Cyrene
On the slope of the hill, Jurian crouched down to get a better look at the city of Cyrene. It was nearly dusk, but one of the roads in the city, stretching from one hill to the other, was all lit up with a forest of tiny lights.
“What are the lights?” he asked, pointing.
Hanno’s face turned a sick shade of green. “Oh gods,” he cried. “Oh gods, I will be too late. We must hurry! Please help me save her!”
He grabbed Jurian’s arm and bolted down the hill, so fast that Jurian almost lost his footing on the loose stones.
“Where are we going?” he cried, trying to use Menas’ spear for balance. “I thought we were going to the city?”
“No,” Hanno cried. He stopped suddenly and turned to face Jurian, his face a perfect mixture of grief and horror. “My mistress…Sabra, the priestess…she is going to give herself to the god and she will die, and I’m too late!”
He muttered something in Punic and continued on, pointing toward the hill as he went. Jurian slowed, staring up the ragged hillside. The low hill shouldn’t have been very impressive, but Jurian couldn’t help staring at it with dread. Deep, primal fear curdled his blood. There was something wrong with that hill, something very, very wrong. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to run, to get away, to save himself.
“Hanno,” he said, sharply enough that the slave stopped his mad rush toward the hill. He forced his voice to be steady. “Is that where the dragon is?”
“Dragon?”
“The destroyer? Your god?”
Hanno’s face blanched. “Yes. Up there.”
He turned and pressed on, while Jurian stared after him, too numb to think.
He slid the spear’s shaft through his hands and brushed his fingers over the blade, whispering, “Not by my strength.”
Somewhere up the hillside he heard a deep rumbling, as if the earth itself were growling, and the rocks trembled beneath his feet.
The trek across the city and up the hill took longer than Sabra had ever felt. Each step felt like a step through mud, and her body shook with exhaustion and fear. More than anything, she trembled with rage at herself.
Coward! How many innocents did you lead up this hill to die, and you never once felt these pangs of fear? They were victims, you said, so you wouldn’t have to feel. Did you ever try to imagine the dread they faced? No, only when it is your own death you’re facing. At least you are supposed to die, unlike those children. Theirs was a pointless sacrifice, and you never even blinked.
“Oh, God,” she whispered suddenly, and she didn’t even know what deity she meant to invoke.
Flavia glanced at her, looking as if she wanted to say something, but Sabra shook her head and they pressed on in silence.
What would Jurian say if he saw me here? Would he hate me? But he knows…that God he follows, that is a God of sacrifice. But…they didn’t follow their God for fear. They followed for love. Like Ayzebel. How else could anyone die joyfully? I wish I understood. I wish I had a little of her strength.
I wish the god I serve were the kind of god who could be loved.
Don’t be foolish, the deep, sinister voice in her mind whispered. You are powerless before me. You are nothing. Life and death are meaningless, and love is a lie. All you can offer me is service. And the only service I desire is your death.
Sabra stifled a strangled sob and focused on forcing each step.
Please accept my sacrifice. Take my blood and spare my people.
The voice didn’t answer. Only silence.
They reached the end of their path, and Flavia stumbled when she saw the line of bleached skulls with their faded garlands.
“Mistress,” she whispered. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”
“You have to,” Sabra said, hoarse with fear. “Please. I can’t trust myself not to run if you don’t chain me up.”
Flavia nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she followed Sabra to the mouth of the cave. Sabra wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but she thought the depths of the cavern didn’t seem as black as usual, as if some sort of light burned deep within. The foul gases crept over the broken earth, and Flavia coughed until she gagged.
Sabra stood before the cavern and chanted the sacrificial prayer, focusing on the rhythm of the words to steady her pulse. When she finished she crossed to the pillar, stumbling as her legs grew weak.
“Come here, Flavia. Come and chain me up.”
“No, mistress,” Flavia said through broken sobs. “Please don’t make me. Don’t make me leave you to die. I can’t!”
“You can. This is your chance. What you do here can save the city,” she said, cursing herself as she recognized the same encouraging words she had always offered the victims in the past. “Please.”
The girl nodded, and, her body shaking with heaving sobs, she looped the chain behind the pillar and bound Sabra tight. Sabra’s breath came faster and faster, wanting to lose control, but she closed her eyes. She wanted to pray but her whole being curled away from the thought of the old god, with a revulsion verging on hatred.
Please…Jurian’s God, if You deign to listen to my prayer…please let my sacrifice work. Please don’t let my people perish when I’m gone.
Flavia returned from behind the pillar, staring at Sabra as if willing her to ask to be released.
“Go,” Sabra said, “Don’t be afraid. Just go. And pray for me.”
Flavia turned to go, but her feet stopped, and her hands dropped loose at her sides, her gaze riveted on the shadowy fissure of the cavern. The blood leeched from her cheeks. A voice deep in Sabra’s mind ordered her to look and see what the girl had seen, but she couldn’t tear her gaze from Flavia’s death-white face. She couldn’t look away; she couldn’t look at the cave. Couldn’t.
Suddenly Flavia screamed, paralyzed where she stood. Sabra winced and she heard her own voice join the girl’s, shouting her name or senseless noise, she couldn’t say—it all sounded like death. Flavia never heard her. Her voice gave out all at once and she staggered a step, hands rigid at her sides, then her body dropped to the earth like a broken statue.
“Flavia!” Sabra cried. “Flavia, get up, go!”
But she knew it was no use. The girl’s eyes stared straight at her, empty, seeing nothing. Sabra gulped air, her lungs jerking with strangled sobs that left her reeling with dizziness.
“Flavia!” she screamed again. “No! No…that’s not fair…that’s not fair! I’m here! Why did you take her too?”
She turned to stare at the mouth of the cavern, willing the god to come and finish it. She couldn’t see what had scared Flavia to her death, but she felt the deep, visceral fear in every inch of her body.
And then, somewhere down the hill, someone shouted.