The Price of the Gods

Today, December 14, just as the prophecies had foretold, the child was born: a girl as beautiful as the shining moon.

The queen, Dravena, gazed at her child. The seers had predicted the birth of this infant long ago.

Varen, her four-year-old son, entered the room. He looked at the newborn and noticed a flash in her eyes, a flash whose meaning was beyond his understanding at such a young age. Varen was an unusual boy. He spoke little and often stared at the walls.

A little later, the king, Vergal, entered. He took his daughter in his arms and gazed at her face. The infant seemed like a heavenly being. Yet, from the very first moment, a strange feeling stirred within the king, one he himself could not comprehend.

The royal physician: “It will take a few days for Her Majesty to be back on her feet. Fortunately, both mother and child are healthy.”

King Vergal: “My dear, in a few days we shall hold a festival and invite all the people of Verkadan.”

Dravena felt an unusual sense of calm. She believed she had fulfilled her duty; from that moment on, fate would determine everything.

That night, she dreamed that the gods had gathered around the newborn, chanting their sacred incantations.

Vergath, the Supreme God, turned to her and said, “This child belongs to us. Sacrifice her in our name, and we shall return her to you.”

Dravena awoke with a start. What a strange dream! And yet, from the very moment of the child’s birth, she had felt that her fate would be unlike that of anyone else.

The following morning, breakfast was brought to her, and the king, Vergal, came to see her. Suddenly, something stirred in Dravena’s mind, as though she were trying to recall a memory. No matter how hard she tried, however, she could not bring it back.

Several days passed before Dravena was able to stand again. She took the child in her arms and went out onto the balcony. Her husband was standing there, gazing at the garden.

Vergal: “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

Dravena was astonished. How did he know? Could he have had a dream as well?

Dravena: “On the very first day, the gods appeared to me in a dream. They said the child belonged to them and that they wanted me to sacrifice her. But they promised they would return our daughter to my arms.”

Vergal nodded.

Vergal: “There is something I must tell you, too. After our son was born, you suffered from a severe fever, and the physicians said you would never be able to bear another child. I went to the temple and made a vow: if you were ever to have another child, I would dedicate that child to the gods, allowing them to determine her fate.”

Dravena: “What should we do now?”

Vergal: “We shall go to the temple.”

Four-year-old Varen watched his parents from a distance. Although he could not hear their voices, he sensed that something important was taking place. They were talking about his sister, and Varen, without knowing what awaited them, felt that momentous events were drawing near.

At midnight, precisely at three o’clock, Vergal and Dravena took the infant and headed for the temple with a single torch. They brought neither priests nor guards with them.

The temple resembled a dark crypt, with no openings through which daylight could enter. Short pillars had been placed throughout the hall to hold torches, while chandeliers made of black and brown stone—not ice—hung from the ceiling. The entire chamber was submerged in shades of black and dark brown. At its center stood a small table known as the “sacrificial table.”

They laid the infant upon the table. They lit incense, knelt down, and recited the sacred incantations. Then, using the blood of an animal that had just been slaughtered, they traced a cross upon their faces. They concentrated on a single word and repeated it over and over, waiting for the gods to answer their call.

At last, Vergath appeared. He came alone, without guards, companions, ministers, or servants.

He stood above the child. His body resembled that of a monstrous black demon. Two black horns rose from his head; his face was terrifying, his teeth protruded from his mouth, and his eyes were wild with fury. Two black wings kept him suspended in the air, and his feet ended in cloven hooves. His body was as large as that of a giant, though not an enormous one.

At his appearance, Dravena and Vergal threw themselves to the ground. Vergath looked down at them from above the infant and chanted sacred words. Then he commanded them:

Vergath: “This girl’s name is Eliara. She belongs to us. Place the child in a small boat and set her upon the River Orvanth. No one must follow her. We shall return her to you.”

Dravena and Vergal, still prostrate before him, bowed their heads once more. A moment later, Vergath vanished in the blink of an eye.