Chapter 8 #3
The Savior points to the mountain, where the dragon’s skull drinks the sun. “Our God slew the beast and left its bones to us,” he then points to the sea walls. “To build a home and to defeat the monsters of the deep who would pick their teeth with your children’s nails.”
A woman in the crowd gasps, clutching her son, covering his ears.
“How can we, as a people,” the Savior roars, pacing the length of the pyre. “defeat the greater enemy when we have snakes and traitors festering in our midst?” The Savior pauses as if expecting an answer.
No one gives him one.
“We have grown too soft. Comfortable.” His voice drops, rough and low. “We have grown weak.” He halts in front of the Fallen One.
She gathers her ragged fur and struggles to stand upright, even though blood is trickling down her nose and mouth. She still looks defiant.
“I will root out every enemy that wears the face of a friend. I’ll flay the sea beasts, cast their bodies upon the fire, and rid the seas of their kind forever. And anyone…” his voice sharpens like steel, “...anyone who opposes us will share the same fate.” He snaps his fingers.
His disciples seize the Fallen One. She thrashes, both feet kicking toward the Savior, but he stands just out of reach.
“You will die!” she screams, her voice breaking into inhuman notes. “And you will know when your time has come, because you will hear my laugh through the caws of the mo’kures!”
They strap her to the pyre.
The Fallen One smiles in confidence, her chest puffed in pride.
“Hear me,” she says to the crowd, her blonde strains fluttering across her face. “The time to choose has come. And where you fall, you will either die or rise!”
“Fallen,” the Savior’s voice amplified. “You are to be cleansed of your sins. May God be with you still.”
His words scorch my chest.
The crowd begins to briskly walk to their homes. No one has ever left a burning once it has started. And yet, the crowd thins, murmurs under their breaths, shielding their children. Even some soldiers, Xexes, and Kwell blend into the passing crowd, disappearing into the shadows.
I clench my hands in prayer. Words tumble from my lips. A prayer to God, to men, to anyone who’ll listen. This isn’t right! None of this is right. The trees shake, the grass turns brown, and from the only tree left in the square, fruit drops to the ground and rots.
The Daughters glance worried faces at each other.
Penelope catches my gaze, fiddling with her veil.
She quickly lets go, straightens her spine, and forces her hands to her sides, snatching her gaze away to look on at the burning.
The Savior, with Sacred Mother at his side, smiles as if this is just another beautiful day at the village’s outing.
The earth is crying!
I hear it now, clear as day. God does not approve. Something is coming.
It is Sacred Mother who lifts the torch and sets the blaze.
The Fallen One sings. “Yu hohm ey. Ay ce’ yu, Reh’em ma’ voy. Kuhm t’ ey. Kuhm t’ ey!” The fire roars, but her voice cuts through the flames.
Terror squeezes my lungs. I can be her.
I read books I shouldn’t. Question when I shouldn’t. Slip away when everyone is asleep and let the night kiss my skin when I shouldn’t. I’m healing and harboring a Fallen One in a temple that no one knows about. How close am I to the pyre? My entire body trembles like a tin roof through a storm.
She is me.
As if hearing my thoughts, her gaze falls upon me.
“Yu hohm ey. Ay ce’ yu, Reh’em ma’ voy. Kuhm t’ ey. Kuhm t’ ey.”
Her words calm my soul. My prayers turn from asking God for his mercy, his forgiveness, to repeating the Fallen One’s song.
Yu hohm ey. Ay ce’ yu, Reh’em ma’ voy. Kuhm t’ ey. Kuhm t’ ey.
This forsaking language calls me home. Somewhere in the vastness of the stars, beyond the filament, to the moon, her words are love.
Tears plop on my cheeks, my knees are weak.
I have to staple my feet from running; otherwise, I would have thrown myself into the flames with her.
I repeat the mantra. Let it seed in my belly.
She cries, the flames engulfing her whole. “Yu hohm ey. Ay ce’ yu, Reh’em ma’ voy. Kuhm t’ ey. Kuhm t’ ey!”
The Savior, Sacred Mother, and the soldiers march away. None of the townsfolk is left. One by one, the Daughters file out. This is when we turn our backs on the traitors, allowing them to burn alone.
But I cannot turn my back. Not this time.
I watch the flames lick her thighs, crawl up her torso, suck her breasts, kiss her neck, and bless her forehead. She does not scream. Only sings, the words replaying in my head until I know every syllable on her lips.
Hundreds of mo’kures rise from the forest, black wings blotting out the sun. Darkness swallows the square. The Fallen One laughs, and the birds laugh with her.
“Yu hohm ey. Ay ce’ yu, Reh’em ma’ voy. Kuhm t’ ey. Kuhm t’ ey!”
A mo’kure dives, snapping at my veil. I turn to leave, but mo’kures bat me back, pushing me further to the heat of the pyre. I search for help, but I am surrounded by black wings that sound like rising tornadoes from the sea.
The Fallen One’s voice is clear through the chaos. “Yu hohm ey. Ay ce’ yu, Reh’em ma’ voy. Kuhm t’ ey. Kuhm t’ ey!”
Wings knock me to my knees. Disoriented, I crawl to the fire. It is the only thing I can see. The pyre hisses, wood pops, flesh sizzles, and a whisper …
Like the trees, the leaves, the grass, the azizas.
“Thessia, sister.”
Through the flames, I see her. Not charred. Not dying. But bathed in gold light. Her sacred marks reshaped into the wings of birds. Her brown eyes find mine. The fire dances like children, giggling.
“Kuhm t’ ey. Kuhm t’ ey.” Her voice is God.
I prostrate, forehead pressed to the ground. Guilt weighs heavily in my heart. “I’m sorry,” I say to her. “I’m so sorry.”
I should have said something, done something, but I didn’t. I couldn’t.
“I’m sorry.” Snot drips from my nose.
I submit to her will. Bow my head. Beg for her forgiveness. The flames taste my tears and lick them dry.
“Sister,” she says calmly. “Bow to no one.”
My sacred marks on the back of my hands glow gold through my gloves. The light refuses to be hidden.
“When you’re ready, come home,” she lifts her gaze to the sky.
I want to rise, rip off my veil, dance, dance, dance naked to the heat of the flames, under the sky, the sun, the moon. I want to answer the call, forsake my covenant. Join her.
The mo’kures open a funnel around the pyre. The Fallen One unleashes golden dragon wings from her back and takes to the sky. The mo’kures follow, carrying her laugh as they vanish into the clouds.
I think I’m mad.
The stench of charred flesh clogs my throat. The pyre collapses into ash, leaving behind a body blackened and still, its mouth open to the heavens.
And in the marrow of my bones, I know this: I would drink every drop of madness, let it drown me, break me, re-shape me — and call it love.