Chapter Forty-One Here I and sorrows sit
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
Here I and sorrows sit
UNDER THE COVER OF TREES, the dark night was all-encompassing.
For what felt like hours, we trekked through muddy underpasses and thickets of bushes, our footsteps silenced by the sound of crickets and the soft cries of the insects and creatures that inhabited the swamp.
More than once, I caught a glimpse of yellow eyes staring back at me from hooded trees, entreating us to turn back, return to where we’d come from while we could.
Against the moonlight, the Ankara dress I wore was a milky constellation of golden embers. I had to hike my skirt up to my knees to keep the dirt and mud from consuming every inch of it, even as my sneakers took the brunt of the swamp’s hold.
Finally, we arrived at a clearing where a campfire sparked to life and a gathering surrounded it. There was a small shack not far from the spot. It was obscured by more foliage and wasn’t far from where the fan boat had docked when we’d arrived at Westfield for the semester.
The Sigma and Theta members were clad almost entirely in black.
The Sigmas wore long-sleeved feathered dress shirts and riding boots with silver riding gloves and their house blazers, most of which were Rose or Ivy.
Bird masks obscured their faces. Most were crow-like, but three of the Sigmas, the leaders, wore vulture masks, which were lined with shimmering metallic paint.
On the Theta side, most of the members wore long black dresses with knee-high riding boots.
Their faces were hidden behind the intricate tulle black mourning veils I’d seen Cecilia wear during the summoning.
But the embroidery work in their veils was beaded with gold, making the moth pattern glitter like stardust.
When it seemed that all initiates had arrived, Sigma and Theta separated us into their two groups; those in silver on the Sigma side of the campfire, those in gold on the Theta side.
Along the perimeter of the campfire, half-empty glass bottles and red Solo cups were scattered.
In their last few moments, some of the members downed the rest of their drinks.
Luke gave me a nervous look as he was pulled to the Sigma side. I turned to Vivian, but she was gone.
“Initiates.”
The figure in the vulture mask gestured to the leader of Theta so the two camps could begin the activities in tandem. “We gather here today, at the brink of midnight, to reignite the flames of tradition and weed out those unworthy of our bids.”
Behind the veiled Theta, the sorority members hummed in unison.
The louder they hummed, the more her voice boomed in the night.
On the other side of the bristling campfire, the leader of Sigma was giving a speech too, and the masked crow members were chanting and drumming their chests in wild abandon.
The crescendo of their voices clashed against one another, and in the smoke seething and writhing into the night, figures loomed in the dark, joining the chanting and humming, urging it on.
Pain cut through my forehead, and I stumbled backward, dizzy and nauseous.
The heads of Sigma and Theta spoke in unison.
“Alumni, take your positions. Brothers and Sisters, our forebears call upon you. They beseech you to seek kin of kin to welcome into our society, our dear, great Westfield. And for trespassers who venture where they are not wanted, may you sniff them out by the tithe of the blood debt and spare them a bid. Lest a scourge befalls their kinship ever more.”
The members whooped and hollered, and a chilling wind swept through the encampment.
“Run, run, run,” the members chanted. “Past the swampy waters, through the fog. Run, run, run, leave no trail. Leave no blood. Sine qua non.”
Warmth rippled against my wrist, and beneath the cowrie shell bracelet and my lace glove, the mark gleamed softly.
The masked members stepped forward, toward one of the initiates in silver. The initiate glanced around, uncertain of what was next, and everyone watched, waiting.
Suddenly, the masked member yanked the initiate to the ground.
Their body landed with a loud thud against the soft earth.
The Sigma leaders jammed their wooden beak dangerously close to the initiate, shrieking and chanting louder and louder.
The initiate dodged the first peck and then the second, but on the third, the beak stopped inches from his chest.
“You are unworthy,” the masked figure screeched.
The other Sigmas joined, shrieking—all except for one of the silver-masked vultures, who watched from a distance.
The Theta members gathered to watch as the Sigma crows and two of the vultures circled the initiate like the scavengers they seemed to be imitating.
“Unworthy of Westfield blood. Unworthy of the brotherhood.” They tore the clothes off the initiate’s back and drew his hands to his back and tied ropes around his wrists and ankles.
Tears streaked his face, but the chanting didn’t stop.
This wasn’t like the banishment ritual at Theta.
It was a hazing, and it was going too far.
“There are two ways of earning a bid. The first is to break from your bonds and return to Sigma House on campus. The second is to survive here in the swamp until sunrise. Should you fulfill one of these tasks, we will reconsider and deem you worthy of the brotherhood. But if you are captured by our members between now and then, your memories will be wiped, and you shall never make a bid for Sigma again.”
The chanting continued.
Next, a masked member of Theta turned to the initiates. Again, they began to screech, giving the same instructions but for Theta initiates: Either spend the night in the swamp or return to Theta House before the night ended without getting captured.
They were taking turns. Weeding us out. And the song was our final dirge.
All of the initiates seemed to understand in that moment, each among us deciding which of the two paths we’d take for our bid: hide in the swamp and avoid capture or risk getting caught while trying to return to their Greek houses on campus.
It was like a stampede, a scene from a chilling nightmare. Initiates pushed and manhandled one another as they tore through the night, racing blindly through the swamp, all in a desperate attempt to escape capture.
“Move,” someone shouted as they shoved me aside. I landed in a thicket of bushes, gasping as the branches tore my skin. Behind me, one of the veiled Theta members approached. Gold rope hung from her hand, and she was chanting the same song as the others.
Suddenly, a hand yanked me from the bush. I looked up to find Vivian had returned.
“This way,” she said, helping me stand and leading me away from the Theta member who’d begun to hasten her steps, faster and faster, her chant spilling through the darkness, looming like an omen of what was to come as she and the others began their hunt.