Still, as far as the eye could see. Cold, as far as the skin could feel. A silence like death sat on the forest.

An arch of two tusks stood at the centre of a clearing, a noose hanging from their crossing. The little moonlight that saw through the forest canopy cast cascading shadows onto the greyed bones. The subtle swinging of the leaves made the light dance; the noose flashed in and out of the dark. Black robes kneeled in the leaflitter, all facing the arch. They mumbled and murmured to themselves in prayers.

A woman kneeling at the front of the congregation with a basket beside her, filled to the brim with live, mutilated rodents; their tails and legs snipped off. Her cheeks had fresh scars. Her hair had been pulled out. The cartilage of her ears had been deformed. Hidden beneath the robe that she wore were fresh wounds clinging to the fabric.

“Please,” she whispered. With gloved hands, she picked one out. It writhed in her hands, the scabs on its limbs made fresh by the desperate fighting in the basket. The rat squealed. One hand held it by the body. The other hand wrapped the thumb and index finger just behind its head. She held it and firmly pulled, very slowly. The rat screamed and struggled, louder and harder until it made a pop and went quiet. She flicked its limp body around like a child playing with a toy, its head lulling back and forth, then she tossed its body onto the soil beneath the arch. “Please,” she whispered, then reached into her basket.

Three people in red, the only ones with their faces shown, led by a woman, walked through the worshippers towards the arch. A child, a sacrifice, with a jute sack for clothes, a rope around its waist and no hands followed between them. It looked at the noose that waited for it.

The more people they passed, the more people realised that the time had come, the louder the prayers became. They prayed to beckon. They prayed to hope.

The sacrifice froze in the gaze of the noose, the last drop of survival taking hold. The woman in red grabbed it by the arm and pulled it forward. The sacrifice fell to kneel at the arch with its face in the dirt. Its eyes were closed, its body still frozen. Survival slowly left it.

Its fate was out of its hands the moment they were severed from its arms.

The woman took a knee and lifted the sacrifice by the arm. It looked at her face. It looked her in the eye. It looked her in the squinting eye on the side of her face that it had melted.

“Your death,” she whispered and smiled, “Your death will bless us!”

It said nothing.

“Your blood will be for something so much greater than you and I. You must understand this.”

It still said nothing and it still hadn’t even twitched.

“When everything goes black, you will wake up in peace, little lamb…”

It stared at the deformity of a scar, with nothing to say and no opposition to this fate.

The woman stood and the two men in red lifted the sacrifice, its legs limp and its body sagging. The prayers became louder. They lifted the sacrifice onto their shoulders as they approached the noose and when they stood under it, the sacrifice stared at the rope, counting each little fibre.

The woman took the noose in her left hand and she took the sacrifice’s ankles in her right. She guided the ankles through the loop and tightened the knot around them. She put her hand under its bum and the two men moved away. She slowly lowered its weight and its world turned upside down.

The sacrifice turned slowly, gazing across the veil of black whose prayers fell into sync. The two men stood at the tusks. The woman circled the arc with her arms spread out and her face to the sky. She moaned, then moaned louder, and louder, then suddenly she stopped. She looked at the sacrifice.

Ẉ̷̑è̶̟'̷̤̔r̵͚͝é̵̡ ̷́͜r̷̾ͅu̵͖͆n̵̖͋n̷̞̽i̵̗̔n̶͕͊g̷̲͐ ̶̜͋o̷̖̚u̸͎͠t̵̖̋ ̵̘͘o̸͇̍f̶̠͋ ̶͔̍t̴̗͛í̸̝m̴̨͘e̸͙̅.̶̮͗

“I can make this work.”

She drew a dagger from the sleeve of her robe and walked forward. She grabbed the sacrifice by the shoulder to stop it turning and held the dagger to its throat.

“Zathiri,” she said, “This sacrifice is in your name.”

T̵͓͝h̸͖̊e̸͍̒ ̷͇̽w̵̕͜ọ̷̐m̶̤͊a̶̰͋n̵̗͘.̶̢̉ ̷̬͗Q̸̯͋u̶̟͊i̸͈̎c̸̫͝k̵̗̐l̴̟̉y̷͎͋.̸̖͗

“I know!”

The blade touched the sacrifice’s neck. As she began to pull, a whistle hissed from the sky and a diamond of steel struck her in the eye and her head snapped back. Some blood spat into her hair where the blade poked through. The people gasped.

The sacrifice stared.

The woman’s body tilted back slowly, the knife still at the sacrifice’s neck. Then her legs gave way. She collapsed to the dirt and the knife fell, drawing a line from neck to chin. A weak stream of red ran from the sacrifice’s throat and into its eye.

B̶̖̈́ļ̷̛o̵̦̊̕ô̷̙̬͆d̶͚̒

“I can see that.”

The robes stood and everybody with a blade in their sleeve brandished it. Their dead prayers left way for the sound of the rustling leaves. They all looked in silence to the ever-shifting black silhouette of the forest canopy.

The sacrifice slowly turned. Somewhere in the darkness it saw two glints of light staring down at them… unblinking,

One of the men in red looked to the sacrifice. “Continue your prayers!” he yelled, “Call Zathiri!”

The black robes fell back to their knees and began to pray again. They beckoned in desperation.

The man ran to the sacrifice and grabbed it by the collar of its sack and held his blade to its throat. “Zathiri! This sacrifice is in your name!” The other man in red chanted the same. They called god’s name and begged for his arrival.

“Zathiri! This sacrifice is in your name!” A pinecone struck the back of his head and he turned.

From the sky, a shroud of black spread its wings across the picture of tattered moonlight and glided down. She landed with her feet on the man’s shoulders. Her claws dug into his neck and she kicked herself off, the essence of her power chasing her like a cloud of silk. The man held what he could of his throat then collapsed onto the priestess.

The other man in red ran at her. She reached down and pulled the steel diamond from the eye socket that it settled in and tossed it at him. Realisation creeped across the worshippers.

The devil walked to the sacrifice, shadows trailing in the air. She jumped and slashed with her claws at the rope and the sacrifice fell upside down into her open arm with its legs over her head. She tilted and turned it and dropped it onto its feet. She kneeled in front of it and put a hand on its shoulder.

“My name is Ailaurus,” she said, “You are going to be fine.”

Its stumps-for-hands quickly pressed the small wound on its neck. It looked closely at her face. Light glinted off black pearls embedded in a steel mask where eyes would have been. Black clothes covered everything else and straps of black fabric hung from her hair and belt. Her hands wore brass on the knuckles with curved protrusions like talons.

Ailaurus stood up and faced the worshippers. “Let us go and live,” she said, her voice doubled by a dark voice that was not her own, but still from her throat. “Fight us and die.”

The worshippers stared at the devil that stood before them, their knives at hand. They looked to each other, the dead bodies, each other, her. “Zathiri will punish you, devil!” one of them chanted and rushed at her.

The sacrifice watched Ailaurus pull a whip from her hip and quickly lash out, slicing the attacker’s hand with a snap.

The worshippers watched the devil cast an arc of demonic power that slashed the attacker’s hand off with a bang.

The knife flew into the congregation. The devil’s arc spun around as she twirled and as it came around again it lashed at the attacker’s head and he careened to the floor with his hands on his face.

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“For Zathiri!” came chants from all around them as the worshippers closed in on them. Ailaurus pressed the sacrifice down by the shoulders as she flurried her whip before snapping it back and forth, aiming for their heads. The sacrifice pressed its forehead to the ground and covered the back of its head, Ailaurus staying over him. When one of the worshippers got too close, she drove her clawed knuckles into her jaw and took the knife.

Going back and forth, dancing around the child, weapon in one hand and demonic powers in the other, the devil slashed and whipped at wrists, necks, faces. With a low wall of bodies and an atmosphere of fear protecting them, she holstered the whip and sheathed the knife. She picked the sacrifice up and lifted it up to the noose.

“You may want to stay out of this,” she said, “Climb the rope.”

It looked at her. It showed her the scabs that it had for wrists.

“Right. Um…” She looked around her at the worshippers pushing aside the corpses and slowly trudging towards them. “Hold me. Tightly.”

The sacrifice’s arms wrapped around her quickly. She jumped and grabbed the rope with one hand, and unsheathed the knife with the other. The sacrifice’s weight sunk into the muscles around her neck. She pulled hard, let go, and caught herself again. She pulled her knees to her chest as daggers slashed at her ankles. Somebody tried to jump at her. She kicked straight down and put them into the dirt.

She pulled again, and again, her forearm fatiguing. “Get up,” she groaned. The sacrifice folded over the dip where the two tusks crossed and Ailaurus took a deep breath. She pressed the top of her head against its bum to help it on.

Ailaurus lifted her lowerbody to hug the arch with her legs and worked her way to straddle it from the top. The worshippers kicked and hacked at the tusks. Some of them dug at the soil around the tusks. Some daggers rained upwards at them. Ailaurus kicked or tapped them away with the one she stole. She put her hand on the sacrifice’s shoulders and said, “Keep your face covered. Do not expose yourself.”

She stood up with perfect balance. Like the illusion of a ghost, the essence that followed her coalesced into a creature. She dived across the worshippers one way and a shadow tore from her body the other way. Ailaurus landed on her feet and rolled, but the sacrifice paid no attention to her.

The shadow was a humanoid animal, formless but firm, falling with mass and ghostly grace. Faceless, with long limbs. Each foot landed on a body. Each hand grabbed a head.

A star was dying.

“Devil!” one of the worshippers cried. Some of them began to run, but the creature ripped through them effortlessly. It crushed the skulls of the people it held then tossed them aside and swung its arms like swords. Its hands grabbed the closest thing, squeezed or threw then did it again. “Zathiri! Save us!”

Metal… scraping harmoniously… echoing in an abyss.

It moved as if it weren’t real. The worshippers’ attempts at harming it were futile. Its body ate their daggers and their hands and floated through the crowd and wherever it went, something died. When every robe this side of the arc was bloody, the spirit stood upright with a hunch in its upper back, its knuckles by its ankles. It turned its smoggy face to look at the sacrifice. The sacrifice’s heart beat harder.

It looked at Ailaurus, still fighting worshippers, then it looked back at the spirit.

They stared at each other. In its façade, the sacrifice saw the night sky.

From its façade, the sacrifice heard that dying star sing.

A soothing tune… so far away…

The spirit slowly raised one of its hands from the dirt… and it waved.

so melancholic… so accepting.

The sacrifice waved back.

image [https://i.imgur.com/AVj8je4.png]

Ailaurus appeared from beneath and the spirit walked towards her, still looking at the sacrifice. The sacrifice felt itself losing consciousness the longer it looked at the creature. Eyes fixated on its face, stars twinkled in the sacrifice’s vision and the song swelled in its ears to the point that it could hear nothing but the melody and the blood rushing in its head.

Laa lee luhh looh.

Warmth filled its body. The trees turned black. The sky turned black. The ground turned black. Ailaurus turned black. The stars shone brighter.

Laa lee luhh looh. Laa lee luhh looh…

It walked into Ailaurus and disappeared into her and the sacrifice felt itself return, as if waking from a dream, heartbroken. The singing of the dying star slowly faded, and it hurt to let it go.

The sacrifice looked at Ailaurus, who had her back facing it.

“Zealots…” she muttered.

She looked around herself, searching for the red caped man who had her knife in his head. The sacrifice looked around it for where the darkness had gone, the memory of the song still ringing in the back of its mind like an itch in its spine.

Ailaurus pulled her knife from the pile of bodies and sheathed it then looked at the sacrifice, who seemed to be daydreaming. It looked at her and she beckoned it. It stood up, the arc wobbled in the loose soil and the sacrifice tilted and fell, landing in Ailaurus’ arms. She carried it across the bodies and put it down. She kneeled in front of it and put a hand on its shoulder. It looked at the hand. She did that a lot. It didn’t understand why.

“I hope you’ve seen enough violence for this not to scar you any further,” Ailaurus said, “I’m sorry… Where is your home? Where are your parents?”

The sacrifice turned to the sea of robes and pointed a stump at one of the bodies. Ailaurus stared, unsure which one it was pointing at. Then it looked around for a moment and pointed to another body further away. It looked at her.

image [https://i.imgur.com/LF39xvZ.png]

She stared at the sacrifice with a sudden surge of guilt. She wanted to say sorry, but she didn’t see the slightest bit of care in its eyes.

“… Do you want to go home?” she asked.

The sacrifice stared at her in the black lenses covering her eyes. Its chin raised, as if it were about to start nodding, then its chin lowered and it slowly shook its head. It shed no tears, but it sobbed through its nose.

“Then we won’t take you home,” she said

and the sacrifice wrapped its arms around her and hugged her. Ailaurus waited for a moment, then stood up and carried it.

T̶͍̂h̸̹̏e̵̦͛ ̶̩̚ḇ̵̐ô̷̼y̶̧̿ ̶͕̇i̸̩̿s̸͎͆ ̶͓̌s̸͚͛t̵̹͑r̶͇̄o̸̹̎ṅ̵̬g̶̰͆.̵̛͓

“I know.”

She knew this side of the isle. There weren’t many beasts, but the smell had a way of getting around at night. Scavengers were quick. Fighting humans was one thing. Fighting animals were a separate set of skills that she did not possess.

When the ground shook to the beat of a galloping beast, she dropped to her knees and sank as low into the foliage as she could, hugging the sacrifice to her shoulder. She raised her eyes. Too dark to see any colour. The black and grey silhouette of a four-legged reptile twice her height traversed the backdrop of tree trunks and clouds, making for the ritual site. She never understood their senses. Everything always seems to know when anything else has died.

She stayed low until she couldn’t feel the ground shake anymore, then stood up and continued.

First there was the smell of urine, then there was the smell of smoke, then there was the bit of orange light. Shadows moved in the corner of her eye and she said, “It’s me.”

A skinny man wearing clothes made of plant fibres walked out of the shadows into the light of the campfire. He held a thin wooden tube in his hand, loaded with a dart. His name was Treyus.

“What are you holding?” he asked.

Ailaurus got down and on one knee and laid it, fast asleep, down on its side with its back to the fire. “This,” she said, “Is the sacrifice.” She looked at Treyus and he looked back at her in shock.

“A child? Why?”

“I’m not sure… But the spirits tell me that there’s something to his soul.” She sat down and massaged her neck.

“Which god?”

“Zathiri.”

“Ay-sha. Zathiri has been active.” Treyus used a bowl to scoop from the pot over the fire and handed it to Ailaurus. She took it from him, crossed her legs and nodded a thanks.

“Do you know where he lives? Where his parents are?” Treyus asked.

Ailaurus took off the headdress – a comb with a bouquet of long, thin cloths of black silk – and put it down beside her. She pulled off the visor and put that down as well.

“His parents were worshippers too… He pointed them out to me after I’d killed them all… I don’t think he was raised like a child. I think he was raised to be sacrificed.”

They both looked at the sacrifice. “He doesn’t seem… adjusted. I don’t think he even realizes that he’s human.” She pulled the snood down from her mouth and sipped from the bowl.

“What are you going to do with him?” Treyus sat beside Ailaurus and in front of the child.

“Take him to the community, I suppose.” She looked at where the sacrifice’s hands would have been. They were just hideous scabs. Every time the sacrifice inhaled she could feel its presence grow strong. Every time it exhaled she could feel its presence fade. It was just like the sun; breathing the daily cycle.

Treyus took Ailaurus’ empty bowl. She undid the obi around her waist, which also had silk hanging from it.

“Those people were different… It wasn’t another church. These people were mad. They were cultists.”

“Are churches not enough for Zathiri anymore?”

“I don’t know. If not, why not? And it’s possible that these people started the cult out of their own self-righteousness and religious delusions.” She lay down with her back against the sacrifice and rested her head on her hands.

“Goodnight,” Treyus said.

“Goodnight.”

Treyus kicked dirt onto the fire, then proceeded to work in the dark. He walked the perimeter of their camp with a waterskin of urine from various predators, sprinkling it across the ground and tree trunks and plants. He poured some out into his hand and applied it under his chin and armpits.

He sat at the camp with a horn in hand and listened. He listened closely. He identified what he was hearing. He identified why he was hearing it. He identified where it was coming from. He made a map of the isle in his mind.

Barks. Chirping. Howling.

Was it territorial? Was it courting? Was it hunting?

In a moment of silence, he learnt who else was on the isle with them. He knew what the threats were and where they were.

He lifted the horn to his lips.

He blew into it, and a quiet growl like a snoring giant echoed through the forest. He heard some of the creatures become quiet. He blew once more, then stayed silent… No response… The ambient chatter of the fauna persisted, but nothing responded to the call with aggression. They would be safe for the night.

Treyus put the horn down and lay beside the fireplace.