I am more aware of the troubles than Mother and Father would have me be. As the only daughter of the main priestess of the land and a prosperous noble, I have all that I want. I have hundreds of fascinating books to read in the main library, I have all the children of the villagers to play with, I have a horse, I have many cats, I have all the food I want to eat. But even I can sense the unease in the commoners.
Mother and Father are not young, but they are both beautiful and kind to me. Mother has an ageless face, surrounded by raven black hair, and is kind to everyone. She was chosen by Aquaria when she was my age and has served as Her main priestess for twenty years. Father is a distant relative of the king at court far away, and deals with trade with the nearby sea and also with farming. He has an open manner and is fair in his treatment of those of station below us.
I overhear one of their conversations while I am eating my breakfast of oatmeal with honey. “Garinth,” Mother says, “the goddess Aquaria is not pleased. I have prayed to Her, asking Her will in the matters, and she has answered me, if rather obliquely.”
“Benaria, you must do whatever in your power to appease her. If this weather continues, we shall all starve.” Father replies gravely. “What did Aquaria ask?”
“She asked for a sacrifice of the object of greatest worth I possessed. Only then can it be of worth. I- I-” Mother breaks off abruptly with a tremor in her voice.
I finish my breakfast and, curious as I am about this conversation, do not eavesdrop any longer. Mother always tells me everything when she tucks me in at night. Since it does not concern me, I try to forget it and go on with my everyday activities. Still, the conversation lingers in my mind. I think back to the sacrifice of the swine a few months ago. I remember the pig squealing and madly trying to win free. I remember the sharp sacrificial blade, honed and bright. I remember the hot blood pouring from the pig’s slit throat into a small golden bowl that Mother deftly maneuvered to catch every drop of the blood. That feeling of disgust and savage elation frightens me, and I turn to think of other matters. My friend Alara and I go riding over the meadows and I forget. At night, while Mother tucks me into bed, she is unusually silent. She starts to say my name, and stops, biting her lip.
“What is it Mother?” I ask curiously.
“Something is coming up in which you will take a great part.” Mother carefully replies, keeping her voice even. “A feast, of a sort. I will make you a new dress and help you to learn your lines.”
“I have been longing for one all month!” I cry joyously.
Mother kisses me, then turns away. I see, strangely, that her eyes are unusually bright.
“Mother?” I ask.
She turns around inquiringly.
“Why are you sad?” She starts, then reassuringly smiles. “I am only sad because you are growing up so quickly!” Mother answers jokingly and leaves the room.
I have bad dreams that night. Dreams of wild screams, of blood gushing into a small golden bowl. I wake up unrested and unhappy. I run to Mother to be comforted, but I cannot find her.
“She is out preparing for the festival, young mistress,” The servant replies politely. For a festival, things are oddly subdued. Father looks grim and worried, the servants and commoners look at me strangely, and even Alara is not her usual self.
“What is wrong?” I ask
She bites her lip and refuses to answer.
She must be jealous of the part I have in the ceremony. I brag about it to all my friends since never before have I been in a ceremony.
The ceremony will take place in a few days, once all the preparations are ready.
As the days to the ceremony draw to a close, more and more people are avoiding me. They look at me askew, catch me looking at them, and then look at their feet and move away from me as far as possible. All the friends I have- the guards, the other children, look at me in pity and fear. Mother is never around anymore. She is always busy, and Father seems to have no time for me anymore. Alara avoids me now. I wonder what I have done to alienate everyone but no one will tell me. The night two days before the ceremony, Mother comes in.
“Mother!” I exclaim joyously. “I have not seen you for two days!”
Mother looks weary and depressed. Her face is pale and lines of strain can be seen by the torch on my wall.
“My beloved daughter,” she begins hesitantly, “I have something of a very disagreeable nature to tell you.”
After a few seconds of awkward silence, I ask, “Well, what is it?”
“You know that the goddess Aquaria is angry at us. I have been praying and she tells me the only way to please her is to sacrifice something dearest to my heart.”
A cold hand starts to squeeze my heart.
“There is nothing I have dearer than you.”
The world starts to spin, spinning with images of knives, of pigs, of blood. I scream and fall unconscious, but not before I see Mother weeping. Weeping for the trust she has had to break, weeping for having to put her land and goddess before her daughter. Weeping for having to kill me...
The next morning, I wake up and my head hurts. I remember having a nightmare. Oh goddess- please make it only a nightmare, I pray silently. Treacherous memory comes to me unbidden, and I feel hopeless, worn. I know Mother has to do this. I must die with dignity befitting my station...or give up everything I have ever known and run away.
And so I try. I go out to the stables, saddle up my horse and bound away. I am unstopped until I reach the border of Father’s lands. A guard stops me and escorts me home. I try to climb the wall. I plead Alara for help, but she turns away from me. She has been forbidden to speak to me. I try everything. I try bribing the guards, but they do not listen to me. I scream out loud in the great hall, and no one even bothers to look up. Am I already dead then? I am so alone, so terribly alone...I am trapped, as though I were locked in a cell. I beat my hands against the imaginary walls, scratch until my fingers bleed, cry out until I grow hoarse...and nothing helps in the slightest. I feel so betrayed. Everyone I have ever known has turned against me.
The next morning is the dawning of the terrible sacrificial ceremony. Everyone has assembled in the churned up mud of the fields outside the great temple of Aquaria. Mother walks out, dignified, but her face taut with grief. Father is not quite weeping. The villagers are quiet, and only sad little murmurs interrupt the silence. I am lead out. I wear a pure white linen dress and wild flowers in my hair. I walk holding my head high, as befits my station. I kneel at the white altar, refusing to be dragged like an animal. I see the knife, golden hilt set with green gems, steel curved blade engraved with strange geometrical symbols. It is very clean, the point sharp and glinting in the weak sunlight. Mother walks to my side. In her hand is the little golden bowl used for catching the blood. It, too, seems unnaturally bright. Strangely, I feel disinterestedly calm now. I have accepted my fate.
Mother chants some strange incantations. The temple of Aquaria is deadly silent. With tears barely withheld, I watch, as from another’s eyes Mother’s almost imperceptibly shaking hands plunge the dagger into my heart. Once, twice, thrice. She catches the pooling blood in her golden bowl as I fall, choking with my own thick, metallic blood. The red stands out upon her pale hands, upon my white dress. I look into her eyes from where I have fallen, and she is now crying openly. Outside, the sun finally breaks through the clouds, and almost instantly, little green shoots appear above the frothy mud. The commoners cheer, but I do not have time to appreciate it. My world goes black and a rushing in my ears slowly dies down, down. My heartbeat slows to a lull, then to nothing. Mother holds the golden bowl up to the sun, where it catches the glint of gold and the shimmer of blood.
Aquaria’s will has been fulfilled.
