The Sacrifice

Small circular windows shone thin beams of moonlight down from the vaulted ceiling. Their glint off the medallion’s silver was reflected by the jewel’s innumerable facets, cascading tiny rainbows about the blackened chamber. Lights danced to the medallion’s slow spin as its beaded chain twirled between her finger and thumb. The scent of oranges and cloves clung to the air. The scene hypnotized, lulling her sacrifice to trance. The time was near.

* * *

He came willing, hearing his master’s call from beyond death’s veil. Still, terror of the act gripped his heart with claws that dug deep into that muscle. Fear’s fist would not be the one to tear flesh from his ribs. That job was reserved for the slender digits that suppressed his panic with their mesmerizing motion. Those delicate fingers. They had so loving caressed him that morning; his master’s final act of gratitude on this side of the veil.

She had said it would be quick. She had said, “Almost painless. Just a little prick.” She had not said how the waiting would be torture itself. She stood there so beautiful in her poise, naked in the moonlight, rainbows twinkling in her eyes. He laid there sheathed in sweat, strapped to the altar, trembling in the dark. Her perfume wriggled up his nose, gently massaging the knots of panic in his mind. Gradually, his shivers calmed and his breath steadied. The time was here.

* * *

The moon shone full through the tenth window. The medallion angled the beam and the gem glowed green. The portal was opening.

She withdrew the knife from its plain leather sheath. Its glass blade was so fine and delicate, so incredibly sharp, its purpose so sinister. The point glided through his exposed neck, separating throat from jaw. His head tilted back. His eyes bulged and rolled as his body spasmed under its restraints. Blood pumped furiously, flowing in a torrent down chiseled grooves to pool around her bared feet. She raised the blade and sliced a long, deep furrow down the center of his torso. She set the blade in the bowl of water resting on a side table and looked down with purpose.

She flattened her hand as it dove into his cavity. It quested following the stalling beats and grasped the organ tight as she ripped it free. She held it aloft in the green glow of the open portal.

She cried with zeal, “Blood and muscle, join with my flesh and bones so that my body may become a perfect vessel for my lord!” She bit deep into the heart, chewing savagely and swallowed. She cried again, “Lord Nosos! Master of disease. Enter me, your willing servant!”

The portal winked out. Her face contorted in dismay and shock as she dropped lifeless to the ground. Rejection was something she had never conceived.

Copyright © 2019 Nathan Washor, All rights reserved