The Stormy Night  

"Hurry, row!"

The outrigger canoe skimmed south under rapidly darkening skies. Night was falling, and a storm brewed on the horizon. Amara clung to the water-slick gunwales as Hiwana worked the steering paddle, aiming for a smudge of land visible through the gloom.

They had been pursued for hours by the pirates, but abandoned canoes could not match the speed of Hiwana's sleek craft. Their head start had widened, yet Amara knew the reprieve was only temporary. Rhys would not rest until he had her head.

"There, sister—the isle of Weluma," Hiwana panted, nodding toward the fast-approaching shore. "We will be sheltered there."

Amara squinted at the island taking shape through veils of rain. It looked small, a mere rocky spur jutting from the sea, devoid of beaches. She hoped Hiwana was right that it would offer refuge. The storm was nearly upon them, tossing the canoe like a toy.

Whoosh!

Hiwana steered into a narrow inlet and they leapt out, hauling the canoe above the tide line. Wind-lashed palms provided scant cover as they scrambled inland. Pelting rain soaked them to the bone in moments.

"This way!" Hiwana led Amara upslope, through clutching ferns and dew-wet boulders. They crested a low rise, and Amara saw that the little island was crowned by a stone temple, its walls carved in eroded friezes. The central courtyard was open to the sky.

"Praise the spirits," the girl said in relief. "Come, we can shelter inside."

They passed between two mossy statues of leaping dolphins and into the sanctuary of the temple's heart. Amara wrung seawater from her hair, gazing around in wonder.

The elements had cracked and eroded much of the temple's stonework, yet a sense of grandeur still lingered within its weed-choked walls. Intricate mosaics adorned the floor, depicting entwined figures interspersed with arcane symbols. Amara traced a finger over the tiles, brushing away moss. This had been a sacred site of the pleasure goddess, there could be no doubt.

"We will be safe here until the storm passes," Hiwana said, wringing out her soaked wraps.

Amara began moving deeper into the abandoned temple. She wondered if any relics remained that might reveal more of the Hallow Skull's origins and purpose. Her brief encounter with the artefact in the cliffside cave had only hinted at its true nature. The skull Hiwana had taken turned out to be a replica that crumbled to dust during their bout in the storm.

Passing through an arched doorway, she entered a shadowy chamber. Faint light falling through cracks in the ceiling illuminated a large dry pool set into the tiled floor. Amara crept closer. Images of writhing bodies covered its sides and bottom, rendered in exquisite carnal detail. This was unmistakably a ritual bath once used for sensual purification rites.

Amara turned to call for Hiwana to come see, but a flicker of crimson from across the room caught her eye. An alcove sheltered a statue of a masked woman, arms upraised. The rich red glow emanated from behind the statue.

Heart quickening, Amara moved closer. The effigy depicted one of the pleasure goddess's high priestesses. And cached in the space beyond, hidden from casual view, was a chest carved from black stone. The source of the unsettling glow. Amara hesitated, then steeled herself and stepped past the statue.

The moment she touched the arcane lock sealing the chest, she felt a jolt race through her body. With a grinding of stone on stone, the lid split and slowly swung open. Amara peered inside, eyes wide. The chest contained a human skull wrought from polished obsidian, just like the one she had seen in her vision. But this could not be the same artefact...could it?

Mesmerized, she reached to grasp it. The instant her fingers made contact, images flooded her mind in cascading succession:

A lush jungle temple ringed by dark-skinned worshippers...robed priestesses adorned with feathers dancing sensually...a silver chalice brimming with blood-red wine...the same obsidian skull resting atop an altar while a high priestess invoked ancient rites...

With a gasp, Amara wrenched her hand away, breaking the vivid torrent. She stared down at the skull in awe and unease. This was clearly another Hallow Skull, a sister relic of the one she had briefly encountered. But why here, hidden away and dormant? Would it crumble like the other? What did it portend? She needed to confer with Hiwana.

Clutching the unsettling object, Amara hurried from the chamber to find the island girl. She discovered her outside in the temple's open courtyard, standing nude under the rain with arms upraised and eyes closed in evident reverence.

"Sister, come see what I have found!" Amara called over the drumming rain. "It relates to the treasure we seek!"

Hiwana turned with a dreamy smile. "This storm is an omen, Amara. The spirits dance and sing!" She swayed gracefully, heedless of the cold torrent. "What have you there?"

Amara held forth the obsidian skull. "A twin to the one we took from the cliffs, I believe. It may reveal clues, but I know not how to unlock its secrets. We must study it together."

Hiwana took the skull from Amara's hands, gazing into its hollow sockets. Suddenly her own eyes widened. "Sister...a presence stirs within! Can you not feel it?"

Amara blinked rain from her eyes. "I sense only shadowed memory and faded ritual. What do you perceive?"

"A soul...long denied release...yearning desperately across the void..." Hiwana's voice had taken on a strange resonant tone as her exposed skin glistened in the rain.

Unease skittered down Amara's spine. She reached out a hand as if to take back the skull, but Hiwana cradled it tightly to her chest.

"This lost spirit calls to me, sister," the girl murmured. "He must be answered."

Before Amara could react, Hiwana lifted the skull above her head, presenting it to the churning heavens. She began to chant in an ancient tongue Amara could not decipher. Thunder rolled and boomed overhead, making the stones tremble.

"Hiwana, take care!" Amara cried in warning. "We know not what we trifle with!"

But the girl seemed beyond reason. She swayed and wove, eyes shut tight, chanting faster. The strange tongue seemed to ride upon the wind and staccato raindrops. Amara smelled ozone as the hair on her nape and arms stood on end. Power was building around them, wild and untamed.

She moved to grasp Hiwana's shoulders, hoping to break the trance, but a flash of lightning blinded her, followed instantly by a deafening crack. Amara was hurled to the wet flagstones. Ears ringing, she rolled over and froze.

Where Hiwana had stood was now a tall, powerfully built man clad in sodden silk robes. The obsidian skull glowed in his grip, and its empty sockets blazing ruby-red. Long black hair framed the stranger's finely handsome features, marred by a jagged scar tracing from brow to jawline.

Amara scrambled backward in instinctive fear. The unknown man's piercing eyes found her, and he smiled. "Be not afraid, my beauty," he spoke, in a voice both sultry and grim. "You have granted me life again by delivering me this vessel." He hefted the skull in one broad palm.

Amara's voice failed her. Where was Hiwana? Had this foreboding figure somehow transformed her? Amara's hands closed around a broken shard of masonry, a pitiful weapon that it was.

The stranger seemed to read her thoughts. He halted several paces away. "Peace between us, at least for now. The girl but sleeps, unharmed. 'Twas her spirit's purity the skull used as conduit to revive mine own."

He swept a courtly bow, spreading his robe's silken folds. "I am Lord Bane, High Oracle of the Thousand Pleasures, bound unjustly these long centuries. And I would know who you are, rarest of beauty, that the fates saw fit to cross our paths this storm-tossed night."

Amara rose slowly, shard still clutched tight. "I am called Amara," she answered warily. Could she trust his reassuring words? Every instinct screamed danger, yet she sensed no immediate malice in his dark gaze. Only curiosity and...something more.