Two hundred seventy-eight days. Two hundred seventy-eight days of being completely alone. And still I walk on. The sky begins to darken. I start to search around for a place to sleep. Nowhere in the desolate forest seems to offer protection from the chilled night air. The sun falls swifter out of my sight and I start to run, eyes darting to every side in search of cover, protection. My arm is pulled back. Claws of wood cut deep into my elbow. The shadows dance as I tug myself free and turn to see my capture. An old willow looms over me, its branches reaching to grab me again. I shy away and return to my harried run. Suddenly, I slam into a smooth, frigid surface and fall to the ground. I start to scamper backwards when I notice what I ran into was only an oddly shaped stone.
It’s grey and silent. Nothing unusual, nothing predatory.
I give it a wide berth as I pass by.
Fog drifts down like feathers from an empty coup and settles around me. There’s only a few minutes left before the sun fades. The moon begins to glow in the settling darkness and points to a cave down the way. I sprint into the hovel just as the sun dips behind the wall of trees. The air outside my cave begins to frost. A howl pierces the night, quickly followed by a scream. I grin and the grin is sharp, for I was lucky enough to have found this place to shield me from the night when this fool screamer was not. A pitter patter of feet reaches my ears and two tiny feet appear outside the mouth of my cave.
The voice that calls out to me sounds like a girl.
“Help me, please!” she whispers. I can tell by the religious patterns cut onto her bloodied legs that she is tonight’s sacrifice, thrown out at night for the monster to hunt, catch, and devour. It is an honor; I do not understand why this girl is so forlorn. What does it say about her that she would ask for me to deny her honor? A slip, perhaps? She is silent for a moment, so she might be—
“Please!” she is more frantic now.
“Come here.” I croak, and it is a wonder to hear my own voice again. I almost begin to say more until I remember who she is. The girl crawls into my cave, her rags brushing against the dirt, dried blood cracking and breaking as she moves to curl up in the corner. She starts to thank me, but I wave her off. Instead, I slink over to my bag. I take out my knife, engraved with the laws of old. I remind myself of my duty.
She is a deserter—a turncoat, a faithless traitor. There is only one way to deal with such. If she refuses to perform the rituals, I will have to do them on her behalf. If the ritual is not completed, terror will come to the village.
When she sees the knife, her face pales. The young girl pushes her back against the wall as I begin to pray over it, to make it holy. Her whole body shakes in fear, knowing what was to come. Silent tears stream down her face, but she is quiet. Good. It will be easier that way. I take her finger and set the blade on top of it, pushing down until red begins to show. I wave her finger to the east and mutter prayers to the gods.
“Do your duty to your clan,” I mutter as I embroider a cross onto her arm. She starts to whimper. “The rituals must be upheld.” I cut a cross onto her other arm. “The gods must not be displeased.” I thrust her head out of the cave and touch the icy metal to her throat. I allow the knife rest while I tie her now bleeding arms above her head so that she would be of the most use to the beast.
“Please!” she begs. “This is sick. This is wrong! It’s not even real!”
I shake my head.
“You are a fool, girl, and you almost killed them all. Once, moons before your birth, sacrifice was withheld. The camp was burned to the ground, the river struck dry, and the food poisoned. It is an honor to save your clan and serve the gods.”
Carefully I pour water over her long sliver hair. I light a match on the cave walls and flick three drops of her blood onto it and bring the fire to her soaked hair. It crackles, then slowly catches, more like kindling than hair. Gradually burning up, her head was now a flaming star. Worthy of the gods, I think as she screams out the pain that has reached her scalp. I hurriedly search for her rags, begging all that is otherworldly to find them before her hair is completely burned up. My hand brushes against them. I pull a multicolored whistle out of her tattered pocket.
“Call it,” I say, pushing the whistle towards her mouth. She shuts her lips and shakes her head viciously.
“Call it!” Anxiety is rising now, this needs to happen. The young girl pushes her head into the soil.
“Call it and hope the gods forgive you for your lapse in faith,” and my voice is furious. Slowly, shaking, the sacrifice offers me her open mouth. Even she did not want to risk the chance of her hair going out before the beast arrived. I shove the whistle in her mouth and she blows.
A discordant chord sounds, louder and longer than should be possible. I sit back and smile. Before the village chose me for the thousand day walk, I was a spiritual leader. After I return, I would be the leader of the entire clan.
Every decade one is given this honor.
Never stopping, always moving, until the sun goes down. I am brought out of my thoughts when the whistle finally stops.
I am about to scold the sacrifice when I see her eyes. Widened in fear, the green irises are consumed by the expanding pupils until the whole thing is dark as a midnight stone.
She must be looking into the face of the beast.
I’d seen the ritual only once before, from afar. To be so close is awe-inspiring. Quickly, I shuffle to the back wall of the cave. The sacrifice stops screaming and begins to shiver. Her body writhes as some unseen force burns a symbol onto her forehead. Her hair dims, then stops burning completely. Two enormous forms stop above her. They aren’t quite feet, something closer to paws, covered in shaggy brown hair. A large hand comes from the sky and its two inch long claws seem to glisten in the still night air.
It lays one finger, home to the largest, sharpest claw, on the girl’s forehead, on top of the symbol. Her arms heal, as do her legs, and her hair grows back, glimmering like the moon itself. Her rags weave together and become silken robes of the deepest purple. She looks in wonder at herself as every blemish vanishes as I watch in reverence. She sees me and smiles.
She seems at peace.
Poor thing thinks it’s over.
A loud intake of breath and the girl arches her back, drawn towards the beast. A silver and black wave flows out of her, into what I imagine is a magnificent maw. Her soul, or so they say.
It lasts for a lifetime. I lean my head against the cave wall in a daze of religious fervour. The sucking stops and the girl, now an empty shell, falls to the ground. She’s not dead, she’s just… gone. The beast reaches down and pulls her mouth open. It pulls out her tongue with a slow, sickening squelch. I hear a chewing sound. Then the beast reaches down and snaps the cords binding her.
I go into a squat and then start to crawl to the mouth of the cave. A face appears right in front of me. It’s hideous. Its appearance lacks clarity, no facial feature is definte or distinct. It blurs and shift; a turning wheel of envy, hate, rage, and every of the worst sins.
Its eyes, though.
The eyes never change.
Coal black, they stare into the depths of my soul, a horrible chilling feeling spread through my blood, through my bones. My body turned to ice, to bitter, bleak ice.
I have no idea how long it lasted, how long I was trapped in its gaze. And then, like breaking the surface tension of a foggy winter lake, I’m free from the ice that had bonded me. I feel privileged to have looked into the eyes of the beast—of god. My faith now is complete.
I thank the gods for the honor they had given me as I listen to the beast lumber away; the sun’s rays peaking out from the darkness. The sacrifice stands—heartless, soulless, and dumb. She will roam the wilderness before stumbling back into camp, where she will be worshiped and prepared for the final of the ritual until winter comes.
The holiest of us all, until it is time for the next.
The girl follows the beast out, walking slow and mindless out behind the trees. She will be gone from camp long before I return.
The wind swirls leaves in the rising dawn. My cue to leave the cave and continue on.
