Cyrene
In the deep darkness of the Temple, with only the feeble light of the altar fire to banish the shadows, Elissa looked less like a bride and more like a specter. She stood perfectly still, her hands loose at her sides, as Sabra fastened her robe down her arms with jeweled pins. The soft silk of the white robe caught the firelight, gleaming like it was flame itself. Sabra swallowed and tried not to notice, because she could barely summon the will to continue without having visions of Elissa’s death torment her.
“Mistress,” Elissa whispered. “Why do I have to look like a bride?”
Sabra’s hands faltered. “Because a marriage is a contract of fidelity,” she said. “It binds two families, makes them share each other’s successes, prevent each other’s failures. We offer a bride to the god for the same reason, to bind our city to the divine. We hope that, if he accepts her, he will prevent our demise, and we will share in his favors.”
Elissa nodded. “What about Juba?” she asked quietly. “He was a boy.”
“I don’t know why sometimes a boy is chosen. But I think it is to encourage us not to rebel. It’s like when a man takes his enemy’s son captive, that captive becomes a pledge of the enemy’s obedience. Only in this case it’s a reminder that we are all the god’s captives, in a sense.”
Elissa said nothing. She stepped obediently into the embroidered white shoes that Sabra set before her, and lifted her chin as Sabra draped the whisper-thin veil over her head, fixing it with a wreath of white flowers. Sabra shuddered. The brides in the city covered their heads with a flammea, a veil of brilliant orange that symbolized the blaze of fire. Her sacrificial victims needed no symbolism. The fire would be real.
I can’t do this. Oh, gods forgive me, I can’t.
Fear curdled in her veins as a dark certainty edged into the corners of her thoughts.
I serve the god without fear. Who is she to me, compared to the will of the god?
They will all die if I fail.
“You’re shaking, mistress,” Elissa said, and threaded her fingers through Sabra’s. Sabra covered her mouth. “I’m not afraid anymore.”
“And the god?” Sabra asked. Her voice was unnaturally high. “Do you still fear him?”
Elissa smiled. “No. Ayzebel taught me not to fear him.” She met Sabra’s alarmed gaze with terrible certainty. “I know you think Christian children should be fed to the god. I just want to be as brave as Ayzebel.”
Sabra let out a strangled breath that sounded like a sob. “Elissa…you know I didn’t mean that. You know…I was only afraid.”
“Don’t be afraid.”
The girl bowed her head and turned to the doorway of the adyton. They were supposed to burn incense to the god before leaving his presence, but Sabra had been ignoring Elissa’s refusal to obey all along. She bit her lip and tossed the beads of incense into the brazier, whispering a prayer for the god to be pleased with their worship. Then she hurried after Elissa, who still hadn’t learned the twists and turns of the labyrinth.
They emerged at last into the cold night air, where half the city lined the road with torches in their hands. Somewhere in the background ritual musicians played a cacophony on their flutes and drums, the sound of it setting Sabra’s teeth on edge.
No one spoke.
The musicians emerged from the crowds and followed Elissa and Sabra up the road toward the hill where the god lay in wait, playing so loudly that Sabra almost didn’t hear the sound of a woman weeping in the crowd. Almost. At the base of the hill the musicians stopped, and Sabra and Elissa went up alone.
I’m just like that guard, Sabra thought, steadying her shaking hands so they wouldn’t rattle the links of the chain she carried. I’m just like Dignianus, shoving coals into Ayzebel’s hands.
This is different, the warring voice in her head countered. Dignianus was trying to make a political point. This is real worship. This is what the god demands. You can’t flout the divine will to satisfy your own sentimentality. It’s got nothing to do with you and what you want. You are the god’s voice, his hands, his instrument. Act like it.
It should be me. It should be me. I should let Elissa go and take her place.
The god didn’t want you.
This is all wrong.
Elissa drew a sharp breath, startling Sabra out of her inner debate. They had nearly reached the crown of the hill. The moonlight reflected off the whitened skulls of a hundred offerings, all lining the dirt track with wreaths of dried flowers still on their crowns. Somehow the flowers always survived. Sabra had never wanted to wonder how. But it was a macabre sight, and Elissa trembled beside her. She couldn’t blame her; she was trembling too. Being this close to the god always threatened to drown her in fear.
A sick stench crept over the outcrop of rock above them, seeping out from the fissure in the cliff face. Elissa’s breath came fast and loud, every exhale wanting to scream.
“Does your God give you strength?” Sabra murmured.
Elissa only nodded.
I wish He would give me some of it.
The girl walked up onto the outcrop and stopped when she saw the stone pillar gleaming bone-white near the fissure. Even the ground beneath it had a silver sheen, mercifully free of bloodstains. At least that; if the place looked like a butcher’s shop, Sabra would never have the strength to come alone, let alone bring anyone with her.
She turned to the fissure and called on the god, reciting the prayers and invocations she’d known by heart since she was a child. Her blood thudded, cold and sluggish, freezing her where she stood. Elissa watched her, wide-eyed, backing away step by step without realizing it until she reached the pillar.
“Sabra,” she gasped. “Sabra, I’m scared. Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me to die!”
Sabra lowered her hands. She couldn’t look the girl in the eye, so she fixed her gaze on the pillar above her head. Her stomach heaved, threatening to send up the ritual meal they’d just shared.
“You are the salvation of Cyrene,” she said, her voice sounding dull and flat as the stone beneath her feet. “You save us all in the shedding of your blood. As your blood flows out, so the waters of the Kyre will not fail. As you stand steady, so the earth will not quake and devour us. You honor us, and will walk boldly into the embrace of your ancestors.”
Elissa whispered, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”
Sabra clasped the chains around her wrists, binding her to the pillar.
“I fear no evil.”
Sabra backed away, stricken. “But I do.”
Sabra crouched against the stone wall deep in the Temple’s labyrinth and sobbed into her hands. Her body shook uncontrollably, weak from retching in the shadows until there was nothing left. She knew she had to return to the adyton and offer prayers and incense to the god to begin her ritual fast, but she couldn’t force herself to move. Her thoughts churned chaotically, her heart failed and failed again, shattering into a million broken pieces.
She hated it all. Hated what she had done. Hated the priestess who had chosen her. Hated the city that clung to her cult with horrific devotion. Hated her father who never saved her. Hated the god who had such a monstrous lust for blood.
But more than anything, she hated herself.
I’m a coward. I’m weak and a coward. I should have taken Elissa’s place, and I was too much of a coward. I could have saved her. Oh, gods, why didn’t I save her? Why didn’t I save any of them? Juba and Flavia, Agrippina and Melita, Julia and Tanith, Lydia…Agathe…