvings all around us. Then the sunset dropped away, leaving him illuminated by the campfire -- a handsome man who’d spent his life fighting.

Seeing us, Hesperos smiled. But his expression was not comforting. He looked like a cat that had just been presented with a toy mouse. “Damian. Melanthe. And I see you’ve brought us a guest.”

“He says he’s a priest,” Melanthe muttered.

“Of course he is. You see that pattern embroidered on the back of his robe? It signifies the chime maze.” Hesperos’s eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of intelligence and hard-earned cunning. “Only priests and the Brides know what lies at the maze’s center.”

I never saw him make a gesture. But silence suddenly swept around the campfire, and I became aware of a dozen weapons pointed in my direction. “Well?” Hesperos pressed.

With a jolt, I realized he was asking me a question. Testing me. “There’s sky at the maze’s center,” I blurted out. “Sky and the prayer pole.”

Another invisible gesture must have signaled that I gave the right answer. Hesperos’s followers lowered their weapons, and even Hesperos seemed to relax a little, his smile growing more genuine. “So. You really are a priest of Aeolus. If your plan is to convert me, I’m afraid that you’ve made a rather long journey for nothing.”

I matched his smile. “That would certainly be a fool’s errand, considering your well-known feelings about the gods. No. I haven’t come to ask you to follow a god. In fact, I want you to defy one.”

Hesperos looked intrigued. “Oh?”

“Tomorrow marks the sixteenth anniversary of the great storm. Which means it is also wedding day of the Bride born during that storm. I don’t--” For the first time, words caught in my throat. I was afraid. Not for myself, but for Lethe. “I don’t want that to happen.”

“Why? I thought being a Bride was some big honor. You get to ascend to the heavens and spend the rest of eternity getting fucked up the ass by a god.”

“I did believe that. Once. In a way, part of me still does. But I’m not sure anymore. Not sure enough to let a man die.” Not sure enough to let Lethe die.

“Well, I’m certainly no fan of human sacrifice.” Hesperos scratched the side of his nose. “But what do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to stop it.”

Hesperos’s smile exploded into an incredulous grin. “What? Just this one? Or all of them in general?”

“Just this one.” In another hundred years, I would be dead. The next Bride would be someone else’s problem. Someone else’s heartbreak. “I want you to interrupt the ceremony and take Lethe -- take the Bride -- before he dies.”

Nervous bursts of laughter escaped some of the men and women sitting close enough to eavesdrop on our conversation, and Hesperos’s grin took on a jagged quality. “Let me get this straight. You want my people to wait until the wedding, ride into the middle of the chime maze, grab the guest of honor, and beat a hasty retreat? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Why in the world would we do that?”

I took a pouch from beneath the folds of my robe, and loosened the drawstrings so that Hesperos could see the gold coins glinting within it. “Flags and banners are not the only offerings that Aeolus’s faithful bring to their priests.”

For an instant, greed flashed bright and clear in Hesperos’s eyes. But he was too smart to be tempted by gold alone. His gaze went to the scarred woman who had brought me. “Melanthe? What do you think?”

Melanthe spat onto the ground by her feet. “I don’t like it. When we steal from some politician or merchant, no one really cares. But Aeolus is a popular deity. If we snatch his chosen, the whole countryside will be in an uproar. We’ll have to leave the area.”

“That’s reason enough to do it. I’m sick of these faces staring at me.” Hesperos kicked one of the immense black stones. Then he returned his attention to me. “I assume the priests aren’t going to be too happy about this. How does Lethe feel? Is he going to come quietly?”

I shook my head. “No. He’d fight you every step of the way.”

“So what if I have to--?”

“You won’t. During the ceremony, he drinks poison. I can switch vials. Substitute one filled with a sleeping draught. He’ll be unconscious by the time you arrive.”

Hesperos looked impressed. “You’ve given this a lot of thought, haven’t you?”

Too much thought. Too many sleepless nights, too many anguished days. “Yes.”

“And I assume that after we carry off Lethe, you’ll meet us somewhere and claim him?”

Pain opened its gaping jaws and swallowed my heart. “No. I’ve served Aeolus too long. I have my doubts now, but in a week? In a year? All it would take is one moment of weakness. All it would take is Lethe begging me, and I might--“

I couldn’t bring myself to say it, but Hesperos seemed to understand. “You might allow him to marry the wind.”

“And that must not happen! That’s why he can’t be with me. That’s why he needs to be with someone who doesn’t believe in gods. Someone like you.”

“Me?!” Hesperos blinked, obviously taken aback. “What am I supposed to do with him?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just so long as he lives. You understand? What matters is that he lives.”

For a minute, Hesperos stood in the darkness, rubbing his chin. Then he took the pouch of gold from my hand. “Do you mind if I ask you one question? How did a priest know where to find us?”

I could imagine Damian wincing as those words were spoken. But I was careful to keep from glancing in his direction. Instead, I forced myself to look directly at Hesperos, my voice causal and calm. “That’s something I’ll be glad to answer. As soon as you tell me how a bandit knows what lies at the center of the chime maze.”

Hesperos’s smile vanished, and I braced myself for his anger. But, after a moment, he laughed, giving me a hearty slap on the shoulder. “I can see that we’re both men with secrets to keep. Very well. I’ll rescue this Lethe of yours. I look forward to being remembered forever the man who stole a Bride of Aeolus.”


Prologue (Part 3)

“Rasmus? Do I look pleasing?”

We were in one of the simple dwellings that surrounded the chime maze. Instead of his customary white, Lethe wore a robe made from the deepest blue silk, with gold clouds embroidered onto it. Whenever he moved, the clouds shivered and slid across the curves of his body. He looked more than pleasing. He looked like a Bride about to meet his god. “You’re beautiful,” I assured, meaning it more than any other words I’d ever spoken.

“I just can’t believe...” Lethe trailed off. Shaking his head, he tugged at the robe, causing one of the clouds to slip beneath strands of his gold hair. A fraction of heaven caught in the perfect net. “I mean, I’m actually wearing it. My bridal robe. All my life, I’ve waited for this moment, and yet part of me never believed that it would really come.”

“Are you--?” I wanted to ask him if he was afraid. But to even speak the question would be to admit my lack of faith. “Are you excited?”

Lethe’s face glowed. “Yes. Terribly excited.”

Nodding, I reached for the sacred vial. But Lethe jerked away from my touch. “It’s alright,” I promised, hating myself for lying to him. “I just need to check the poison. Sometimes it loses potency.”

Soothed by my words, Lethe bowed his head, and made no further protest as I removed the necklace. Even in his robe, he looked naked without it. Turning my back on him, I pulled the cork from the vial’s mouth and made an elaborate show of sniffing it. At the same time, within the folds of my robe, I readied the duplicate vial, hung on a duplicate leather cord, which I had prepared. When I re-corked Lethe’s vial, I drew it up into my sleeve. Then, turning back to face Lethe, I presented him with the imitation. It was not the most subtle of switches. But Lethe had no reason to be suspicious. Smiling, he allowed me to hang the false necklace back around his throat.

However, as I started to draw my hands away, he suddenly seized one. For an instant, I thought he knew. Thought Aeolus had whispered my deception in his ear. But Lethe’s expression was not one of betrayal. Instead, he looked ashamed. “Rasmus, I -- I have a confession to make. I hope Aeolus can forgive me for it.”

“Yes?” Puzzlement, and an odd sort of dread, filled me. How could any sin manage to arise from Lethe’s innocent soul?

“I am excited,” Lethe continued, failing to meet my gaze. “And very happy. But I’m also a little...sad.” He spoke the final word like it was the greatest transgression he could imagine. “There are things in this world that I’ll miss.”

Tenderness replaced my earlier apprehension. “They say that the realm of Aeolus is filled with such splendor that it defies mortal imagination. Whatever you love here, I’m sure it will exist there.”

“Yes. But.” His eyes suddenly lifted to meet mine, bright and sincere. “You won’t be there, Rasmus. And I’ll miss you.”

I wanted to take him in my arms and kiss him. I wanted to swallow his taste like medicine, with the hope that it might heal my dying heart. But, as much as I wanted to feel his lips against mine one more time, this was his wedding day. So I only tightened my grip on his hand. “I’ll miss you, too.”

“If Aeolus ever grants a favor to his humble bride, I’ll ask him to look after you. For all of your life.”

My mouth opened, and I nearly whispered my love for him. But I knew Lethe wouldn’t understand. The Brides were taught to adore, to worship. Not to love. That was a lesson Lethe would have to learn later. Without me. “Thank you, Lethe. Wherever you go, whatever you become, part of my heart will always be with you.”

Outside, a bell rang, signaling the ceremony’s commencement. Reluctantly, I released Lethe’s hand.

“You’ll come to the wedding?” he asked. But I couldn’t answer. I could only stand there, trapped, unwilling to let our parting end with a lie. The bell rang again. Slowly, with more courage and faith than I’ll ever possess, Lethe turned away from me. And walked out the door.

I didn’t come to the wedding. Undoubtedly, my absence upset my fellow priests, but I knew that soon all thoughts of such things would be displaced by a larger crisis. So I remained inside the small dwelling as other instruments joined the bell, creating music that swirled and danced through the chime maze. I remained inside as joyful prayers were shouted. I even remained inside as the horses thundered past, their charge followed by the screams of my fellow priests.

Only afterward. Only afterward, when silence hung in the air like a vengeful ghost, did I venture outside. The hedges that had formed the maze walls were trampled and torn, their waxy leaves stained with blood. Shattered chimes covered the ground. As I walked toward the maze’s center, nothing sung its praise to Aeolus -- the only sound at all came from the occasional shell crunching underfoot, sending up a broken sigh that seemed to ask why its god had forsaken it. And then. And then I reached the maze’s center, where the bodies of the priests lay, as scattered and broken as their chimes. Some were obviously dead. Others seemed to be merely injured, moaning softly as they struggled to help themselves and their fellows. Still others looked untouched, but wept uncontrollably, unable to believe the horror that had just occurred.

And Lethe. Lethe was gone.

Somehow, the prayer pole remained standing, its flags and pennants hanging limp in the still air. Kneeling amid the hell that I had created, I bowed my head toward it. “Forgive me, my god.”

Forgive me, my love.