A bleat, then another, sliced through the low hum of the Hahesom’s feverish chanting. Amber rays streamed through the stained-glass mural, illuminating the Temple’s stage. A petite goat with a shaggy white coat brushed into fine fluff stood at its center. It nibbled and sampled choice bites of grass, hay, and oats offered in a heap beside it.
Mak shifted uncomfortably in the front row, feeling exposed. The Hahesom’s family always sat next to the Chief’s family at ceremonies, resulting in an unfortunate proximity to Wen – right beside her. Sitting next to her daughter, the Chief’s wife feverishly clasped her hands, smiling reverently up at the stained image of the Blind Gods. Wen was the younger reflection of her mother, a beauty who had aged like a fine wine. Poised and doll-like, Wen was the very picture of feminine grace. Wrapped in a dress of shimmering oyster shell pieces, she practically glowed in the sunlight.
Mak glanced down at her own dress, where the bodice of red and blue beading only seemed to flatten what little she already had. A noisy skirt of feathers and bones did little to provide the illusion of womanly curves. How immature and boyish she felt sitting so close to Wen. Mak clenched her fists, fighting the urge to glance over her shoulder, as though the mere sight of Lee could offer her strength through this ordeal. Instead, she watched the kid baae and gayly wag its little tail.
I’d run if I were you, little guy.
Once more, Mak shifted, urging sensation back into her numb toes and feet. The oppressive musk of incense and intensifying heat tugged at her eyelids. Though she had to be shaken awake from a deep slumber by her irritated mother, fatigue still blanketed her. It was this permanent skin that weighed on her.
Abruptly, a short series of drums thundered through the chamber. Silence fell like a pulled curtain. Save for the kid’s now audible munching, no one dared to breathe. The Hahesom rose and stepped forward, supported by two white-robed acolytes. She was draped in a white canvas of silk edged in gold. The donned headdress shuddered with each step, the red droplets shining like wet beads of blood in the morning glow. Her hands, painted in delicate red lines, began to weave her words.
“Children of the Blind Gods, this sunrise marks the beginning of Palwi. Over the next three days, we shall gather and give thanks to the Blind Gods for a bountiful harvest. We shall celebrate this year’s present fortune and pray for Their continued good graces during the Red Hunt so that we can fill our tables in winter with meat and wine.” The Hahesom paused. A young woman stepped forward, and a gleam flashed as the Hahemon plucked from a small cushion presented to her. Inching closer to the kid, untethered and uninterested in anything beyond the buffet before it, the Hahesom signed, “Children, I have been gifted with a vision. Not only are we rejoicing during Palwi this year, but we are also destined to begin The Selection. A blessed few from this year’s cohort of budding young women will be marked today as candidates for the next Hahesom.”
Whispers raced through the room, quickly chased by hushes. The air was suddenly electric. Mak stiffened, fighting a sudden lump in her throat. Dread coiled in her gut, constricting her insides in a cold grip. Gritting her teeth, Mak braced herself.
Fuck this stupid tradition.
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As if her thoughts were projected for all to see, a tense silence swept across the room. Even the Hahesom stilled. Only her veil clinked like tiny, dropped pins on glass. The painted hand hovered, then lunged. The unsuspecting kid had no chance to scream before the Hahesom's blade sliced its throat. Spray shot out – violent, hard gurgles bubbled sickly from the slit. Precious white robes were now splattered with steaming ropes. A thinning stream spilled off the knife’s tip. Metallic mist filled the room. A final choke, and the goat collapsed in a red pool.
Unconsciously, Mak’s mind conjured the sensation of a hot cut across her own throat. She covered her neck with a hand. Her field of vision narrowed onto the kid’s head. Dull yellow eyes were flecked in blood, forever frozen with panic. A thick pink tongue hung loosely from a slack jaw as if to lap from the growing pool beneath it. A buzz grew in Mak’s ear with each passing second, and an invisible line across her throat tightened. A thread pulled taut. Mak struggled to take in a ragged breath, pressing her nails into the flesh of her legs.
A drum roll crashed into her, severing the stranglehold, and Mak finally inhaled.
Get a hold of yourself, Mak. Just breathe. In and out.
Mak pulled her eyes away from the scene just as one of the nearby disciples began to saw through the goat’s limp neck. Within half a minute, a dripping head was presented to the congress and a bowl was settled below it. Catching each drop. The Hahesom addressed the mass once more.
“I shall now mark the chosen. Will the current class please rise and line up in front? I will begin The Selection.”
Thirty-some girls, all of whom had turned seventeen by last winter, nervously made their way to the front. Mak shuffled forward and grudgingly lined up next to Wen. She spied Lee standing several heads down, looking resolute and utterly unfazed. Her usual dress of soft leather cinched by a belt was now replaced by a flowing ashy grey dress of woven threads. The dress hugged to accentuate ample curves, the soft roundedness of womanhood.
Mak's lips twitched into a faint smile. Lee’ll have to use a battering ram to fend off Som today. Once he sees that outfit, he’s going to be a dog begging for a bone.
Her brief amusement evaporated as the Hahesom descended from the platform. With the sloshing dish in hand, she started walking down the line. Slowly passing each trembling girl, the Hahesom began her examination. When she stepped in front of Lee, she stopped and presented the bowl.
“Drink, child.”
Excited gasps broke out from the back of the room. Lee’s humble family station made the possibility of this honor slim and exceptional. Nausea churned in Mak’s stomach as she watched Lee grasp the dish and swallow deeply. The Hahesom smudged a thumbprint of blood on Lee’s forehead before resuming a steady crawl down the queue.
Two more girls were instructed to drink before Mak was face-to-face with the Hahesom. The cold snap of her mother’s words this morning brought on a shiver, “You know the weight of your duty, child.”
Mak steeled herself, glaring at her mother behind the veil.
In her mind, Mak screamed at that hidden face, You want me to live this life? The life that destroyed you? That hollowed out the mother I loved, the mother who loved me? For what? Your pride?
The drink was extended to her. “Drink.”
Mak vibrated with rage; her fists balled so tightly that her nails cut into her palm. I hate you.
The hesitation was noticed by all in the room, and the weight of each watchful eye was mounting. Mak could almost see the disappointed look beneath that beaded mask. Her mother’s warning flashed in Mak’s mind once more. “You know the weight of your duty, child.”
With a heavy hand, Mak took the bowl and brought it to her lips. The taste of warm iron coated her tongue, and she downed the mouthful. The Hahesom nodded, placed the line of blood on her forehead, and moved on. Waves of bile rushed to Mak’s throat. Angry tears stung her eyes and threatened to spill. She stared at the floor for the remainder of the ceremony, not caring to watch Wen delicately sip from the offered dish, her lips pulling away tinted in crimson.