The voice came not as sound but as thought, entering Lakhyri's mind not with language but as pure concept. No creature apart from another of the masters could communicate in a physical fashion with an eulanui, though sometimes their words could be heard on the edges of sleep; a bass throbbing that shivered through Lakhyri's bones and resounded within his shrivelled guts.
"The temple strains to maintain your presence," the high priest said.
"How can we increase the power of the shrine?"
"Seek whom? Seek what?"
"How might we find this king? Which land does he rule?"
The body of the huoyakuitaka dissolved, flowing back into the shape of the bone-clad altar stone. It had been a short exchange; shorter than any Lakhyri could remember, and his memory stretched back far indeed. The masters were struggling to maintain their grip upon this world, and had little power to spare to animate a body with which to converse with an underling.
"Acolytes stay, all others leave," declared Lakhyri, turning away from the altar.
Within a short time the eldest followers had hobbled away, leaving only the youngest of the order, eighteen in all. They were naked and shaven-headed, their skin fresh and their muscles tight and fit. Lakhyri looked at them with disgust, offended by their youth.
"You," said the high priest, pointing a skeletal finger at one of the boys. "Go now to the chamber of souls, I have a task for you."
The acolyte nodded solemnly, his eyes fresh and eager. Lakhyri sneered at his enthusiasm. He did not yet understand the true meaning of service. A hundred more years tending to the masters and these acolytes would better know the fate that had been decreed for them.
The one he had sent away would not have time to learn the lesson.