deep chalice would bring about questions that Yakim Douan did not want to answer.
But the Chezru Chieftain held all confidence that it would not come to that. In all the nearly eight hundred years he had been secretly using the magical hematite, the blood level in the chalice had only dropped to a re-vealing level once, when a young Yatol priest had inadvertently tripped and spilled the contents.
That unfortunate Yatol, so flustered, so horrified by what he had done, hadn't even paused long enough to consider the ramifications of what he had seen. He had only stammered apology after apology when Yakim Douan had come upon him, to find him kneeling on the bloody floor and crying, his head in his hands.
He had begged forgiveness frorti the God-Voice, even as Yakim's knife had reached for his unprotected, undefended throat.
That one had died confused.
Yakim Douan shuddered at the memory of that awful day. He had never wanted to kill the man, but so much had been at stake. How could he jeop-ardize his own theoretical immortality, centuries of life, against the few de-cades the poor fool might have remaining?
To Yakim all these years later, it had been pragmatism, and not hatred and not any evil lust for power, that had guided his dagger hand that fate-ful day.
Yakim Douan couldn't even remember the clumsy Yatol's name. Nor could anyone else.
Merwan Ma stood perfectly still, chanting softly the intonation of sacri-fice, his voice blending beautifully with the others standing in a circle about the small table that held the Chezru Goblet. The young attendant held his left hand out across his chest and to the right side, ready to take the knife, while his right arm was out before him, his forearm resting on a padded shelf, his wrist dangling above the sacred vessel.
He was blindfolded, as were the others. In fact, Merwan Ma, as principal attendant to the Chezru Chieftain, had been the only one to enter this holy room with his eyes open, guiding the others to their respective positions. Then, with a prayer, Merwan Ma had taken his place and reached below the table and turned the lever. He had watched the red fluid level slowly drop-ping as he had applied his own blindfold.
That lever and release under the table was counterweighted, designed to slow the flow and then close altogether as the blood in the bowl drained. This group would not replace all of the liquid, but only about three-quarters. A bell sounded as the lever closed, the signal for the sacrifice to begin. And so it had, with the chanting. The man immediately to Merwan Ma's left took up the treated knife, reached forward, and cut his right wrist, then counted out the appropriate time, in cadence with the verse of the common chant, as his lifeblood dribbled down into the chalice. When the verse ended, the man passed the blade to the man on his left and the process was repeated.
And so on, until the knife came full circle, back to Merwan Ma. The at-tendant, his right wrist crisscrossed with lines and lines of scarring, finished his duty stoically and efficiently, then reverently placed the blade back on the table.
As the song finished, Merwan Ma lifted the blindfold off of his head and looked down at their work. Some blood had spattered outside of the great goblet, as usual, and the level wasn't as high as it should have been, though within the marks of tolerance inside the chalice. Had it not been, Ken the sacrifice would have been declared void and one of the men gathred about the table would have been killed and replaced, with only the tending Yatol and Merwan Ma exempt from that fate.
But the sacrifice was acceptable, the level of red fluid more than suffi-ient to hold the sacred goblet until the month had passed and the next sac-rifice ensued.
Merwan Ma nodded at the handiwork - he'd have to come back in later and clean up the sacred vessel, of course, but other than that, the duty was done. With perfect precision wrought of months and months of practice, he took up the hand of the man on his left and led the group, joined as one line, out of the room.
In the anteroom, as soon as the door was closed, the others pulled off their blindfolds and tightened the bandages on their wrists, congratulating each other on a job well-done.
The exception, as usual, was the one Yatol in attendance. The older