Sascha Reinhard
My breath comes fast and shallow. Desperate gulps ripped from the air against the rising tide of panic. The metal confines press into me from all sides, locking my arms in an awkward angle. Its surface runs slick with my cold sweat. I struggle, I kick, I scream against the unyielding walls, but their vice-like grip only contracts further on me, squeezing my lungs dry. “Let me out!” The little air left to me is thick and stifling. I’m going to die in here. Please, please, please…
"You’re such a wuss Casey. It’s just a prank! See you after lunch.”
“Baal Hammon demands five lives to quell his anger.” The priest’s gaze sweeps over us. I dare not meet his eyes. I know it is necessary; our crops lie dead in the field, the river dried to a trickle, the sun scorches skin and earth alike. But I’m weak. I shudder to pay the price.
Hanno rises without a hint of hesitation. Two more, with less eagerness. Another. Then nothing. One more death, to bring new life to our people.
With a heavy heart, I stand.
The priest nods. “Very well. Deliver your lastborn daughters to the temple by nightfall.”
Sascha Reinhard
An alchemist’s apprentice learns many things. For one, guano is rich in saltpeter, a prime ingredient for purification, oxidization and combustion.
German writer Sascha Reinhard has a very literal love of the written word. He studied palaeography.