The Dark Remains - Mark Anthony [220]
“Go right ahead. I’ll be very curious to hear what Misar has to say about this.”
The man gripped an amulet shaped like a gold feather that hung by a chain around his check. “I swear by Misar, I’ll do it!”
Melia folded her arms. “I’m waiting.”
The Minister squeezed the amulet, fingers going white, then shut his eyes as if to pray.
He screamed, then let go of the amulet and staggered back. The red imprint of the amulet was clear on his palm. It was already blistering.
“Misar has forsaken you!” Melia exclaimed. “What evil have you done to deserve this? No, I do not care to know. Let us in, or I’ll see to it that all the gods spurn you as Misar has done. None will heed your prayers, and when you die your bones will be left for the vultures to pick. There will be no salvation for you after death, Minister, only eternal loneliness and pain!”
Such was the force of Melia’s words that even Grace shuddered. The Minister babbled gibberish, then turned and shrieked something down a corridor. The red door slammed shut, and a moment later, with a grinding sound, one of the huge gilded doors swung open.
“This way everyone,” Melia said with a pleasant smile.
The Minister was nowhere to be seen on the other side of the gate, but there was a quartet of soldiers waiting to lead them to the emperor. They followed the soldiers across tiled plazas and past pools in which swam jewel-colored fish.
“What happened back there, Melia?” Falken said in a low voice. “Did Misar really forsake the Minister of Gates?”
“More than that,” Melia answered. “Did you see the way the holy symbol burned him? Misar has placed a malediction on the man.”
“A malediction?” Grace asked.
“It’s a sort of curse, dear,” Melia said. “The gods use it rarely—and only for those who have committed a horrible crime, something that goes against everything the god in question stands for.”
What crime had the Minister done? Before Grace could ask more, the soldiers halted at a set of ornate doors almost as large as the gate of the First Circle. A huge white edifice rose above them, crowned by a dome that gleamed gold in the sunlight. To either side of the door hung white banners embroidered with the symbols of three trees and five stars.
One of the soldiers turned toward Melia. “I will inform the emperor you are here, Your Holiness.”
“Thank you, dear, but that won’t be necessary.”
The small lady raised her arms. For a moment a blue nimbus shimmered around her hands, then the doors swung inward. Before the soldiers could react, Melia swept through, and the others hastily followed. They found themselves in a space so vast it took Grace several moments just to arrive at any sense of scale. Those specks on the far side were actually people.
Melia was already gliding across the white floor. Grace hurried to catch up. Cream-colored cats darted to and fro across their path. The felines looked so soft Grace had the desire to pick one up and stroke it. She resisted. For all she knew, petting the emperor’s cats was a crime punishable by removal of the offending hand, if not more. Grace noticed that many of the cats seemed to be following after Melia in a soft, undulating throng.
After a full minute of walking, the specks on the far side of the hall finally resolved into recognizable figures, and Grace was dumbstruck for a second time.
On a throne of white marble veined with gold sat a man who could only be the emperor, for he was nearly as large as an empire himself. His loose white tunic draped but did not conceal the great, rolling mounds of flesh that made up his body. Arms as big around as Grace’s waist rested on the sides of the throne, and legs like tree trunks ended in surprisingly dainty, sandaled feet. The emperor’s head—which seemed far too small given the size of the rest of him—perched upon several folds of flesh that might once have formed a neck. His face was round but surprisingly well shaped, and