Oh Goddess. Oh Goddess. What am I doing here? Hundreds of eyes were locked upon her, tiny chips of coal in reptilian faces. She climbed the stair toward them, focusing on the slow measured pace of her steps, her breathing, the rhythmic chime of the bracelets on her wrists. Even Runt stilled, sensing the danger.
She approached the mob. Fifty feet ahead, then forty, then ten. Lina swallowed, wondering what she would do when she reached them. She couldn't go around them; a goddess wouldn't do that.
The first of the Draykin knelt at her approach, shuffling back to one side. They turned their heads away from her brilliance as she drew close. Lina wanted to cry out in relief. Others followed as she climbed until a path was cleared all the way to the top. Cries and shouts echoed out of the temple mouth just ahead. Human shouts. Lina almost leapt forward, but forced herself to be slow, be steady. To be a goddess.
She moved past the last of the Draykin mob and mounted the landing at the top of the stair. Lina was unable to hold herself back, and all but ran into the mouth of the Temple. The space within was deep and dark. And far from quiet.
Lina stood on a wide ledge suspended out over a vast and empty space. To her surprise, the temple was mostly hollow. Stone stairs descended to her left and right, to further ledges extending from the stone walls that circled the interior until they met. Fiery red light shone up from the depths of the temple, where molten lava boiled and seethed. In the center towered a tall spire wrought with carvings and bas reliefs depicting the same figures as the statues outside. At its peak a wide ledge supported an altar beneath a gleaming, shining jewel. Four wood and rope suspension bridges branched out from the outer ledges to varying points up the spire.
The temple was far from empty. Atop the spire stood a single Draykin with a massive golden headdress, the Lorekeeper Rastalak had mentioned, gibbering and hissing in outrage. Lina's crewmates stood at the base of the spire, wearing only loincloths and red paint on their skins. They fought with Natasha's Reavers, just coming over the closest rope bridge on Lina's left. Sarah Lome held their foes at bay with a pair of Draykin spears, one in each hand. The rest of the Reavers tried to cross the shaking and twisting bridge, while holding back in turn a clutch of Draykin guards. Mordecai stood between the two fronts, shouting orders and taking the occasional hack at a lizard-creature. Maxim and Henry Smalls held another rope bridge on the opposite side of the spire against a handful of Draykin guards and acolytes. The little steward jabbed about with a stolen spear, and the aetherite clutched a dripping handful of caustic white light. Above them, on the winding stair of the pillar, raced two figures.
"Give it up, Captain!" cried Henry Smalls up at them. "We need to leave!"
Captain Fengel, clad only in a loincloth, tricorn hat, and his monocle, fought with Natasha Blackheart to get up to the landing atop the spire. Natasha, similarly clad, fought back.
"Out of my way, you harlot!" he yelled. Fengel shoved his wife aside and scrambled hands and feet up the stair.
"Idiot!" growled Natasha. "It's mine!" She grabbed her husband by the ankle, half-tripping him long enough to scramble over and gain the lead.
"Strumpet!" Fengel cried.
"Fool!" came the reply.
"Enough!" cried Lina.
Her voice echoed throughout the chamber. Everyone looked her way, then stared. For a moment the tableaux held, everyone frozen in furious action. The Draykin shaman hissed something low, then stared in wonder and dropped to his knees. The other guards did so as well, stopping wherever they were, ledge or bridge or stair.
"Who the devil is that?" cried Mordecai.
"Miss Stone?" called Fengel. He and Natasha lay on the steps, hands wrapped around each other's throats.
Lina she flushed as she recalled her costume. "Yes," she said.
"What on earth are you wearing?"
"Please, sir," she said. "This won't keep them at bay for long. Forget the gem, we have to go!"
"Ha!" laughed Natasha. "That's one of your crew? And after all your talk of modesty."
Fengel turned his attention back. "Like you're one to talk!" He released his wife, knocked her arms aside, and scrambled past her up to the top of the spire. The moment was broken. The Draykin stood still, but Natasha's Reavers and Fengel's Men threw themselves at each other again with abandon.
Natasha jumped up and raced after her husband. The two of them reached the top of the stair almost at the same time, only to find the Lorekeeper waiting. The little Draykin held a short spear and was hissing fiercely at them. It was dangerous, but short.
Fengel blinked and circled right. Natasha circled left. The Lorekeeper tried to keep them both in its view, and backed up until it was almost against the altar supporting the shining gemstone of the Lantern. Lina's captain looked at Natasha. She met his gaze and gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod. As one they leapt forward at the Lorekeeper.