Chapter Sixteen

A withered and bent attendant waved a burning herb sprig beneath the fallen girl’s nose. Her eyes fluttered open and she coughed violently in reaction to the terrible smell. Looking up at the priest, she had to take several deep breaths to keep from fainting again. His disdain for her weakness and cowardice showed plainly on his scarred face.

She shivered under his gaze. Staring at his grotesque face, she made no move to rise. He was missing one of his eyes. Both ears had been partially cut away and now ended in clotted scar tissue. There were rings and jewels pierced through what remained of his marred ears. The gold and jewels sparkled in the morning sun and mocked the hideousness of his misshapen body. The man slowly backed away, a sick smile plastered across his face.

The chief priest was dressed in full ceremonial clothing, the tall wooden mask hiding his features from view. He approached the quivering girl slowly. His hand shot to her face, touching her cheek softly, almost in a caress. She pulled away, confused at his gentleness, fearful of what it might mean.

Anger flashed in his eyes, the only part of his face visible through the mask. Clenching his fist, a snarl sliced through his teeth. Quickly the priest grew impatient with the cowering girl and motioned sharply for her to rise. Sobbing uncontrollably, her fear told her to stay, but she rose regardless of her sobbing. She no longer tried to hide her hatred and anger. It flowed freely with her tears.

The priest stood in front of the girl and walked towards her, forcing her to back against the stone altar. The ragged stone bit into her legs and she faltered, falling to her knees sobbing even harder. Her whole body convulsed with the sobs.

The priest’s face clouded in rage. He turned to face the guards waiting several feet away. Their faces were stone like, but the eyes betrayed their disgust for their charge. The priest’s smooth arm directed the guards to a small stone table next to the altar. The guards knew what was required of them and went to the table.

The table held the instruments necessary for completing the ritual. A small grate with a fire underneath it occupied the center of the table. A knife made of sharpened obsidian was to the right of the grate and a clay bowl filled with water sat just above the knife. The guards moved to the left side of the table where two pairs of thick gloves waited.

The guards pulled the gloves onto their hands and moved back towards the crying girl. Since she was unwilling to perform the necessary steps the guards were required to assist her, but not touch her directly. The girl could not be given unclean.

Stoically, the two men lifted the girl’s body, their hands shielded from direct contact with her skin by the oiled cloth gloves. She did not fight their strong hands. She cried and muttered despairing pleas for help. Depositing her on the stone altar, they back away slowly. The men surrounding her ignored her words and began to tie her body down to the altar with thick leather bands.

***

Coming back to my own time, I felt the tears running down my face again. I opened my eyes to a room still blanketed in darkness. Wiping my tears away, my heart and mind ached. I felt so sorry for the girl, but I pushed the feeling away, reaching instead for anger.

When the dreams had begun they were just sad strange images, now they meant so much more. I knew that the girl was Kivera. It could be no one else. Watching Kivera being forced to the temple to be sacrificed was horrible, but the more I knew about this strange girl, the more mottled my feelings became.

I pitied Kivera’s fate, but hated her, too. I still did not know what the girl had done to bring the curse on my family, but I knew that Kivera was the cause. That thought made my insides boil with anger. I thought of the faces of the dead girls. Dead because of Kivera. I hated Kivera in that moment. I made a promise to myself that I would not fall victim to the vicious machinations of a selfish child.

My anger kept me awake for several hours. Imagining every possible scenario that I could devise to explain the curse, I made plans for each possibility in hopes of keeping myself alive. Never terribly imaginative, I was surprised by the long list I was able to come up with. Wondering and planning, I tried to prepare myself until my eyelids began to droop.

In the dark of early morning, I felt that I was beginning to understand the situation, but as I awoke hours later to morning’s clarifying light, I knew I was still as confused and helpless as before. The only thing I knew for sure was that I needed more information and that I needed help to get it. Today was my last chance to make a difference in my own fate.