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“Will it hurt?” Savia asked, leaning into the wrinkled palm cupping her face. Through tear soaked lashes, she watched the heavy oak door, expecting it to open at any moment so the dark-robed guides could come and take her away. Though this wouldn’t happen until dawn, in her windowless room, she couldn’t be sure of the time.
“Only for a moment, I’m sure.” Her grandmother’s rheumy voice said, attempting a confidence that it failed to convey. Savia shuddered at both the lie and the cold of the torch-lit room. The blankets on the cot where she sat did little to warm or comfort her. With a long shuddering breath, she brushed her hands down the silk folds of the pearl white dress she wore. She’d have to get a hold of herself and find a way to control the fear, the doubt. Only a few hours before, she had been treated like an empress. Lavished with food and drink, gifts, praises and gratitude from every member of the tribe, including her family. But now, aside from her grandmother, she was alone and chilled to the bone. How had so many others gone before her? How had they so willingly stepped the altar with a heart of faith and dedication? She feared she couldn’t gather the same courage. Would that make her offering hollow? Even at fifteen, she didn’t fear the ritual or what awaited her afterward. She didn’t worry about leaving her family behind. They would be safe amongst the tribe and held in high esteem. Those were not the fears that caused her trepidation. This was her purpose. She was the Blessed One. Chosen just as the others who came before, destined only to be a vessel of the Blessed. Her offering alone would bring a time of prosperity to her people. At least, this was what she was told. Savia worked to stir the memories from all the lives before, but they remained locked away in that inaccessible part of her mind. The Master promised they would come. “I’m not sure I’m brave enough,” she finally said with a trembling breath. “Oh, but you are.” The frail hand pulled her face up and Savia blinked away the fresh, hot tears. “You were strong each and every time and you will be again.” “I don’t remember.” She lowered her eyes, embarrassed. “Precious One, those memories won’t come until the final moment.” Savia nodded and settled herself down onto the cot. The fragile weight of her grandmother’s hand rested on her hip, giving her the only comfort available. Why was she being cowardly? Was it only the fear of pain stripping her of her faith, or was it something more? Doubt threatened to engulf her years of dedication and send her running. Her eyes searched the room as though the answers lay within the gifts she’d been given, but the dozens of bouquets, the blankets, and the books meant to keep her sleepless mind busy while she waited held no answers. They only sought to bolster the doubt and to feed it like a beast that truly needed no succor. How could she possibly be the One? “Grandmother, tell me about the One before me,” Savia asked, closing her eyes to the surroundings that could only cause her more grief. “Oh, that was so very many years ago.” Her grandmother’s hand pulled away and a flood of loneliness washed over Savia. She would never feel that comfort again. She might know her grandmother upon her return, but just like her absent memories now, she would forget. “Kyelera was fifteen as well. I didn’t know her well, but at the feast, she held herself just as you did, strong and proud. Brave.” “Do you think she doubted?” Savia asked so quietly she was surprised to hear an answer. “Possibly, but if she did, she kept it hidden. Even up to the final moment. Are you finding yourself doubtful?” Her grandmother turned toward her in a swish of fabrics. Savia didn’t respond. “I suppose the doubt is natural. We are only human. I myself lacked faith when the Master Acolyte informed us of your Blessing.” A small chuff escaped her grandmother’s lips. “I almost snatched you up and ran away with you.” At this, Savia looked at her grandmother, searching her face. She had assumed that no one else among the tribe had the same doubts and fears that she had had, but if they both did. She fought the urge to bolt from the bed and take her grandmother’s hand. In her mind, she tried fruitlessly to weave together what she might say. “But that is only foolishness. The gods have smiled upon you. Your gift will provide for us just like Kyelera’s did seventy years ago.” Savia shivered. Her escape was foolishness. Saving her, foolishness. Her future, foolishness. New tears started to flow as her grandmother continued. “We didn’t think you’d ever return. All those years waiting. Suffering through the plague and strife that had begun to affront us. But the Master Acolyte promised us he’d soon find the Blessed One and all would be well again. And here you are.” Savia could feel her grandmother’s eyes watching her. “And now, after the dawn, we all will live and prosper once again. Your family, most of all.” Her grandmother’s tone brightened, and Savia tried to tamper down the sudden pitch of her stomach. How could her death bring any joy? The oaken door scraped across the floor, deafening in the otherwise quiet room, and Savia’s body ring with alarm. It couldn’t be time. She wasn’t ready. But instead of voicing her unease, she stood, smoothed her dress, and followed the pair of guides that entered. The cloaks on their backs fluttered as they went, long swords swinging at their sides. They looked more like guards than guides. She pushed the thought away as quickly as it came and forced herself to concentrate on the soft soles of her grandmother’s shoes padding along behind her. A second door opened at the end of the long hallway and the morning light spilled through, casting a fiery radiance on the large gray stones. Everyone stood still and watchful, waiting for her to exit. They gathered around the altar but at a distance as no one but the Master, his disciple, and the One were allowed so near and even still, only she could step upon dais. Every member of the tribe stared up at her with wide, ardent smiles. Savia fought the sinister feeling it gave her, trying to believe they were smiles of compassion and comfort. There, several feet from the altar, stood the Master Acolyte and a young dark-haired man, both robed in white silks with the exception of the Master’s. Only his had a gold and silver hem running the length of the front. The young disciple smiled an intense smile like the others, but his held a sadistic glow. Savia lowered her eyes from his watchful stare, and they fell on the small, sacramental vessel held between his hands. It was narrow but long, nearly the length of her arm from elbow to fingertips. The sight almost froze her in place, knowing what the casket contained, but she continued, not sure how she was able to put one foot in front of the other. Standing now in front of the disciple, their eyes met once again as she ceremoniously took the casket. Fingers brushed each other’s and Savia caught his barest but eager reaction. Both disciple and Master stepped to the side indicating a clear path to the altar, and she continued past. The quartz beneath her bare feet was warm and inviting, odd for a stone not yet warmed by the sun. Before she had turned back toward the crowd, the Master had already begun the rites, though she could barely hear his words over the sound of something rushing beneath the altar. A smell of flowers and spices of which she wasn’t sure overwhelmed her and she knelt, sitting back on her heels, her brain growing fuzzy as she did. Savia’s brow knitted tight as she tried desperately to concentrate on the words of the Master, but the sounds below grew to a deafening roar. She thought it odd no one else reacted or strained to hear the Master as he spoke. Placing the casket along the small block altar before her, she waited. The rushing sound, spicy smell, and the heat beneath her legs became increasingly unbearable and she feared the noise would keep her mind too foggy for her memories to return. With a shuddering exhale, she struggled to sit still and look to the Master. His arms shot up toward the sky. Goosebumps broke out all over her body as her large, amplified eyes rose to the heavens. It was no longer the normal pinks and orange that accompanied the rising sun, but now vibrant blues and greens and purples, all shimmering with a sluggish ebb and flow. “The colors. All the colors.” She heard herself say, and she tore her eyes away from the variegated view. Why was no one reacting to the beauty that issued above them? Before, she felt sickened by their salacious grins, but now she simply felt sorry that they couldn’t experience the wonderful sight above. “The Blessed One! The Chosen One! Our Rescuer once again!” She saw the Master shout, the words visibly billowing from his lips like diamond dust. With a jolt, the memories of the lives before this one came flooding back and she lifted the lid of the box. The silver blade of the dagger inside reflected the colors of the sky above. It seemed to call out to her to take it from its velvet cradle. Gripping the cold bone handle as she had done so many times before, she lifted it. She now knew exactly what she should do and exactly what was expected of her. Gripping the handle in her fist, the blade pointing heavenward; she placed the tip to her forehead and pulled down toward her chest, flaying her tender flesh and leaving a bloody path from hairline to neckline. Blood poured onto the white fabric, drenching it. Memories flooded her brain, fragments so clear they could have happened only moments before. By the gods. Her body felt as though it might convulse from the onslaught of imagery. It was too much, and she cried out to the sight of the colors above and rushing below. Before she toppled beneath the weight of it all, she twisted the dagger in her palms and plunged it deep into her chest. The sharp point slid easily through the fabric and tender flesh, but resisted as it met the muscle beneath. It slowed its piercing, stopped, then began again when she applied more force. The blade scraped against bone as it pierced her heart. Inside her, its beat grew loud and frantic as though it knew what was to come. Reluctantly, it lessened and wavered, fluttering forth its final beats. She was the Blessed One. She was the Chosen one, and she would return to do it again and again. |