The Song of Eloh Saga (2 page)

I’d resigned myself to a swift death. Whether or not it would be painless was beyond anyone’s knowledge. The dead couldn’t speak, but their bodies, shriveled and burnt beyond recognition, told the gruesome tale.

“Done,” she said with a smile on her face. “You’re beautiful.”

She swiveled the chair around and I peered into the mirror. I didn’t recognize the girl staring back at me. She was too beautiful, distractingly so. I had always been comfortable with messy hair and a dirt-streaked face.

I worked in the fields, played there, and fell in love there. Ben loved me disheveled, dirty, and sweaty. Without the glamour and the peacock feathers. My heart fluttered in my chest and my breath quickened.

Ben.

I had been allowed to choose one person to see me off to the bonfire. Ben had been my first, and only, choice. I would always choose him - above and beyond all things, time, and space. He understood me and loved me for who I was inside. He was the only one who didn’t care that I was an unwanted child with no dowry.

“What do you think?” The cosmeta prodded me on the back with a finger.

I smiled weakly. “I’m gorgeous. Thanks.”

“I have a surprise for you now,” she said. Surprise? Since when do the cosmetae give surprises to initiates? Never, from what I knew. Then again, it’s not like any of the chosen ever lived to tell anyone they’d received a surprise. Maybe it was customary.

She took my hand in hers and pulled me out of the chair. I glanced around at the others in the room, but none of them paid any attention to us. They were too busy applying copious amounts of makeup. My cosmeta was talented, I admitted to myself grudgingly. From what I’d seen, I really was more beautiful than the others.

One girl stood out. She couldn’t have been older than fourteen. Her lips weren’t just red, it looked like she’d drenched her mouth in blood. Shiny black streaks swept out from her eyelids and dark red circles dotted her cheeks. What was her cosmeta thinking? If beauty had anything to do with getting chosen, she’d never come close.

My cosmeta tugged on my hand. I turned my back on the other initiates and followed her out a door and into the street. It was quiet, but not surprisingly so. Everyone was inside, praying and preparing for the ritual. Dirt kicked up around our feet as she dragged me along the side of the building.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Shh!” She held her fingers up to her lips and glared at me. Butterflies jumped around in my stomach. I was pretty sure this wasn’t part of the ritual. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about this morning, now this crazy cosmeta was dragging me who knew where. If we weren’t back in time to line up for the ritual, I didn’t know what would happen to us. I couldn’t imagine anything worse than being burned alive while I waited for an absent god to save me.

I grasped her hand tighter. For the first time, I would trust someone other than Ben. If I didn’t go with her, I was assured death. With her, maybe I had a chance. I just hoped it didn’t get me in worse trouble than I was already facing.

We stopped at a wooden door, hidden in a shadow. She glanced over her shoulder, to the west. The sun was only beginning to set on the horizon. She bounced on her toes and the cosmeta’s eyes widened as the rays of the sun crept slowly away from us like a defeated army slinking away from their enemy. She knocked on the door, three raps in a quick succession. She counted to three under her breath and rapped once more.

The door creaked open. I couldn’t see inside. I wished I knew more about the town, but I’d spent my life in the country, working in the fields. A trip to town was rare, and usually reserved for my brother or sister. My parents weren’t willing to give me the luxury of a meal from a tavern. It cost too much. I wasn’t worth it.

The door whipped open the rest of the way. The cosmeta pulled me in behind her. I stumbled across the threshold and squinted my eyes. Even though the evening sunset dimmed the world outside, the curtains were closed and I still couldn’t see anything except for a candle flickering in the corner of the room. It wasn’t enough to illuminate the dark corners.

The cosmeta squeezed my hand. Her sweat clung to my palm. Nerves? I wanted to know, but I had a feeling it was better for me to stay silent.

“You have her?” A voice cut through the darkness, sharp as a knife. Shivers raced down my body. I didn’t like the sound of him at all.

“I do.” The cosmeta dropped my hand. I felt a rough push on my back and I stumbled forward. I flung my arms out, flailing in the darkness, until I felt a pair of arms snake around my waist.

I relaxed immediately and fell into Ben’s chest. I’d know his touch anywhere - soft, strong, and totally secure. “Ben,” I whispered. “What’s going on?”

“Not yet,” he said. I felt his chin move back and forth across the top of my head. The peacock feathers shifted with it, a shaft stabbing me in the scalp. I tried to ignore the scratches. As long as I was in Ben’s arms, I knew everything would be fine.

“Good.” The voice I didn’t know spoke again. “Then let’s make things right.”

Fingers snapped and a hundred candles came to life, illuminating the room brighter than the sun. I blinked twice and looked around. It was a simple room, compact with a low ceiling. It was the adornments that turned it into a wonderland.

The candlelight flickered across ribbons that streamed from the ceiling, hanging above us in a canopy made of glitter and gold. Unlike the inside of my simple, wooden-walled cottage, this dwelling’s dark navy painted walls spoke of great wealth. I’d never met anyone who could afford a luxury like that.

A cabinet stood in the corner, proudly displaying its wares. I squinted my eyes, taking a sharper look through the glass. I didn’t see china and glasses like I expected. Instead, a strange assortment of golden and crystal objects stood in rows on four shelves.

Pushing out of Ben’s embrace, I reached out my hand toward the cabinet. Something swirled around inside my chest as I stepped closer to the cabinet. Only one item held my attention. If I’d believed in such things, I would have told everyone the jewel-encrusted dagger was calling out to me, pulling me in with a song that filled my soul with hope and reverence.

My jaw dropped slightly, but I didn’t utter a word. Everything around me faded away. Only the dagger and I existed. My hand passed through the glass. It didn’t break, just rearranged itself so my hand glided through. I grasped the hilt of the dagger and the gemstones pressed themselves into my skin.

Heat pulsed through my palm, igniting a firestorm in my veins. A secretive smile crept across my face. I pulled my hand back through the glass, but the dagger wouldn’t budge. It clanged against the glass, clattering down on the shelf and knocking over the golden device next to it. I shook my head as the spell over me broke.

I’d never seen anything pass through solid glass before, as I marveled at my hand I turned back to the three other people in the room. Ben, the cosmeta, and an old lady, who by her voice I had previously assumed was man, stared at me. Only the old lady didn’t seem surprised. A smile played across her wrinkled face.

Ben’s shoulders tensed up and his eyes zeroed in on mine. I glanced away quickly, not sure if he was taking in the ridiculous makeup and peacock feathers or wondering how I’d just stuck my hand through solid glass. Self-consciousness was something I’d never experienced, but it flooded my being. I shifted from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling like a child who’d just been caught stealing a pie from a window.

I braced myself, expecting to receive a harsh rebuke from the mistress of the house. My gaze traveled to the cosmeta, whose slack jaw and empty gaze told me exactly what I’d already believed - I’d just done something unconscionable, and something so unbelievable that I deserved any punishment I got. What had she expected when she brought me here? This couldn’t be part of the process.

I’d already witnessed magic, which technically didn’t even grace our people anymore, not since the gods left us. This old woman had it though. She’d lighted all the candles in the room with a snap of her fingers. I’d sent my hand through glass like it was a pool of water.

I glanced down at my hand again. Could it be possible? Had magic somehow graced me even though I’d never done anything worthy or believed in the gods?

“No, it’s not possible,” the old woman croaked. I dropped my hand to my side and stared at her. “I’m not reading your mind,” she said, followed by a cackle. She waved to me with a gnarled hand. “Come, come. Sit here.”

A rustic dining set on the other side of the room stood in stark contrast to the grandeur of the rest of the home. Just a simple wooden table with two chairs on one side and a bench on the other.

“She needs this to replicate the art she’s already created.” The old woman turned her gnarled finger to the cosmeta. The girl bowed her head and sat down at the table, in front of the mirror. “You too. Don’t be shy.” Her gaze ripped through my chest.

I nodded, unsure of whether or not I should be afraid. I shrugged at Ben, who’d stayed strangely silent this whole time. He was the talker in the relationship. Nothing about this morning was normal. He was probably just as out of sorts as I was.

I made my way over to the table. The peacock feathers in my hair mingled with the ribbons hanging from the ceiling. Such an odd decoration. I’d never seen anything like it, but then again, I hadn’t seen much outside the farm. Maybe it was normal in town.

Sitting down on the rough wooden bench, I faced the cosmeta. We hadn’t met more than a few hours ago. I didn’t even know her name. Yet now we glanced at each other, experiencing a turn in my journey I never would have predicted.

A spread of cosmetics covered the table’s top, most of them similar to what I’d seen back at the palace when she put on my makeup. A couple of freestanding mirrors sat in front of me. One faced me, the other faced the cosmeta. I looked at myself in the mirror, wishing I could wash all the makeup off, along with everything it represented.

“Now Becca, copy the beautiful job you did on Eloh,” the old lady said. She patted the cosmeta on the shoulder and nodded. Her hair slipped out of the messy bun at the nape of her neck, curling around her face like tiny gray asps.

“Yes, auntie,” she answered. The cosmeta, Becca, picked up a wedge of chalk, stared at me, looked at herself in the mirror, and began to apply the makeup to her own face.

I gasped and looked over my shoulder at Ben. No one was allowed to wear makeup other than the queen and the initiates. If anyone saw Becca, she’d be in so much trouble. She could be executed if the queen found out. It wasn’t just a silly, antiquated law. It had been upheld for centuries.

Becca’s application of the makeup went against everything our people believed. I shrank under her stare. Her head cocked to the side as she studied me and glanced back at herself in the mirror. It wasn’t until the old woman plucked a peacock feather from my hair and handed it to Becca that I finally realized what was happening.

“She’s going to take my place,” I said out loud. My hand flew over my mouth. I’d meant to think it, not blurt it out for all of them to hear.

The old woman laughed. “Yes, she is. Becca will die in your place during the ritual. No one ever survives and you, my dear, you must survive.”

My eyes widened in horror. “No! You can’t do this. I won’t let her die for me. That’s insane.”

I jumped off the bench, pushing the table on my way up. The makeup clattered, vials falling against each other as the table shook. I backed away from the table, desperately trying to ignore Becca’s uninterrupted application of makeup. She didn’t seem concerned at all with my opinion, as if this was something that was already decided and none of us had a choice in it.

The old woman cackled again, petting Becca on the shoulder. I shivered and backed further away from them. Turning, I found Ben still standing silently near the door.

“How did you get involved in this? What exactly is going on?” I asked.

Nothing made sense. One minute, I’m being prepped for the ritual. My parents gave me up and there was no choice for me after that. Running away meant death. Staying meant death. I preferred to take my chances with the gods than the castle guard. For someone reason a death involving being engulfed by fire seemed more pleasurable than slow torture in the dungeon. But now, some crazy old lady I’d never met had convinced her niece to take my place in death. And for what?

“Last night I had a dream that I should come to this house. So I did.” Ben shrugged. He seemed so nonplussed about everything. Typical. I was the worrier and he was my rock. I was the non-believer and he believed in the gods with every inch of his soul. Sometimes I thought that was the reason he loved me - perhaps he thought he could save me, influence me somehow to trust in the non-existent gods. He would follow a dream without question.

For once I was glad he had blind belief. I didn’t want to face any of this alone. I stumbled into his arms and moved to bury my face in his chest, but he grabbed my chin with his hand and held me back.

“No,” he whispered. “I believed the dream and came here. Now we have to follow through. Go sit down at the table and let Becca copy your makeup.”

I stepped back. His fervor in the unknown was condemning an innocent girl to death. I’d always regarded his beliefs as sweet, almost childlike, but there was nothing adorable about what was unfolding.

Ben reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me back to him. His lips tickled against my ear as he whispered, “I will do anything to save you, Eloh. Anything. Don’t mistake this for something else.”

Tears sprang to my eyes, but I held them back. Ben had told me he loved me a million times, but this was more powerful than any of those three words could have ever been. Still, I wasn’t comfortable with helping that old lady and her plan.

I spun around and stomped to the table. “Tell me right now why it’s so important that I live and Becca dies.”

Becca continued to apply the makeup, so intent on her job, oblivious to the fact that every stroke was one step closer to a fiery death.