The four made their way to the very heart of the Wicked Rocks. At the base of the tallest stone spire, a pit opened in the ground, gaping like an open wound. After Allamu and Sabit had hung the boar carcass between two jagged boulders, Melcior gestured the group toward the pit.
Allamu asked, “Is this where the priest will speak to us, snug in his burrow like a rabbit?”
Sabit laughed. Melcior did not see the mirth, replying, “His Honor is in the midst of a delicate ritual. He cannot bear to be so near the spiteful sun at such a sacred time. I will take you to him. Now.”
Melcior took Allamu by the arm, pulling him toward the pit. With a flash of movement, Sabit was there, removing Melcior’s hand from Allamu’s shoulder. “Allamu can walk himself,” Sabit said.
Showing Sabit his palms, Melcior backed away, moving toward the pit. Allamu searched Sabit’s face. Was this the moment?
Sabit nodded for Allamu to follow the captain into the pit.
Shoulders slumped, Allamu continued after Melcior. As he lowered himself into the pit, a rumble echoed from below. The ground quaked. The Wicked Rocks trembled. The massive spire wavered.
From atop the spires and boulders, a shower of rubble plummeted toward the clearing and the pit where the four of them stood.
—–
Wayfarings of Sabit: Isle of the Wicked is copyright (c) 2016 by Michael S. Miller. All rights reserved. New chapters post every weekday. You can support this and other stories on Patreon: https://patreon.com/michaelsmiller