Page 8 of The Sacrifice

“Sire...” I lower my head, tucking my chin to my chest, ever the obedient daughter even if I grit my teeth behind my smile.

To my sisters, he is Pater or Papa. To me, he is my sire who produced the required seed for my mother to conceive. Nothing less, nothing more. Qora shifts back and forth behind him as he addresses me, and I clamp my teeth on my tongue to prevent my smile from growing as she imitates him with a wagging finger.

“Tonight, you present yourself for the Sacrifice,” he gestures firmly before tucking his hands beneath his underarms since he believes it makes him more intimidating in his Elder robe. “Tonight, I wash my hands of you.”

I don’t mention how I will never be able to wash the blood off my hands. Not after too many failures growing up and training of my vym resulted in the loss of life and coin and repute for my sire. It was only the past couple of years where I managed to save an Elder-Brother. Pater chose his same position as payment for services.

“Is her mark visible?” he asks my sisters.

Darya nods while Rylinne sweeps my braided hair onto my chest to bare the scar. The one where a higher monster clawed into the back of my neck just after I was born—after I died in my mother’s birth canal for two minutes before coming back to life.

Pater nods firmly, his voice gruff as he continues, “Good. Can’t have any lower monsters trying to stake their claim on her and give her the possibility of survival. After tonight, your presence will not cast a shadow over our household. If I’d had my way, I would have strangled the half-life out of you at your birth. But you belong to the monsters, to the god-beasts. To blood and bone, you return.”

So he’s reminded me once every day of my existence. Especially when he used his binding ability on me. I swallow the knot in my throat and memorize the grains in the wood floor.

Sarai is the one person who hopes I’ll survive the Sacrifice. Even if I do, I’ll spend the rest of my days in the Convent, forever resigned to dark dresses sealing over my skin and concealing the scars and ink I’ve earned with every drop of blood. Confined to stone walls or the grounds and gardens. I’d rather take my last breaths in the Wailing Woods and join the souls of the Sacrificed, however meager and skeletal a prize my bones will be for the trees.

If the Borderlands had found another blood-binder sooner, I wouldn’t have reached the ripe age of twenty before entering the Sacrifice.

As Pater escorts me with the Elder-Brothers to the Wailing Woods' eastern side, where dozens of other girls shiver on this blustery winter night, my curiosity consumes me. Borderlands children are taught how to hide, trap, and kill lower monsters more than any other education. My insides wriggle when I think of the god-eater and how he destroyed the gods who tormented humankind for centuries.

All but four. They were too powerful for him to kill, so he cursed them instead.

Hollow Night is the one time they may pierce the Veil protecting us from the Waste, along with all other monsters and undead creatures. Driven so mad with hunger after a full year of living on the blood and meat of the dead, sweet and tender flesh is what they covet most.

I shiver with the other girls. A few stand straight and tall, proud of their Sacrifice. Screams echo in the distance, prompting several girls to flinch. Screams of the banshees signify the presence of monsters, whether lower, higher, or gods, but they often come last. My pulse thrashes in my ears, galloping louder than a herd of wild bulls.

Out of the corner of my eye, my Shadow has begun to take more form than usual, though I am still the only one who sees her. I love her hair like long dark ropes of shifting shades, her fingers curling with tendrils of smoke, and her almond-shaped eye slits glowing like hot coals. Thanks to her, I’ve had many brushes with death. Dread should pull at my stomach lining, but flutters come instead.

I truly hope my death lasts hours. Perhaps some monster will drag me all throughout the Wailing Woods, until my blood and flesh touch hundreds of tree roots. Or one could play with me. A winged beast could haul my body high into the air and drop me to crack me open like an egg. What a thrill it would be to fly before the end! By now, I’ve conjured all sorts of fantasies. For twenty years, I’ve prepared for this.

So, I clench my stomach and straighten my back, hiding a smile behind my teeth as the Elder-Brother-Prime begins the ceremony to usher in the Sacrifice.

5

This creature is laughing at me!

QUINTESSA

While the Elder-Brother chants the words to the ceremonial verses I’ve known all my life, I recite the children’s rhyme in my head. If I don’t dissociate from the ceremony, I’ll second guess myself, which is never good.

A cold sweat breaks out upon my skin, turning my palms clammy. I can’t feel them, but goosebumps pebble my flesh while the Elder-Brother finishes by expressing gratitude to the god-eater for forming the Veil and exiling the monster gods he couldn’t defeat to the Waste. When I was younger, I asked Pater why they may cross the Veil on Hollow Night, but he reminded me not to question the Brothers by locking me in the root cellar for three days. He always sealed it with a layer of rock, so I could never escape.

Ever since, I’ve reserved such questions for Qora, though she can’t respond.

More banshee screams. A sob and a whimper escape from two girls behind me. One grips the hilt of her blade so hard, her knuckles turn white. Too small, no longer than the length of my palm to the tip of my middle finger, these are the weapons the Brothers gift us. Meant for the lower monsters.

“Surrender to the god-monsters,” the Elder-Brother reminds us for the third time and blows out the ceremonial candle, signifying it’s almost time. “Your Sacrifice will be honored. Your blood and flesh will satisfy the cursed gods and provide a shield for the Borderlands until next Hollow Night.”

Another girl grinds her bare foot into the frost. At least soft gray moss covers this section of the Wailing Woods. As if the spirits have warmed the ground for us.

More words are chanted, and the Sisters and Sisters-in-training move throughout the group of girls to bind white wool cloaks around our throats. A familiar face arrives before me, and I smile, hoping to lift the corners of Sarai’s sorrowful mouth. Her warm eyes twinkle for a faint moment before she wraps the cloak around my frame, leans in, and whispers in my ear, “Thank you for everything, Quintessa.”

Her words punch through my chest, tugging at my heartstrings, paralyzing the beat. Pulse quickening, I kiss her cheek as she pulls away in a gesture of gratitude. No time for anything else.

The sharp, clamorous bell chimes. Every girl flinches, including me. Shoulders tense. Breaths falter. Another chime. Pupils dilate. Spines lock straight. Hearts melt as we wait for the third and final chime. When its peal pierces the air and echoes across the forest, not one girl hesitates.

Like a rush of white doves, we plunge into the Wailing Woods. White doves.

---