In the darkest hour of the night Tizrah's sleep was plagued by visions and dreams, the like of which she had not endured for some time.
In the dream, the holy mound of Nur had become alive. Hidden just beneath the foundations of the sacred Temple of Valhil, there was a living, beating heart, pulsing red with unimaginable power. From it, long tendrils of pure energy spiked and arced, flowing up through the ground with arms like lighting that sparked and fizzled. They splayed apart like impossibly long fingers, reaching, searching, until they found Tizrah's form laying motionless upon her bed.
Paralyzed, as if trapped within a waking nightmare, she watched helplessly while the tendrils of energy crept over her, covering every inch of her being. They enveloped her in a force field of fire and vitality. Her entire body vibrated with the sheer power of it.
Even when the early morning sun trickled in through the thin curtain that hung low across her small bedroom window, the feeling of pulsating power yet lingered in her limbs, electrifying her. And as wakefulness roused her from the feverish dreams, one phrase drifted singularly through her mind as surely as if it had been whispered in her ear; "He is coming."
Her eyes flew open and the words vaporized from her mind like smoke.
As the odd feeling in her body began to dissipate like a vague and distant memory, it was replaced by a new and present pain; a soreness that ached deeply throughout every tense layer of muscle, reminding Tizrah of the rigorous chants, prayers and rituals she was made to preform late the night before.
"Ugh, she is such a slave driver!" Tizrah groaned in quiet annoyance, throwing her woven fiber blanket over her head like a child hiding under the covers from an imaginary monster. Only this monster was not imaginary at all, and was in fact Tizrah's own mother.
'All of that hard work last night, and the night before, and for many countless months and years - all of it for that... that prophet guy. Who knows if he will ever come? Who knows if he's even real?'
Tizrah chewed the bottom of her lip, thinking to herself but never daring to voice aloud her abundance of blasphemous skepticism against The Creator and his Sacred Scriptures. Tizrah Pias, heir to the seat of the High Priestess of Valhil, could never question such things, could never waiver in the faith, "least you lead the people astray with your foolishness and folly," as her mother would say.
"Ugh!" Tizrah released another, final exasperated groan. "Why must my every waking thought be consumed by either my mother, the prophet or my temple duties?!"
Her face soured, pent-up annoyance exploding through her body. She kicked and flailed beneath the covers, stomach burning with indignation. She smashed her crudely-stitched pillow over her face, wanting to scream into it, wanting to smother out every unwanted thought. And if she happened to smother herself out in the process, so be it. It would be better than all of this.
Tizrah had only been awake for a few short minutes and already her head was beginning to swim with thoughts she wished she never had to think, and worries she wished she could forget. But she would never be able to forget. Being the daughter of the High Priestess of Valhil meant work was harder, expectations were higher, and prying eyes were always watching. It had always been this way; she had never known anything different. It seemed impossible to her now that she would ever be able to live the life of a normal girl.
A new wave of irritation made Tizrah's jaw clench around a muted grunt as she thrust the pillow from her face, sending it sailing across the small room until it collided with a wall on the opposite side before tumbling silently down to the floorboards below.
Tizrah allowed her tense arms to relax a little as she watched the pillow settle in its final resting place at the foot of the wall. Then she ran her slender fingers through fine strands of her short, messy hair working to calm her frayed nerves. Finally, with a shaky breath of control, she forced her stiff body to sit up in bed, stretching her lanky arms and legs against the tightness of her sore muscles. And after rubbing away the sleep from her groggy eyes with the backs of her hands, she quickly kicked the covers off her legs in haphazard motions, exposing her knees and bare feet to the warm air.
Tizrah draped her legs over the side of the bed, preparing to jump to the floor when she stopped suddenly mid-motion, blood instantly turning to ice within her veins.
Something was wrong.
That's when she felt it; the acute sense of heaviness that hung densely in the warm air. Emotions of uncertainty and dread were swirling around and around beneath her, coiling up from the floorboards like toxic fumes.
Downstairs, someone's heart was darkening with fear; Tizrah could sense it. She could feel it emerging, a vague sense of dread permeating through every inch of the house, and filling her own throbbing chest with quiet apprehension.
It was her mother.
"But, that can't be right," Tizrah murmured. She'd never sensed fear in her mother before. The woman had been many things throughout her life; stern, stubborn, prideful, but never... afraid.
"Wait..." Tizrah pressed her fingertips to her temples as more information came to her in waves. There was someone else in the house with them... Who?
A pair of hushed voices now drifted through the thick morning air. Low whispers of secrecy caressed Tizrah's ears. Unintelligible words spoken so quietly it was impossible for her to decipher them from her spot on the bed.
Carefully, Tizrah lowered her feet to the floor, calloused toes curling against the rough, splintery wood. Then she slid silently down her mattress and onto the ground, leaning forward to press an ear against the prickling, ragged floorboards below. Hunched over, back arched the the air, Tizrah furrowed her brows, focusing in on the two whispering voices beneath her. She reached out with all her senses, grabbing at every tone, reaching for every thread of emotion, until she could start to decipher the meaning of the words.
"I just can't believe it," her mother Azrah was saying, her voice audibly shaken in a way Tizrah had never heard before. "Are you certain?"
"Mmm," hummed the familiar voice of an old man, sickly yet gruff and somber. "Quite certain, unfortunately. There was no mistaking the body when they found it."
"So, it was Musa, son of Matta the Baker..." Azrah reflected solemnly. "He was just a boy; not much older than my Tizrah. My Tizrah. What if it had been my Tizrah. It's simply unthinkable, Elder Jiri."
Nur's bones... Tizrah's breath caught in her throat as she listened, her stomach twisting into knots of sickening dread and horror. She knew Musa. Well, she didn't KNOW him, but she saw him every time she passed his mother's bakery on her way to the temple. He was a quiet young teen, but kind and a hard worker. Was he really... Was he really dead? Or worse... what if he...
"It is unthinkable," Elder Jiri echoed gravely, interrupting Tizrah's racing thoughts. "Yet, the unthinkable has happened. Late last night, when-"
"Last night," Azrah interjected, "while the priestesses and I were practicing our ritual of cleansing; what a perverse irony! My Tizrah should have sensed it back then. Why didn't she sense it, that useless little- But where, Elder..? Tell me, where did they find the boy?"
"He was spotted by some locals, wandering around the market district. He had already become a soul-less at that point, so there was no way of knowing where he was when it initially happened."
Tizrah drew in a sharp breath, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle a startled cry. Soul-less. Her chest tensed with burning anxiety as her worst fears materialized into reality.
"I see," Azrah's voice wavered, and Tizrah could sense the fear that was tightening around her mother's heart like a vice. "But how? I can't imagine that he would have been wandering outside the fortress walls last night or any other night. He was not very fond of adventure. Would hardly even travel within the city..."
"Perhaps," Elder Jiri suggested, unconvincingly. "Perhaps the boy was out running an errand for his mother and-"
"Musa? Late at night? I can hardly believe Matta would allow such a thing to begin with," Azrah said pointedly.
"Then what are you suggesting?"
Azrah paused for a moment, considering before she finally spoke again. "Musa's is not an isolated case. They're becoming more daring; the Shadow Stalkers. They used to attack only those foolish enough to- those who dared to wander the desert at night. But things have been escalating these days, as I'm sure you've noticed."
"I have."
"I don't know what has happened to warrant such a change in the beasts behavior," Azrah exhaled a shaky breath wrought with tension. "Nothing like this was ever written about in the annals of the hall of ancient knowledge."
The hall of ancient knowledge? Tizrah mouthed the words voicelessly, knitting her brows into a question. Never before had she heard of such a thing.
"But the monsters are frightening the people of Valhil to no end," Azrah continued before Tizrah could harp on it further. "Even terrorizing those who walk by daylight. Many laborers and gatherers have gone missing just along the outskirts of the protective zone. Some have even reported-" Azrah dropped her voice even lower, and it was all Tizrah could manage to hear the next words out of her mother's mouth. "Some even reported to have seen Shadow Stalkers actually lurking within the city walls."
Tizrah's stomach writhed uncomfortably.
"So I have heard," the Elder replied quietly. "However, that last story is still just a baseless rumor; an unproven claim. You of all people should know that. You of all people should not allow yourself to be enticed, and swayed by town gossip."
"You're right, Elder. I... I'm sorry. But I- You can't really expect us to hold out much longer like this, can you?"
"I understand what you are trying to say," Elder Jiri said gruffly. "But what do you suppose I do about all of this. The Shadow Stalkers are very powerful beasts to be reckoned with."
"I know that," Azrah's whispered voiced hissed unexpectedly sharply through the quiet house. "But Elder Jiri- Well, you're the head of the council of town elders, for god's sake. It's your job to ensure the safety of Valhil and the people contained within it's walls, are you not? Forgive me if I am speaking out of turn, but right now the people do not feel safe. Not with those monsters going on a rampage."
"I know, High Priestess. But once again I must ask: how do you expect me to control the beasts; those creatures who do whatever they please and bend to the will of no man? Least of all me?"
"I-I really don't know," Azrah relinquished a sigh of defeat. "I really don't know what we should do. There is so much fear and panic gripping Valhil. Every day now, people come to me, pleading for answers. Begging for some semblance of hope for our survival. They are scared, Elder. Terrified."
"How do you answer them?" Elder Jiri pressed.
"Well, I tell them the same thing we've always told them. Be patient; hold out until the Prophet of Valhil descends from the sky to deliver us from this curse, as foretold by the holy scripture. Again and again, as if I am reciting a script, I tell them to have faith, soon we shall be saved."
"But that's not enough for them anymore, is it?"
"No," Azrah admitted. "Not anymore."
"Mm..." the elder pondered aloud. "It's true, they no longer feel comforted by the prophecy. Our prophet foretold of in legend has still not arrived, even after all the preparations and rituals we have faithfully preformed for so long in order to welcome him. Even now, in the wake of this growing evil arising in our midst, he still refuses to appear, or so it seems. Naturally the people are losing hope."
"I think they are losing the faith as well," Azra added, guiltily. "Without the faith we will never escape the darkness... nor the danger of ourselves; I know this. But- I hesitate to admit it, but even I sometimes find myself wondering these days- do the annals really speak of truth, or are they simply a collection of stories? What of my foolish husband? I shutter to think that he might have been right. Do you think the prophet is really even..." her voice trailed off before she could finish speaking the last words Tizrah thought she would ever hear escape from her mother's lips. The thought that her devout mother's faith would falter in the face of this apparent crisis was enough to chill Tizrah's bones.
"I wouldn't say that if I were you," the elder scolded, sternness strengthening a voice that rattled increasingly with sickness. "There are still a great number of people who cling onto the faith in order to remain sane. If the High Priestess herself begins to waiver, there will be no hope left in the world. The faith will crumble and we will be left with the shattered remains of a people without hope."
"Yes, you are correct as always," Azrah whispered hoarsely. "We just have to keep hoping and praying that the Prophet-" her next words caught in her throat, her breath hitching audibly with concern. "Elder Jiri, are you alright?"
The elder's deep, throaty grunts were coming faster now, escalating to dry, hacking coughs, that rattled and convulsed his lungs. And although Elder Jiri managed to keep the eruption of noise mostly muffled behind his hand, or a piece of cloth that Tizrah couldn't see, she still felt a fleeting flicker of emotion begin to swell in his chest before he quickly snuffed it out; was it... worry?
"Elder Jiri, your illness. Please, have a seat here," Azrah insisted. "Can I get you some herbal tea? Some hot broth, perhaps?"
"No, no that won't be necessary," Elder Jiri replied between the shuttering spasms that were beginning to lessen now. "I should be taking my leave. I need to return to the Council before anyone notices I've been missing for too long. Especially that worry-wart son of mine," he added with a faint chuckle of fondness. "See to it that the temple is prepared for Musa's cleansing ceremony by tonight. The people will not sleep comfortably until they know their souls are safe from contamination."
"Yes, Elder. Of course."
The front door creaked and moaned behind Elder Jiri as he ushered himself out of the house, but Tizrah hardly heard the sound. She'd collapsed onto her side in a daze of confusion, her eyes staring unfocused at the rough wood-grain lines that ran through the floorboards beneath her. Her limbs felt lifeless and numb, but her mind was reeling, her world toppling upside-down.
The imposing image she'd always held of her mother, strong in faith and unwavering resolve, had been dashed; the strength and security of Valhil's mighty walls now seemed like a shattered illusion to her. Nothing was as she had believed. Dangers and fears, secrets and doubts all clouded her mind in a fog of uncertainty. Everything she thought she'd known now felt like a lie.
Was this reality what drove her father for answers? What drove him to the desert?
"Tizrah!" Her mother's voice screeched through the house suddenly, destroying the morning's silence and the remainder of Tizrah's scattered thoughts. "Are you still asleep up there?! You lazy bag of bones, get up!"
Annoyance now masked the fear that darkened her mother's heart as she pounded on the ceiling just underneath the spot where Tizrah was laying, and she startled to her feet.
"We must prepare the temple immediately. You must get out of bed this instant, and take a jug to the aquifer to fetch some water for the cleansing brew. Tonight we must cleanse the body of a soul-less."