Jendara slipped inside the Star Chapel and dropped into a crouch. Vorrin and the others barely made a sound as they came in behind her. She had expected guards by the doors, but the remaining ulat-kini were gathered at the windowed wall, deep in discussion with Skortti. Perhaps they were regrouping after losing their warriors.
She motioned for Zuna, Tam, and Glayn to circle around to the left side of the great space. She and her remaining crew moved into the shadows of the right. A few torches burned at the front of the room, but the Star Chapel was mostly dark. Through the window the last smudge of sunlight showed at the edge of the overcast sky. The air felt heavy and thick.
Jendara studied the room. The prisoners were crowded between the worn and broken stone pews. A few hung from their bindings—if not dead, then unconscious. She searched for Kran, but the room was too crowded to make out one dark-haired boy amid the mob.
Beside the knot of ulat-kini, the denizens of Leng and their loathsome pink beasts gathered around a large plinth made of the same slick black material as their floating docks and packing crates. It stood about waist high, and it supported a smaller block of the black stuff with a glowing blue orb set in the middle. The block and the orb vibrated and hummed loud enough to make the hairs on Jendara’s arms prickle. She was glad she’d tied Fylga up in the other tunnel—the sound would have made the dog howl for sure.
Jendara ducked behind the nearest prisoner, thinking about the strange device as she scanned for Kran. Ahrzur had mentioned a portal device; the humming black box had to be it. What kind of portal would it open? And where would it lead to? Where could Leng be if, as Yerka had said, it wasn’t of their own world?
She squelched her uncomfortable thoughts and crept forward to the next row. There he was. Just another row forward, his head turned a little so she could see the hint of a frown sketched on his face. Kran’s mind was back in control of his body, and he wasn’t doing a very good job hiding it.
Falling in behind him, she risked a whisper: “Keep your face blank as I untie you.” She began picking at the knots. “We’ve got to get everyone free before this ritual starts. Can you help with their minds?”
The rope came undone. Kran looked around and nodded very slightly.
Jendara squeezed his shoulder. It was a long shot, but the best one they had.
“Skortti!” Jendara turned to see Ahrzur snap his fingers at the ulat-kini. His nails were long and hooked, more talons than fingernails. “The sun has fully set. Why haven’t you begun the ritual?”
“We wait for moonrise,” Skortti said. He raised up a bronze staff, its surface covered with complex symbols. “The instructions on the scepter are clear.”
Ahrzur strode toward the ulat-kini. “Our power source will only last a few more hours. We’ll need every second if we’re going to get the god and all our people through the portal. Now begin!”
“Not until moonrise!”
Ahrzur lunged at the nearest ulat-kini, his black-robed arm lashing out with preternatural speed. Jendara barely caught the flicker of movement as his free hand drew a dagger out of his robe and then drove it into the ulat-kini’s throat. Blood sprayed over Skortti’s silver cloak.
Ahrzur pulled the blade free and kicked the dying ulat-kini aside. His veil had come loose and now hung open, revealing the flesh beneath. Jendara gave an inadvertent gasp.
Where his lips should have been, a mass of tentacles twisted and writhed around a mouth filled with glossy black teeth. Behind those cruel teeth, a pair of fleshy organs like the mouth parts of some primitive intertidal creature wriggled and danced.
“Begin the ritual,” Ahrzur commanded. He ripped off the damaged veil and tossed it on the ulat-kini’s corpse.
Skortti trembled as he nodded.
They were running out of time. Jendara drew her belt knife and slashed the ropes holding Chana. Kran was already working on the ropes of the man in front of him. He finished and gently turned the man’s face toward him. It was Norg, the baker with the amazing bread. Jendara felt a pang as she remembered all the times Norg had given Kran a fresh roll, hot out of the oven. He wasn’t just some strange man that needed to be rescued: he was her neighbor. Kran smiled at the man and patted his cheek.
She moved to the next captive and sawed at his ropes, still watching Kran and Norg. Suddenly Norg went stiff. He blinked a few times. Kran mimed for the man to be silent and Norg nodded. He stared around himself, clearly searching for a way out. Jendara grinned. They had at least one ally. She hoped the others were as lucky.
She scanned the room and frowned. An ulat-kini at the front of the room had turned around. The creature peered out over the group with a suspicious expression.
Jendara shoved Kran down. “Don’t move!” she breathed, and hoped Norg heard it. The baker froze in place.
The ulat-kini left the group and walked toward them. Jendara stood straight and motionless. She knew it had looked at her, but Kran was short enough he might have gone unnoticed. She tried to remember how her face had behaved while she’d been under the moon-beast’s control. Had her mouth sagged open? She forced her muscles into a peaceful expression and hoped she wasn’t overdoing it.
The ulat-kini gave her a hard look and then turned back to the others. Jendara pulled Kran to his feet.
“We have to hurry,” she whispered.
He nodded and turned to the blank-faced Chana. Jendara cut the ropes of the next prisoner. She could see the rest of her crew moving throughout the room. A few of the prisoners were looking around themselves, awake and alert. She had no idea what made a person gather their will and throw off the moon-beast’s control. She couldn’t remember doing anything other than just looking at Kran, but that had somehow been enough.
She slashed the bonds of the next person. She was almost to the end of this row. At the front of the room, Skortti’s six acolytes had lit more torches. Their ruddy glow flickered and danced as an evening wind blew in through the broken windows. Twilight had ended. Without the torches, it would be entirely dark.
The acolytes clasped hands and began to chant, their voices melding into a hollow drone.
Skortti raised high the bronze scepter. “Awaken, O sleeping one,” he intoned. “Awaken, O child of the stars.”
The chapel doors burst open. Fylga rushed past the ulat-kini in the doorway, barking furiously. Jendara cringed, ready for the moon-beasts and ulat-kini to attack the dog.
But the figure in the doorway distracted them. Korthax marched inside the chapel, Tharkor at his heels. He strode toward the startled Skortti, holding the stolen astrolabe before his chest. “You dare awaken the sleeping god without this.”
The stones beneath Jendara’s boots gave a little lurch. She caught herself on the shoulder of the prisoner in front of her. She looked around. No one else seemed to have noticed the minor earthquake.
Skortti lowered the scepter. “I have no need of your petty bauble.”
“My father observed the ritual of the deep ones. He was the one who saw what power the sleeping god could give us.” Korthax stopped at the midpoint of the chapel’s broad aisle. “At the time, he thought the scepter woke the god, and the astrolabe was only a tool for measuring the moment when the stars were right. But I have learned otherwise.” Korthax paused, his face bending in a triumphant smile. “The astrolabe taps the power of the stars so that the god may be controlled!”
“Get it,” Ahrzur snapped. A black robe charged at Korthax.
The floor began to shake. A crack split down the aisle, separating the left group of prisoners from the right. A horrible sound came up out of the crack, a shrill whisper that clawed at Jendara’s eardrums.
A huge green-gray tentacle broke out of the floor and sent the black robe flying.