The Sacrifice of Aeva

There was a seemingly endless sea of silent faces in the crowd facing the podium. Aeva could not see very far, so thick and heavy was the pouring rain. The dark storm clouds completely obscured the light of the sun. It was mid-day but the air bore the gloom of an endless dusk. The sound of the relentless water drenching the austere faces was deafening. The deluge had started more than thirty nights ago and had not stopped since. The dirt of the village streets had turned into a deep, heavy sludge. Many of the old folks and the children were sick, coughing and feverish in their damp beds. The crops were all but rotten and wasted. Last night, a torrent of mud rushing down the mountainside had swept away several houses and taken the life of thirteen.

Toranos the God of Storms was angry. He had set his wrath upon the Dubhcloch clan. It would not end until everything and everyone washed-out and drowned. Such was the will of the cruel God. That was the reason for all to be gathered today, in front of the healer, the shaman and the King. On the podium, the shaman had invoked the gods of the earth and the sky. He had danced to them, he had implored them. He had thrust his staff and held it to the heavens, and to the gasps of the crowd, the jagged, elongated piece of the black sacred stone that adorned its top had flashed as if struck by a mystical lightning bolt. The God of Storms had spoken. And his voice amongst men, the shaman had screamed to the top of his lungs that only a Sacrifice could appease the angry God. These words had struck fear into the hearts of all who were present. 

On the podium, sitting between Persinus the shaman on his right, and Aeva the healer on his left, King Silas scrutinized the crowd. He was both hoping and fearing that one of his subjects would volunteer. But the crowd had remained silent, only the water battering the faces of the gathered made any sound.  

Suddenly, Aeva the healer stood up. Her gray woolen robe was heavy, dripping with water, and so were the traditional bands on her arms and legs. She was tall, even for a woman of the North. Her long dark wet hair fell on her back and stuck to her robe. Only a few strands danced in the wind around her face, amongst the rain drops. The pale freckles of her skin outlined her large brown eyes, fully opened, braving the elements. Beneath her thin upturned nose, her half open mouth tasted the cold rain. There were a few wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, she was not a maiden anymore, but she was still one of the most beautiful women of the Dubhcloch clan. She was a kind woman and a highly skilled healer. She was loved by all.  

She stepped forward and the many faces of the crowd turned to her. So did her King. 

- “I will offer myself for Sacrifice.” 

She repeated, louder. 

- “I will offer myself for Sacrifice.”

There was silence. Until a man, lost in the sea of heads, clapped three times in his hands. A pause. He clapped again, joined by two others. A pause. More joined. Most of the crowd was clapping. Three times and a pause, three times and a pause. The shaman joined them, hitting the podium with his staff. Three times and a pause. As hard as he could. 

The King stood up from his chair. He scanned the crowd, he turned to the shaman, and finally to Aeva. His eyes were in shock, his look betrayed incomprehension. The crowd grew louder still. The message was clear, in the tradition of Dubhcloch, the three repeated claps meant the clan was approving. In this desperate time, the King could not go against the will of the people and even less defy the gods. He had to do his duty and make the final call. His whole people were clapping as one. There was no choice. He raised his arms and screamed:

- “It is done! It is done! By my voice it is done!”

The crowd stopped, the shaman shrieked in celebration, Aeva closed her eyes in acceptance. The King was visibly upset, he stormed out shouting to his guard.

- “Bring her to me. Alone.”

She was soon face to face with her King, far behind the stage, at a distance that no one else could hear, their privacy secured by the Royal Guard. 

- “What madness has taken you? Why would you offer yourself? Who will take care of the sick, the old? You cannot do this!”

- “It is done, your Majesty. You have sealed my fate!”

- “I do not comprehend you! There was no reason to… There has to be a way out! I will invoke a gathering… The Elders will unbind you from your fate!”

She lifted her hand and touched him gently on the arm.

- “You will do no such thing.”

Her eyes were calm, but those of the King betrayed distress and fear.

- “The clan cannot survive without you! Not in those times. I… I can’t live on without you…”

His voice faded to silence. She interrupted the silence after a long moment.

- “After all these years, you love me still?”

- “Yes… yes I do…”

King Silas looked sad. Water was running down his cheeks, into his long chestnut beard. She could not tell if it were raindrops or tears.

- “Then you will let me go to my fate… as you did once before when we were young…”

- “Why is it that you must break my heart once more? And go against your very own will to live on?”

- “My King, you are a great leader of men. But you know nothing of my will. You never did.”