Fatal Error - Keith R. A. DeCandido [1]
Until now.
After an exhausting walk of almost fifteen minutes, Ansed arrived at the temple. It was the only structure in the capital city that still retained the hideous Yarnallian architectural style, and Ansed had to admit to finding it painful to look at. But the priests insisted that the temple look as it had when it was first constructed, and Ansed could not blame them for that.
Of course, the temple’s greeter wasn’t working properly. She wondered how she would be able to gain the attention of those inside.
Then, noticing the ornate handle in the center of the door, she remembered that the temple still had one of those old-fashioned doors that opened manually. She could only hope that it wasn’t locked.
First, she tried to slide the door to the side, the way normal doors worked, but it didn’t budge. Then she pushed the door at the handle, but still it did not move.
Pulling, however, seemed to work.
Winded after all the walking and the effort of pulling the door open, Ansed took a moment to compose herself before entering the temple.
“Is anyone here?”
Her words echoed throughout the temple, which was almost pitch-dark.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, Ansed thought. She considered turning back and going home to try the holo again—but she didn’t fancy the idea of walking any more, and dammit, she needed to talk to the priests. At least one of them had to be here. . . .
Suddenly, the lights in the temple came on—at about twice their usual intensity. Ansed’s wide eyes were momentarily rendered useless by the sudden onslaught, and she blinked both her upper and lower eyelids furiously to clear the spots that now danced in front of her face.
When her vision cleared, she screamed. Ansed was the foremost political personage on all of Eerlik, and she’d been a respected scholar and politician for years prior to that. She hadn’t screamed since she was in her crèche.
But she screamed now.
Seventeen priests and twenty acolytes served in the temple. In addition to their other spiritual duties, the priests were tasked with guarding all the knowledge that related to Ganitriul. If anyone would be able to solve the current crisis, it would be them.
Right now, Ansed stared at a pile of corpses that seemed to number approximately thirty-seven, all wearing the robes of either priests or acolytes. They looked like they had been placed there in a semiorderly pile. Blue blood was splattered all over the bodies, and pooled on the floor around them.
A shiver passed through Ansed that had nothing to do with the unnatural chill in the air. The numerous malfunctions were bad; this was worse. Ganitriul could, in theory, be fixed. But to have all the clergy dead . . .
“Help me! Somebody, please, help me!”
The voice seemed to come from amid the corpses. Ansed felt as if her short legs had grown roots. She couldn’t move. Someone was obviously still alive in the midst of the carnage, but Ansed couldn’t bring herself to investigate further. This was a task for Enforcement, not the First Speaker.
“Help me, please,” the voice said, this time much smaller. Ansed saw someone crawling out from under the pile of bodies.
Somehow managing to overcome her fear and revulsion, Ansed made her feet move toward the voice and reached out one short arm to him.
With a grateful expression on his face—at least, Ansed assumed the expression was grateful; it was hard to tell under all the blood—the young man reached out to grab the offered arm. Now that she got a look at him, Ansed recognized the young man as Undlar, who had only just been ordained a month earlier.
And now it seemed he was the only priest left.
The recognition went both ways, as Undlar stumbled to his feet, gazed upon