The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [112]
Melia nodded. “Yes, I’ve heard it, like the roar of the ocean.”
“It seems each temple has accused all the others of spying, plotting, and dissembling,” Orsith went on. “Which, of course, is not so very far from the truth. This is Tarras, after all. Yet for all their machinations, it seems none of the temples knows who committed this monstrous deed. And it is not only Ondo who has been taken from us. Seven priests and priestesses, all from different temples, have been slain. Nor is there any pattern to these awful deeds. For all we can tell, the slayings are utterly at random.”
“No offense, Orsith,” Falken said, “but haven’t there always been strong rivalries among the various temples?”
“There have. Although Mandu has rarely taken part in such activities, it is hardly uncommon for the gods to forge schemes, create alliances, and break them again in an effort to gain more followers or greater standing in the city. And I fear that a few of the less scrupulous temples have resorted to foul methods on occasion. This is not the first time the blood of priests has been spilled. But never, in all the two-thousand-year history of Tarras, has there been anything such as this. A god is no more.”
Melia clenched her small hands into fists. “But what is the Etherion doing about it?”
“Sadly, they are doing little,” Orsith said. “Save to argue and cast accusations.”
“The Etherion?” Aryn said. “What’s that?”
Falken answered her. “It’s the combined assembly of the temples of Tarras. It’s where the priests of all the temples meet to discuss important matters. Or to bicker, as the case may be. Did you see the great blue dome on the way here? That’s the Dome of the Etherion.”
“I seldom leave the temple anymore,” Orsith said, “yet I did go to the Etherion three days ago, to the most recent assembly. However, nothing was accomplished, save the flinging of rumors and intimations. It seemed as if every priest was shouting that this was all a plot hatched by some rival god to steal worshipers or prestige from his own.”
Durge let out a snort. “These gods and priests of yours sound like a bunch of children quarreling in the castle bailey.”
“You’re not far off there,” Falken muttered.
“Why do the gods not band together rather than fling mud at one another?” Durge went on. “Surely together they could find the perpetrator of this crime.”
“A fair question, good soldier,” Orsith said, “but I doubt the answer to it will please you. You see, for all the anger and accusations in the Etherion, there was a stronger, deeper current I felt while I was there, flowing through all who were present. It was fear.”
Lirith nodded. “Of course. If whoever did this has the power to slay a god, what’s to stop him from killing again?”
Now Aryn understood. “The other gods must be afraid that if they try to find the murderer, then they might be the next victim. And if the gods are afraid, the priests must be terrified.”
Orsith nodded. “There is truth in what you say, my dears, although it is not quite so simple. The history of alliances and rivalries among the gods of Tarras is a vast and turbulent ocean, and mortals can do no more than skim along its surface and hope they are not pulled beneath.”
Melia chewed her lip. “Even to us nonmortals, it’s not always that much clearer. I had hoped the Etherion might work together to find Ondo’s murderer, but I confess I feared it would not happen.”
“Was anyone mad at Ondo?” Falken said.
“Oh, many of the gods were angry at Ondo,” Orsith said. “He was not the most powerful, yet he was the patron of the guild of goldsmiths. That meant all the working of gold into jewelry and ornaments was under his control. And many gods favor gold for the adornment of their priests and temples.”
Falken scratched his chin with his gloved hand, but if he thought this information