Sacrifice

I knelt in a white gown, the hard, wood floor biting into my knees. I didn't pray, but I bowed my head before the altar all the same. I had no prayers left in me to give, nothing left to say to our gods, who had demanded this thing of me. For two weeks I had prayed, and received no answer.

The women of the town sang all around me, songs of joy and renewal, and I knelt in the center of their circle and tried not to cry.

I had cried when the prophets had come to me, a fortnight before. We had all known something like this was coming, of course. We learned from our first breath that Teppal, our lord of the sun, had been locked in combat for millennia with Nelru, goddess of the moon. Nelru was covetous and not content to rule the night as it had been given to her. She sent her champion, the great beast who sat at her right hand, to claim Teppal’s realm for her own, and Teppal’s own beast met her in battle. And there they have remained, locked in battle for centuries on end.

As children, our parents assured us that it would always be so, that Teppal could not fall. When we grew older and began to study the prophecies, we learned otherwise. For the prophets had written that one day, the strength of Teppal’s beast would fail him, and the battle would turn in Nelru’s favor. When that day came, they wrote, it would fall to the people to bolster their lord and the strength of his champion. We must sacrifice our fairest and brightest maiden to the jaws of Teppal’s beast. Her strength would join the beast’s, and in this way he would be able to rise against Nelru and force back her advance.

They assured us that without her, the beast would fall and Teppal would fail. Nelru’s darkness would smother the land. Our world would perish.

We all learned these stories, as our parents had, as their parents had. And much like each generation before us, we never believed that it might come to pass in our lifetime.

I had stood with the others, gaping up at the sky as Nelru had eclipsed our sun and cast the midday lands into twilight, and even then I did not consider that I might be chosen. I was neither the most beautiful nor the most accomplished girl in our village. I was only little Ryllana, who liked her books more than she did proper maidenly pursuits. But the sages had selected Halrik from among their ranks to bear the solemn burden of this choice, and he had fancied me in our youth. It was supposed to be a great honor to be Chosen, the one mortal who would save our lord and his demesne, who would secure Teppal’s victory. And so, when the choice fell to Halrik, he chose me.

They had come for me and I had wept, reaching out for my mother. She had put her hands on my cheeks, kissed my brow, and whispered against my skin, "The Chosen must be strong, for her strength is Teppal's."

All my childhood they'd lectured us on the importance of saving our bodies for our husbands. If I'd known they'd make an exception for the end of the world, I'd have let the neighbor’s boy carry me off to his bed the summer before, instead of fighting him off and earning myself a black eye and a bruise to the ribs. Better a village lad with his callused hands and rough touch than the claws of Teppal's beast.

"The Chosen must be strong," I whispered now, kneeling on the temple floor as the prophets bound my arms with rope, "or her cowardice shall doom us all." It was a meager comfort, but no one had offered me better.

The women stopped singing and the prophets pulled me to my feet. They led me outside, into what should have been the brightness of midday, but the sun did not shine down on us. The eclipse glared down at us like a malevolent eye, ringed with Teppal's flame.

I looked at it only once, then dropped my gaze in fear, and did not raise it again. Dust clung to the soles of my slippers and the hem of my gown, staining them as I walked.

They brought me to the clearing. A wooden post had been erected, broad and sturdy, carved around its base with depictions of fearsome beasts.

As a child, my mother had coaxed obedience from me by warning that Teppal's beast would snatch me up if I misbehaved. All the mothers of the town did. And, being a child, I had obeyed but never truly believed that my own mother would allow such a thing to happen.

The town had gathered in the clearing to witness their salvation, and I could not look at them for fear I would see her there, her once-loving face sternly forbidding me weakness as they traded my life away.

My eyes were dry, as they should be. I would be strong because I must, because to be craven would not save me from my fate. But if I saw her, I thought I would crumble.

The prophets bound me to the post as the eclipse looked down from its zenith. The town huddled closer, casting fearful looks at the darkened sky, then at me. Strong winds whipped through the glade, tearing at my unbound hair and the snowy gown they'd dressed me in.

A hush fell over the crowd around me, deafening in its sudden silence. I looked up, straining against my bonds. Heavy black wings blocked what little light remained in the day. They stroked in slow, rhythmic beats, stirring the air around the glade into turbulence. The trees around us shook, their branches rattling like bones. Fear froze my breath in my throat, and at the last moment, I found I had prayers left in me after all.

"Please." The words were snatched from my lips by the winds of the beast's wingstrokes. "Please, let it be swift. Let it be done."

The crowd around me murmured, all of us gazing up at it, then screamed and scattered as the shadow swooped from the sky.

Claws like iron tore through my bonds and lifted me into the sky with a lurch.

The glade fell away beneath us until the people scrambling around within it--they had been friends, family, neighbors once--seemed like mice, and then like insects. And then we left the glade behind us, and I could not see them at all.

I cowered in the beast's grip, his claws like massive bars in an impossible cage. I kept my hands clapped over my eyes, terrified by our height. Would he toss me about up here, playing with me like a cat with its prey? Why did he not kill me and be done with it?

The stroke of his wings through the air was a tangible pulse, as real and steady as a heartbeat, pounding in my ears. Every moment, I expected that he would swoop down to some field or pasture and finish the rite. Every moment for hours, I lay curled in his grip with my heart in my throat, paralyzed with fear.

I could not sustain it. Such constant, encompassing fear wearies a person, and after hours of it, I was exhausted. I let my hands drop and looked down through the gaps between the beast's claws at the landscape rolling by below us, verdant hills and snaking rivers and milling herds of sheep. My home was far behind us, and I did not recognize this place.

I could only guess at how much time passed as we flew. But if I had not believed the prophets before, the sight of the eclipse traveling through the sky to rest on the horizon would have been enough to convince me a hundred times over. The sun and moon remained locked together in combat as they traveled the heavens. I had seen eclipses before in my life, but they had always been brief things, and the two always parted quickly to resume their orbits. They had been battles, skirmishes. This was no battle, but a full-scale war. I was to be the first casualty, and, if the prophecies held true, the last. My death, to prevent countless others.

Goddess protect me, I prayed, appealing to the Great Mother, who held all women in her hand. Guide me to the gates of your kingdom, that I may trade this end for an eternity of peace by your side. I have always been faithful to you. Do not forsake me now.

We flew over hills and lakes and mountains and rivers. Sometime in the late hours of the day, as the eclipse came to rest on the western horizon, my exhaustion claimed me, and I fell into a fitful sleep in the beast's claws.

I awoke in a candle-lit bedchamber. Light from the flames danced across the walls and cast deep shadows upon the room. I lay in the center of a canopied bed. My ceremonial white gown had been traded for a black silk robe with a crimson sash.

Someone had been here with me. Someone other than the beast, who surely could not have managed such a delicate task as dressing a woman. Someone human. My heart leapt at the opportunity to speak with someone, anyone. I had not thought to ever have the chance again.

I rose and tied the robe tightly around myself. "Hello? Is anyone here?"

Something rustled in the shadows. I spun to face it, but saw only inky blackness. "Who's there?"

A quiet, masculine voice answered me. "It is I."

I wrapped my arms beneath my breasts to hide the fact that I was trembling. I could not even have said why. "Show yourself."

For a heartbeat, I received no answer. Then, softly, tinged with a hint of amusement, "As you wish."

A figure formed out of the darkness. A man of my age, with thick black hair that fell to his shoulders and the sort of chiseled features that would have made the ladies swoon back home.

I had been forsaken, carried in a beast's claws for hours upon end, and dressed by an utter stranger while I was sleeping. I yearned for companionship, but I was in no mood for swooning. "Who are you?"

A hint of a smile curved his mouth. "I am here to see to your comfort. That is enough for now."

"Comfort?" I echoed, wondering why he cared for the comfort of a woman about to be sacrificed.

He inclined his head. "They will pain you, if they are not treated."

I raised my hands and saw the abrasions that circled my wrists, rope burns from when the beast had torn me from my bindings. They were angry and inflamed, and he was right. They would hurt.

I sat down on the bed and indicated for him to join me, because I didn't know what else to do. I did not dare to imagine that Teppal's beast intended to delay my sacrifice long enough for superficial wounds to bother me, but I could not bring myself to reject any kindness that might be offered to me.

I held my wrists out to the stranger. He took them with a gentle touch, his fingertips hot on my skin. From a silver tray at the foot of the bed, he retrieved an ointment jar and spread salve upon my wounds. It smelled of pungent herbs and reminded me too much of home.

I turned my face aside, struggling against tears. Silly, I chided myself. It was silly to cry now, at the simple kindness of a stranger, when I had not wept before.

The rite had not yet been completed. I must remain strong, now more than ever.

When he'd finished, he carefully set my arms back in my lap. He reached for me, then hesitated. "There are others," he said. "The rope about your waist--"

"No." My cheeks burned. I shied away from him.

He shrugged a shoulder and replaced the jar. "Are you hungry, then? Thirsty?" A small bowl on the tray bore a variety of crisp, fresh fruit. A pitcher held water cleaner than any we drew from our well.

I ran my hands over my arms and shook my head. I had fasted since the day before my sacrifice, but the knowledge of my impending death turned my stomach to knots, and I had no appetite.

The man's shrewd gaze noticed my gesture. "You are cold?"

"No." I dropped my hands to my lap, embarrassed to have been caught in such a vulnerability.

"Not tired, surely. You slept for hours."

I blew out a sigh of frustration. "No, not tired, either." I shook my head. "I do not need to be coddled."

He slid down the bed, closing the distance I had put between us. His side brushed mine, and the press of his muscles beneath his tunic made my heart trip within my chest. "Not hungry, nor cold, nor tired." He rested his hand against my waist. I stared at him, too shocked to move. His eyes were inquiring, his touch gentle. Tentatively, he brushed his fingers over the silk at my waist. "You have other needs, then?"

His face was so close to mine, it was all I could see. My heart beat like a caged bird beneath my breast. His touch felt ... peculiar. Unexpected. But pleasant all the same.

I had not expected to know pleasure again before I died. I did not know what to do with it, now that it was offered to me.

Slowly, trembling and shocked at my own forwardness, I reached a hand out and touched his cheek. Stubble abraded my fingertips, and that, too, was nice. I took his hand from my waist and pressed his callused fingers to my lips. He stared at me intently, his nostrils flaring with each breath, and I had to look away.

I didn't know how long I had left to live. Anyone at home would call it wantonness, but I could not bring myself to tell him no and send him away. I did not want to be alone. I did not want to be afraid.

He brushed his thumb over my lips and slipped his hand around to the back of my neck, urging me closer. "This is a yes?"

I leaned my brow against his and twisted strands of his hair around my fingers. "Tell me your name."

He was motionless, expressionless, for the length of several heartbeats. Then, slowly, he said, "I am called Draig."

"Draig," I repeated quietly, trying out the sound of the name. I slipped a hand to his cheek and looked up at him. His eyes were dark and wild in the candlelight. "I'm Ryllana."

"It is a pleasure, Ryllana." The rhythm of his words was both soothing and enticing. His voice rolled over me and I closed my eyes, wishing he would whisper sweetly to me for as long as this lasted.

I felt him move, but didn't know what he intended until his lips pressed to mine, soft and warm. My eyes flew open. It was startling how close he was above me, his visage blurred and distorted by his proximity. His eyes were open, and fires smoldered in their depths.

As I watched, they closed, and his hand came up to stroke my hair. He matched his mouth to mine and pressed a little closer, kissing me slowly. His breath brushed over my cheek, and my heart sped in response to it.

Moist heat brushed over my lip, then flicked away. I slid my fingers around the back of Draig's neck and pulled him closer as I angled my mouth beneath his. Tentatively, I touched the tip of my tongue to his, following it as it traced along my lips.

Draig made a quiet sound deep in his chest. His tongue dipped within my mouth, tracing along the tender flesh on the inside of my lip. I gasped, opening to him, letting him in deeper. I had never before kissed anyone who had taken such care, or shown such patience.

He ventured further within my mouth, gliding his tongue along mine. My hand curved around the back of his neck, tangling in the fine strands of hair at his nape. "Draig.," I whispered against his mouth.

He drew back and looked down at me.

"Would you..." Inexperience made me stumble as I fought to explain concepts I had no name for, and a lifetime of ingrained modesty made my cheeks burn at my audacity. "That is... This is very nice, but I want ... more."

A slow smile spread across his face. Watching it, I shivered, but felt no fear. It was a smile full of heat and promises.

He tightened his hand in my hair, tilting my head back. He pressed his lips beneath my jaw, a simple kiss that spread into a lazy, open-mouthed exploration of lips and teeth and tongue. He traveled up the line of my jaw to my earlobe, sucked it into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it. I gasped, shocked at such exquisite sensations from such an innocuous part of my body.

I loosened my hand from his hair and drew it down his neck to the curve of his shoulder. His skin burned beneath my touch. I slipped my fingers beneath his tunic, seeking more of his heat.

His flesh was smooth and solid and completely entrancing. I wanted to explore all of it, every bit. I slid beneath the cloth and felt his heart race beneath my palm.

Biting my lip with frustrated impatience, I tugged his tunic up his chest. But sudden insecurity gripped me, and I paused. I had kissed a man before, but I had never done this. I'd have been shunned for it, back home. I looked up at Draig, seeking ... something. I didn't know what. Encouragement? Permission?

What I found was heat. His eyes were filled with it, his expression intent with it. I licked my lips instinctively and saw his gaze follow the movement of my tongue. I wondered if he wanted to kiss me again.

I knew I wanted to kiss him.

I drew his tunic up the rest of the way, and he raised his arms to help. And when it was gone, he brought one hand to my waist and the other to my back, and carefully eased me down onto the bed beneath him.

I was not so distracted by the revelation of the muscled expanse of his torso that I missed the feeling of his hips lying heavily against mine. Heat spread through me, starting deep within the pit of my stomach and expanding until I felt I would combust from it.

I lay a hand on his chest, feeling the play of muscles beneath my fingertips, and curled the other around his neck to draw his mouth to mine. He pressed me gently into the bed and stretched out atop me, forearms braced in the coverlet on either side of my head. His mouth was soft and warm and wet, tasting of cinnamon and smoky incense. I rose onto my elbows, pressing up into him, seeking more.

His tongue teased mine, skating along its length and dancing away, tormenting me with hints of what I wanted, but never enough. I bit his lip in frustration.

He groaned and moved against me, hips thrusting against mine, mouth claiming mine with a sudden urgency. I gasped, surprised at the intensity of his response, and dug my fingers into his shoulders.

When he caught my lip and scraped it between his teeth, I understood. Heat shivered within me like a desert mirage. Hungry sounds slipped from my throat as I writhed beneath him.

My hands moved restlessly over his chest, until he suddenly stiffened against me. I hesitated and pushed him back from the kiss. Looking up at him, I circled my fingers again over his beaded nipple and saw pleasure flit across his face. Emboldened, I slid my second hand down to his other nipple and caressed him with a firmer touch. The intensity of his gaze as he looked down at me was breathtaking.

He allowed me to touch him for a few moments before he stopped me. "Ryllana." He circled my wrists with his fingers and stretched my arms up over my head. "This is about your needs. Not mine."

"But I want to."

His smile was radiant. It wrapped around me like the glow of the summer sun. "Is there nothing else you want?" he asked, pressing his hips into mine.

"Yes," I said, "but--"

His kiss cut off my words, and I forgot what I'd meant to say. I moaned and twisted beneath him, testing the strength of his hold on my wrists and kissing him as he kissed me, licking, nibbling, sucking. His taste filled my mouth, intoxicating. His lips and tongue elicited sensations and responses that I had only experienced in my fantasies. I gloried in the feel of his body pressing to mine and wondered at why I had been granted such a gift, and why it had come now, of all times.